When Animals AttackI once witnessed my best friend savaged near to death by a flock of rampant killer sheep.
It's a kill-or-be-killed world out there and poor Steve Irwin never made it back alive. Tell us your tales of survival.
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Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 24 Apr 2008, 14:45)
This question is now closed.
i've just been dive-bombedby the biggest, fattest, blackest bluebottle i've ever seen. that's it, i'm shutting the windows.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 18:00, Reply)
Animal HouseWhen I was starting my post-grad:
a) I was late starting, i.e. had missed the beginning of term and there was little in the way of accommodation left except for lodging with local families.
b) I had sweet FA in disposable funds.
So, in the list of local lodgings I managed to find something local and cheap (£45 a week all in, which was good value even 10 years ago).
Just how good value, I was about to find out.
The house was owned by the local hard-drinkin', fag-totin' post-mistress, her sozzled Irish boyfriend, and his dysfunctional daughter, who couldn't be bothered to go to school and didn't know how to get out of the end of the street (seriously).
My landlady liked to style herself as a mini animal rescue home: there were countless small birds in the back, a dog, 22 cats (all in various stages of old age, disability, or cancer), a family of ducks, 2 Canada geese, and 2 run-of-the-mill geese.
The smell of the place was something to behold - shit and piss all over the place. One day I forgot to close my bedroom door and found the one of the one-eyed cats curled up on my bed, and when I shooed him off there was a significant smelly wet patch. I should count myself lucky because he was well known for squirting liquid shit horizontally over everything - he even managed to get the TV square-on from the arm of the sofa once. But I digress...
The attack(s) in question came from the run-of-the-mill gander. His lady friend had a totally buggered wing, and didn't move from the front garden much, and boy was her feller territorial. Every day, every sodding day, I had to run the gauntlet of that fucker.
He'd come at you, wings flapping, head held low, hissing, going for your ankles. He'd nip away at your shins or calves (depending on whether you were backing away or running toward the door) and once he'd got a few bites in and got some purchase, start slamming those wings of his into your legs.
You can imagine what coming in with a couple of bags of shopping was like.
The best policy was to grab him round the neck and propel him down the side alley (listening to his little webbed feet going thwap-thwap-thwap at a somewhat higher-than-normal frequency) and then pelt it round the front and try to get the key in the front door before he'd caught up.
Oh, and they seemed to purely exist on a diet of cabbage and water, so skidding around on thin slimy green shit on the way in or out was also one of the perils to be contended with. It was always on the path and never on the grass, I reckon the beady-eyed bastard did it on purpose.
Length? About 2 months before I could stand no more. My leaving present was to slam his head in the gate several times before getting the hell out of there.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 17:55, Reply)
Kung fu vs chickenif there was ever a clip to highlight this weeks QOTW
i thik this suits it quite aptly
www.doubleviking.com/videos/page0.html/8162.html
theres a GIF floating about on the interweb somewhere, shame i cant post it, i have it too.
apologies, this should in theory be on the links board - but i think it suits this board better.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 14:43, 1 reply)
Bantam BastardI grew up with free range home laid eggs because my parents kept chickens and ducks. When I was 8 they had a brief foray into keeping bantam chickens. The cock took a particular disliking to me and only me. I would regularly be pursued around the garden by the tiny shit as it tried to bury it's spurs in the back of my legs and my brother just looked on in hysterics. It never let up until it had drawn blood.
My Dad put an end to it with a 2.2 rifle to a pinned down cock head. The dog had the wiry feathered cocking cock for dinner.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 14:37, 4 replies)
i remember in RhodesI was snorkling. but not swimming, sort of walking with my head dipped under the water.
I was walking amongst the rocks off the beach about 30ft out. It was lovley, loads of fish to be seen from little Fry way up to fish abuot 2ft in length. Then i came across this sea cucumber'ish thing, it was about 1 ft in length and covered in black spines - about 3 inches in length. Ill be honest and say i quite literally shat myself. I tried to run away. but i couldnt fast enough. even though it was effectively a deap sea armoured slug. I felt like i was beign chased.
