En Route Eastern European City....
me and my mate embarked on a "Bloody Mary" drinking marathon. It started at 8am in the airport Lounge, carried on into the plane, continued on arrival into the hotel bar, flowed out of the hotel to the bar across the street, and reached a drunken climax for me at about 9pm when the ground had began to want to replace the location of sky.

Bravely I made my way back across the street to the hotel , like Indiana Jones avoiding all the booby traps, such as doors, steps and lift buttons.

When I got to my room, I had no swipe key, and because we were staying in a suite I could not wake my roomie who was staying in the bedroom away from earshot of the door.

No problem thinks I. I sit down against the door, planning to regain composure (and the ability to speak) before heading off to reception to sort the problem out.

Unfortunately, I did not regain composure. Instead I fell into an alcohol coma. At some point, the need to vomit arose, and I awoke long enough to find a home for said spew to land - I unzipped my tracksuit top and vomited onto my chest.

Happy that I was now safe from choking, I went back to sleep, still sat outside my room.

Eventually, my other mate returned to find me. His first reaction when he saw me slumped against the door, arms outstretched, with blood and guts pouring out of my chest, was that I had been gunned down by some Eastern European Mafia gang - leaving me dead for no apparent reason other than the fact that I'm a complete gobshite when drunk.

Luckily, my mate was not the panicking type.. He was relieved to find me just extremely f*cking pissed... even if a little smelly.

I think he may have kicked me, as I developed a mystery beer injury in the ribs that could not be explained away.

Apologies for lack of real blood... I'll try harder next time.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 13:42, 2 replies)

(Warning: this is gross...). My father
was on a flight from the UK to Germany to do some work, when he developed a nosebleed mind-flight. Which didn't stop. He spent two days working over there, giving lectures and doing research, with tissue stuffed up his nose. The bleeding didn't stop.

He fell asleep on the flight back, and the tissue had become so sodden through that it plopped out; he was only alerted to this when the man next to him woke him up to point out that the front of his shirt was drenched in blood. The bleeding hadn't stopped.

After a day of dripping blood through the house, my mother finally persuaded him to go to the hospital to have it checked out. 8 hours later, with his wife and daughter nearly falling asleep in the waiting room, the doctors came out to tell us that they'd tried cauterising him twice, but the bleeding wouldn't stop. By this point, he'd been feeling rather shit for quite a while, so they decided to keep him in overnight, give him a transfusion, and work out what was happening.

3 days and another transfusion later (the bleeding hadn't stopped), they finally discovered that he'd had an aneurism (sp?) in his brain, caused by the change in pressure as his plane took off. It was pure luck that it was in his frontal lobe, and that the blood was able to escape down his sinuses; if it hadn't been able to escape, it would have built up in his brain, and he would have died. I thank God for the wonderful doctors and nurses in Addenbrookes ENT department, because as soon as it was diagnosed, they knew what to do. It was just going to take some time to do it.

They shifted him over to a private room so he could do some work, and gave him a bucket to spit the blood running down the back of his throat into every 5 minutes or so. Apparently they were also giving him some rather good cocaine, which helped to lessen the bleeding (and stop him feeling quite so shit, I suspect).

Finally, having taken scan after scan of his face, they got to work: they cut the skin of his face around the chin and up to the ears, and peeled it back until his face was skinless (I can visualise it now: a flayed head, with his face lying in folds on his forehead till they were ready to lay it back down again like some fleshy turf).
They then chiselled away the cartilage of his nose (to this day, he has no structure to his nose and can squash it flat against his face in all directions with phenomenal ease) to give easier access to the sinuses. Then they basically just poked a large stapler up there and liberally stapled the bleeding bits of his brain back together. They relaid his face and stiched it back down, and sent him into recovery. He woke up, and for the first time in 2 months, didn't feel sick from having swallowed a load of blood in his sleep. Finally, the bleeding had stopped.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 13:28, 9 replies)

Blood filled shoe followed by lots of poo
My brother, is a hardman and mechanic. Unfortunately (and hilariously) he faints at the sight of blood.

