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This is a question Body Horror

Mictoboy writes, "I once picked a spot on my cheek only for a half-inch long ingrown hair to coil out covered in pus."

How has your own body made you recoil in disgust?

(, Thu 11 Jul 2013, 14:02)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Kippers Vindaloo
After a round of watching Red Dwarf while drunk, a mate and I decided to try all the joke recipes mentioned. The Triple-Decker Fried Egg Sandwich with Chilli Sauce and Chutney was wonderful, the Gazpacho Soup was indeed better warmed up, and Beer flavoured Milkshake was pretty nasty. But the true revelation was Kippers Vindaloo.

Kippers Vindaloo. Food of the Gods. The combination of pungent smoked fish and hot curry was divine, and has become a near-mythical perfect food. In fact I quite fancy one now.


The next day, sweet jesus on a stick! The farts! They smelled like something diseased had crawled up your arse and died. The air was turning greenish and felt greasy; it made your eyes water and plants wilt. Have you ever tried to get away from your own arse?
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 11:40, 9 replies)
Not my body,
just a body.

A couple of weeks back I got home late, and there, on my step, was the body of a seagull chick. I hate the screeching fucks, so I didn't go all girly and "aw" and "aah" at this tragic loss of life, a soul cut short by the evil whims of nature. No, I bent down to take a closer look.
It was a damp night, and the tiny fluffy body was, grotesquely, covered in slugs. There was no way I was picking up a sluggy corpse. Disposal could wait until morning.
Morning came, as mornings do, and the sun was shining. It was a hot day. I got out of bed just as my phone started ringing. Dad was on his way to the tip, and he asked if I had anything he could dispose of. I had some cardboard to get rid of, so I gathered it up and ran out to meet him.
Through the conservatory.
Over the patio.
Down the steps.
And onto a sweaty rancid juvenile avian corpse.
It's bowels exploded out of its arse and decorated the steps with delicate pinky-brown tubes, and my next step landed in them. I can honestly say that sitting on a curb dry-heaving with a footful of entrails as strangers walk past is a humbling experience. I really don't think there can be many things as fucking disgusting as having to wash day-old guts from between your toes with a hosepipe.
Even writing this has had me gagging like an inexperienced choirboy. Fucks sake.
(, Tue 16 Jul 2013, 15:57, 6 replies)
Once, I had a pimple in the area between my buttcheeks and my cods... kinda in the 'taint' territory, but along the natural crease. It was just a zit. At first. Or so I thought.

Over a week or so, it grew.

Man, did it grow! It grew larger, more painful and more infected. It became half the size of a man's fist.

It was tender, large and painful - and squishy! It was somewhere in the "that's not going to heal itself too easily" end of the medical spectrum.

I visited a doctor. Such a nice and unassuming man. A really laid back bloke. An NZ-born Chinese.

"So, how can I help you today?"

"I have a skin infection..."

"Let's take a look."

Cue the Doc asking me to drop trou and have a butchers. Trou down, bent over and this nice chap looking at what was decidedly nasty.

I asked him if he would lance it.

"No way!" he cried, "Here, have some antibiotics!" Frankly I don't blame him. That thing looked like it would go off like Lister's head. I nicknamed it "The Thing", much to a dear friend's chagrin.

A couple of days of waddling like a haystack later, it burst, in the wee hours of the morning.

I was staying over at my (then) girlfriend's place and delighting in sleeping on those 2000-count Egyptian cotton sheets.

I woke up. In a puddle.

I thought that maybe the previous evening's sinking over-rated and over-priced wine (French cat piss brought by her guests for the most part) and her exotic pseudo-Moroccan cooking had done its most embarrassing worst.

I sat up, looked down and just about lost the previous evening's repast. It looked as if someone had miscarried. No, I didn't lose my guts.

The 'Thing' had burst.

