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This is a question Darwin Awards

Bluffboy says: My mate cheated death and burned his eyebrows off looking down the barrel of a potato gun. Tell us about your brushes with the Grim Reaper through stupidity.

(, Thu 12 Feb 2009, 20:01)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I've been run over more times than I care to remember
and not suffered any real lasting damage, other than the ability to predict rain within ten minutes via my left knee.

I've fallen out of trees, off bridges, down hills, crashed my sledge into trees and almost decapitated myself in the process, again with no lasting damage.

My most Darwinesque moment was the time when my older brother invited me onto the rails of the London underground where he'd just started working as an engineer.

They switch off the lines at night so they're safe to work on, but there's always things to watch out for that could cause you some serious harm...whether its the rats that congregate around your lunchbox and seemingly sneer at you when you shout at them to fuck off away from your dairylea lunchables, the sparks that are coming from random wires near the guy who's working in an area that's signposted highly flammable; NO smoking or just staying away from the bloke with the lopsided grin who wants to show you his collection of animal parts he's found.

All was going well until around 2:30am when I got a little bored and went wandering round Holborn tunnels to find something to do. One of my brothers workmates called me over to hold some wires he was working on, instructing me to keep them separated. He continued soldering, then went off to get some other equipment. They were pretty heavy and I grew tired of holding them, so started carefully lying them down on the floor as they were just long enough to reach. I got the first two down, but the third one slipped and I woke up to find ten guys peering at me from across the tunnel where I'd landed.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 18:38, 6 replies)
To the lovely ladies of b3ta
We interrupt this QOTW to bring you a special Valentine's bulletin.

I'm bored at work. I am completely underwhelmed. I want to leave! Wander lust is taking over my mind, and I feel like I can walk all the way from Brixton to Brussels.

The situation stinks. I'm in love with someone. I'd really like to root her between the boobs. When thinking of her, I unleash buckets of jizz from my creamy ankh-shaped genitals followed by the wee which cleans out my urethra. But because I'm such a big girl's blouse, I chicken out at every opportunity. But really, it stinks! The smell reminds me of my teenage years when I joined a gang who would rebel against society by shitting their pants (they were known as the 'pants cackers'). But secretly, I found it too much, so I would discretely give my self several arse-wipes. It's like I'm living in a bin! As if my nose is pressed next to a seal's bum and I think "This seal end reeks!".

But I have to look at myself and think "Am I a pussy or a vampire?". I really need to man up and badger myself to flirt using the correct grammar.

I'm badly addicted to her. I see her as the empress of my heart (AKA Madam the Fluffy Grandmistress) who can't get in because she forgot her password. Thinking of her gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling. I imagine myself being as happy as a little tulip dancing to a Celidh band. But the reality is very different.

Until then, I'll be crying so much that I'll have to be locked up in the loony bin. For me, there will be a special ward reserved for me - The dire whiner ward.

Apologies? Lengthy.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 17:24, 22 replies)
Paring down a cable for an extension cord, so I put it on a chopping block and set about it with my stanley.

Only the extension cord is plugged in.

Next thing I know, there's no lights or sound and I can't see sweet FA.

Turning the breakers back on to inspect the damage shows me a stanley blade with a section about the size of a 5p vaporised.

The only reason I didn't do the electric boogaloo and shit my pants into the bargain was that the knife had a plastic handle.

In a seperate incident, I also sawed open a shotgun cartridge and set fire to the fuel / powder pellets. I was not expecting an instant six-foot tall column of white-hot death - that, however, is what I got; along with a huge hole in the floor.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 17:13, Reply)
nearly died like an idiot
Gas powered Aga went out, so decided to light it manually.
lit my taper, opened the gas tap, taper went out, chamber filled with gas as i tried to re light my taper, inserted lit taper into the chamber - peering in with my eyes.
face on fire, eye lashes gone, eyes balls burnt, kitchen on fire, neck bruised from concussive blast.
fucking idiot.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 16:43, 1 reply)
Being an Idiot
This was probably my closest scrape with death... certainly my stupidest moment.

