I can dislocate and relocate my shoulder at will.
I use this trick to win bets that time me escaping from a straight jacket down at the station.

But once also it enabled me to escape after being chained up in a sack and thrown into the harbour by some villainous South African money launderers.
(Woodlouse say it with flowers. Send her a Triffid, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 18:42, 2 replies)

Dislocation
A group of well meaning folks at my university used their spare time to help local kids by taking inflatables of varying shapes/sizes out to city playschemes. One night they set them up in the main hall in the union building to let the rest of us see what they did. Unfortunately parquet floors & bouncy castles don't make a good mix, especially when some idiot (not me)ignores advice & carries on smoking while bouncing. One puncture later, I slid off a rapidly deflating bouncy thing & my face hit the floor from around 12ft up swiftly followed by my mate's feet. Result - dislocated jaw. Excess beer persuaded me to get him to put it back in for me (no idea how).
This was followed by two weeks of liquid diet while my jaw slowly unseized. Still can't eat french bread thirty years later, bit I can make a very satisfying click if I waggle it right...
(grumpypolecat, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 17:53, Reply)

Home piercing
Many years ago, long before every Tom, Dick and Fanny was getting their tits 'n' bits pierced I (an early adopter) started getting some (at that time) pretty hardcore piercings and subsequently decided to try my hand at doing the same as others. However, I thought it would be unethical to do this without practicing on myself first, so after a brief instructional from my piercer I got the kit and prepared to start.

First job - horizontal left nipple. In my mums conservatory. It took about 45 mins of pushing and a lot of pain and sweating, my mate (observing) said he'd never seen me so white. But I got it through.

Second - navel, some months later, in my flat. Took about 45 mins again, got it through, had intended to do my eyebrow straight afterwards but as my flatmate had just come in and I was concerned about the practicalities of not being able to see what I was doing, I let him do it instead.

Subsequently I did about 50 piercings on mates and - with help - a few more on myself before hanging up my needles. My brother eventually became a proper piercer for 8 years and explained a few things I'd been doing wrong which could have led to me maiming someone - in the end the worst thing I did was fuck up my mates nipple piercing, it worked the second time we tried but he then fainted. I still wear my own nipple and navel piercings, among many others.

Lesson - don't pierce at home, that way madness lies.
(rampants, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 16:17, 2 replies)

If you've got a wart on your cock
Don't pick your nose after having a wank.

If you have already done so: that old bottle of acid for treating verrucas lurking in the bathroom cupboard will do the trick though it will make your eyes water. Twice.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 16:16, 3 replies)

Tea spoon enema anyone?
My missus told me a story about what happened to my mother in law quite a few years back. She's got a food allergy to most things according to her "specialist", and has terrible trouble with her bowels.

Anyway, one time she had really bad constipation, so much so that nothing would shift her blocked poo pipes, she was in so much pain that she asked her zenophobic (a different story altogether) husband (3rd one at the time) to shift the fecal blockage with a tea spoon.

I'm guessing that did the trick, as she's still around today. I just hope that it's tannin stains on her tea spoons and nothing else when we go round there for coffee.
( flapmeister knows where your mum lives, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 15:49, 6 replies)

Wart story? Sure, why not.
I have only had three warts in my life that I can recall. My father being a dermatologist, I had two of them removed in the professional way- a cryojet full of liquid nitrogen, shooting a needle thin jet of the stuff to cause localized frostbite and kill the virus-laden cells. It stings and you then get a small black circle that eventually peels off, but it's highly effective for treating all manner of things, including pre-cancerous spots and keratoses.

Skipping forward a few years, I now live about 600 miles from my parents. I work for Honeywell in a testing lab, where we had liquid nitrogen handy in a tank almost as tall as I am. We were doing physical testing of polymer samples, which involved deep freezing molded samples with liquid nitrogen to measure their impact strength when frozen.

So one day I noticed a lump on my index finger, and kept an eye on it for a while. Sure enough, it was a wart. I know it's not dangerous, but being a little OCD about rough patches on my skin it irritated me to no end. I wasn't going to be seeing Dad for at least a few more months, and in any case he usually doesn't carry liquid nitrogen around with him, so I decided to take care of it myself.

