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This is a question Ouch!

A friend was once given a biopsy by a sleep-deprived junior doctor.
They needed a sample of his colon, so inserted the long bendy jaws-on-the-end thingy, located the suspect area and... he shot through the ceiling. Doctor had forgotten to administer any anaesthetic.

What was your ouchiest moment?

(, Thu 29 Jul 2010, 17:29)
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My balls cause untold distress to others.
Gather round, children, I'm going to tell you a story. The story of the most painful object ever designed by humans. A device whose sole raison d'etre is to inflict pain on unsuspecting individuals. And also on suspecting individuals who couldn't escape. This object is so horrific that even the US army dare not use it.

I speak, of course, of the Mouldmaster.

For the uninitiated, a mouldmaster is a football. Not just any football, it has a moulded rubber surface. This surface is not smooth. It's designed to be hard wearing, mostly as a training ball, and as such takes no shit from players. Oh no, it is the master of the pitch. The players are merely waiting to suffer, though they may not yet know this.

This question is about your ouchiest moment, so mine is simply as follows: I played football with a Mouldmaster. It's common for humans to boast of the pain they endured, as a badge of honour to say "This hurt soooo much, but I'm (more or less) not dead". With the sentence "I played football with a Mouldmaster" you can instantly get sympathy from any fellow sufferers.

We all shared the pain. Usually at school level or thereabouts, and always on a red ash pitch. All games took place on a freezing December morning, even if the calender read May. Mouldmasters had that effect. The game would start painlessly enough, with little warning of what was to come. After about 5 minutes, you'd go for a ball, but the defender would get there first and make his clearance. And the Mouldmaster would connect full force with your leg.

Medical science has no proof of the phenomenon that occurs when a Mouldmaster hits a leg, but we all know exactly what happens. Your leg instantly sprouts hundreds of microscopic penises, and each one of them immediately catches itself in a zip. There is no other explanation for the sheer waves of pain coursing through your body at the speed of light. The surroundings go black, for your brain has no capacity to process anything other than the pain. You pray for instant death to ease the suffering.

Later in the game, the same thing will happen, but this time the ball will not catch you full force. It will do much worse. It will catch you with a glancing blow. it is then you will realise that this is not a football at all, but a spherical belt sander on overdrive. The pain will seem like all the heat on earth has been concentrated on your skin, just on that one patch. You will, again, want to die.

The worst part is that as this is Scotland, you will be unable to show any pain, lest you be labelled homosexual by your peers. So there is the unedifying spectacle of 22 youthful males, all in chronic pain, all unable to say a word for fear that they'd be mocked. Only later in life, when reminiscing, can you admit the physical hell you underwent 3 times a week.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.
(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 11:28, closed)
Oh man up and stop whining.

(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 11:44, closed)
Welcome n00b
This actually made me lol in the office.
(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 12:11, closed)
Ahh yes, the Mouldmaster
I broke a Chinese kids nose with one of those at primary school. He was doing up his boot lace as I lined up a free-kick. As I toe punted the ball towards the goal, he stood up and his nose spread across his face as the ball cannoned off of him. Those balls are lethal.
(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 14:18, closed)
"it is then you will realise that this is not a football at all, but a spherical belt sander on overdrive"

much lulz
(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 17:13, closed)
I skimmed this in the first instance
it does not read well if you just catch a few glimpses

"my balls cause untold distress....I [am] of course, the Mouldmaster"

that is how I read it, and debated for some time whether I wanted to read about someone's mouldy bollocks. Fortunately for you, the answer was yes, so I read your story as it was intended and you got a click for it.
(, Mon 2 Aug 2010, 21:11, closed)

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