Is anyone else noticing a theme with these stories?
It seems to me that vehicles have a vendetta against the human race. So far just under the radar enough to avoid detection but this QOTW has revealed their evil plotting!

Stay away from the (head)lights people.
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:54, Reply)

My Dad and the Harley
My Uncle has always been a bike freak - the bigger and more grebo looking the better.

Anyway, after a few years in South America he decided, with my Aunt, to drive a few thousand miles north to North America and buy up motorcycles.

He bought a couple of Indians etc... and a couple of Harley.

One Harley in particular (1972 model of something or other) he took a liking to and decided to keep this as his main runaround.

Sadly, there was a problem with the starter motor. My Uncle, being a maths teacher knows a bit about this sort of thing, but my dad is more practical, so he takes the bike down to my dad's house to be looked at.

My dad take a look, pulls the starter motor out of the way to look at the electrics and as he has his hand halfway inside the engine, the case of the motor touched the frame and completed the circuit somehow (like I say, it needed som looking at).

His middle finger was still in the bike as the starter motor starts up and drags it through the mill, so to speak.

It crushed the top part of his finger and broke the bone there in 17 places. It carried on until it ripped his finger in two right the way back to the knuckle.

My dad is a proper bleeder. If he cuts himself shaving it bleeds torrents.

Blood was, as usual, everywhere.

Do you know what he did?

Wrapped it up in bog roll and went to the pub.

It was only after several pints that my uncle and I managed to convince him to go to the hospital; otherwise he had no intention of going.

After several months of plastic surgery and prodding, he finally had feeling in that finger again.

The surgeon said he was lucky!
(dchurch bah, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:42, Reply)

And they say wrestling is fake...
Sorry, but I feel I have to share this - www.wrestlinggonewrong.com/video/kurt_ladder_head_bleed.html
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:41, Reply)

My Dad and my austin 7
Let me explain that the Austin 7 is just a chassis and needs stripping down, first things first remove petrol tank as this was flapping about, second trying to remove a rotten petrol tank bracket, one side undoes, other side has come away from the chassis but is still bolted on, undoing 70 year old bots is not fun especially when the heads are round
Righty not enough room for a hacksaw, big hammer and pointy chisel it is!
DAD POWER! (he's a big bloke)
WHAM WHAM WHAM - OW - "dad you alright" "yeah" WHAM WHAM *chingle chingle* dropping the chisel due to being all slippy and covered in blood "you want to put some electrical tape on that your bleeding all over the place" "suppose i better"
WHAM WHAM WHAM - nut comes off - yay!
What my dad had actually done was missed the chisel, hit the bit between the thumb and finger, split the skin with the impact of the hammer on one side of his hand and on the other the force of the impact hit the U shaped part of the chassis and had cut into his skin, if there wasn't so much blood all over the place i'm sure you could have seen straight though his hand!
*makes a cup of tea and wipes blood off everything*
couple minutes later (sitting out in the sun drinking tea on the doorstep) one of dads mates turns up "hey look what i did" removing the tape to show the battle scars, blood starts to drip out the hole at the bottom of his hand *puts pressure on it* then blood starts coming out the top of his hand - ha ha *applies more electrical tape*
and bit later all nicely healed but has no feeling in that part of his hand anymore! (only sensitive to hot and cold) oops nerve damage!
as for length, its only 6 foot long! (the chassis that is)
( SkUG >_O i got a couple of stitches in my eyeball... ow, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:36, Reply)

Not sure how much blood...
...but a friend of mine, years back, had bought himself a little red Ford Fiesta.

He had wide wheels the lot - looked like a proper nob, but in the 80's I think he thought it looked cool.

So, one day he decides that the speakers in the door are nowhere near loud enough - he needs to destroy his eardrums instead of actually being able to hear the music.

He takes to the door - he gets the old speakers out easily, but of course, the new ones are far bigger than the hole that's left.

Out comes Mr. Stanley. He starts to cut a new hole in the door.

Upwards.

You know where this is going. The blade easily cut straight through the door and with the pressure he had on it carried on going until it went into his eye.

Cue claret everywhere.

They said if he had been 1mm to the left and 1mm deeper he would have lost he sight.