I got out the steel container that the lab techs used and took it to the nitrogen tank. I opened the valve, pouring out what seemed to be huge amounts of liquid nitrogen, but in truth the stuff was hitting the (relatively) hot steel and flashing to vapor, so it took a little while for the liquid nitrogen to accumulate in the container. By this time the room was knee deep in fog and the container was coated in frost, but I could see a puddle of liquid at the bottom. I didn't have insulated gloves on, so I had to work with the container where it was. Using a long handled swab, I got a drop of it transferred to my finger, then another. It felt like a red hot needle on my finger, but I was determined.

At that moment one of the lab techs walked in. She saw me, half hidden in a swirling fog bank as I knelt by the tank, my face contorted in a grimace of pain and determination as I pressed the swab to my finger, and looked up at her with a grim expression. All that was missing was a Vincent Price laugh.

She wouldn't come anywhere near me for a while.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 25 Jan 2011, 14:36, 4 replies)

An inch long cut on my head
necessitated a couple of staples to close it up. When it was time to have them removed I judged it would be a waste of my valuable time to go to the nurse so I set about doing it myself. Little did I know however that they were not normal staples of the common or garden stationery variety. I was unaware that they have a kind of hook that needs a special tool to remove them. So when I started pulling I thought it was just the congealed blood that was rendering it slightly sticky but as there are not many nerve endings in the scalp it wasn't particularly sore so I persevered. It was however bloody and ugly when I managed to pull out a lump of scalp the size of a butter bean and the doctor fairly ripped into me when I eventually went along to get the second one out professionally. The scar is still quite visible and unattractive on my baldy napper.
( Ramsay Tupper, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 14:14, Reply)

Acid therapy.
When I was about thirteen I suffered an outbreak of about five warts on my left hand. After suffering the taunts of my peers for having a manky hand I decided something needed to be done.

Inspiration struck during a chemistry lesson when I thought it would try melting the warts off with acid! I secretly stole one of the small bottles of concentrated sulphuric acid with a built in dropper and smuggled it home. Over the next two weeks, every evening I studeously applied a small drop of acid to each wart, after which time they completely disappeared!
(Errorist, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 10:59, 8 replies)

Dam-Busters
I may or may not have mentioned this before.

*hangs head in shame*

One night a few years ago year: Particularly bored and on a bit of a low having discovered that I was dating a cock-magnet, I was sat watching episodes of Simpson's back-to-back, Drinking Guinness and getting slightly hungry.

Hmm.. hungry. I'd been feeling down for the entire weekend and it was Sunday afternoon. Outside it was drizzling, My mates were elsewhere and laziness was beginning to reach new levels.

Earlier that day I'd been to Netto (yes, we do have them in Sweden) and bought - amongst other staples - a catering pack of sugary peanuts. I hauled my slightly tipsy arse off the sofa pottered into the kitchen, got another can and a bowl, picked up the Netto bag and - after filling the bowl with peanuts - hunkered down on the sofa again.

I don't remember much more of that afternoon: I just remember feeling rather sorry for myself and dragging my pathetic self off to bed at midnight, ruing the fact that I'd have to go to work in the morning, and generally wondering "Why?" about my situation.

Monday came and went.

Tuesday rolled along... and then went away as Tuesdays invariably do.

Wednesday was when it started to get a little strange: In the afternoon I started to feel a bit crap. My lunch hadn't really wanted to go down so I'd sat and chatted... by 3pm I was beginning to sweat. "Flu" I thought. I set off home and collapsed in front of the TV with a bowl of sugar puffs.

20 minutes later I was kneeling on the bathroom floor with a nose-full of soggy sugar puffs and stomach acid. Try as you might in those situations, you just can't avoid sniffing... and as the sodden shaven-bumblebees of acidic doom charged out of my nostrils and thudded into the back of my throat, I once again became hunched over as my stomach muscles tried to turn me into pretzel.

I hate the Flu... It knocks me for six once it's beaten my immune system. I headed to bed and had a shit night.

***************************************

A day later and my stomach was in pain: very un-fluish. I was beginning to wonder what might be going on.... Food Poisoning? I started Working my way chronologically though my past meals - there weren't many; When I'm down I forget to eat - there was nothing that rang alarm bells until my mind latched onto the peanuts. The *big* bowl of peanuts... Jesus no..

I went to the livingroom: There on the table was the empty bag. 2Kg of peanuts. Nice one Humpty you utter arse-hat: you've pigged out on 2kg of junk and turned yourself into a walking keg of peanut-butter.