I was living in Edinburgh and working in a shitty boring office job. I was quite the drug fiend at the time - smoking hash had seemed alright so I tried ecstasy and acid and mushrooms (but nothing else). So one night I went out clubbing with a visiting friend (who I'll call Pete) and got completely blitzed on ecstasy and sloppy drunk as well.

Next day we were craving a joint for the comedown, but I'd only recently moved to Edinburgh and hadn't made any connections. But fortune seemed to smile on us, as when walking along Princes Street I saw a joint on the ground and quickly snaffled it into my pocket.

Back at my place we reskinned the joint. There was a fine brown powder in the joint - I thought, "Ah well, it's just really fine hash." There was a wet patch at the end of the joint - I thought, "Must have been wet on the street" (it was November after all).

So Pete is away to get the bus back so we walk up the street and partake. Conversation gradually dried up. Then things suddenly went bizarre - as though what I was saying was a screen which was scrumpled up. It hit Pete about the same time, both of us going "Wooaarrgghh!" Everything I saw was pulsating, undulating, rubbery. Apart from the strength of it, there was the surprise, and that unpleasant realisation that it could have been ANYTHING.

We got to the bus-stop somehow, and I sat to await the bus. But when I sat down, it felt as though my mind was falling into me, down into my chest. This completely freaked me out and I split, unable to be around anyone or maintain social niceties.

As I walked home, I felt like a pinhole of cool air rushing through me, while my mind still rampaged and babbled in a freaky way. I realised that I'd smoked a joint of liquid LSD and heroin and had probably nearly blacked out from it. I don't know if it was literally near-death but it was extremely frightening episode.

(Even worse was the fact that I had an acid-fried head for years after. Ever short-circuited a computer and blown some circuits? That happened to me mentally. Took several years to recover from the flashbacks, paranoia, mental fragility etc. Even today I can't drink caffeine or have any kind of mental stimulant. But it serves me right, really).
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 15:08, 6 replies)
the tittle speaks for its self, I bought myself a really nice board (imagine a snowboard with really chunky 4x4 wheels),

Bought the 'proffesionals only' kite from the catalogue and off i went to try and teach myself to kiteboard at the local golfcourse...

So queue me, happy as anything, flying down the first hole with a 20ft kite and some wheels, the marshall hot on my heels in his little buggy.
When it came to learning to jump (the angry punk music i was listening to spurred me on) i decided i would try a simple ollie over a small patch of tall grass. Not being the smarted fella about, i didnt realise what a small jump, a 20ft kite and almost gailforce winds would ultimatly acheive (but angry punk music didnt care, why should i?)
So as i leave the ground i notice im leaving it at quite a stunning rate...so hold on for dear life, trying not to soil myself. thats not the scary bit either...

As i start to decend from the 30ft or so i believe i was in the air, the wind starts pulling me in a rather scary direction...the railway lines that run parralel to the golfcourse. so still about 15ft in the air, i have to let go and land in a rather rough area of trees, stinging nettles etc. as i watch my large and really expensive kite ignite and incinerate on the overhead wires. That is the clostest ive ever been to death.

Still bought another kite though. Im really quite good at kiteboarding now!!! :( cheers darwin!
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 15:08, Reply)
Burkha Bukkake
Now that's livin' dangerously!
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 13:43, 2 replies)
God is a Cunt

In church.

Thirteen years old.

Incredibly bored.

Noticed the lady in the pew in front was wearing a scandalously short and flimsy, almost see-thru summer dress. I could see her underwear through the fabric. Everytime she kneeled to pray, for one brief - I would go as far to say spiritual - instant I caught a flash, just a suggestion, of her pert, pale buttocks and a lacy black thong.

Church was suddenly very exciting.

When it came time for communion I turned and tripped over my mum's handbag, twatting my face on the hard wooden pew. I passed out and nearly swallowed my tongue.