So there he is working next to a hydraulic ramp at work, when he decides to lower it onto his foot. The silly boy wasn't wearing his 'toetectors' so the aforementioned ramp crushed his toe, ripping off the nail inside his trainer. Trainer fills up with blood, brother removes trainer to inspect damage. Promptly faints as he sees half a pint of blood spill out from his footwear.

Now for the funny bit.

Fast forward a couple of weeks to when his mangled, nailless toe has got infected. The doctor gave him some antibiotics, which had the undesirable side effect of giving him the shits. Now, my brother refuses to take a dump in the toilets at work. (They are a bit grim) So he usually nips around the corner to home for a number two while on road test.

Cue my brother doing 10 - 20 road tests a day for the next week. Any excuse to take a car out, he would waddle, buttocks clenched to a customer's car, peel out of the forecourt and dash home. Then return 10 minutes later looking very relieved.

Only to repeat the whole thing in a different car 20 minutes later.
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Tue 12 Aug 2008, 13:27, Reply)

My dad got a bad nosebleed once
and had the genie-arse idea of sticking a tampon up his nose rather than the tried-and-tested bung of bog-roll.

Minutes later we heard "Ooh, ow ... BLOODY HELL! OW!" from the kitchen

Turns out he'd gone for a glass of water, and the blue string had dipped into it whilst he supped. The capilliary action had carried the water up the rip-chord and started to soak - and thereby rapidly expand - the tampon.

How father yelped in pain as the tampon attempted to stretch his poor nostril to goaste proportions. An oh, how we lolled :)
( Droog is too orangey for crows, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 13:03, 6 replies)

'Lying in a pool of blood'
As a very strange child, I wanted (for some reason) to find out what it was like to be covered in blood, so I took a marker pen and coloured myself red. All over.

Imagine my dad's surprise when he came in to find his only son laying on the living room floor covered in red.
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 13:02, Reply)

Yet another boy and bike story
As a young lad, I used to ride my bike around a lot with my good friends (Who it now turns out are mostly utter cunts)

Anyway, one lovely summer day (I must have been about 7 or 8) I was riding on my brothers bike.
This thing was Red and Black, it had a spider painted on it, and it looked fucking cool. I was the dogs nuts on this thing. If only it had decided to stay together....

When riding down a hill, gravity likes to give you a hand so you don't need to pedal unless of course you whack it into a higher gear and want to go faster. I did just this, about halfway down this hill, things where just a blur going past me, this was undoubtedly the coolest thing I'd ever done.

Then, the brake lever fell off, I swear to God this next moment came in slow motion, the lever got jammed in the spokes of my front wheel, and it span until it hit the bar, The bike CATAPULTED me, I went flying off the front of this, I hit the ground face first, the bike landed on my back, bounced off and continued going. I felt the fiery pain of hell in my face. I got up very shakily and decided to walk home to tell my mum what had happened, one of my friends took the bike and walked me back, he had a look of absolute horror on his face, I looked down, my white shirt was now a lovely crimson colour, where the fuck had all that blood come from?

I put a finger underneath my nose, and it felt warm, I had a look, my entire finger had become drenched in blood in the space of a second, I ran home, ran as fast as I could, when I got in I went to look in the mirror, I could have made a convincing horror movie extra, I was covered in blood, it was absolutely everywhere. At that point I passed out, when I woke up my mum was over me crying, she thought I'd died, imagine her surprise when I opened my eyes and screamed.

Remember, bikes actually hate kids, they're not your friends.

Apologies for length, but I've had no complaints so far.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:57, 2 replies)

My younger brother once stubbed his toes at a karate lesson.
There was a lot of blood pouring from his foot and he was hopping around gibbering.

The Karate instructor sat him down and looked at the mangled foot. He then took the foot in his hands and uttered these immortal lines:

'ancient Chinese remedy'

before waggling all my brother's toes, squirting blood all over the place.

I think in the end they bandaged him up and called our parents.
( WormuIus, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:48, 1 reply)

Jujitsu again
Mate of mine was at a lesson and in jujitsu and one of the kids Smacked him in the balls and burst a blood vessel, said testicle then swelled up to the size of an orange and turned a lovely shade of red...