There was bright red blood, dark blood-like fluid and foul gluey pus and all manner of foul smelling watery material on the bed, and stuck to my arse and sac. The puddle was a good foot or so of foul smelling, eye watering biological mess. I don't recall smelling anything quite so revolting in my entire life - worse even than the stench of a rotting animal corpse. It was beyond repugnant.

And her? She woke up and hit the frickin' roof. The biological nature of it was nothing much to her, or the fact that I had a two inch wide crater in my body that was still seeping and oozing and had a two inch flap of skin waving in the breeze. No. Fuck no. The damage to the sheets was her most significant interest.

I felt relieved. Greatly.

I smiled. Showered. Dressed for work, putting a plaster on my arse as I did, and left.

And sent two dozen roses, not that they would relieve that stench!

At least I didn't have to wash the sheets.
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 14:23, 8 replies)
Not so long back,
I was having a wank and just as I tipped my filthy concrete, it came out quite slow and seemed extra gelatinous and reminded me somewhat of expanding foam when you release the trigger and some still oozes out.
But this just kept coming out, I noticed it had become fibrous before I realised I actually had a small length of twine down my hog's eye.
What the shuddering fuck? Back when I was a young teen when I would try anything to see if it got me off, did I shove some string down there for reasons unknown?

I began to pull on the string, there seemed to be more than I thought, a couple of centimetres turned into six inches which turned into a couple of feet before to my incredible, almost debilitating incredulity the string was attached to something red. I began pulling. It was what appeared to be a red hankie, but wait, it was knotted to a green hankie. I kept pulling; blue, yellow, red, orange. It went on. After a good dozen cock-snot trimmed handkerchiefs, and my hands covered in a web like lattice of man-silk, the coloured cloths were again bound something more stringlike.

This was confusing more than anything. My only conclusion was that I had a split personality and the Hyde to my Jekyll seemed to be a horrific and disturbing children's entertainer. Whoever was booking me to perform at somebody's 9th birthday party was clearly not right in the head.

I kept pulling, but there was some resistance. I pulled harder. Something was attached to the other end and was refusing to budge. I yanked really hard and I felt something enter the bottom of my urethra. I pulled hard and with imagery reminiscent of that scene in Total Recall where he removes that tracking device from his nose, out popped my testicles.

I collapsed to the floor in a pool of sweat. I couldn't get them back in, so my only recourse was make a small desk toy out of it. It's certainly a talking point in the office I can tell you.
(, Wed 17 Jul 2013, 14:48, 16 replies)
Not specifically gross-out but worth telling
Some time before Mrs CopAFeel was married to yours truly, we were getting ready to go out. I was dressing, and she had just got out of the shower and was standing in the bathroom in all of her feminine glory.

Some years ago, she had a cyst at the very top of her bum crack, and had to have it surgically removed. Not sure why, but the surgeon didn't do such a neat job suturing it, and as a result, she has a 2-3cm (just over an inch for you Merkins) slightly bulgy scar right at the top of her crack.

Anyway, back to the story. As I admired her naked beauty, I told her, lovingly of course, that if we ever had children, when they ask what that scar is, I'm going to take great pleasure in telling them that's where she had her tail removed. I fell about laughing so much I couldn't breathe properly. She was slightly less amused.

We now have two young 'uns, and I fully intend to live up to my promise.
(, Sat 13 Jul 2013, 1:44, 5 replies)
The scrotum in my mouth
It was a typical thursday morning and I had a hangover. I felt a little sickly, so I went to the bathroom to puke it all out. A classic manoeuvre.

Unfortunately, the retching outlasted the contents of my stomach, and stringy bile began to spatter atop the undigested Guinness and chips in the toilet bowl. Then blood appeared. Then more blood. Blood upon blood upon blood.

Terror gripped me. I managed to stop retching long enough to look down my throat in the mirror. At first, all seemed normal, albeit a little blood-flecked. Then I saw my uvula (the little dangly thing at the back of your mouth).

It was horribly swollen and hanging very low. And it was resting right on that sick-inducing sweet-spot. No wonder I'd been retching so much. It was like having a finger permanently shoved down my throat. Panic set in and I couldn't breathe and I had my first (and only) full-blown anxiety attack.