I saw it as a scene from Jaws. I ran back wards falling over in doing so, crawling backwards out of the water...
Ive seen those programs on discovery - it could be deadily, or even at best give you a nasty prick (dont get excited children)
But then it hit me, i know its here, but no one else does...
for the rest of the afternoon i felt responsible for that area of the sea. I cringed everytime i saw one walk near it in their bare feet.
- still makes me cringe now...
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 14:30, Reply)
Eeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwww.
Just last night, I was doing some weeding in the garden - not late at night you understand, back of 6.
There I was, kneeling on the grass, pulling up weeds and muttering about f**king dandelions and f**cking clover. I was being constantly distracted by JuniorWitch #2 on her bike and muttering, in between curses against the weeds, "If she doesn't stop ringing that f**cking bell I'm breaking it" so I wasn't really looking at what I was doing.
All of a sudden I felt an odd sensation on my hand and glanced down. Eeeeeeeeeeewwwwwww. There was a huuuuge slug crawling over my hand, or wriggling, or whatever the hell it is they do. I shot to my feet like I'd been electrocuted and proceeded to shake my hand like Michael J Fox on a really bad day. The bloody thing didn't fall off. Much more shaking followed before I finally grabbed the trowel and knocked it off. I then jumped on it when it hit the grass (not stepped on it, jumped on it) to make damn sure it wasn't trying that again.
By this stage, JuniorWitch has abandoned the bike and is watching with unmistakable glee as her mother performed a deranged dance routine on the grass. Little sod was laughing so hard I'm surprised she didn't wet herself.
I told her I was going to put a shallow dish of beer out to drown any other slugs invading our space and she told me, completely straight-faced and seriously,
"You'll have a hard job, Dad's drunk it all."
Her face when she said that reminded me so much of my mum's patented "Disapproving Parent/Wife" face that I really wished I had a camera in my hand. I pity any poor bloke brave enough to take her on when she grows up!
WeeWitch 1 - Slug 0
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 14:02, 7 replies)
slugshas anyone ever stood on one in their bare feet?
bleeeeuugggh!
i dont know what i hate most about it. that their bodies pop up around your toes or that until you look down, you have no clue what you could have just stepped on.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 13:55, 5 replies)
It's only Wednesday, but...I don't usually eat humans, but when it comes to disabled people I just can't help myself.
I was walking down the street a few days ago when I passed a guy with Downs syndrome in a wheelchair. Before I knew what I was doing, I'd already ripped his arm off and was munching on it like a chicken leg.
And that was how I Cannibaled A Spack.
(The wheelchair was a bit crunchy though.)
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 13:45, 3 replies)
GeeseWhat ever you do - dont invite Geese on to your boat on the Norfolk Broads...
They shit everywhere...
and they hiss and bite...
Edit: on a strange note - having re-read that it sounds like im telling you not to invite Geese for tea. Sitting round the dinner table everyone looking a little disturbed as they try to eat their soup as one the geese proceeds to lay a cable. Imagine that :S
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 13:21, 1 reply)
oh - nasty hornetsjust remembered this one..
My Brother and his mate were out in the woods near our house, we were about 7 or 8 yrs old.
We found a hill within the woods that was great to bike down. It was bare in the middle with trees and bushes on either side.
We all biked down the hill, me and my brother went first - we turned around to see his friend descend. But there was a problem, he veered off course in headed through a bush.
As he emerged from the other side (still on the bike - hadnt fallen off) he was covered in what looked like twigs and paper. He was screaming - we thought through sheer excitement.
As he got closer we saw it...
He had hit a Hornet Nest and they were going mental on him...
We Ran all the way home...
I remember sitting in the kitchen watching my mum tweezer out dead hornets one by one out of his hair. He was stung from head to toe.
Still he was a bit of a cnut so hey ho...
Dam it I should have used this as my KARMA question... DOH
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 13:13, 1 reply)
FishingI fish, and as bait we use maggots. One day when i was younger, it was a sunny day so i decided to clean out my fishing box (it was full of all sorts of crap - old bait etc)
I carried my fishing box outside, - it was giving off a low buzzing noise. 'Weird' I thought. Then I dropped the box and it opened. What followed was quite strange as a black cloud flew out of the fishing box and enveloped me.