His new nickname is Buster Gonad
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:42, Reply)

Degloved
My girlfriend is a solicitor who works on the defendant side of Personal Injury (so an anti ambulance chaser you may say) and sometimes likes to regale me with the odd story that she hears.

One that springs tomind is when we first started dating and she told me about a worker in a factory who got his bits (I have no idea how) a bit close to a machine. said machine then decided to eat his trousers and then followed up by, and this is the phrase used in the medical report, degloving one of his testes.

Now that is pretty grim, makes me cringe whenever I hear the story
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:41, 1 reply)

Work
A company I used to work for went through a phase of taking blood samples from all of the secretaries in a 'vein' attempt to cut down on type o's.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 12:06, 5 replies)

Think first
If you ever wake up with a bitch of a headache and are shitting blood - do not panic, or write a will or start to compile a list of songs you want played at your funeral.

Ask yourself one question...

"Did I get bladdered and have Chicken Tikka last night?"

It will save you a lot of humiliation.

Trust me.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 11:51, 1 reply)

Baby Blood.
Wow Babies can spew lots of blood as well. As I once found out.

My parents have two steps heading down from their dining room into the living room - Kinda open plan thing.

My Ex's son who was 18 months old decided one day that he'd attempt the walk down the stairs instead of the crawl.
His attempts failed and he crashed faceplanting into the floor.. or should I say chin planted into the floor.

I was quite astounded at the amount of blood pouthering from his mouth. You see babies dont have a full compliment of teeth. So his lower teeth had smashed into his upper gums at the impact of his fall. Owch! So, Cue much blood spewing out of the mouth and lots of screaming.

Anyway not too worry kids are hard as nails. Once we had him cleaned up and gave him a cuddle, he went back to try again.
(Miggyman, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 11:38, 1 reply)

Live Blades
Another jujitsu related story.

As part of your second Dan you have to do a series of Kata's with weapons, one of which is a Katana. A few years back it was possible to do the kata with a live blade, this has now changed thanks to this guy.

As part of the kata it is customary to do a 'gebauchy' (spelling is probably well off, feel free to correct) which is a method of wiping the (non existent) blood from the blade, this can either be a simple wipe with the fingers or a more dramatic twirl with the sword or even a very cool and efficient sweep downwards to the mat and away form you.

This particular bloke was demoing a kata with the blade and finished with the sweepy down gebauchy, however, he'd not left enough clearance between his foot and the blade and so managed to cut off 3 of his toes, prompting a trip to casualty and an attempt to sew them back on. Not nice to see though, especially the misshapen footsteps off the mat as he was helped off...
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 11:21, 7 replies)

Schlup
As a couple of you may know I do Jujitsu and have done for a few years so have a couple of stories and have seen a few things but nothing worse than what happened to my mate.

My friend is a 4th Dan in jujitsu so is regularly asked to demonstrate techniques at courses and competitions and this one time he decided to demo a variant of a straight arm lock.

For those not in the know a straight arm lock will basically bend your arm the wrong way at the elbow, it's quite a basic move but done right is quite painful and when the pain kicks in you tap the guy and he lets go.

So Phil is demoing this move on a Scottish bloke and the bloke isn't tapping out, at this point Phil is getting a bit worried but thinks to himself 'it must be ok otherwise he'd tap'

Unfortunately the guys arm decides to not choose life but something else and then all Phil hears is a SHLUP and a bit of a twang and the guys bicep then jumps up. The tendon had become detached during the technique so it looked like he was flexing his bicep (like the weight lifters) but with a straight arm, by all accounts the bloke turned white and slowly walked off the mat.

Where's the blood? Probably when they had to go into the arm and reattach the bicep...

So there;s a lesson there kids! Never act hard!
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 11:15, 1 reply)

Autoglass Repair..Autoglass Replace
Cedric - 27, Fitter for autoglass.

If you get a chip in your windscreen, it could crack and then shatter into a million shards that fly into your eyes at 70 mph, or you could be decapitated and die.

You have been warned. Repeatedly. Every advert break on the radio. The messenger of doom is here.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Tue 12 Aug 2008, 11:12, 1 reply)

Scalped!
2 friends and I, restless during the summer holidays in 1987 decided to go and look for some mischief. Mischief was found in the form of a pile of fly-tipped building rubble, full of half bricks and broken slates.