A few hours later, when I'd calmed down, I went to hospital. The doctor couldn't explain it. "These things sometimes happen," he remarked, like a true professional. "Gargle some aspirin or something," he suggested helpfully.

My uvula is now hideously disfigured. Where once there was a smooth teardrop of flesh, there's now something that looks alarmingly like a ballsack, with one side hanging lower than the other. And it still dangles precariously close to that sick-inducing sweet-spot.

TL;DR: I puked so hard I grew a ballsack in my mouth.
(, Mon 15 Jul 2013, 17:31, 5 replies)
I had a small lump in my neck,
It wasn't painful, or anything. Just a lump. Then one morning, it was gone, and all I found was a little lump of poo in my bed.
I can only assume I had a neck poo.
I was not happy.
(, Sun 14 Jul 2013, 2:43, 2 replies)
Ear Soup
When I was a bit younger, my general scumminess and long, lank hair meant I sometimes generated significant spots. One summer, one of these just behind my ear developed into a full blown cyst.

Because it was behind my ear, it was not totally obvious but as the weeks went on I eventually went to the doctor who prescribed some anti-biotics or something.

A week or so later, while on holiday with friends in a caravan in Cornwall, my ear started to get warm. Then hot, then itchy, then stingy. I took to rubbing it then scratching it and eventually with enough force to just break the surface.

What errupted from that small fissure had the colour and temperature of about half a tin of hot Campbells condensed tomato soup. Before you add the water. After the first erruption, I naturally prodded and squeezed for a good 1/2 hour, each time milking another few drops of the stuff. What amazed me was that each drop could change colour, first pure white, then blood red and even flecks of green as if each drop had been living its own existence rather than swimming in the big sack of puss.

Finally a couple of hard white bits came out and it was gone, never to return and quickly forgotten save for a small scar and a strange stain on a caravan sofa somewhere in Cornwall.
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 12:48, Reply)
My wife thought it would be a good idea.
So I end up in the doctors asking him how I go about getting a minor operation performed. I told him my wife and I had been talking and we both agreed that I should get castrated. For a long time I'd had problems down there and she'd been talking to her friends and read a few books on it and we had come to the conclusion that the best thing to be done was that I should be castrated.

Well I wasn't really ready for the third degree my doctor gave me but eventually after I managed to pursuade him that both me and my wife wanted it and if I didn't have the operation then we'd most likely have to get divorced and this really wasn't fair on the children, he agreed.

I could tell he was reluctant but finally he agreed to refer me to the hospital and presently a card arrived telling me that my operation was scheduled for later that week.

So I turn up at the hospital and again I get this grilling by the surgeon. It was almost like he'd never done the procedure before but at this point I was insistant that both my wife and I had agreed that this was what needed to be done to save our marriage and so they gave me a gown to change into got me on a trolley and wheeled me in to surgery.

About an hour later I was coming round on the ward and I noticed a guy sat on the bed next to me. He was dressed and looked like he was waiting to go. Oh good I thought, soon I'll be out of here too so I asked him what operation he'd had and how long he'd had to wait before he was discharged. "Oh I've only been in this morning, just a quick in and out job" he said. "Oh really what did you have done" I asked. "I've just been circumcised" he says. "Circumcised? - that's the word I was looking for!!" I replied.
(, Sun 14 Jul 2013, 10:39, 3 replies)
Not me. And not even human so technically not fitting the brief.
However I think you may agree upon reading that I can shoe-horn this one.

My missus had a cat. Called Blush. I ran him over and we had to have him put down. But that's another story.

Now as any feline owner may know - when a cat gets an abscess (frequently from fighting and whatnot) it generally ends up as a warm lump on the cat's body which can often erupt in a volcano of foul-smelling, bloody pus. The cat also tends to find these areas particularly painful and will usually scratch and bite if these sites are inspected, let alone squeezed or manipulated.