If you can remember the old Cartoons, where the character gets chased by a cloud of Bees, well, these weren’t bees, but harmless Blue bottles - thousands of them.
Even though - like I said - they were harmless...but having buzzing insects flying through your hair and all over your body, makes you dance like a monkey on speed.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 13:01, 6 replies)
Chunky Mild PornBert reminded me of something.
Drayton, lovely Drayton. Home of a rather nifty car show every May.
A couple of years ago, I turned up there to see my friend. They were all totally traumatised. Apparently they'd been to the zoo and had seen some of the monkeys indulging in somewhat exhibitionist behaviour. These particular ones were fisting each other...
Some, who had not seen this show, failed to believe it and went and had a look. All was well to begin with. A large male was sitting in the corner, apparently minding his own business when a very young monkey started bounding around the enclosure. Large monkey grabbed baby by the scruff of the neck, and plonked it on his lap where he just started rogering the poor thing.....
My mates were astonished - I believe some have pics but I really didn't need to see them!!!
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 11:57, 25 replies)
If you insist...I was racing against a friend during a late-night Thrash around the hills on our moutainbikes. We were riding through a stretch of fast and downhill field. We did it all the time.
This time was to be different: This time we were stoned, and it was dusk.
Leering at each other like slavering hounds with their heads out of the car window at 70mph, we pounded on the pedals and hurled ourselves onwards into oblivion.
We were moving at warp speed into the darkness. Scotty had nothing on us - He was right - His engines couldn't take any more - ours however were pushing us faster and faster until the world was a blur
- We were going faster than humanly possible
- We were laughing like maniacs
- The feeling of speed was stupendous
- the wind tore at our faces and clothes
- our own howls of delight were lost to the Rushing air
- the rushing air was ..... GONE!
And so was my mate.
And so was my bike.
And I was flying... and it wasn't deliberate. *Oh dear*
*mental shrug* "What goes up must come d..."
*Thud*
I was in pain. Really serious pain. I was alone in the dark, on the ground and clutching at my nuts which only a few seconds ago had been quite happy. Now they were drawing a lot of attention to themselves.... I was a bloody and mangled heap of hurt.
It was then that I heard the noise. A deep guttural gurgling-wheezing noise that had no right to exist. It was scaring the pap out of me until I realised where it was coming from... It was coming from me.
I tried to stop it, but failed. The biggest thing on my mind was that I was making an embarrassing wheezy gurgling noise and was powerless to stop. I was still wondering how to stop this incessant bubbly groaning, when the cause of my pain made itself apparent. Suddenly something considerably bigger and a lot more worrying took pole position in my brain:
Thundering towards me though the murkiness was a particularly irate Bull. It was making a noise that's hard to describe. "pissed off Bovine" doesn't quite cover it.
Try imagining the noise that a Gorilla would make if he had his hands cuffed to his ankles, was wearing a Ball-Gag, a pink tutu and nipple-clamps, as you shove a Giant, Freshly-boiled and steaming-hot Pineapple up his tightly puckered tea-towel holder, and knock it home with a croquet mallet... Make it louder, and then add Thundering hooves as a background noise....
Un-nerving? You don't know the half of it.
The Bull arrived in the same space that I was occupying roughly 2 seconds after I had first sighted it. It wasn't "just passing though".
*********
I can assure you that if you're going to ride hell-for-leather through a field in the dark, your pre-flight check-list should probably involve a cursory glance around for standing-and-sleeping cows.
Ride around them. Do not under any circumstances ride INTO them.
Especially if they are large bulls.
Especially if you're doing 40mph.
**************
I was caught in a one-Bull stampede. I rate this experience quite near the bottom on my scale of "bad experiences". Those who know me will confirm that this probably means it wasn't that enjoyable. You'll have heard the phrase "Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick" On this occasion they'd have been wrong. Very wrong.