BATTLE TIME!

We always used to have battles with throwable objects, dodging stones and sticks was as fun as throwing them, especially when done with flair and sound effects. I selected a pile of slates as my arsenal, and happen to throw one at my mate, just as he turns back to face me from picking up a half brick.

SCHLICK.

The slate ended up between his scalp and skull, turning the whole top of his scalp into a big, hairy flap. Curiously there was no blood. Until we pulled the slate out (probably shouldn't have, but hey - we were 10). Cue what can only be described as a torrent of blood, cascading all over my hapless friend. Oops.

My other friend actually did a runner at this point (makes me chuckle now thinking about it). I ended up holding my poor mates' scalp on with my hand as we walked to his house. By the time we got there, he was looking like Cousin It, but with blood instead of hair. My arm looked like something that should be scaring teenagers by erupting from a fresh grave.

A quick call to the emergency services, a unit or two of blood, lots of stiches and 2 weeks off school and he was all better. Can't remember how many stitches he had, but there were lots.

Never got to knock around with him anymore funnily enough, twas ok though - he was a ginger.

*Insert length related joke here*
(7thearl of Nails., Tue 12 Aug 2008, 10:56, Reply)

Oh, this is an embarrasing one...
...and one I've never spoken of...

Many moons ago - must have been late 70's or early 80's there was a huge snowfall.

As young kids are prone to do, we looked about for things to make sledges from.

I asked my dad, who promptly found a sheet of thin tin and punched two holes in the top to thread some electrical wire through to hold on to while sledging.

Anyway, we took it to a carpark nearby that was sunken and had steep slopes leading down it - ideal for sledging.

After several successful trips to the bottom, it was my turn once again.

I shot off down the hill and straight into a snow-covered rock, which tilted the tin 'sledge' onto it's side....with me still on it.

So now, I'm sitting on top of a piece of tin about .2mm thick, and of course it's cut through my drainpipes and through my y-fronts and then through my.......yep, through the end of my cock.

Nice.

Not.

About 10 mins of lying on the floor in agony and my black drainpipes slowly turning a dark shade of purple, an elderly lady (well, she was elderly to me, she must have been about 40!) came over to see why there were about 10 kids all standing round in a circle with white faces looking down at an 8 year old boy clutching his privates.

She says, "are you ok, little boy?"

"No, I cut my willy" was just about all I could manage.

She then lifts me up, pulls my drainies down and has a look at my bloody cock.

"Hmmm," she says "do you live around here? Can I take you home"

"I told her that there was no-one at home as they were visiting my nan's house"

Anyway, she took me up there, despite my protestations that I shouldn't get in cars with strangers, and then had to parade my crimson pork sword in front on my mum, dad, nan and grandad while they all looked on and said things like "oooh" and "aaah".

Scarred, I am. Not physically though, luckily.
(dchurch bah, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 10:50, 5 replies)

How my little brother destroyed my chances for olympic gymnastics greatness...
Back when I was a wee little biochem_ninja, around 8 years old, my younger brother and I bitched and whinged to our parents to let us start doing gymnastics, as a family friend's son had recently started. They agreed, and off we trotted in our little camp 90s leotards.

Now my brother has always been a bit cack-handed and accident prone, he's jumped in swimming pools facing backwards, smashing his forehead open on the side (2 teatowels worth of blood that time...) and been hit in the nose with the full force of a golf club backswing, amongst other gory escapades. Bringing him and a highly dynamic, physically demanding and skilful sport together would always be a recipe for disaster...

So anywaaay, we'd must have only attended this gymnastics class for 3 months or so, when the inevitable happened.

We were in a group with about 4 others, queueing (queuing? I don't know. That word makes less and less sense as I look at it for longer and longer) for our go on the asymmetric bars (You know, the ones the starving 15 year-old Romanian girls do in the olympics?). I was behind my brother, so I saw the whole event unfold. He was lifted up onto the lower bar by the coach, told to swing a few times, then jump to the higher bar. I heard him muttering "1...2...3..." then he jumped.