God was obviously not pleased with me.

Vengeful cunt, that God fella...
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 12:26, 3 replies)
I'm surprised i'm not dead by now
When i was six my dad was mowing the lawn, and i decided i wanted to find out what electricity looked like, so i cut the lawnmower cable with a pair of secateurs luckily i was wearing wellies, and gloves and the secateurs had plastic handles.

When i was eight, my friends and i climbed a brilliant tree, one of those where the branches pretty much go round like steps, we had loads of fun then it was time to go home, and my mum came for me, she said for me to come down from the top, i asked whether she wanted me to come down the fast way or the slow way, and she foolishly chose the fast way, so i slid down the tree, and landed on my arse with a thump, i'm surprised i didn't get spinal compression from that.

And finally, aged 17, i'm at a kayak slalom with a boat that i can get into, but it's a tight fit. I come down the course, doing quite well, and there's a chute where there's another current coming across, i go down the chute and get capsized, i try and roll back up, but the current pushes me back down, shit.
I try and get out but i can't, my lungs start asking politely for air so i try and oblige and twist so that my mouth is as close to the surface as possible and try to hand roll so that i can get some air, i succeed, yay!
Now back to the task at hand, getting myself out of this fibreglass deathtrap, i get one leg out, somehow, and have to kick myself free, all the while im getting gasps of air from the hand rolls.
When i finally get out i have the presence of mind to hold onto the kayak that nearly drowned me, and the paddle that failed me, i swim to the bank very red faced, and in a slight state of shock.
The next day, i borrowed one of the group member's playboats and won the Div 4 J18 trophy.

Length? the cable was 20m, the tree was higher than the semi-detatched house, and the slalom kayak was 4m long, as for me? well, size doesn't matter, it's what you do with it that counts.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 12:09, 3 replies)
oh dear.
My clients nearly murdered me.

They wanted me to design some ads to get people to go back to church.

"We call it A Theist Bus Campaign" they said...
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 11:23, Reply)
Career Darwinism
I seem to have pissed off a huge amount of English people because of a football top I wore, and a few comments I made. Oh well, Im sure they'll all have forgiven me by the time Wimbledon rolls around.


A. Murray.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 9:02, Reply)
Not quite Darwin, but fuckin stupid nonetheless...

So Im in the kitchen, mixing something (Angel Delight?) and I get out the electric whisk. I plug it in, put the 2 rotating mixing blades in and wonder what will happen if I pput my fingers in between the blades and turn it on...

The answer is your fingers get pulled in and you call for you wife to help you.

Did a similar thing with the vacuum cleaner the other day; it's a Dyson, so disasembles easily. I had got some string caught round the brush, so decided to fix it. Unplug it, sit down and faff about. I sort it, put it back together and plug it back in to try it. It comes on and makes a noise but I notice it doesnt seem to be sucking stuff up, so I switch off and feel under the front to see if the brush is spinning; no it isnt, so I up end it, give it a wiggle and, WITH MY FINGERS IN THERE, switch it on...

Turns out the brush was spinning after all.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 8:42, 1 reply)
Teenage Bus Pyrotechnics
Way back when, we took the same bus to school everyday, not a bus run by the council, but by a coach company (lived in the countryside - ish)
When I was about 14/15 the company bought two old double deckers and started ferrying us about in those. There was no cctv, and I don't think the bus drivers knew how the mirrors worked, so most of us headed straight to the top deck when we got on.
Now, I'm not sure how it started but all of a sudden, the lads at the back decided to experiment with lynx and lighters. I can remember that at one point, they were spraying deodorant onto the floor of the bus and setting it alight. It did look very cool as it took and the flames were impressive...
The funniest thing was that it actually went on for some time. No one told anyone and the bus driver didn't see for at least a few days...