I think he enjoyed looking like the Terminator for several weeks though.
(dchurch bah, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:36, Reply)

Self Car Repair
I bought a Ford Capri about 5 years ago from someone as it was Rotting on their Drive. I got it home and set about the next few weeks getting bits and peices for an MOT but managed to loose the keys so naturally I just buy a new set of locks for the car.

With a bit of savy I get the car open and replace the Door and Boot locks no problem but the steering lock is not designed to come off at all not even with special screw attachments. So since this was two peices of metal que small hacksaw which i used as much as I could in the samll space then started with a large hammer and metalwork chisel and they get bigger and biger and the whole I make gets bigger.

By this time im upsidown feet in the air over the gap inbetween the drivers and passengers seat shoulders on the floor and head in weird position in drivers foot well, The steering lock is pretty loose and one or 2 more firm smacks with have it free but have to adjust the hammer and chisel into a newly awkward position. One big hit and OUCH that hurt not to bad but i had caught my thumb with the hammer of so I thought. Hit again and then notice that there is lots of red stuff pouring out managed to slice through the side of my thumb through the knuckle :S Felt rather faint and a bit off and doing what all late teen boys would wondered back into the house and shouted "Mum, Look what I did".....
(tfi049113 Was found alive on, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:20, Reply)

Tonsils out time
as anyone whom has them out (fnar fnar) knows, its best when a child.

my wife had them done when she was 27, privately as it took 3 weeks not 3 years to get done. Goes to Nuffield, same surgeon as NHS hospital, and all goes well.

5 days after the op, she goes home and we decide to be civilised and have a few mates round for dinner at wifes parents home where she is recovering.

About 4 hours before they arrive, wifey decides to dye her hair a shade of redpepper to highlight her dark hair. Whilst leant over with hair mid dye she could see drops forming in the water. "thats funny, my hair is wrapped.....urghhle splurgh gurgle aaahhhh" then i hear a "uugghhh-elp me- huuueurghh" and i ran upstairs to find red everywhere and near panic sets in. Her tonsils had not sealed up again and had ruptured in here throat spewing blood. I felt the pangs of losing a wife and grabbed her, stuck her in the Clio and dashed the 4 miles to petersfield A&E. i drove at way over the speed limit, screeching tyres until i parked on the double yellows at the door of A&E figuring enough of an emergency to cover it. Ran in - and asked for immediate help the staff pointed at the 3 man queue of people and said "you'll have to get in a queue, 45 minute wait you know. harrumph" "Spewing blood, possible internal haemorhaging and about to drown in it YOU KNOW please see to it as an EMERGENCY" - at that point the staff actually sat up and did their job, Triage nurse came in 30 seconds and managed to get her into a room and helped stop the bleeding with swabs etc.

Bloody scary. We got sent home 4 hours later, after the lovely nurses washed the dye out of her hair - it had gone ginger by then in patches.

We had a late dinner, and around 1am we got a phone call from A&E to say that they should not have sent her home - had they ruptured whilst asleep she really would have started to drown in her own blood. They sent an ambulance to pick her up and take her to hospital at around 2am. 3 days of observation before they were happy.

Fuggin lucky i can understand gurgling for help. And can get a 1.2 Clio over 30mph with 2 people in it.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:19, 2 replies)

Ex Sanguine Nation
Three tales of blood loss and nastiness.

1.As a tyke I had serious nosebleed trouble. Once, in the (new) car, I started dripping, and was told to hold my head back so as not to befoul the interior, resulting in substantial amounts of blood running into my stomach. How much? We found out about three hours later, right after we got home, but before I could open the car door. A bit of a warning gurgle was all the advance notice I got before hurling a good two pints of runny black pudding all over the (cream colored leather and fabric) interior of the car.

Next day they sent me to the doc to get my nose cauterized with a hot metal rod like they shoved up king whatisname's bum. I made a private vow to never take up with a sodomite who is unpopular with my people.

2. After knee surgery it looked like they had sewn a muskmelon into my leg. I complained, as I assumed this was why it hurt like the proverbial mother. Standard post-operative swelling, nothing to worry about, stop being such a pussy - all the usual take-it-like-a-man bullroar.

In comes Mr. Dr. in his sparkly white coat and his hand made Italian leather shoes (with pants in between, IIRC) to look at my newly demeniscusated knee. He has me stand and, while squatting in front of me and closely examining the four-inch incision, asks me to "put a little weight on it."