The Days had been passing, the turds had not. Somewhere inside me was the wrong kind of log-jam... the words "butter-nut-squash" made my giggle a bit, but I decided that if anyone else uttered them, I'll kill them.

Single, Living alone and with my mum a long way away in another country, I did what any self-respecting bloke would do: I went back to bed.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm no professional when it comes to chronic constipation: I reasoned that the blockage needs encouragement and movement. I massaged my stomach, wriggled around a bit and occasionally would jump up and down. It failed. *I* failed.

In frustration I gave my stomach and belly area a good thumping (I'm an engineer, and it's always a fairly good last resort) and at least It felt better.

It was a few hours later while watching Jack-ass and Johnny Knoxville getting his colon hosed out that I hit upon a plan. By this time my temperature was going amusingly high and I was feeling *really* shit: It was a surprise that In my state of bug-eyed idiocy I was capable of any sort of rational thought, but this was it. A stroke of Genuis. McGuyver was trumped.

10 minutes later I had modified my shower hose and essentially had a mix between a super-soaker and Cartman's worse nightmare. I had spent a couple of minutes researching the concept on the web and had discovered that the time to "Stop filling" was "when you felt uncomfortable". Mmmkay. I was feeling fairly uncomfortable about it already, and I hadn't even started. :o/

My first effort was a dismal failure: maybe a tablespoon of water? So "When you feel uncomfortable" may not have been entirely accurate. You lasses who whine about "water retention" and "feeling bloated": you have No Fucking Idea!!!

I had to grit my teeth and go for it. A couple of minutes later and grunting like a hippo in labour I managed to manoeuvre myself over the toilet before exploding. The sheer relief in itself was worth it... but there was nowt solid to show for my efforts.

Another Sitting.
Let me tell you that shoving a squirting hosepipe up your ass is nothing short of fucking hilarious.

... The overpowering odour of Rancid Peanut-crap was horrifying.... though already ill, sweating and committed, I knew it was the smell of sweet victory.

Rinse and repeat. "Take 2 bottles into the shower?" Fuck off Sassoon.

I noted that accidentally turning the water cold was a terrible plan.. My barking spider puckered HARD and threatened NEVER to let go.

Fix the temperature... Re-Fill and Purge again.

It took 30 minutes, but it was an overall success. Giggling like a happy mong in a ball-pit I sat there twitching as the last of the watered-down nightmare fizzed out of my worn arse.

Within an hour I was starting to feel fine again.

*******************

A few days later I was offered a bowl of those sugary peanuts at a party. The smell instantly induced involuntary bodily actions: Pavlov grudgingly joined McGuyver on the "trumped" list.


Length? Nuts to it.
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Tue 25 Jan 2011, 10:08, 22 replies)

Finger Surgery
During a hockey match I became entangled in the wire meshing that surrounds the pitch. As I stood up and dusted my self down I noticed my right little finger pointing in the wrong direction. Assuming it must be dislocated I pulled it as hard as I dared and then straightened and released it. Decided to play on. 24hrs later it was purple so went and had it x-rayed, reading the x-ray showed it broken and not correctly in place so I was referred to an orthopaedic surgeon. As I left the doctor had that "I'd rather you than me look on his face" and wished me luck. Due to some previous commitments I didn't follow the urgent referral but made an appointment for the following Tuesday in the local hospital fracture clinic. Meanwhile following a close examination of my copy of the x-ray decided to have a go at giving it a "tweak" myself. It immediately felt better and when x-rayed at the clinic it was perfectly aligned. 7 years in medical school..... what's all that about?
(midlifecrisis, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 9:32, Reply)

E + Fire = Ouchy.
Not so much surgery, but I never have a story for QOTW (such is my uninteresting and sheltered existence), so here goes.

The year was 2007 and I was in my final year at Swansea University. If you have ever lived in South Wales then you know that for 9 months of the year the weather is very wet and pretty cold, but for that remaining 3 months it is glorious, particularly along the Gower Peninsula.

It had reached that point in the year where the weather was fine and as graduation was almost upon us, we decided to have a beach party on Swansea Bay. It was a great time, much revelry took place and it is to this day one of the best times I have had.