They did get banned by the coach company shortly after but I don't think it was for the firestarting.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 6:48, Reply)
Ran myself over...
I bought a used VW convertible. I got many more miles out of it than I should have and it was a lot of fun, even if, being the 3-speed automatic version, it was a bit underpowered. However, one issue it had was that when it was still hot from being driven, it wouldn't start. To alleviate this, I added a relay to the solenoid to make sure it was getting as much voltage as possible. This helped but there were still times it wouldn't start. There was quite a complex circuit involved in starting that made it difficult to diagnose so I ended up just adding a wire to the relay. When the car wouldn't start, I'd open the bonnet, touch the wire to the battery, it'd fire right up and I'd be on my way.

So one lunchtime, I've nipped out for a bite to eat. Sated, I jump in the car. No startee. So I jump out, lift the bonnet grab the wire and touch it to the battery. Only the complex circuitry wasn't not starting the car because there was a problem, the complex circuitry was not starting the car because I left it in drive. Before I know it, the car has started and lurched forward, pinning my legs against the car parked in front of it. Being an automatic, it doesn't stall but continues to force the back of my legs to become intimately acquainted with a stranger's car.

Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to grab the plug leads and pull (lord knows what I would have done if it was a diesel). I quickly ascertain that there's no damage to the other car, replace the plug leads, limp back in to my car, put it in neutral and it fires right up.

OK, nowhere near death but I like to tell it.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 2:15, 7 replies)
live wires
A paraphrased conversation that took place while a colleague and I were re-wiring an instrument panel, later at the same steel factory where I barely managed to avoid killing myself on a 100cc motorbike:

him: well, the kid's started sleeping all night, finally, which means I'm getting some sleep.
me: that's great news. OK, here's the last wire, let's see if the fuse WHHOOOOAOAAAOOAAA!!! SHIT! FUCK!
him: What happened? What happened?

It was a 220V live wire, of course, going into a screw terminal, though you aren't supposed to touch it on the way in.

It wasn't the worst shock I had there, though: that honour is reserved for a 200 volt DC jolt that turned me green for a day. AC buzzes you a bit, but DC just kicks you once, hard. No thanks.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 1:27, Reply)
Biker Boy Ballsup
When I was 18, I was an apprentice in a steel factory in South Africa. It was a huge complex, so we had a few 100cc bikes we used to get from one side to the other. It was private property, so there were no rules: no requirement for me to have a license. No helmets, either - we had hard hats. Yeah, right.

One subsection of the plant was accessed by a long ramp leading to a working floor about three floors up. I had only been there once before, and didn't really know how it was laid out. One day I went there in a hurry, screaming up the ramp at full tilt. Which wasn't that much, considering how weedy the bike was, but it was still way too much for the circumstances.

I shot off the top of the ramp, in to what turned out to be a car park full of managers' luxury cars. I don't know how I managed to avoid them all... or careening in to the barrier at the far end, which would have sent me flying in to the ground - or worse, in to the middle of a steel factory, complete with molten metal flying around. A steel factory is no place for cocking about.

PS: though I didn't see it myself - thankfully - some colleagues saw a guy commit suicide by jumping in to a pot of molten steel. Put it this way: molten steel is still steel, and a human being barely ripples the surface. 8(
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 1:08, 6 replies)
I like to climb
I have never fallen but when I was younger I was climbing up a cliff face with nothing but craggy rocks and sea below when the turf I had a grip on came away in my hands and I started to slide down! I only went a short distance before I managed to grab something else (through sheer panic!), but for a moment I thought I was a goner! Good times!
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 1:01, Reply)
I'm a walking disaster.
My problem is I get an idea into my head, and either rush into it without planning it through. All common sense seems to go out the window as soon as I get a power tool or hammer in my hand.

The latest brush with death happened only a couple of days ago. I had to take down one of the lights in my living room, to paint behind it. It's a circular fluorescent light which fits over the original ceiling rose, and the 3 wires fit into small holes which are gripped by screws.

Anyway, whist rewiring the light, I actually licked my fingers in order to make the live wire into a point so it would go into the hole easier, much like you do when threading a needle. I would have stuck it in my mouth but I couldn't reach. The really stupid part is that I had completely forgotten to turn the breaker off.