One evening my wife and I were sitting on our bed with Blush - this was pre-bairn.
My missus feels a strange lump on Blush's noggin. She finds a scabby bit right on top and unconsciously picks at it. It pops off. With a little force. Which is a slight surprise to her. She tugs at it with a little more force and suddenly a small white worm of something squirms out of the wound.
We gently prised apart the skin on his head between his ears - what was a "worm" turned into a solid lump that heads skywards in a slow but inexorable way.
So we gave it a gentle squeeze. A solid core the shape of the wound rose up and slowly curled over and was supplemented by some of the foulest smelling greeny, blood ooze that you could imagine.
All the while Blush sat there quietly purring.
I would imagine that having a swelling on your skull would hurt. I know from experience that squeezing a swelling right next your scalp fucking twinges. A LOT!
Yet he sat there apparently unfazed as we rather disgustedly mopped up this abscess that had clearly been there for at least a few days.
(, Sat 13 Jul 2013, 8:15, 9 replies)
The giving birth/kicked in the balls argument has been settled:
It's being kicked in the balls.

Evidence: you will not find any man who, having been kicked in the balls, will say a couple of years later, "Let's do that again!"
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 14:48, 13 replies)
I suffer from Uveitis, as well as ingrowing eyelashes, one needs the hospital, the other a steady hand, and if its not the lash, then its the hospital.
The last time I was suffering from a sore red eye, a quick hunt with good tweezers removed nothing, So off to the hospital where uveitis was not the culprit, but a little lash that grew out, curve right along the lid, and back onto the eyeball. This was quickly removed and a further week of agony ensued, back to the hospital, where an eyelash, INSIDE the lower lid was found,growing straight onto the eye!
My consultant said it was the second one she'd ever seen in her career
(, Tue 16 Jul 2013, 18:27, 4 replies)
Nose hairs and garden sprinklers
I was mid-twenties before I grew noticeable nose hair. Even now twenty years later, I only have one or two, and even then they only seem to grow every year or two, one at a time.

But the first time I noticed one, I was fascinated. It was huge, much darker than my normal blonde locks, and had the look of something from the Maplin's catalogue rather than anything connected to and growing from something living. I resolved to pull it out for a better look.

However, it was slightly slimy, and I couldn't get a grip of it with my fingertips, so I went and got a pair of pliers. In the bathroom mirror I got a good grip and gave a light tug... and nearly passed out. It was rooted far, far deeper into my head than I had realised. In fact, the sensation was such that it appeared to have been actually rooted in the BACK of my head and had grown clean through my brain to reach the front. It certainly looked long enough, and it was wicked thick, far far thicker than any other hair I'd ever seen. My eyes watered for several minutes and the itching sensation on the back of my scalp persisted for about an hour.

It was great.

None of my subsequent hairs have been anywhere near as disgusting or satisfying.


In my teens I was getting on *very* well with a young lady, and it had reached that bit where you lean in for the first bit of lip-on-lip action... her eyes closed in anticipation, my mouth opened... and from somewhere in the back of my throat sprayed a jet of saliva like a small water pistol, all across her face. (See "The Meaning of Liff" entry for "Skoonspruit").

I walked home alone.
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 11:13, 2 replies)
Porn saved my frenulum
Like most boys of a certain age I was obsessed with my penis. I loved that little thing and the hours of fun it gave me. However, after exploring every inch of it several thousand times I became more and more concerned with one particular aspect - that little tract of skin that ran from the corner of my japs eye to the foreskin. The frenulum. It didn't look or feel right, having such a snappable piece of flesh located on such a place.