I do. There is a funny, wiggly feeling in the muscles surrounding the knee, and then an immediate release of the pain and pressure as the stitches break and Mr. Dr. in his sparkly white coat and his hand made Italian leather shoes (with pants in between) gets sprayed from head to toe with freshly liberated knee-blood.

As I was only 13 at the time, and I thought he was a bit of a humongous twat, I found it humorous. Even more so when he slipped and fell on his expensive ass. The shrieking writhing pain and emergency sew-up without anaesthetic was almost worth it.

3. Went to a football match, friend stepped on a broken bottle and the glass lanced right through his foot and out the top of his shoe. He had me pull it out, and I got hit by a spray of blood that drenched my shirt and pants. After getting him to E.R. I managed to get a ride home, where I was met, three hours late and covered in sticky half-dried gore, by my parents. My dad looked me over and calmly asked, "Did you win?"

I would apologise for length, but as long as I walk on tippy-toes it doesn't drag the ground.
(meatybrain, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:07, Reply)

Penis woes
While tidying the bush down below with a pair of scissors, I snipped a bit of my cock. For 2 nights I was scared of having a hard on incase it split open from the pressure.
( RiverBlues Hello, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 13:57, 3 replies)

Has chthonic bled to death?
New question?

Last?
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 13:47, 18 replies)

I feel stoopid
At work this morning I was sending a fax and the machine is located on top of a filing cabinet.

Waiting for the happy little "I've Sent!" beep I sneeze..

*AAACCHHOOOOOOO*THUMP*ARRGH*

Yes I had sneezed so hard my head had been thrown forward smacking my nose on the corner of the cabinet.

Blood aplenty, although it did mean I got a cuppa tea and a "good" biscuit to make me feel better!

People keep asking if I am ok now the bleeding has stopped. I feel very stupid.
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 12:56, 1 reply)

I spewed bile-blood pretty much all over my brother
I'd just had a double whammy tonsils and adenoids removal, still slightly drowsy though I'd been out of surgery for a while by this point, also not feeling at my best. Strangely.

Someone thought it would be a great idea, just the ticket! to bring my brother to visit his little sister whilst her defences were less than 100% and his mischievous gland was not only still intact, but very much working on overtime.

After generally pissing around trying to annoy me, getting the whole ward to come to my room with crash carts because he wouldn't listen to me that the socket on the wall wasn't for his headphones (emergency call, should have been given away by the much better fitting plug hanging by a cord off it) and my mum having to sheepishly apologise to the fed up, disgruntled staff team who knew there was no heart attack or similar going on in this room but had to all abandon their post/jobs and turn up anyway because it was policy...he decided to sit down and eat some of the chocolate they'd bought for me. I did mention my little sister defences were currently operating below their usual levels, didn't I? well where usually I would have known better than to show him such a weakness to take advantage of, this day it never occured to me and I mentioned how the smell was making me feel nauseous. I swear I saw the glee light up his nano-seconds before bored eyes and he began wafting his sickly, melting chocolate bar under my nose, jabbing at me mercilessly. Oh. So. Funny.

I tried warning him, but he didn't hear over his laughter, as the nausea became a very real need to hurl I weakly tried to push him away to no avail...and then I was sick, and it was deep red, virtually black. He looked like something out of a slasher movie as he stepped back, too late, horror dawning in his eyes.

"You should have told me you really felt sick!"

I just reached for another of those strange cardboard kidney bowls and continued puking miserably. Horrified myself. No-one had warned me I would be literally puking my guts out!

They went home soon after that, my brother strangely subdued. I wasn't even allowed icecream the next day, just dry toast and cornflakes!

I was promised icecream :(
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 12:12, Reply)

tampon
I was once walking with a girlfriend whose tampon was perilously saturated. She sneezed and it shot out into her gusset.

Made ME laugh.
(frankspencer, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 12:00, 1 reply)

A few years back before I joined the real world
Aside from being a ski instructor in Canada I was also a mountain medic and frequently worked weekends. This was because:
1. Most of the “work” involved sitting in a deck chair chatting shite with your mates
2. the base was at the top of the hill so you could check out the fanny on the lifts
3. attempting to look good in Oakleys and working on my tan was quite important in those days; and
4. it paid more if you worked weekends.