Luckily a bulb had blown in the kitchen a few minutes before I started, thus tripping the breaker automatically. I had no knowledge of this until afterwards.

I have had to rewire this light several times for various reasons, and every time I forget to trip the breaker. I hate to think what will happen if someone isn't there to remind me each time!
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:50, 4 replies)
Car Sex
I remember sitting in the Golf with Marilyn. It was her car, I don't drive. I must've been twenty-one or twenty-two.

We'd been to see Jurassic Park, I'd taken her (well, she'd drive me) to Burger King. No expense spared. I'd even shelled out for a king size meal.

Now it was much later. It was a hot summer that year and we sat there, talking small talk, edging closer to each other.

After a while my hand moved to her thigh and her legs parted ever so slightly. She continued to talk about her degree course although I really wasn't listening.

We kissed. Marilyn's legs parted a little more and she put her hand on mine and guided me towards her hot wet area. Result!

Marilyn said: "I'm not on the pill." Shit! I didn't have any condoms, completely forgot! But she continued, smiling coyly: "You could just go down on me."

Well, that will do nicely, ma'm, I thought.

Moments later she was in the backseat, legs spread wide, kinckers pulled to one side. I was in the front seats still but had turned and forced myself down in the gap just above the gear box.

Then I got down to work. Things were going well. Marilyn was making lots of encouraging noises and her hands were stroking my head. I kept supping at the furry cup and Marilyn's moans became louder, more frantic. Her thighs closed round my ears and her hands clawed at my head.

And all the time all I could think was: Fuck me, this is uncomfortable! Sex and cars just does not fucking work.

But I perservered, like the trooper I am.

And after a few more uncomfortable moments which seemed to last forever, sucking on her beef lips, Marilyn started to cum. She started to moan and I swear the car moved.

Her thighs clamped my head tight and her fingernails dug into my scalp.

And then I started to suffocate. Oh, come on! I thought. I'm gonna cark it down here!

Then with a quivery "Ohhhh, Gaaawwwwddd!!!" Marilyn climaxed.

And as she did so, her thighs went limp and her arms spasmed and rammed my head down with a jolt, and the gear stick stabbed me in the abdomen while similtaniously my teeth hit the car floor.

Then we crashed...

Thankfully only into a fence (still showing the damage now years later; Sixfields car park in Northampton, if you're interested - there should be a little blue plaque with our names on it).

Turns out the earth had moved for Marilyn, and me for that matter. In my excitement, or should that be discomfort, I'd kicked the handbrake and we'd freewheeled fifty feet or so down the hill, building momentum, going faster and faster and then TWAT - as the Golf hit the fence I flew forward and thought for one horrific nanosecond my head was going to vanish up Marilyn's fuzzbox. Instead I just slammed into her really... very... fucking... hard...

Strangest thing for me was going to casualty in an ambulance stinking of pussy. That was just wrong.

Sex in cars...

Bad idea.

How the fuck we didn't end up with the angels I do not know.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:44, 5 replies)
Well well well...
When I was just a kid, my folks had a big backyard. I used to take hours tugging lengths of water hose around, just to keep the stuff green. My father had the bright idea of installing a sprinkler system, and having a well dug in the backyard, where a pump could supply all the water needed, for free.

They worked on it for weeks, drilling deeper and deeper, with a sort of pulley attached to a weight that would drive some sort of boring bit into the ground.

Well, one day, my friends and I found out something cool. If you held on to the rope, someone else could tug on the other end, and raise you to the top, where the pulley was (approximately 25 feet in the air). Once up there, you'd grab the other rope, and be able to stay up there all by yourself, looking out over the other houses and backyards. It was pretty cool.

Here comes my turn, and I get tugged to the top. Due to a miscommunication with the ground crew, I wasn't actually holding on to the other rope when they let go. As I felt myself go into freefall, I grabbed at it anyway, but it didn't seem to slow me one bit.