My mind raced. I convinced myself that far from being a regular part of my anatomy it was proof my cock was broken. Other men probably had thoroughly normal penis', with no stretchy bits of skin joining point A to point B. I was convinced I was a freak and in my darker moments I did try to think up painless ways I could unshackle my helmet. On happier days I attempted to come up with ways I could just find out once and for all if I really was a disgusting mess. I didn't want to go to the doctors in case he informed me that I did in fact have an abnormal member and I was going to require major surgery to correct it, meaning I had to face my fear of hospitals. I couldn't discuss this issue with my chums in the schoolyard, who would undoubtedly rib me mercilessly about my spackacock. I didn't have a male role model in my life, my Dad fulfilling the role of absent father to a tee. I was just going to have to live with an ugly johnson.

Then we got teh interwebz!

After a few weeks my carnal urges got the better of me and one day, when mother was at the shops, I went online and found some pornography. After about a half hour of viewing ladies with their legs spread wide I gradually moved onto harder stuff. Images where men (sometimes more than one) joined the party. It was at that point, as Amie from Miami gazed into the camera while taking on three blokes at the same time, I saw something that filled me with joy - a cock just like mine. In fact, they all looked very similar. I was normal! I'd have danced a jig of delight if I wasn't nursing a raging lob on and desperate to finish the job I'd started, so I just had a celebratory wank instead.
(, Thu 18 Jul 2013, 10:55, 6 replies)
Much like Mictoboy's headline story, i had a run in with an ingrowing facial hair.
I hadnt shaved for a few weeks. three, maybe four. i am blessed with the hairy gene, so this means i have a lustrous manley beard should i so desire.

i had an itch on the right hand side of my chin and as i was idley rubbing the patch, i realised there was a little lump, about an inch or so long running along the line of my jaw.

I managed to get my fingers around it while probing its extremities when without warning, it emptied itself into my hand. lots of pus. it didnt smell or even hurt, but i went to the toilet and squeezed the remnants out.

it was, truth be told, rather satisfying.

that night when i got home, i had a squeeze and saw what i thought was the tip of a hair within the pore. a little more probing with some nail scissors revealed it to be not the tip, but a point halfway along. i teased the loop and with a pair of victornox tweasers, extracted a one inch length of mutant stubble, going on the break like a small hairy tommy voeckler.

top tip - using razors with more than one blade helps ingrowing hairs slip under the skin. i now use a DE safty razor with Feather blades and i have no spots at all.
(, Tue 16 Jul 2013, 14:18, 2 replies)
this morning
when i worked out that the funky smell in my living room was coming from the rug, which had absorbed and fermented the utter stench of my feet. no matter how often i wash them, deodorise them or what have you, the smell never goes away. also, the second toe on each foot is at least an inch longer than the big toe.
my feet are fucking disgusting.

oh, i threw the rug away.
(, Mon 15 Jul 2013, 14:08, 22 replies)
The birth of Lak Junior
Not a horror for me as much as a horror for Mr. LakAttack. Or really any guy who has watched their kid be born.

Well, if you're one of those people that actually are allowed in the room for those sorts of things. I was at one of those neato new style hospitals where they were really careful about who they let in the room, but anybody you did allow seemed to instantly become part of the helper crew. That would just be poor Mr. LakAttack, who in lieu of stirrups, was my "right leg holder/right foot brace for when I pushed" And got a very very front row show for the spectacle. Doc took a single look at that kid's head size and said "nope!!" and grabbed some huge surgical snips and made him a proper exit. So he got to watch my special parts get sliced up, then a purple slimy crying monster emerged. I think he looked at the wrong time and also saw the placenta. Poor guy. The best part about having the kid is you don't have to see it happen. I did have the courage to look at my stitches one time though the day after, but it was also after I had stopped putting ice on it for a few hours. Yeah. Don't get a mirror and have a look see. That'd be my advice.
(, Mon 15 Jul 2013, 5:48, 12 replies)
once, many years ago
I had a serious nosebleed in my sleep.
when I woke up, and was cleaning myself up in the bathroom,
I picked my nose, and pulled out a slimy snot-covered semi-congealed stalactite of blood that was about six inches long that I felt sliding out of my head, I dangled it off my finger for a moment of horror before flicking it into the toilet bowl for everyone else to enjoy
(, Sun 14 Jul 2013, 8:58, Reply)
Mate of mine worked on the rigs.
They used to constantly get covered in oily slurry as they drilled.
Seeing as this was a mixture of compressed dead animal, mud and oil it usually stank.