Obviously there was the odd drama. Broken wrists and arms, busted knees, altitude sickness, having an attack of the Yanks (being American and too bastard fat to get up if you fall over and feigning an injury) and the everyday cuts, sprains, bumps and bruises that you associate with a sport that involves progressing rapidly down a mountain on a slick surface at inadvisable velocity.

And generally it was thoroughly enjoyable. I only had one person die on me and there’s fuck all you can do about a massive heart attack so it didn’t bother me so much. What did bother me happened one fateful afternoon in March and really did scare the poo out of me.

Picture this; lovely sunny day, cold and crisp, great snow and only an hour left on my shift. Get a call at the hut that someone has had a “whoopsie” on one of the more difficult runs down into resort. This gets our attention as a “whoopsie” is a technical term for a massive fucking accident. So off we ski, complete with all our paraphernalia nicely packed into the bloodwagon (basically a stretcher on skis). Arrive at a set of crossed skis to see a young woman waving frantically at us from the side of the piste. Her jacket has a fair bit of claret on it so we assume someone has tried to nut the mountain again as head wounds, however small, are always bleeders and they’re relatively common on the slopes.

We were wrong. She grabs us and starts yammering away in Spanish. Not particularly helpful as me and my partner in crime Alain no speaka da lingo comprende? Still we walk over to the side of the piste and are confronted with a guy flat on his back with a ski pole straight through his thigh.

Bugger me. How the hell did he manage that?!?

Getting over our initial shock at seeing something we never thought we’d see we move in to check the poor fella out. Aside from the obvious he seems ok and there isn’t too much blood on the ground. But. He is very, very pale though. And I mean grey. Anyone that’s seen terminally ill people or a corpse knows what I mean. This probably means internal bleeding and exploratory surgery really isn’t an option on the side of a snow covered mountain so we have to get him off the hill sharpish. It’ll be quicker to get him down to the heliport in town in the bloodwagon than to call the chopper up direct so we work on stabilising the aluminium pole in his leg before attempting to put him in the wagon. For this we need our little Spanish girly. So Alain holds the guy still, I gesture at the girly to hold the pole as still as she can as I get some gauze, tape and bandaging ready to try and keep the pole still. I nod to Alain, who lies pretty much over the guys chest, and then to the girl who takes a firm grasp on the pole.

And then promptly pulls the thing straight out in a clean swift movement. I have a millisecond to stare at her before I am hit full in the face with a jet of nice warm arterial blood. Oh Fuck. For the uninitiated most wounds don’t tend to spurt all over the place like they do in the movies. The exception is a cut or break in a major artery. Put a hole in one of those and the blood will hit the ceiling in most rooms, and probably the far wall as well. Severing the femoral artery that runs through your leg is one of the quickest ways to bleed out. If nothing is done you will be dead in 5 minutes. You are literally a little closer to death every time your heart beats and forces more blood out of the wound. And as it does so it tries to maintain blood pressure by, you’ve guessed it boys and girls, beating faster.

So, the pressure was well and truly on, as it were. With a hysterical Spanish girl screaming at us Alain and I spin the guy around so that his head is down the slope, lift the knackered leg up and get a tourniquet onto the top of his thigh in record time. Tourniquets are not ideal but this at least stops the geysers of blood going in our faces as we rip the guys trouser leg open to the groin and Alain starts slapping pressure bandages on to the really quite small holes that are still farting out a worrying amount of blood.

Here is where nature gave us an extremely welcome helping hand. It can get really rather cold in the mountains, especially in eastern Canada. And by cold I mean about -25 degrees on that day. Not many exposed liquids remain unfrozen for long in those temperatures and that includes blood. The bandages helped contain the bleeding and as blood seeped through it started to help its unfortunate owner as well by freezing into the bandage. We added cold water to this to speed things up and I made the scramble call to the medevac guys in town as Alain got a line in the guys arm to get some plasma into him. The chopper was with us in less than ten minutes and we bundled the guy into a stretcher and piled snow up around his leg to keep the freeze effect going. Then off they soared into the wild blue yonder.

The guy made it. He’d ripped the artery rather than severed it and they patched him up good and proper.