Now to the ouchy point. Once it got dark, we filched a load of abandoned bits of wood from some nearby building site and made a large fire. Everyone was still enjoying themselves an incredible amount and many were massively intoxicated - I myself was off my tits on ecstasy. Such was my level of intoxication that at one point it took me a good 20 seconds or so to realise that I was stood on a small pile of burning embers from the fire. As soon as the pain hit, I hopped around for a sec and then buried both my tootsies in some cool sand to remove the burning sensation. And that was that. The revelry continued and we carried on til about 8 or 9am before returning to bed. Good times.

When I woke up later, I almost immediately remembered what happened and checked my feet. About 50% of the flesh on both the soles of my feet had been removed. It didn't hurt, really, but there was a fair bit of pus and they were still covered in sand. I gingerly gave them a wash whilst considering whether or not I should go to the doc. I came to the conclusion that the only way it would heal was for the layer of skin to grow back of its own accord while I endeavoured to keep the affected area clean; that is exactly what I did. I spent the next few weeks with my socks stuffed with toilet tissue, limping slightly and washing my feet every few hours. Needless to say, they were absolutely fine and have been ever since.
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 9:26, Reply)

Sorry
I once managed to get a peanut stuck in my ear.
So I poured some melted chocolate in there.

Came out a treat.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Tue 25 Jan 2011, 9:05, 6 replies)

Foot maintenance
Mrs Bulb gets disgusted at my habit of slicing off hard skin from my feet with a Stanley blade ... I can't be the only one who does this? Then my kids point to the sad little nubbin of dried skin on the floor and shout EEEERRRGGGHHH ... TOENAILS!

It's amazing the sins that marriage will forgive. Imagine doing that on a first date.
(hangableautobulb is an anagram of the best album ever, on, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 21:42, 7 replies)

Verruca vs. Broken Glass
I must have been about eight and I recall having a sizeable verruca on the side of my big toe. We were on holiday at the time and I was running across the beach heading back to the blanket where my parents were stationed. I felt a sharp pain in my toe and thought nothing of it, when I reached the blanket my mum shrieked at the considerable flow of claret coming from my toe.

We soon established I had a hole the size of a pencil eraser in my toe and once this was stuffed with gauze and capped I hobbled back across the beach following the trail of blood. I found a chunk of broken glass pushed into the sand with a fibrous fleshy lump hanging off of it.

Salicylic Acid Collodion - 0, Broken Glass - 1.
(Trojan Hussar blowing fag ash into your PSU since, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 21:31, Reply)

B3tans, you know you cannot lick your own elbow right?
Well, if you dont know, just try. Try now.

I once removed tiny, broken, sea urchin needles from my own elbow using a snap-off knife and a needle (both disinfected over a lighter). How suave is that.
** How to get sea urchin in your elbow: dive towards the bottom in the clear waters of the Mediterranean, then twist upwards to watch the rays of the sun from underneath the surface. Graze your elbow on the bottom in the process.
Length? I said tiny. Maybe 1-1.5 mm
(bovine intervention, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 21:09, 4 replies)

A friend of mine, at a party...
...decided to take his bean bag apart.

Lots of little pellets of polystyrene everywhere. Lots of fun having indoor snowball fights and generally drunkenly cocking about.

Until I got a bean in my ear.

Right deep down in my ear.

Couldn't get it out with a finger. Couldn't get it out with pliers.
I'm now completely deaf in that ear as various methods of removal only succed in pushing it further in.

Braninwave. Out comes the Dyson. Hose attachement.

Socket it into my ear, nod, and the power comes on.

Took me two weeks for my ear to stop ringing so I could tell if the process had worked or not.

It had. Dysons are noisy!
(inflateable, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 19:49, 4 replies)

My dad, manly man that he is.
Has a scar four inches long and about 2½ inches wide on his right lower abdomen.

It was a field appendectomy performed in Vietnam in 1974. They were not able to medevac him, so one of his squadmates cut him open while the others held him down and shut him up. They packed it full of gauze, finished their mission, and went back.

Dad got three weeks leave to recover and a slight morphine addiction.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 16:46, 2 replies)

My wife convinced me to do some manscaping recently.
Using clippers and never having done it before resulted in my scrotal skin (which is very pliable) ended up between the plastic guards and was very badly cut. Lots and lots of blood flowing and I grabbed the first thing I saw, 90% rubbing alcohol. My screaming and the sight of me naked, bleeding and half my junk shaved almost turned my wife off.