Eventually I managed to crawl away from my impromptu bovine lap-dance and found my mangled bike just as my mate re-appeared.
The damage list was surprisingly small
1 Kona bike frame bent out of shape (but still able to ride home)
1 snapped handlebar. (bull arse)
2 broken ribs, (initial bull impact)
1 fractured finger, (bull stampage)
2 bruised nuts, (handlebar stem)
1 torn Scrote. (see above)
During the one-on-one stampede I was convinced that I was going to die.
The Pain in my scrote for the next few days made me wish I had.
Apologies to the Farmer for arse-raping his bull with A mountain bike.
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Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Wed 30 Apr 2008, 11:49,
4 replies)
Taste the blood of Cat-ulaMany years ago, I'd had an ongoing battle chasing away cats eating absentee landlady's cat's food (making him a nervous wreck). Got home one night to find landlady cat cowering and a huge growling spiky haired black monster in a corner of the kitchen. I decided to grab the bastard and chuck it out of the cat flap.
Except this one didn't just wriggle like the other cats I'd thrown out. It bit the back of my neck, clawed at my face and arms and then sank its teeth in to my left hand, over my lower thumb. And wouldn't let go.
Failing to prise its jaws open, I managed to turn on the kitchen tap and held Lucifer's head under it. Still wouldn't let go. With the sink filling up with water, in desperation I plunged Beelzebub's head under. Eventually it unclamped and squirmed back to the corner. I opened the back door, grabbed Satan by the scruff and flung it out, slamming the door behind it.
And then I noticed the blood.
Running down the back door from my hand, splashes of it all over the kitchen floor, sink, and cabinets. I stood there dripping for a minute, then pulled myself together and went to the local hospital (walking distance around the corner).
Casualty cleanup, bandages, painkillers and a tetanus shot later, I made it home around 2am. Realising the next day that I couldn't actually use my hands, I called in sick to work. Cue unsympathetic colleagues ("You got bitten by a puddy-tat!? Awwww!!!!"), angry boss threatening to drive round to drag me in etc.
Three days later I made it back to work. Cue suddenly sympathetic colleagues upon seeing my swollen face, arms and bandages asking questions like "What the hell happened to you?" "Did you get beaten up?" "Why did you say you'd been bitten by a cat?"
The best bit was that a week everything was getting better, except my thumb knuckle- still painful, nearly the size of a ping-pong ball and scabbing over in a strange, hard shiny way. Back to casualty. "Nothing wrong with it", they lied. "Take some ibuprofen", they dismissed.
I went home, downed some vodka, gritted my teeth and proceeded with amateur thumb surgery using tweezers, a needle and a razorblade. After sufficient opening up of shiny knuckle scab, out pop two tiny, spiky black cat hairs. Half an hour after removing them, my thumb was almost back to normal size. Cat hairs embedded in wounds don’t show up on x-rays, it would seem.
I love cats by the way. I have three and I’d choose them over most people I know.
(
The Vomiting Hitchhiker Mephistopheles is such a mouthful in Manhattan, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 10:53,
1 reply)
On the same camping trip that I mentioned earlier in this QOTWMy friends and I stumbled upon the Monkey World sanctuary, and decided to enter.
Basically the sanctuary is a clearing in some woods with a few Spidermonkeys in it somewhere near Dorset/Devon/Cornwall (I can't bloody remember, it was 10 years ago).
We decided to attach ourselves to a group of tourists and follow their guide around, he was an amiable chap and didn't mind us tagging along, even though we clearly hadn't paid for it.
Before the tour began, we were told not to make any form of eye contact with the monkeys, as this is taken as a sign of aggression. We were also told not to smile at the monkeys, as this too is a sign of aggression (incidentally, did you know that showing teeth as a sign of happiness is unique among humans? All other animals see it as the bearing of weapons). We were warned that if we saw a monkey making direct eye contact, showing it's teeth, attempting to make itself seem bigger by raising it's arms and standing upright, we were to look away.