Now, the coach had chosen this point to turn around to talk to some randomer about the weather, or discuss the pattern on her coffee mug, or discuss the political situation in Madagascar.

She therefore failed to catch my brother as he reached out for the higher bar, and slipped.

She also failed to catch him as he fell towards the crash-mat.

She only actually turned around from her conversation when she heard the sickening crunch as my brother landed on the mat. They thought that perhaps he’d broken part of the equipment, so they began checking the apparatus.

It took them about 30 seconds to realise my brother hadn’t got up, and he was looking rather pale. On closer inspection the female coach almost fainted… My brother landing on the crash mat with his arm behind his back had meant that the pressure of his bodyweight had splintered his elbow into roughly 40 pieces. It was mess. No blood on the outside, but, plenty in places it shouldn’t be, under the skin…The paramedics arrived about 15 minutes later, took one look at the limb that was now held together by only skin and muscle tissue, and stuffed my brother in the back of an ambulance. My brother didn't scream once, he passed out with the pain, poor sod.

All I remember from that afternoon was the ride home with a family friend, following the ambulance to the hospital. My brother had to have a total 12 pints of blood transfused during the surgery that reconstructed his elbow (the human body only contains 8 or so pints, so quite a fair bit of blood involved), staples, and about a total of 30 stitches.

The bottom line? £13,000 compensation from the club due to the lack of attention from the coach, a big scar and an arm he can't straighten to tell cool stories with, and a lot of love and attention from worried parents and friends for my little brother.

And for me? Our parents banned us from gymnastics, scuppering my chances of gymnastic stardom on the world-stage.

Cheers bro. You selfish git.

(apologies for the lengthy pop!)
(the_biochem_ninja can resist everything except temptation, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 10:33, 1 reply)

Unbeknown to me
I was coerced into having sex with my girlfriend whilst she was on.
After the deed, I looked down and saw a truly horrific sight.
That's when I knew it was ova.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 10:06, 7 replies)

I fell out of bed...
Not so bad, you may think. Except that I was mid- nightmare and landed with my forehead smacking a glass of water on the floor.

Dazed, I sat up and felt something running down my face. I wiped my face with my hand and turned on the light. I wondered why the light switch was crimson. Something was still pouring down my face.

The now ex-Mrs Dio was giggling (thanks, dear) and not helping in the slightest, so I dripped blood all the way to the bathroom and spent the next half hour with my head over the bath and a cold flannel pressed against my face to stem the flow.

I still have a scar. Not 'Harry Potter' style, but still a reminder of that fatefull day.
(Dionysian Aut viam inveniam aut faciam, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 9:52, Reply)

Hat Tip to www.thedailymash.co.uk - a satirical website

A FIRM which claims its bottled water can help with weight loss has been told to stop filling it with the ebola virus.

The makers of Slimmy Water claim drinkers can shed up to six stone in one week by filling their bodies with 'friendly bacteria'.

But scientists say the special slimming ingredient is nothing more than a particularly viscious strain of the deadly gastro-intestinal bug.

Dr Tom Logan, of Durham University, said: "It is a great way to fit into your favourite party dress, as long as you don't mind violently shitting yourself the entire time you're at the party."


Slimmy Water is bottled in the back streets of Kinshasa amid open sewers and piles of freshly deposited animal faeces.

The one litre bottles are then left in the sun for a month before being shipped to the UK and sold for 99p.

The promotional material for Slimmy Water states: "Drink one bottle a day for a week and watch the pounds literally fall out of you!

"If you've not lost at least half your body weight within seven days, you'll get your money back and a free bottle."

It adds: "Once you start to notice the effects of Slimmy Water - and believe us, you will - it is vitally important that you eat nothing but dry toast and avoid dehydration, so drink lots of water - but for Christ's sake not this stuff!"
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 9:18, 4 replies)

1992....
and I had obtained 30 of some moderately powered "Amsterdam Anadin". They were not the usual potency that I used to get cnuted, and me and my fuck buddy decided to swallow a few at home and just play around a bit.

So, we started on a Sunday morning, just lay around on cushions at her flat, with 24 hours of suitable music stacked up in cd-form, liquids of various types - some for drinking, some for rubbing on body parts, and a quilt for if either of us should feel a chill.

