We went to get a hot dog.
As a kid, Dad took us to an airshow at the US airforce base in Rammstein for a grand day out. A good time was being had by all, we were nice and close to the flight line and there had been some excellent displays. As I was a fat bastard even then, we moved back from the spot we had been for most of the day and went to pick up some tasty wursts in a bun. There were stands near where we standing but as it was later on in the afternoon, they didn't have what we wanted so we walked back towards the entrance to less busy stands.

As we queued at the hotdog stand, This happened. I don't wish to over dramatise the situation, I was seven and the exact point we were standing is hard to judge but I am pretty sure we would have been standing within the area covered with flaming jet fuel. As it is, unlike 66 other visitors to the show, we drove home unharmed although we didn't much feel like eating the hot dogs.

Two years ago, my brother went back for the twentieth anniversary, it seemed the right thing to do- alas he was the only one of us who was in a position to make the trip. The twenty second anniversary is a week saturday and I will take a moment to remember, the same way I do every year.

Length?- a minute in history, rather longer in the memory. Apologies also for lack of funny.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 19:42, 9 replies)

My grandfather was one of the few survivors of Treblinka.
He credits his survival to his membership of the SS.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 19:41, Reply)

Don't mention the war!
So 17 year old me was on a college exchange trip to Germany. On top of working in a turbine factory and studying in a German technical college we were also treated to a few excursions (we visited a typewriter museum!).

One such trip saw us traipsing around a smelting plant. It was hot and dirty and not in the good ways that I have seen on the intertubes. Nothing very exciting was happening until a huge sodding bucket starts to move along a track suspended from the ceiling. Cameras at the ready! The bucket reaches the end of the track and starts to tip. A ton of molten metal starts to cascade into a container below. The heat is immense. The sight is strangely beautiful. Camera flashes are popping all around me.

Aware that my camera was a bit crap I decided to get closer to the safety barrier at the edge of the drop. I lean over trying to get a good shot. With mission accomplished I turn around and head back to my mates. As I do, I hear a collective gasp. At about the same moment I notice a tennis ball sized globule of molten steel in my peripheral vision. It had come within inches of grazing my face.

Strangely we were the last class ever to take part in the exchange program.

Good times.
(fan-dan-go because mutton chops are cool!, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 19:11, Reply)

No narrow escape of mine can even compare
A very dear friend of mine used to work for the Pentagon. Nothing super-special-important, nothing vital; she was just one of the many people who kept the trail of paperwork moving. One morning, she woke up still feeling like hell from a party the night before and called in sick to work. Not much later on that day, some religious extremists flew a plane into the building. It took nearly twelve hours to get through to her by phone, and when I finally heard her voice it took a while for both of us to stop crying. I'd never imagined the words 'I didn't go to work today' would be one of the most wonderful things I ever heard.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 18:48, 3 replies)

Not me but close enough
My ex brother in law managed to avoid death when the roll cage in his rally car failed to maintain any sense of solidity and snapped during an impact embedding itself in the middle of his forehead. After the recovery the obligatory knobheadectomy jokes about the circular scar didn't get even remotely boring.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 19 Aug 2010, 18:32, 1 reply)

One pearoast slightly soiled.
Driving along with Little Miss No.5 in the car going home from the hell that is her Reception age ballet class...it is dusk and I am pootling along when I see the lights of what is clearly a large tractor trundling along in the other direction, as it nears I ensure that I ease over away from the white line (narrow roads where I live). What I fail to see is the solid steel bar on the tractor trailer that has slipped loose of its mooring and swung into my lane at chest height a fact I am only aware of when my wing mirror vanishes with accompanying crash bang and wallop. Manage to haul on the anchors and turn around to, ahem, 'discuss the incident politely' with the farmer. He has stopped some 100 yards up the road and is standing under streetlights looking whiter than even the most Dazzed of sheets. It is only when I look at the horror laden mess of my car exterior I see why. A foot closer to the centre line and I would have been decapitated almost certainly crashing the car into the granite walls lining the road and taking my daughter to the pearly gates with me. The shock didn't kick in until I got home. I imagine it was as bad for him when he got the £1000+ bill for my wing mirror and bodywork.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 19 Aug 2010, 18:24, 5 replies)

Gorillas in my midst
When I was younger I was lucky enough to spend the summer working at Monkey World in Dorset. For those not familiar with it it's a rescue centre that doubles up as a tourist attraction. A zoo with just monkeys (they're the best anyway) in it, basically.

Have a nose if you like, I'd thoroughly recommend it... www.monkeyworld.org/home.php

Anyway, I loved it. Possibly the best summer I ever had. As you can probably imagine, feeding time was the highlight of the day. I got to feed them all. You have no idea how massive gorillas are up close. Or Orangutans for that matter. Even the chimps could look pretty imposing.
You'd lug round tons of food, and it was, though rewarding, bloody hard work.

That's why my absolute favourites were the Lar Gibbons. They were so easy to feed. They were my narrowest apes.
(R. Jimlad twitter.com/sirmarkymark, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 18:23, 5 replies)

Snake attack
A friend of mine was attacked by a giant snake. He very nearly died.

Luckily, someone managed to get a photo of the awful incident...




















(Warning: not for the faint hearted)






















(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 17:48, 8 replies)

On the M1
Cruising along southbound approaching Sheffield on a fine summers morning I'm doing a steady 70mph in the middle lane. In the fast lane going marginally faster was a Mercedes A class.