After the burning went away, I put some aloe on it, screamed some more, then resumed my shaving only more carefully.

The trick is to pull the skin taut and then shave.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 16:41, 12 replies)

When I was about six or seven I figured it would be fun to bewaterproof. So I set fire to some plastic with an eye to covering myself with it..
Good thing I started with the side of my finger.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 16:22, 6 replies)

When
I was about 8 or 9 I had an excess of earwax build up in my left ear, to the extent that I was starting to lose hearing a little bit, which scared me. I went to the kitchen and told my parents. My mum decided that the best way to clean out my ear would be to warm some water in a spoon and then gently clean my eat out.

In reality, however, given that both of my parents were near blind drunk what actually happened was that they got a bottle of cooking oil, poured some into a teaspoon and heated it over a cigarette lighter for quite some time. I was dubious but was told not to be so childish. As my mum advanced towards me with the teaspoon of very hot oil, her hands spasmed drunkenly, and the oil went over the side of my head and ear.

Turns out that hot cooking oil *really* hurts.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 15:22, 3 replies)

When I was a wee little lad with a little wee wee*
I had spent the day outside, riding my bicycle, playing with my friends, etc. A normal day with nothing out of the ordinary. I was home and getting ready for a bath. My dad noticed a small dot of a scab on my chest, right on my sternum. He inquired as to the origin of said red hole in the middle of my not very muscular upper torso.

I nonchalantly informed him a bird flew into my chest. Not just hit it though, the beak got stuck in my chest and I had to pull it out.

I still get the piss taken out of me for that.

*it's still a small wee wee
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 15:15, 1 reply)

This one time I was rolling a joint at a Suzanne Vega concert
And I got a paper cut on my pinky.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 14:51, 4 replies)

Some years ago now
I was having massive sex with several supermodels. I won't put their names because that would be immoral. Anyway, they were fighting over me trying to convince me who could give the best blowjob. Everytime I got close, they stopped. They kept me at this orgasm biting point for 14 hours before I finally came with such force that three of them suffered concussion. Being splattered in my manfat made them orgasm so hard that they couldn't walk for a week. After spunking up about 3 pints, there was one giant spasm and I actually jizzed my bollocks inside out and out through my jap's eye.
Those that were still conscious crawled away in terror still cumming as they did.
I thought I had* better find a way to sort this out. I didn't want to go to hospital so because I'm so ten-men I pushed them back in with a knitting needle. Then to make sure my bollocks still worked, I drove to the zoo in my Honda Accord and raped four lions.

* ninja edit
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 14:02, 14 replies)

The Hamster
My friend had a hamster which developed some sort of massive cyst thing on it's back. He had bought the hamster on the cheap at the local pet shop so when confronted with a massive vet's bill to remove this cyst he baulked at the cost. He decided to take it home and to put it out of his misery himself. This being a Friday we were all due at his house for some evening drinking and upon arriving were all relayed his tale of woe.

After ingesting some alcohol some intelligent debate ensued and it was unanimously decided by a belligerent Dave (name changed from Mike) that we could pop the cyst ourselves with a small blade which would be infinitely more humane than killing it outright. After all, besides the massive cyst he seemed outwardly happy. In doing so we'd save on the massive vets bill and indeed save the rodents life. It seemed like a reasonable argument albeit one that made me wince.

Obviously the hamster would need some sort of sedative so we located a sleeping pill and cut it into a bite sized chunk. This ended up being a quarter of a nytol. So hammy was force fed the pill and we sipped on our beers and waited...and waited...waited. Half an hour later there was clearly nothing happening. In fact if anything the animal looked more perky than ever. He was out and about and had even managed a long'ish stint on the wheel.

Right, nothing for it. We'll increase the dosage. So we popped in another quarter and waited...and waited...and waited. And still nothing. The petulant fucker wouldn't pass out. Over one hour had elapsed since the ingestion of the first quarter and he was still going strong.

So we commenced dosage number 3. The Final 2 quarters. And to aid the ingestion a small squirt of vodka was administered. We did some rough calculations and worked out that the vodka would have been more or less the same as a human consuming about a quarter of a bottle.