Then we started to eat the pills, whenever the feelings started to subside, popping another. We both knew each other's limits... and a swell 14 hours or so was had by all.

Suddenly... it's Monday morning and I have to go to work. I make my way across town and arrive, a little shaky and with some sort of tunnel vision, at work. I get a coffee. I sit down. I stare blankly at my VDU screen. Normal Monday morning stuff.

About 10am, it's pee time, so I pinball myself down the corridor to the toilets. I stand there and release the flow. But all is not well.

There is a burning sensation down the pipe, and I look down to see a stream of hot claret pouring out of where yellow pee should be coming from. And it hurts. It hurts bad. It's not just a little blood in piss... it's thick, it's packed with red blood cells, and it's not stopping.

At this point, teh fear sets in. Have I blown a kidley through excessive drug use like Tracey Barlow? Have I broke the main muscle during extended sexual activity? Panic rushing round my head, and I have nowhere to turn, no Frank to ask.

I go back to my desk, and sweat. Profusely. Much more than the normal Monday morning sweats. I look and feel like shit. I'm scared, so scared that I don't go to the toilet for the rest of the day - If I don't see anymore pissing blood then I am not pissing blood.

I devise a simple plan. I must flush the kidneys. As soon as I leave work at 5, I rush to one of my city centre pubs, and down three pints of the Cream of Manchester. This forces me to want to break the piss seal. I nervously go to the bogs, and piss a welcome clear piss. Woo hoo! I've cured myself.

I come out of the toilets and feel in my jacket pocket and find a little bag, complete with 5 white pills. I had too. Just had too!


Length: 4 inches and a wrinkle (summer). 4 wrinkles and a inch (winter)
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 8:01, 3 replies)

Boys and their bikes....
.... always result in damage.

A long while back and before we knew `teh fear', a group of friends would spend hours away from home every weekend, riding the hills, quarries and countryside. A favourite spot was the Rock Pools in a hot Aussie summer. An outcrop of hard rock in the side of a hill with a series of pools big enough to swim in.

After an afternoon's dirt biking and bush bashing on our treadlies we hit the Rock Pools for a bit of a splash and a cool down. One of the pools was shallow enough to ride your bike through, at speed. The `speedier' you went, the further you got through the pool to the other side.

Of course, the best way to cool off was to ride through at a decent speed, enough to spay all the kids at the pool's edge. Fun indeed.

On this day, one of the boys comes tearing down the hill like a daredevil at a never-before-seen pace, screaming at the rush and just before hitting the water pops the front wheel up to ride through the water on the back wheel.

This has got to be the closest anyone has come to walking on water, only on a bike. He aquaplanes across the top of the water on the back wheel for what must have been a good number of metres before doing a backflip and landing in the middle of the shallow pool, square on his back.

Dragging his bike from the water, one of the other boys notices a small smear of blood seeping through the daredevil's white tee shirt and calls out that he may have cut himself. Pulling off his shirt to proudly show his battle scar, he does indeed have a small 1/2" long gash about half way up his back and about half way off to the left.

On being told this, the daredevil asks "where" as he lifts his left arm, looks under and around his back and with his other hand pulls at his side to see better 'around the corner'. At this stretching of his skin, the small slit of a cut immediately splits open like the sudden opening a tent zipper.

The.full.length.of.his.back.

The blood didn't come quickly. At first. But when it came....it was endless.

That day, a small group of eleven year old boys met `teh fear'.... and suddenly felt older.

Closest I ever came to that scene again, was at the recent birth of my own son..... And the doctor didn't even offer a few extra stitches!

(Length?.....from head to tail, I tell you..!)
(Sir Jester, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 3:46, 2 replies)

The Blood Donor
A friend's brother slipped on some ice at his school and fell through a plate glass window, breaking off huge heavy shards that rained down on him, including one that went through his ribs and grazed his heart. He nearly bled to death in the ambulance.

As it happened there was a clinic at the student union shortly thereafter so out of a newfound sense of nobility and civic duty I went to donate for the first time. I stood in line for the finger prick where they test your blood type. The guy at the front of the line was straight out of casting for Heavy Metal Parking lot- thick mullet, luxuriant 'stache, Iron Maiden concert T. He looked hard, damn hard.