So, the tour consisted of a two minute walk around the clearing, and an introduction to Alfred. Alfred, we were told was the most docile little Monkey in the sanctuary, apparently he was half-blind, extremely old, and half dead. We liked Alfred, he had a cute, fuzzy little face.
But Alfred DID NOT like us. Alfred was mean. He swung down from the canopy of trees above us, and fixed me with a mad, steely stare.
Remembering, but ignoring, the instructions we were given, I stared back. He showed me his yellow, rotten teeth, I showed him mine.
He raised himself up, stood upright, still staring his mad, scary grin at me, and raised his arms above his head.
I raised my arms and stood on my tippy-toes, there was no way I was backing down to Alfred, he was half-dead, what possible harm could he do?
He ran away, ran like the little simian coward that he was, and I laughed like a Hyena at my superior place in the ranking of the species of the world.
Til he came back later and threw shit in my Pimms.
Damn you Alfred..!
*shakes fist*
Monkey 1 - Human 0
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Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 10:00,
19 replies)
In which Our Hero barks for his life.For freshman orientation in college* we were split into groups of about a dozen and sent off into the woods with a pair of seniors to have a small adventure. You could choose to go hiking, climbing, or any number of things. I chose canoeing.
The group is seven dudes and seven gals, all of us young, fresh-faced, horny, and excited to be college students. Did I get laid on this trip? Did I, fuck. This is not the proper QOTW for that story anyway.
So on the way to the river the seniors are briefing us on the rules and the general plan for the trip. I have a bit of experience and the guy from Alaska has some, too, but otherwise the rest are mostly from small suburbs in the Midwest or big cities like Manhattan. We are in The Middle of Nowhere, New Hampshire, which means mountains, trees, oh - and moose. LOTS of moose.
Here's the thing about moose: they get aggressive when they're in heat, and they're bigger than any animal needs to ever be. HUGE. Yet they still have natural enemies. Or rather, HAD - before the local wolves were all killed off. So, how do you stop a moose from charging? Bark. You bark like a dog. This will trigger the beast's innate fear of wolves and scare it away. Not that we were likely to meet any on our trip, mind you, but it's useful information to have just in case.
The first day we head out and make camp at a makeshift air strip, which was really just a quarter-mile clearing in the trees. We stack the canoes like a log cabin and throw a tarp over top. Ta-daa! Something for all of us hot, tight-bodied teens to sleep under! You know, next to each other. At night, in the dark.
Follow dinner, frisbee, chatting on and such. One thing leads to another, and there we are all snuggled in our sleeping bags and Our Hero begins to doze off...
[whispering]"Jesse... wake up."
"Wha-"
"SHHHHHHHH! There's a moose!"
My first thought is of the blonde next to me. I can be brave and valiant in the face of danger! Surely I will get SO laid after all of this - WAIT. WE ARE UNDER SOME HEAVY CANOES.
[more whispering]
Is everyone awake?
Wait, I see it!
Where?
By the trees! I see it too!
There's two of them!
Finally, one of the seniors:
You guys - we may have to start barking. If they get close we should all bark at once.
Um. It got close. We barked. Loudly. All 14 of us (12 freshmen and two seniors). For our lives. FOR OUR LIVES.
*ruff! ruff!
*yip! yipyip!
*grrrr arf arf arf!
For at least 60 seconts, which is a long time to be doing something like that. Trust me. We eventually quieted down.
[whispering] (for no reason)
Are they gone?
Did it work?
Does anyone see anything?
I think they left.
Next thing I know, in the moonlight between the canoes, there is a tall and skinny leg DIRECTLY in front of me. I believe I am the one that started the second round.
*barkbarkbark!
*woof woof!
*[howling]
As I am barking my lungs out and bracing for the canoes to collapse on top of us, a large snout pokes through the tarp. A flashlight beam hits it, and it narrows. Eyes. Small. Antlers... pointy?
Suddenly there's multiple flashlights from outside the tent, and the senior holding the antelope head ducks into the tarp. GOTCHA!
Sons of bitches. Sons. Of Bitches.