Alain and I tidied up our kit, all the time looking at the huge sprays of blood over the slope and then skied into town. We arrived at the bottom and the first thing that happened was a toddler saw us and started bawling her eyes out. Then a lifty came sprinting over and asked us if we were ok. Non-plussed I looked at Alain who gestured to the hut next to us and in the window I could see why people were a tad concerned. Our reflections showed us to be covered in blood. And by that I mean it looked like we’d been for a bath in the stuff. And then all of a sudden I could smell it and taste it and feel it on my skin and in my hair. A shower couldn’t come quick enough. Followed by a full set of blood tests (my own this time) to make sure our wounded protagonist hadn’t given me something nasty. Then lots and lots of beers to toast another day on the hill.

Not a funny this one but a worthy contender I hope.

Length? About 120cm long, covered in claret with a handle at one end and a spike at the other.
(DarkHarlequin putting babies on spikes since, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 11:54, 10 replies)

bitey is awesome
never tried this myself but...

www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAaD-nZSMIE

short & sweet, you know you secretly like it like that...
(GMRage stood a little straighter, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 9:51, Reply)

Suicide isn't painless - it's messy...
Working on the railway - we get to see some truely horrible sights, usually involving large amounts of blood... for example (look away now if you don't like gore)...

The woman who decided to end it all by jumping infront of an express train, as it ran through a small but busy station in the morning rush hour. Weird thing was, before I saw the aftermath - I was convinced that people hit by cars/trains.etc sort of bounced off and get mangled - not explode on impact and shower the platform (and a large number of commuters) with minced body parts and lots of blood, as this woman did. 100mph makes a lot of mess. Ambulance tech told me the commuters on the platform looked like extras from the opening scene of Saving Private Ryan.

Another fatality, but we only found her the morning after. She'd stuck her neck over the rail as the last train came through. Lots of blood, and a very grey body.

And lastly, a colleague of mine ran into a flock of sheep with an empty train. Killed or seriously maimed 26 of the things. The smell was unbelievable - especially when the train was sent back to the depot after sitting in the sun for 2 hours while they cleared the line.

Sometime my job isn't nice at all.
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 8:47, Reply)

BEETROOT !
Not sure if it is just me, surely there will be others who have had the misfortune as a child to drink beetroot juice ?

Having not done so as an Adult, I am not entirely sure the effect is the same as when you are a rather confused five year old - having drunk a good half pint of the stuff - to then proceed to the little boys room and witness what can only be described as poos and wees from the very depths of hell - seriously -a torrent of bright red/purple urine followed by a purple poo doesn't really sit well with child and mother alike....

I still have nightmares to this day..

Length ? About three inches and in Gillian Mckeiths mind, very healthy (apart from the colour, obviously)
(zit, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 7:37, 6 replies)

Whiskey gone wrong
The people who know me have started enforcing a whiskey ban for me after I spent a couple weeks in Massachusetts.

A few years ago, my somewhat boyperson and I went to Boston for a music festival. Our hotel room was right next door to a shopping plaza with a liquor store and I made it a goal to spend about 12 hours consuming nothing but whiskey. We went to dinner that night with some locals and one of the guys kept buying me shots.

The next thing I know I'm regaining consciousness while everyone is scrambling around me because I'm puking all over myself and the floor. I get to the bathroom and I guess I ran out of vomit because blood starts coming out of my mouth. At that point I become hysterical and start crying.

The locals want to call an ambulance, but the boyperson says I'll be okay and I just need to sleep it off. So one of the guys lends me a t-shirt and gives me a washcloth to hold to my mouth just in case and then he drives us back to our hotel. En route I have another blood purge and it gets all over my shirt and face. At that point I start crying again.

Our hotel locks the front doors after midnight, so we had to buzz the security guard to let us in. I can only imagine what he thought when he got there and saw a hysterical girl, covered in blood being supported by two men. Boyperson tells him not to even ask and just let us get to our room.

They get me up to our room and realize the door keys have been demagnetized. Rather than escort me back to the lobby, they leave me laying outside the door. I can only imagine that someone heard me crying and opened their door to see someone laying in the hall, bloody and crying. Horrifying.

The next day I had to surrender the rest of my alcohol and was made to promise I would never drink whiskey again.