I smashed into the ground and lay there, answering "urgle" to every question my friends asked me. They finally got my father out there, and he came out very relaxed with his evening drink in hand, and pretty much told me to walk it off. I must have been slowed a little bit by my attempt to grab the rope, because no bones were broken.

Once I finally got my breath back, I limped back into the house, and noticed I had the mother of all rope burns, all up and down my arm. It took probably a week for that to heal, with the bandage healing into the wound each time. I remember having to soak the thing every time I changed it, just to get the bandage to come off completely without tearing the new skin.

Good times, good times...
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:34, Reply)
my father was a little lazy...
..what am i saying? he's still pretty lazy. anyway. so he's sat there with his cuppa. just added sugar and reckons it needs a stir. reaches to mantlepiece and grabs stick-y type thingy which then whirs up the sugar in the tea ready to drink.

i'm sat on the couch nearby.

i notice what he's used.

i notice it's a thermometer.

i also notice it was full of mercury when put into the tea.................but empty when removed.

i stop him with the cup at his mouth about to drink, very movie style, and against his protestations remove the poisoned tea from his possession.

carefully poured the tea out the cup, there, in the bottom, liquid metal.

he's still here.... i'm kinda broke.

inheritance? hmm, anyone got a thermometer?
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:20, 1 reply)
Well i feel silly
A few hours ago, I decided to have a shower. When i came out i noticed that my laptop needed charging.

So i plugged in my laptop, switched it on and then woke up confused on the bed with my right arm being a bit numb.
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:05, Reply)
used to have sex with a vaccum cleaner. It was always really dangerous especially if I turned the power up. Is that normal?
(, Sat 14 Feb 2009, 0:00, 4 replies)
Micro Spleenette pointed out to me earlier today that I'd saved her life
Not once but three times!

Heroic Dad or just plain careless bastard allowing situations to occur in the first place?
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 23:33, 1 reply)
The snooker incident
I used to work for a bank, and one of the branches I was based at had four floors and a basement. The ground floor was the branch, the first had the business accounts unit, the second and third were used for storage, and the fourth had telecoms equipment.

One day we went up to the second floor to get some printer paper and we found that there was a snooker table, complete with a full set of balls and cues. The rest of the floor was occupied by large steel shelving units, a few easy chairs, and a very dirty rough wooden floor. After a tentative few taps with the cues we decided that it would be a good idea for us to have a nice game of snooker at lunchtime every day.

The games were extremely enjoyable, at least until one fateful day. Greg and Tim were playing and I was watching from one of the easy chairs. At one point Greg hit the ball and it shot off the table, rolling down the aisle between two of the racks of shelves. A thought crossed my mind, and with an excited cry of “I’ll get it!” I almost killed myself.

I sprinted across the floor in the direction of the aisle where the ball went and jumped onto an easy chair which stood at the end of the racks, using it as a springboard to hurdle its back, aiming to land in the aisle where I would collect the ball, then easily jog around the back and return to the table. That was my plan.

The reality: I jumped onto the chair, sprang over the back, but failed to notice that the shelves were all joined together by an L-shaped metal bracket welded across their tops to stop them toppling over like an enormous game of “Domino Rally”. My forehead made contact with the metal bracket, immediately stopped moving, but due to my momentum my legs carried on in the same forward direction, spinning me through the air with my forehead as my axis until I was vertical, feet upwards, at which point I fell, landing head-first on the floor with my bottom on the seat of the chair. As I crumpled into a heap I heard Tim laughing very loudly and Greg running over, shouting my name over and over again.

I jumped to my feet, shouting “I’M OKAY!” until I realised what had happened, clapped my hand to my head, and asked “am I bleeding?”

“Look at your shirt!” said Greg. I looked down and saw my white shirt was now absolutely filthy from my roll on the floor. We looked for Tim but he had disappeared: he had gone downstairs to tell Neil what had happened, in between fits of laughter anyway. I stumbled down the stairs back to the branch and saw Tim having to use a desk to keep himself from falling to the floor, and as I opened the door Neil raised his head and looked me in the eye.