The seniors pranked us BUT GOOD. It was an extra crew of seniors brining us some supplies for the next day. And from the beginning it was all a farce! They had to pull the Alaskan guy aside and tell him to play along. He told us later that the whole time we were whispering he had his head in the pillow and was ready to die from holding it in! To this day it's a better prank than I've ever pulled, and the best I've been victim to.
But they brought us homemade brownies and beer to make up for it, so we all had a small party there in the night. Um, I never got anywhere with that blonde girl. But wait, this is my story, right? What I meant was, I nailed her a week later and her roomate the week after. So all's well.
*You bet your ass I'm 'Merkin! "Color!" "Dollars!" Wanna fight about it?
*pop*!
Apologies for length, but I'm compensating for my short penis.
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 6:34, 16 replies)
When Great Danes AttackWhen I was a single fella I used to have a great dane, lovely animal, came from rescue, a bit dim, but not a bad bone in her...
In the 11 years I had her, she was walked (almost)every morning, rain or shine & it was the high point of her (very lazy) day.
One morning I had a truly monumental hangover & simply couldn't be arsed to get up & walk her.
Living in a bungalow with such a large animal, you have to have a few ground rules: the dog isn't allowed into the bedroom being rule numero uno.
On this morning, rule numero uno was ignored & a large sad looking face appeared inches from my own. As I yawned she chose that moment to sneeze, right into my open mouth.
One lazy, hungover twat suddenly found the energy to get up very quickly indeed & rush to the bathroom, trying very hard not to get reaquainted with last nights beverages.
Needless to say, the dog's tail was wagging fit to flail a masochist into exctasy; her lovely owner had got up in a hurry just to give her a walk... and I did after using most of a bottle of mouthwash...
(, Wed 30 Apr 2008, 6:11, 2 replies)
Well it's springI have been in the yard cleaning up and looking at all the junk I have, I decided to fool around with an old propane tank that somebody had cut a hole in the side of. I got out my angle grinder thinking of how this should look as a kind of "patio fireplace" so decided to cut out the side for an opening.
I got my angle grinder and a cutting wheel, started cutting, and felt something climbing all over my arm. I stopped the grinder, looked and there's a little cicada sitting there looking, I guess, happy, so I get him and set him on a branch of one of my bonsai.
I get back to cutting when I feel this thing crawling around on me again. I don't quite get what's on this bug's mind, like he just crawled out of the ground and as a result looks to me as "Mama." So I situate this Heyah bug where he belongs, in the trees, get back to grinding and start to feel something crawling around on me again. I'm beginning to think I've started working on a nest of them, but who ever heard of a nest of Cicadas?
This time I take the bug to the edge of the yard, reach up to grab him, and he jumps off and flies away. I say, "Ok, there he goes." Get back to grinding, and after about 15 minutes, I feel something crawling on me again. I don't know what the story is here, I work in a shop full of people grinding, cutting, and otherwise using a grinder, and nobody has had a plague of Cicadas, so I am having some reservations about this beastial love affair.
I then take the smitten bug as far as I can to get rid of him. I walk all the way back to the torn down trailers, find a tree and coax, cajole, and coerce the leetle fecker off on the tree. I haven't seen it since, so I assume he found another love interest or is still waiting, watching, hoping for the day when I step out the door with my Angle Grinder.
Maybe not as bad as the day I was chased all around by a "yellow fly," a species of deer fly common to the deep south, especially North Florida, and Southern Georgia way. These bugs are just voracious, the missus still giggles if anybody asks how she lost her virginity...
Length? About - ahh, you know.
(
CapnChkn I would rather be flying elephants., Wed 30 Apr 2008, 0:14,
Reply)
eye watering experience....still makes me cringe today...A few years ago, whilst I was with the now ex wife, upon finishing a set of night shifts thought I'd get some early moring loving with the missis.
It was a warm sunny sunday morning and after after arousing her out of her vodka fuelled coma planned on giving her, what I thought would be a nice waking up. Little to my knowledge, we wern't alone that morning and were sharing our bedroom with one of our cats.