(The music festival was Brainwaves, hosted by brainwashed.com for the ten year anniversary. The local who let us hang out at his house was the founder of the website - Jon Whitney. I spent the festival hanging out with the Dresden Dolls, Edward Ka-Spell, irr.(app).ex, Steven Stapleton and getting to view the first showing of the Threshold House Choir video and see the music video for Coil's Love's Secret Domain which was rumored not to exist and I repay the man by spewing rice, chicken and blood all over his home)
( dr. tetrazzini has a ruptured appendix from telemarketing calls, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 2:58, Reply)

I won't pea roast it
but for anyone who cares to remember


Period Drama







That's all.
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 2:23, Reply)

Scab! Scab!
"Never pick a scab until it's ready" is something that parents say to kids from time to time. Here's why . . .

I was but a wee camel and I was playing hide and seek. I was hiding behind a car, feeling somewhat bored, and my wandering attention was drawn to the scab on my hand.

It was a biggish scab and fairly new, and I started picking it absent mindedly. Before long I had picked it off completely leaving a rather unsightly red welt on my hand. It didn't hurt too much so I turned my attention back to the seeker, who had strayed rather close to my position.

It was at this point that I felt a strange wet sensation on my hand. Looking down I was somewhat confounded to discover that my previously milky-white hand was covered in blood, horror movie (or, if you're so inclined, Lady Macbeth) style.

I looked at it in a rather astounded way for several seconds, before crying and running home.

So, in conclusion: don't pick scabs before they're ready - they bleed like a motherfuck.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 23:30, Reply)

Jack and the Beanstalk
A friend of mine used to be part of the stage crew at the local theatre. One winter they were doing Jack and the Beanstalk. My buddy was doing something near the bottom of the beanstalk with Jack halfway up it, when Jack lost his footing and landed square on my mate's head, bouncing it at some speed off the stage floor.

Cue lots of claret and vomiting and generally not being coherent or being able to stand.

Apparently the show's producer (no doubt shitting himself with the fear of a lawsuit - which happened anyway) promptly flung him in the back of his plush 7-series BMW to whisk him to hospital rather than wait for an ambulance, where plenty more claret and vomit managed to work its way into the upholstery.

I think they gave him some magic beans to help with the pain once he got there though.
(JohabMorelli is spenging merrily away, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 23:11, 1 reply)

Blood Tests
I have very bad veins for taking blood, so I'm told. Every blood test I have begins with the nurse/phlebotomist saying 'ooh haven't you got terrible veins!' or something equally reassuring.
Bad as they are, they are actually there and I know that because I must have had at least a pint extracted this year for blood tests alone. One particular nurse, however, managed to miss my vein entirely and ended up sticking the needle into a *nerve*. My arm started to spasm quite violently and I lost all sensation in my hand. The worst thing was she didn't even appear to notice and only took the needle out after I'd sworn at her a few times. My arm tingled for about a week after that. Not nice.
In the end, she called in the GP to take my blood instead and he had to go for a vein in the *back of my hand* because she'd managed to make a mess of both arms. I had quite a cool bruise after all that.
I have more blood-test related stories but perhaps I shall save them for another time
( Peapod Has returned to the fold on, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 22:37, Reply)

How I conquered my fear of needles
Aged 9, I needed to have a blood test done. I was at home at the time and a doctor came to see me. When I realised I was going to have a needle stuck in my arm, my fear kicked in. I had no option but to run and hide. I ran until I had reached a dead end in the form of my parent's bedroom. I immediately barricaded myself. This involved me shoving a chair against the door and piling other pieces of furniture on top of the chair. I was determined not to be penetrated by a needle.

The doctor soon gave up and left. I sensed victory and after dismantling my makeshift barricade (I just dismantled it, I didn't tidy it up), I came out. My mum then found me a distraction to keep my mind off things, and about an hour later, the doctor returned, with an assistant. I was taken by surprise and had no option but to endure a pointy needle and have red stuff taken out of me.

Fast-forward 11 years. I was at university. The previous year, I had overcome my milk phobia and so thought that it was about time I got rid of my silly childhood phobia of needles. There was a blood-giving session on campus and I thought I'd face off my fear determination-to-phobia.

So off I went to donate my blood. At first, I had to answer a few questions and have a small sample taken with a prick in my finger. So far so good. Next, I got to lie down and have a bloodsucker (I don't know what they're called) stuck in my arm. This actually hurt less than the prick to the finger and in fact, didn't even notice any real pain. It was in. All I needed to do was lie back and think of England. As I lay down the nurse was continuously asking me if I was all right. The makeshift bed I was lying on made me feel very relaxed and comfy. I usually have a mellow air to me so combining that with my comfyness; it looked like I was feeling a bit faint. My feeling of relaxation also distracted my mind from the thought that I might just be feeling this way because I was loosing my life-giving red-stuff, so I kept saying "Yes" when the nurse asked me without giving the question much thought.