“Knob,” he said. “I’m taking you to casualty – you might have concussion or something.”

“No, I’m ok, I’m not bleeding.” The door opened behind me and one of the managers from the business unit entered.

“We heard a bang from the second floor a few minutes ago. Do you think we need to call the police?”

“Not really – it was his head,” replied Neil, pointing in my direction.

I returned to my desk, pulling my suit jacket on to hide my filthy shirt, but after a few minutes my left eyebrow started to hurt. Greg had a look and said it looked as though it was swollen, and advised me to go to the chemist for some Lasonil ointment to suppress the bruising.

“Have you been fighting?” asked the assistant when I asked for the cream.

“No!” I exclaimed, frantically trying to think of an explanation for how I had bruised my eye. “I work for a bank and I was in the strongroom, and a safe deposit box fell off a shelf and hit me in the eye.”

“You shouldn’t fight, you know,” she said.

“A box fell on me!” I insisted, to no avail.

I returned to the office, finding a small group of business unit managers in the branch, all talking about my incident with Neil, and I quietly sat at the foreign exchange desk, rubbed the cream into my eyebrow, and proceeded to try to balance the till. As I added up the figures I rested my head against my left hand for a few seconds, and when I moved my hand away I noticed something.

“Neil?” I asked. “Have we got any Germolene or Savlon?”


“My head’s bleeding.” I held my left hand towards him, a large patch of blood visible on my palm.

He jumped to his feet. “That’s it – I’m taking you to hospital! You might have a fractured skull or something!” Needless to say, I refused.

That night I drove to see my girlfriend but spent most of the evening asleep on the sofa as I suddenly felt very tired, so as soon as I woke I drove home. The next morning I headed off to get my hair cut at the salon where my girlfriend worked. She washed my hair very carefully (I’d told her all about the snooker incident) but the stylist had no idea, so as soon as I sat in the chair before her she took a comb, vigorously combed my hair, and ripped all the scabs off the top of my head. I actually screamed, and so did she when she saw the brush.
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 23:28, 2 replies)
Oriental blues
Ha! All of you and your dainty little claims to a Darwin Award. Only I know the true pain. I have been right there, right on the edge, right on the fucking line. I am doing it now. I am *this* close right now to expiring.

I had a Rustlers Oriental Rib burger (special offer £1) for my dinner, and my stomach has already started to bubble and I can feel the build up of the enormous diamond-forming mega Pascals of pressure deep in my colon. Soon, I will be in the half dead, half alive state that only a Rustlers microwave burger product can bring. I am the resultant Schrödinger’s cat of poor quality fast food except a cat might be more nutritious and certainly taste better.

It was nice knowing you all...


*rips asunder*


*births manburger hybrid*
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 23:13, 4 replies)
I think I should be declared the winner
why ?

because not three hours ago I went to pick up a pile of A3's from the output tray on the printer here and recieved the mother of all paper cuts right on the first joint of my index finger on the right hand. R i g h t - o n - t h e - m o t h e r f u c k i n - j o i n t.

There was blood and everything, old pokey is still in a bit of shock but the other nine lads are doing their best to cheer him up.

Always be careful when working with paper.

says he typing while leaning back on the two legs of his chair and holding a hot cup of coffee , mad bastard that he is...
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 22:44, 2 replies)
A few years back I was decorating the front room, I had the light switch hanging off (power on) as I manipulated the paper behind it. Suddenly I felt a strong "twitch" up my arm and I felt a bit funny. "A-ha" thinks I "I must have touched a wire!". So I touched it again, just to "make sure". And yes, I got another shock.
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 22:28, 2 replies)
Not sure what to do if you bump into the Grim Reaper?
If he asks you to play chess, don't even do it. The guy's, like, a whiz.
(, Fri 13 Feb 2009, 22:23, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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