My friend came upon a novel idea to try to get rid of the smell.
He would go outside during a storm, lash himself to some railing and let nature "scrub" him clean.

He was doing this one day when his boss (a loud, brash Jamaican fellow) braved the elements and came out to see what the fuck was going on. He found my friend, naked lashed to some railings facing the full fury of a Southern Ocean squall.
"What __ fuck___ you___doing, mon?" the boss man tried to shout over the tempest.
"___get rid of___smell___fucking oil!" my mate responded.
Eventually the boss got him inside and clothed. He then told my friend not to be so silly as - "You'll never be gettin' rid o' the reek of oil in dis' gust."
(, Sun 14 Jul 2013, 1:31, 2 replies)
Not my story but a relative works as an optician and my father was an optometrist.
Diseases of the eye, especially those caused by the misuse of contact lenses create spectacular images to behold and wonder. Fungal keratitis is a must see.

What is perhaps more amusing is that some contact lens wearers really bring fungal and bacterial keratitis on by absolute flagrant disregard of the rules of hygiene or sense. One of the reasons for developing daily use contact lenses was to end the cycle of poor cleaning and sterilisation that causes catastrophic damage to the eye.

An example of this happened to my relative and her branch of opticians when they agreed to see a customer of a different high street chain on an emergency basis pro bono. Long story so, woman very short sighted - almost Mr Magoo levels - wearing contact lenses. What sort of lenses, daily disposable. How long had she had them in, 7 weeks. Practitioner has to remove lenses to thoroughly check the damage. Problem,

1) the cornea has started to absorb the contact lens.
2) He can observe Acanthamoeba
3) Bacterial keratitis
4) further fungal infections

He recommends that she seeks immediate attention at the hospital A&E and tells her that they will probably transfer her the same day to Bradford Eye Hospital. Well, she does not want to do that and is in fact quite annoyed that during the exam he had to bin the lenses and how on earth was she going to get home and they were all utter bastards and cunts.

Well, at least they won't be blind cunts, because when your untreated Acanthamoeba eats your eye out you my dear will be.

The government in the UK you will be pleased to hear are considering further slackening the laws on contact lens prescriptions and after care. So, with people being tight, vain and stupid we can expect an increase in self-inflicted blindness to go with the laser eye surgery disasters. Obviously, you don't have to wear contact lenses to get these problems but they certainly accelerate when you do not follow the rules.

lots of images to google if you so desire and you tube videos.
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 15:14, 6 replies)
I put my dick in a bowl of creme anglaise once
I was fuckin dis custard
(, Thu 11 Jul 2013, 17:13, 2 replies)
I was terribly bored and was wondering how to create a bit of cheer for myself
so I decided to have a nice mid-afternoon wanking session. This was back in the day when there was no free net porn and one had to make do with your own imagination. I had been edging for about an hour and decided to up the stimulus but with what?

I went to micturate and there next to the taps was the very thing to up the masturbation ante, Macleans Original Fresh Mint toothpaste. Applying the product liberally to my willy I decided to use the lubricant properties to finish the job off quickly and because the mint was causing a bit of heat. I had my eyes closed and I promptly reached orgasm. All was good. In fact, not a bad wank at all.

No, all was not so good. On staring down at my wilting penis and hand they were both covered in blood, white toothpaste turning the mess a lurid pink. It had not occurred to me that the menthol would cause the blood vessels to erupt in this manner but they did. It was quite a shock to see my penis in such a sorry state and I was disgusted.

I say disgusted. . .
(, Thu 11 Jul 2013, 14:32, 8 replies)
It feels so good, when the pain starts to fade.
Only, not this time. After inadvertently kicking a table leg head on with my toes, the pain came immediately and intensely. But it was only the next day when I discovered, my toe was swollen to a comical size. It took more than a few days for this to wear off, but eventually my foot started looking human again, when suddenly, my toenail just fell off clean. No rupture or scarp to be seen, just a nailless toe.

