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This is a question Blood

Like a scene from The Exorcist, I once spewed a stomach-full of blood all over a charming nurse as I came round after a major dental operation. Tell us your tales of red, red horror.

(, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 14:39)
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Blood aplenty in threesome-related incident!*

The present Mrs Pooflake is what is known as a ‘paradoxical’ person.

Fascinated by, and highly respectful of all medical practice, whilst being incredibly knowledgeable of all sorts of diagnosis and surgical procedures, I’m sure she could give your average quack a run for their money.

To her immense credit, she also has an unquenchable desire to help heal the sick and damaged…

Or at least watch someone else do it anyway.

If there is ever a TV show called something like ’Miracle Surgery’, ‘Fucked-Up Facelifts’, or ‘Whoops Mrs Miggins, there pops ya kidney!’ she’ll have her nose pressed up against the telly screen like she’d been shot out of a nail gun.

Nothing wrong with that I know, but here’s the paradox.

She really, reeeeally, can’t stand the sight of blood. On quite an epic scale. At the merest hint of a whiff of a droplet of the old red gloop, she proceeds to violently spray cuboid carrot chunks around the room with the finesse of an epileptic bullfrog on acid, before fainting and hitting the deck in the style of a 112 year old Parkinson’s sufferer trying to balance a hippo on their head whilst performing ‘Lord Of The Dance’.

Even whilst watching these programmes she’s continually back-swallowing her own barf so she looks like she’s doing a Bob Monkhouse impression, yet she still endures it due to her fascination.

Anyway, that’s enough back story – here’s what happened.

A few years before I met her, when she was the ‘Future Mrs Pooflake’ (FMP) and long before she chose to consequently forsake all genres of domestic and housework-related activity for religious purposes**, she was merrily doing the dishes*** one day…

So she’s scrubbing and rub-a-dub-dubbing away when her soapy hand slips as she is holding a knife, and it slices into her finger a bit. Naturally, she looks down to check…

Oh dear.

‘BLLLEEEEUUUURRGGGGHH!’ she hastily proclaimed as she attempted to get all ‘Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen’ on her parent’s kitchen and redecorate it in a subtle shade of bile yellow.

Then…‘WHOOMPH’, down she goes into a pathetic heap in a way that you would about half a second after telling Mike Tyson that he ‘likes it up the chod-bin’

As she lay there motionless, her pinkie finger continues to trickle claret ooze in a semi-dramatic fashion across the floor.

On hearing a bit of a commotion, her mum went into the kitchen to investigate.

Here’s where we find out that FMP’s condition runs in her family. Big time. Future Mum-in law discovers FMP spark out on the floor and rushes over to assist, whereby amidst the discarded crockery and vomit splat-a-thon she spots the little puddle of blood…

Oh dear again.

‘BLLLEEEEUUUURRGGGGHH!’ quoth the Mum-In-law, adding the second coat to the already dripping walls. She then proceeds to join her daughter’s 'conked out' state and collapses like a veritable sack of spuds…after all the spuds have been taken out of the sack and replaced by flipping great lumps of lead.

She doesn’t fall straight down though, of course. Oh no, that would be too easy…on her rapid and up-close visit to our old friend ‘the ground’, she twonks her bonce on the kitchen work surface on the way and splits her forehead wide open before flopping on top of a still bleeding, twitching and relentlessly chundering FMP.

By now, there was a warm little burbling brook of blood developing on the kitchen floor…as yes, you guessed it…

With a crushingly predictable inevitability, in walks Granny for a visit…Granny, who in her own ‘Hyacinth Bucket’ way, is also accursed with the same affliction as the other two. This becomes apparent when Granny suddenly decides that ‘Conscious mode’ is an over-rated concept and lunges head first like a saggy, semi-transparent, bone-filled bin-liner into the ever growing pile of blood, flesh and oodles of purest vom.

But before she does this however, she does manage to say:

‘Oh me dearies, what’s going o.....?.... BLLLEEEEUUUURRGGGGHH!’ before chucking up copious amounts of prune juice, apple sauce, masticated Werther’s Originals (and whatever else old people eat) into the fray and all over her ‘out-for-the-count’ daughter and grand-daughter.

So there they were…3 generations of blood****, puke and unconsciousness...all lightly coating a small kitchen extension in Copsewood…laying there like a monument to squeamishness, giddy heads and weak stomachs.

In fact it was quite sometime later that my father-in-law walked in, assessed the situation, heroically muttered something like ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake’, stepped over the gibbering, wobbly gaggle of multi-stained devastation…and got a beer out of the fridge.

* Well, there were three people involved. I had to get your attention somehow

**i.e. – she can’t be arsed, and preaches to the Gods of ‘Loose Women’ every day.

***When I say ‘doing’, I mean ‘washing’…you know…not ‘doing’ – that would just be plain old wrong.

****Yes, I know that Granny didn’t actually bleed but she did get quite covered in it from the other two...

(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 11:33, 9 replies)
Statement on the post…(Not funny warning)

For what it’s worth, This post is dedicated to Chris. Get well soon Kid.

Big thanks to the B3tans who have been bloody (see what I did there?) kind in offering their support in the wake of my nephew’s tragic accident.

You know who you are. I love you guys.

As for Chris, he is as ‘on the mend’ as can be expected but his positivity and humour is phenomenally humbling. I am very proud of him.

Anyhoo, I’ve been told by a few folk to pull my finger out of my arse, stop moping / hating the world and post something…so here you go. It’s about 99% true too, with a few touches of ‘artistic licence’ - If you can call it that. Hope you like it

And for Mrs P’s granny…R.I.P. You were dead fucking posh, but alright.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 11:34, closed)
First off
Glad to hear your nephew is on the mend :)

Secondly thanks for a hilarious story! *clicks a plenty*
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 12:07, closed)
I'm really pleased to hear that your nephew is managing to maintain his sense of humour under the circumstances, that kind of thing is as inspirational as it is humbling.

Secondly, I wish you'd posted that earlier in the week. Why? Because it'd be guaranteed to win "Best of". Every sentence was lavishly written and a delight to read.

Thanks for rescuing a very uncomfortable QOTW subject for me.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 12:23, closed)
Thanks for sharing :)
That has made my insides hurt a little bit from laughing too much!!!

Lets just pray that any mini PooFlakes that come along share your side of this gene!
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 12:45, closed)
Glad to hear your nephews outlook is positive : )
So your wife is awful around blood, what's she like around shit, bearing in mind your propensity to defecate at will.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 13:10, closed)
Cheers all…

Nothing takes your mind of your troubles like writing embarrassing stories about the missus with bits of blood and puke thrown in.

@Andaba: Incredibly I have managed to sire 2 mini-Pooflakes. Amazingly they’re intelligent, good looking and funny – they get ALL that from the wife’s side. In fact they only have 2 traits that prevent me from tanking it straight to the DNA checking booth…

They both have loud, shouty voices and could shit for Britain if it was an Olympic event...

@BGB – I think this answers your question – The present Mrs P is now totally de-sensitised to the ever presence of poo splats. It’s a bit embarrassing though to realise that I have the worst bowel control in the family when 2 members of it are under 8 years old…
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 14:20, closed)
that was rumping brilliant!
i especially enjoyed the 'bone-filled bin-liner' part
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 15:20, closed)
Fucking hilarious
Much clickage
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 16:35, closed)
Another masterpiece
Excellent mon brave. As I know the Poos (as we affectionately call them) I can vouch for the intelligence and shoutiness of the mini-poos.

You sir, are a wordsmith of the highest order.

Shame you're such a bell-end.
(, Wed 13 Aug 2008, 18:01, closed)

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