Eventually, after I had emitted ¾ pint (IIRC) of blood, they took the bloodsucker out and sealed up my newest orifice with cotton wool attached to a plaster. The blood in my vein looked like it had flooded the bit opposite the elbow ("elbow-pit"?) so that it looked like the vein that's usually there had expanded into a vein-coloured lake that took up my entire elbow-pit. I was herded off to the tea and biscuits area and then left to my own devices.

For the next few days, I felt a bit faint. Everything I did required me to summon up more effort to achieve focus. Things were obviously going slowly. To return to normal, I turned myself into an eating machine, and got myself some iron tablets. There was no response from the bloodbank people. After two days, I felt more like I had done something that nobody had acknowledged. I was starting to wonder if girls go through this every time they have their period (I later learned that they lose only 1/10th that amount over a few days). I was also wondering if I should ask a girl if I could use one of her used tampons as a sort of teabag. By now, my flooded elbow-pit had turned into a normal bruise. According to the Bluffers' Guide to University, you're supposed to tell your university tutor if you've given blood as it's supposed to be a sign that you're a public spirited chap and is an excuse for being a bit slow. Alas, I never did tell him and just heroically soldiered on being slow and unfocused.

For some reason, I never got a certificate or anything like that. My only souvenir was the cotton wool that plugged my needle-hole. I did get coffee and a biscuit but was told I should have chosen tea instead because according to legend, the tea you get when you've just given blood is like no other tea on Earth.

I only gave blood once. I managed to overcome the fear of needles, but not getting any feedback or a certificate did put me off. And besides, now that I've visited Mongolia, I've probably earned a lifetime ban from the bloodbank.

Apologies for length, but you know what it's like when you've lost a lot of blood.
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 21:52, Reply)

Not that serious, but relevant
as I only did it a few hours ago.

Have been replacing drain pump in dishwasher and managed to gash my hand on razor sharp piece of aluminium, 1/4" deep cut halfway between the base of my thumb and my wrist that's been steadily pumping out nice thick red blood since, fucking painful. And have to use my computer left handed whilst holding the other arm up in the air, gay.

Can't be fucked to go hospital to wait around for 6 hours to get it superglued, so I'm either gonna wait for it to stop bleeding and superglue it myself tomorrow morning, or die of blood loss in my sleep. I'll post back tomorrow (or not)
(Son of Sam-i-am We're all as mad as hatters here, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 21:25, Reply)

Blood
Yeah once I self harmed but cutting myself with a razor and it bled a bit
.....yeah, that's all
(TMAce needs to enter another image challenge sometime, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 21:01, Reply)

Stupid Stupid Brothers
Not completely blood related but it seemed close enough at the time.

My younger brother has never known when to stop and so (aged 16) whilst my parents and youngest siblings were away in London he decides a party is in order. He and his mates are some of the most pretentious idiots I know, so instead of your usual cider/vodka teenage party they procede to get absolutely mullered on port, red wine, malt whiskey and real ale. Brothers tipple of choice apparently being port washed down with whiskey followed by a hefty amount of cigars. I was woken up at 4.30am by his hysterical girlfriend screaming down the 'phone that he'd killed himself and was lying prone in a pool of blood.
After the initial fear and shouting at the dopey mare to call 999 not me who was 100 miles away a more sober member of the party was found

...and we discovered the twat had simply passed out in his own port coloured vomit.

Bloody kids.
(anotherdoublewhiskey, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 19:48, Reply)

Self Harm
As Ive mentioned before, I work as a nurse in Mental Health. Ive come across my share of self harmers, from cigarette burns on the arms to razors on the arms, thighs, face, neck. Blood, mess, distress. The amount of tendon/nerve damage that goes on is appaling. Ive known people drink bleach (tastes "gritty" apparently), cover their arms with Mr Muscle oven cleaner and cover with cling film for a good deep wound. Ive seen diabetics whose BM was regularly so high the machine couldnt read it (this can (and did) lead to multiple organ damage).

Still, you gotta laugh aint ya.
(kitescreech still here, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 19:25, 2 replies)