They poked his finger and he stood aside. The nurses turned their attention to stabbing my fingertip with a razor-sharp implement, and therefore missed the heavy metal dude taking a knee and saying (to himself? to all and sundry?) "I'm goin' down, man" Which he did, his head making a nice crunchy bounce noise on the parquet floor.

They made him rest on a stretcher. I answered the questionnaire (No I have not had major surgery or anal sex with a man since 1976) and gave a juicy warm pint of O + before heading to the pub where I could now drink at a discount thanks to my reduced blood volume.

The brother recovered. The mullet was shamed. I was liquored. All for the best really.
(TommyShanks, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 3:12, 1 reply)

When I was 12
and messing around in school with a couple of friends, one of them was pushed and fell backwards over a ledge which sent him through a large glass window. It was one of those incidents that just happened so quickly and I was really shocked to see him get up afterwards with blood all over his face from the trip. I saw him and panicked and had to run out of the building to get some air.
Someone saw me out there and said that I looked really pale and I was really shaking too. I was quite surprised because I didn't think that blood bothered me at all and I always had myself down as the sort of person who would help out in those situations as opposed to running off. I also used to watch plenty of gorey films without having a problem. Maybe it was because this was very, very real?

Fast-forward eight years to my birthday celebrations in a night-club where a fight had broken out between one of my friends and another guy. Once again, something completely sudden and unexpected resulting in a lot of blood (mainly from my friends burst blood vessel round his nose). This time though, I was obviously worried about him but I probably had the coolest head out of everyone there, jumping in to seperate them and trying to take some control over the situation even though I was covered in the red stuff more than anyone else. I was completely fine though, it didn't make me feel queasy or make me panic so why had I reacted so badly in the past?
Not quite sure whether I'm looking into it too much but just found it weird, that's all...
(WillyNilly SillyBilly, Tue 12 Aug 2008, 1:42, Reply)

1066 and all that...
In my first year at uni I lived with a really lovely bloke from the Newcastle area called Dave. Dave would quite often have his friends from back home over and we would indulge in a few beers and illicits and head out to the uni bar.

On one occasion, a particular friend named Lee had had perhaps one too many beers and a few illicits too many and went home early not feeling too chipper. About an hour later my slightly inebrated brain figured out that he may not have been able to get in the door as we had the keys. As it was not too far away I decided to head home and make sure he was ok (the promise of a top-up of illicits had nothing to do with it, this was an entirely magnanimous mission).

On reaching the end of my street I heard a house alarm going off. Nothing unusual in this, I thought. This is Middlesbrough after all. Getting closer to the house I realised it was coming from my own dwelling. Beginning to panic I tried the handle. Locked. Fumbling with my keys slightly I got the door open and quickly punched in the alarm code, 1066. The alarm stopped. I happened to look at my fingers and saw they were all red. I then realised that the scene in front of me would not have been out of place at the Battle of Hastings.

There were streaks of blood all over the alarm, on the light switch, all the way up the walls and the bannister leading upstairs. Experiencing a strange sensation of simultaneously sobering up and being gripped by drug paranoia I headed upstairs. The trail of blood led to the bathroom, in which I found Lee slumped by the loo groaning and draped in reddening toilet roll, like a menstrual Andrex puppy.

It turns out that, unable to open the front door, he had remembered my other housemate saying we would leave the back door unlocked (for no other reason than noone could be bothered to lock it). Now, this was one of these terraced houses that you access by a back alley and through the gate into the yard of each individual house, surrounded by high wall embedded with broken glass and festooned with barbed wire. Imagine a cross between Corrie and a Wilfred Owen poem and you're nearly there. On finding the gate locked, Lee and put one foot one the handle and hauled himself onto to the wall, promptly gashing himself open on the glass. He then rolled right over the top into a heap in the yard, bringing the barbed wire down on top of him. Lee had got in the back door, promptly setting off the alarm. After a few failed attempts to turn it off he had headed upstairs to clean himself up, which was where I found him.