Pepsi was funny little creature,petite,jet black and had somewhat took a dislike to me and always seemed to give me that 'I'm going to get you' look after I had renamed her 'bumhole'..reasons being that she used to walk around with her tale in the air dispaying her pink feline tea towel holder to the world.
Me an the missis were getting a little frisky, duvet and pillows now on the floor....then..my moment of loving ended, my world crumbled, and I was left clutching my member.
The little furry bastard had took advantage, snook up onto the bed and proceeded to take a swipe at me...after my squeals had died down, I uncupped my now deflated excuse for a penis to reveal 3,inch long bloody scratches apon my end.
needless to say,cats are now banned from the bedroom and to this day, if I recall the sorry moment, I cringe and eewwwwww lmao
(, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 23:54, 1 reply)
Picture the scene...Outside the lovely town of Weymouth, cliffs and fields as far as the eye can see. It's a gorgeous evening, the sun setting, no clouds in the sky, a warm breeze blowing across the grass.. And then suddenly a tall, welsh, ginger twat running across a field and frantically bolting over a gate as about 20 large, angry, black cows stampeded after him for disturbing their field.
Me and our friend pissed ourselves laughing, and the three of us had to take the long way back, through a field of sheep who just stared at us like possessed clouds.
(, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 23:52, 2 replies)
Squirrel NutkinI think I was about 10, when one day my dad noticed a bit of a blockage up by our chimney cowl. So, out from the garage comes his large tickling stick, and sets about poking the offending muck out of the way.
"Quick!" he shouts to my mum in the kitchen. "Get the washing off the line, it's just started to tip it down!".
My mother and I thinks he's lost his marbles, it's a bright sunny day outside. We amble outside to see him staring up, muttering "Bitch" underneath his breath. We follow his gaze to see a squirrel, hanging sideways off the chimney, clinging on with one forepaw and one hindleg, aiming her piss all over him.
We checked out the loft afterwards, and found they'd been helping themselves to my dear old Pa's chess set. Can't have been terribly tasty judging by the mess they left.
My second squirrel incident isn't so much of an attack, but it did bugger us up a bit nontheless.
We had a problem with our guttering - it just wasn't draining properly. My mum thought it probably a bit blocked by rotten leaves. She sticks a Marigolded mitt up the pipe, and sure enough, finds something a bit squishy up there. However, she's not quite able to pull it round the final bend at the bottom... bottom bend is duly dismantled, and what should pop out?
A slightly mushy, discoloured squirrel which had been dead for some time, in a cylindrical shape, looking not too dissimilar to perfectly decanted tin of dog food. We could tell it was a squirrel by the bit of tail left at the end, and the face and paws at the other.
(, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 22:29, 2 replies)
Nearly mauled to death in India / sexual PredatorsOkay a few years ago, me and the then Mrs-Lizard had taken a few months off work to visit India on a bit of a backpacking mission.
Lots of things went wrong (but most are for another QOW), but I have to mention the bit were I came off my scooter and nearly broke my hip.
I braved it and was left with a deep gash in my hip/stomach area, skinned knees and elbows, battered ankles and bruised bones, the worst being my hip bone. AGONY!
But I roughed it and refused to visit a hospital (stupidly/bravely?)
So anyhow, a few weeks later I was still limping along quite badly, but was capable of carrying my rucksack and could get about... so we found ourselves in a town called Gokarna, which is quite an amazing place, but was filled with the usual cows, scruffy cats and dogs, mosquito's and hornets.
At first they weren't the problem, it was a certain bookstore owner who invited us into going back to his house and eat with him and his family. So we go back (we'd known him for two days and he seemed friendly enough).
We ate with him, his brother and cousin, and all was good, until I realised I was the only one who was talking.
They had all taken a big interest in my girlfriend after getting us VERY stoned with an after-meal joint.
I mean very stoned off ONE joint (it was something called afghan charas!), and then I got the fear (as if being thousands of miles from any semblance of your own culture, not knowing if these guys were just being friendly or trying to take advantage...) and I was in no position to fight any of them, what with my injuries.