So after a whole nytol and a quarter bottle of vodka you'd expect some sort of drowsiness in the hardy animal, but alas no. Simon, as this was his Christian name, was more frisky than ever. He was darting between his house, the wheel and the various obstacle courses in his manor while resolutely sticking two fingers up at the sedatives coursing through his little veins.

Since this was essentially a life or death situation we were dealing with we decided to go ahead with the procedure regardless. When I say 'we' I actually mean Dave. And when I say 'go ahead' I actually mean he just picked up the small blade and walked towards Simon and said, "Come here you little fucker!!".

I'll spare you the gruesome details of what happened next, but suffice to say the whole operation was an unqualified success and he made a full recovery. Simon lived for a further 12 months after that and died a natural death. The kind of natural death where you come home to say hello to your little friend only to discover he's cold, not moving and his mouth is slightly ajar. I'm sure he would have wanted it this way rather than suffering the indignity of dying with a large cyst on his back.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 10:40, 5 replies)

Toes
I don't remember how any more, but when I was a teenager I'd done something to my foot and 2 toes were hurting and sticking up at an odd angle - I assumed I'd dislocated them somehow. After hobbling around for a couple of days and refusing to go to the doctor for something so trivial as toes, I decided to have a go at putting them back. Pushing gently on the joint didn't work. Pulling my toes hurt like anything, but did at least seem to get them in the right place. So I pulled them straight as far as I could, then stamped down on my foot with the other foot (all this required me to hunch over as if attempting auto-fellatio).

When I woke up I was crumpled in a heap on the floor, but my toes were back in their normal position. Over the next few days they turned black, then purple, then blue, then back to toe-colour, and as of today they still haven't fallen off, so I must have done something right.
(Smale is stuffed, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 9:48, Reply)

I've got JUST the thing...
After a messy night out, Heathy had cut his hand, so...enter Dr Doug:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-GNW5DAo49Q

NOTE: Not really for the squeamish...
( snee held his breath since, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 8:32, 2 replies)

like alien only smaller
I had something of an idyllic childhood. My father was an environmental journalist and most of my holidays were spent running around some of the wildest and most beautiful places in Africa. After a long weekend exploring the deep dark coastal forests of Bhanga Nek I noticed a lump on my arm. Being no stranger to insect bites I just left it. Tuesday morning, sitting in maths, my arm really starts to itch. I scratch it absentmindedly and feel this odd "popping sensation". I look down and to my horror all these little larvae are crawling down my arm. Cue hysterical horror from classmates (and I must admit me too). Promptly marched off to Matron who calmly doused it in meths and then covered it with vaseline. One of the yuckier experiences of my childhood :)
(MostlySunny, Mon 24 Jan 2011, 8:16, 4 replies)

Once when a wee nipper
I was playing with some wooden toys I had, which you could almost consider Meccano's plywood cousin. One long rectangle piece had several holes in it, designed for the various pegs which came with the kit but also seemingly very suitable for a young boy's fingers. Long story short, I ended up with my pinkie finger trapped in one of these holes and no amount of tugging or crying would free it.

Enter stepdad, who ran my finger under the tap in the kitchen, to no avail. Thinking fast, he ran to the garage, leaving me weeping at the sink. He came back with a hacksaw and, sighing heavily, told me that he was really really sorry, but he was going to have to cut the finger off. It was the only way, he told me, but first he'd have to cut off the excess wood. Of course, he was bullshitting me (shoulda posted last week, damn), but as he sawed through the "excess wood" he kept up the charade in the face of my constant pleading for sanity.

Once he finished getting the wood off me, he cackled like a bastard and I ran away in a huffy. Never fucked with those toys again either, so I've made a note to bust that one out when I'm a parent myself.
(ElGranto, Sun 23 Jan 2011, 21:01, 3 replies)

This QOTW is gross.
Are you actively trying to make people bushusuru?
(lanternchikk hat eine schwere Bohlenallergie, Sun 23 Jan 2011, 20:56, 2 replies)

Time for my own entry
I haven't suffered from phimosis, never had a wart, and dealt with verrucas in the standard way. But as for dealing with ingrowing hairs... fuck me that's painful. Last one I pulled out from my neck was an inch long, oily and curled up. I called it my neck pube. Luckily, I took pictures, which tell the story far better than me:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/tjasha/2915020873/
( jim_bob can herd cats., Sun 23 Jan 2011, 19:36, 21 replies)