As the nail grew back, it was quite painful, seeing how the sharp edge of the nail just scraped over my tender flesh. But even as the nail reached its original length, the irritation didn't stop. Because, for some reason, the edge of the nail didn't grow back straight, but had taken a jagged shape instead. So every millimetre my nail grew was like a knife cutting open my toe again.

Naturally, the entire area had become inflamed beyond recovery, but my doctor just kept on insisting I let it grow out. I think it was only more than a year later that he finally agreed to do the operation, and take out part of the root of the nail. I was surprised at the sheer amount of blackish yellow liquid that can ooze out of a human toe, before the blood even starts coming. Try to make a bad pun on a pusseous toe while a sweaty doctor is pulling on some place deep within your dead leg with tongs and brute force. And in the operation, he left some loose chunk of nail inside the wound, so I had to be cut open a month later again.

It still hurts sometimes when I try to play football, even though it's been 10+ years, but at least I can walk normally now.
(, Tue 16 Jul 2013, 13:15, Reply)
I gained a lot of weight after devoting my every waking moment to winning arguments on the internet.

(, Tue 16 Jul 2013, 11:33, 8 replies)
The sensation of an achilles tendon rupture is quite rough

Combine the sensation of having someone smack the back of your calf with a baseball bat with the feeling of pulling a chicken leg from the carcase and add the sound of a cartoon catapult being fired.

with a large dose of rolling around on the floor trying to work out what the fuck just happened and 4 months of not being able to walk.
(, Sun 14 Jul 2013, 18:26, 2 replies)
Every morning, I forget just long enough to glance in the mirror.

(, Sat 13 Jul 2013, 13:19, Reply)
Dead Eye
I had a partial retinal detachment in my left eye a few years back. They decided to reattach it by peeling back the eyelids, make the eye even more elongate than near-sighted normal by wrapping it with a silicone band (thus bringing the retina back into contact with the eyeball), and then use liquid nitrogen to freeze the eye from the outside-in to make the reattachment. Lots of manhandling of the eye socket, and related bruising.

I went home with an eye patch, which was good, not because it was sensitive, or anything, but because the bruised and battered eye looked dead. No personality showed forth for nearly a week. Even more striking in appearance than having a stroke! I could frighten small children, large adults, and cognizant animals alike by whipping off the patch, moaning, and running towards them.
(, Sat 13 Jul 2013, 0:38, Reply)
watching an ER surgeon
operate on your chest... whilst your still awake.

Collapsed lung - inserting a chest drain.

He kept saying look away... but the cubicle next to me was a man with multiple stab wounds, and was in the process of being re-sussed.. so my eyes kept drifting back to where his gloves were.
(, Fri 12 Jul 2013, 14:17, 10 replies)
At work one day I forgot to turn my drill off at the wall before turning the chuck key. It was stiff so I gripped it firmly, and when I accidentally touched the trigger the chuck key spun round, taking my middle finger with it.
To my horror, the finger developed a couple of extra joints and now resembled a strand of spaghetti wrapped round a fork.

I screamed swear-words in such a high pitch that my mate in the next room thought she heard me sneezing and shouted 'Bless you!'

Spaghetti-finger. Brr.
(, Thu 11 Jul 2013, 23:39, 10 replies)
Sorry for the rapist
but I'll tell this one again because I think its relevant innit.
A friend of mine had some problem with his a-hole, and even though he had applied cream, he was in a lot of discomfort, so he begged his wife to take a look.
She peered over; 'I can't see anything'.
'Please', he said, 'its agony. You must be able to see something wrong?'
So she leant right in, and POW!, he broke wind, splattering her face with arse cream. She later reported that as he farted she could see right into the pink flesh of his guts.
(, Thu 11 Jul 2013, 22:25, 3 replies)

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