Anyway, the brother and the cousin left the room and locked me, her and the bookstore guy alone.
So to cut a long story short, he started telling me he had a gun... we were locked in his house!
He was a nutter.
But somehow after we insisted that we had to leave (for maybe the twentieth time of asking) and he embraced my girlfriend in a Loooong hug, he unlocked the door and let us go....
Very stoned, injured and paranoid and now lost.
Because he originally walked us to the house, we were walking back alone, in a strange Indian town at 2AM in the dark.
The bookstore guy even went one step further to fuck things up for us by giving us fake drections back to the guesthouse, but i trusted my instincts and ignored his directions and luckily limped back to the main road.
So all was good, we breathed a HUGE sigh of relief and shuffled on home...
along the dark and empty streets....
Except for the distant sounds of barking, and strange black shaped crawling from the shadows in everey direction, from gutters and alleyways...
Wild street dogs.
During the day, thes poor bastards are baking in the heat, living on scraps of food and generally being beaten and pushed away by the busy Indians.
But at night... these fuckers ruled the streets.
And there we were, already freaked out, stoned and injured and we were being followed and circled by a dozen of these fuckers.
My first instinct was to find a rock or a branch or anything, but we just so happened to be in the only place in India that contained no stones...
That was it... I'd go down fighting, cos just one bite would have given me rabies... So as they got within a few feet, growling, teeth-baring distance...
We were suddenly engulfed in white light and a large crash and a yelp and chaos.
We looked around and the dogs had scattered, and there were big bits of wood and a stunned dog next to us... we turned to the light.
Nope it wasn't an angel, it was hotel porter who had come out to see what all the barking was about, to find us two about two seconds away from a good mauling. So being the legend that he was, he whacked on all the lights and threw a wooden chair into their midst.
Our hero.
We were th-is far from death.
(, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 22:06, Reply)
Greyhound flesh stripperOooh I love telling people this one.
I didn't see it coming up behind me, but it must have been running full tilt when it jumped me, punch of paws on one shoulder, claws into the back of my neck on the other side.
We had been waiting for a club to open, enjoying the August evening, the year I left school.
Now I was sprawled brokenly on the pavement with a stinking, sweat-streaked greyhound astride my chest, snapping at my face and tearing through my clothes.
Wee Johnny bottled it. Crunch. Right between the eyes.
In the ambulance I kept shouting about my face, my left eye was an impossible boiling ant-hill of pain and I thought the dog had torn my cheek away.
One of it's paws had cracked the orbit of my eye. Heavy dog. But my scraped and swollen face was not what prompted the hospital porter to grey, sway, and leave the room. I looked across the trolley-bed to where my hand should have been. The dog had lopped off my thumb.
Not neatly, not the punctuated shock of an absent digit, the bite had laid my palm open and pulled my thumb bones out like an anatomist's frog.
The metacarpal bone protruded from a stripped and splintered mess of flesh and pulpy, ruined muscle. They can't stitch a wound like that. It looked like a chicken thigh, pulled apart and positively marinated in claret.
Doctors don't like to amputate a thumb. Thumbless people have all sorts of difficulty. Thumbs fascilitate such varied tasks as typing, playing with an etch-a-sketch, and peeling an orange independently. I begged them not to amputate.
And that's how I ended up with the recognisable pieces of my thumb bound in sterile gauze, and sternly warned that if it started to rot, it had to come off.
I cleaned it, dressed it, wept over it, swore at it, cleaned it again aand after several weeks I was able to start physio. Rehabilitation for moveing and stretching. My favourite exercise was one I re-named the 'Pick it, flick-it, stick-it' manoeuvre.
It didn't fester, and have a truly Frankenstein-esque scar where the flesh knit naturally. Never got the feeling back though. Numb as a thumb.
Next time you walk past the bookie's window and see a glorious photo-finish poster of slavering, razor-jawed psyco-hounds closing in on the hare; think of my poor bloody thumb... and look behind you.
Length? It could have ended up just a little bit shorter.
(, Tue 29 Apr 2008, 20:06, 4 replies)
This question is now closed.