Luckily, beyond some nasty gashes and bruises where he'd fallen, no serious damage had been done.
( Boss Keloid Got your mother's maiden name tattooed on my arm, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 23:00, 7 replies)

Not so much about the blood...
...well it was the blood that started it anyway. I was just a little 'un, maybe ten years old or something like that, and Hallowe'en was just round the corner. My mum had carved a turnip lantern for me (none of your American pumpkin nonsense back then) and left the room to get some candles. I decided that the lantern needed a hole in the top to let the heat out so I grabbed the forbidden knife and started slicing. Thank god for bones is all I can say, if we didn't have em to get in the way of knives and suchlike I'd be writing this with four fingers...

Anyway blood spewed all over the shop, more than I'd ever seen and I, in utter shock, made a beeline for the bathroom. I could feel a blood-induced spew building up in me so I lurched towards the toilet, just a second too late. The chunder exited my body with such force that half of it hit the wall and left a perfect outline of the toilet bowl, lid and cistern on the wallpaper. It was a work of art.

Almost as class as the look on my mum's face when she followed the screams and the red trails on the carpet to find her precious eldest son in a veritable slaughterhouse of a bathroom...
(pumpkinbug, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 22:57, Reply)

Red bath
When I was a small child I was taking a bath, splashing around, and I spied my mom's pink razor on the edge of the tub. I wanted to be an adult and shave my legs too! I knew just how to do it from watching my mom. I pressed the blade against my leg as hard as I could and raked it across my flesh. The tub water quickly turned red but I didn't even feel it due to the warm water, so I was convinced that something red had just fallen into the tub. I'll never forget the look of horror on her face when she came running in to my yells of, "Mom, come quick, there's something in the bath!" to discover a very bloodied, grinning child.

My own childhood antics have so far been the most effective form of birth control.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 22:43, 4 replies)

Dave's knee
I'd just left uni and was back mooching around my home town, and had met a pretty young girl who's knickers I would've quite liked to get into.

It transpired that she knew one of my college buddies who was still up there, so floating the idea of going up to visit him seemed an ideal opportunity for instigating some naughty action.

She asked if she could bring a friend of hers up. Why not, I think, the more the merrier. Now, I discovered that her (female) friend had the unfortunate nickname "Dave", and for good reason - she was quite the munter. And a slapper to boot.

Anyway, we get up there, we start drinking, Dave starts slapping it about a bit, and then for some reason does a crazy lawn-dive in the garden in the darkness. Then the screams ensue. Real head-vibrating screams. She's gashed her knee on a beer bottle top, and there's blood pissing everywhere.

Being a gent, myself and her lovely young lady pal take her to hospital, and spend the next few hours sobering up and getting early hangovers.

Eventually they stitch her up, then I order a taxi, who stitches me up (metaphorically), and (hopefully) it's back for more boozing and an attempt at a leg-over for me.

However, when we get back, my college buddy is now sozzled and horny, grabs the lovely young lady, and drags her off into his room, where he attempts to penetrate her using the latex gloves she's lifted from A&E as ersatz condoms.

So now it's just Dave and me on the sofa, so I did the right thing - fed her enough booze to knock her out, and I went and slept on the floor in the room next door, cold and lonely.

Bah.
(JohabMorelli is spenging merrily away, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 22:34, 1 reply)

The bunk bed
I had a bunk bed once and, being the oldest sister, I had the top bunk. This was my private hideaway where I would spend many happy hours reading and writing in my angst-ridden journals, but the bunk bed was not always a good thing. Eventually, you will fall off. The night that my body chose to roll off the bed, sending me toppling onto the floor (I awoke mid-air, a strange sensation), was the night that we had parked three bicycles underneath the bed because vandals had been cruising the neighborhood ripping off bikes. When I fell, of course, the skin was ripped off my back but there was surprisingly little blood! It knocked the wind out of me and frightened me quite a bit but the injury was by far the easiest part of the whole thing. Since we came from a poor household, my mother assumed that people would think I was badly abused, so during the last two months of school, the hottest school days of the year, I was forced to wear big, heavy sweatshirts in order to cover up the wound, which was a mass of bruises and cuts and welts.
(BrainSurgerysFun, Mon 11 Aug 2008, 21:44, Reply)