As it got within 3 or 4 car lengths ahead of me I caught sight of a dark shape shoot vertically upwards from the front of the car. Time slowed down as I realised the bonnet catch had failed and that a large flat piece of metal was airborne somewhere above my car beyond my view. I did the only thing I could do, which was cringe in my seat as I waited for what happened next.

The bonnet of the car landed behind mine in the centre of the lane within about 10 metres!

I started breathing again and watched my mirrors as everyone behind me slammed on the brakes. Phew!
( TheFinch is getting to grips with the complex plane on, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 17:35, Reply)

Car crash
Probably a lot of these on here, but hey nonny;
Just passed test, as a 19 year old and was the proud ragger of a 1 litre peugeot 106, which I had driven to the pub and then offered 3 ladies a lift home down the country lanes, as you do.

I exceeded the grip available for one particular corner and the car just understeered off the edge of the road, but here's the lucky bit:

As I went off the road, the two left side wheels went into the ditch at the side, and the angle and speed at which I was driving meant that they simply travelled down the ditch like a massive scalextric, so I had 2 wheels about a foot off the road on the soft grass verge, and two in the ditch, whilst the windscreen literally looked like one of those rally shows on dave, where all the branches are hitting it and stuff.
I travelled about 15m or so in this fashion through the thick shrubbery in said ditch, finally coming to a rest in a fog of whitish smoke and screaming girls (bit like my 18th).

Managed to clamber out of the car to survey the damage, and to my astonishment, there was a huge tree slap bang in the middle of the ditch 3 yards in front of where my car stopped - if I'd been travelling 5mph more i'd have hit it straight on.

The prologue is that I got a recovery chap to tow it out, and here's the second astonishing thing, I feared the worst, broken axles, the lot, but after putting the tyre back on which had popped off the rim, there was absoloutely-nothing-wrong.. The car was filthy, and there was a forest wedged under the floor, and the tracking was a bit off, but even the side that went in the ditch was hardly scratched by the bushes.

Went to the local petrol station next day and jet washed it all, and the car looked absolutely fine, no dents or scratches at all. Simply couldn't believe it.

The girls never got a lift with me again, however.
(Williams FW26 Walrus Nose, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 17:10, Reply)

Hill walking?
One fine Irish summer day I was with my scout troop trekking up a random mountain. Due to the nature of the Irish weather this meant 20 young teens being boiled alive trudging through miles of steep wet muggy bogland. Having gained the top our leader announced that we had accomplished our goal and now return to camp confident in the knowledge we had "achieved" something today. Being considerably bolloxed I was not in much of a mood for the inevitable trudge back down the mountain. Cue my genius idea of using my quality plastic raincoat as a sled which slid remarkably well on wet soggy mountainside. ZIP and hahaha was all my troop heard as I rocketed past them at considerable speed towards the mountains feet sliding to a comfortable stop. Three quarters of an hour later a red faced leader storms up to me asking what the hell I was doing. I explained in simple terms. I was then informed that I had nearly broke my coccyx bone or could have been raped by a lonely old hiker man. Mountains are dangerous.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:51, 2 replies)

Yes... Not really proud of this one.
It was about twenty years ago, some friends and I were in the airport going to Malta of all places for a bit of a lash.
I was (cough use of past tense cough) a bit of a smoker back then, and really didn't want to go the two weeks without a bifta, so came up with a cunning plan. I packed about a quarter into a little tube about the size of my finger, and parcel taped it to my thigh, as high up as possible.
Going through customs to get to the 'plane, the guy points at me.
"Mind stepping over here sir?"
You know that feeling when your stomach gets lodged in your mouth, and you can see the hole opening up in front of you?
"Just a quick search, sir" as he starts to pat me down.
Under the arms, down the sides of the body, then to the turn ups and up the legs.
As he got closer, I knew I was bound for a dirty life as some crim's bitch. I could see the look on my parent's faces, the life I could have had washing away from me with every pat.
Past the knee, and at the thigh I was literally preparing the "It's a fair cop guv'" speech when he touched the tube. He looked up at me, no doubt seeing the panic break out on my face, and pulled back sharpish.
"(Something garbled)"
My mind didn't comprehend. I knew I'd been busted, in the most stupid way I could have chosen. This was stupid. I stood there, waiting for the officers to wrestle me down and ping the rubber gloves on the ends of their fingers.
"(More garble) you go sir."
Tears started to well up in me as the reality struck home and I knew home was somewhere I'd be dreaming of for a while.
"I said you can go sir."
The inner workings of my brain finally kicked in. I said nothing, but stumbled through to the departure lounge where I shakily lit up a Marlborough. (Yes, and you could smoke 'em on the 'planes back then as well!)
I can only surmise he thought he'd touched my dick and was as shocked as I was.

Now, before you start, I am fully aware of just how stupid I was, even so, any flaming may well be justified. I learnt a lot of lessons that holiday, and hopefully grew up a fair bit in the process. I mean, Malta? I may as well have been taking snow to the Arctic.
( Blind Meach Cautiously optimistic, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:42, 11 replies)

Ok, I'll elaborate on mine...
The IRA bomb wasn't on a train. It was planted in the litter bin outside McDonalds on Warrington high street in the spring of 1993.

In those days, I was actively involved in helping a friend with a street-trading stall. We'd visit various towns withing travelling distance of Liverpool and rotate them, so as not to draw police attention to ourselves by being too cocky. On that day, we decided to meet up at the litter bin by McDonalds as it was our favourite pitch in Warrington; very busy but not obstructing pedestrians.

My friend saw me running along the platform at Lime St, clutching a bulging bag, realised I would miss the train and got off it. We got the next train that came along, which was to Widnes, I think.

A few hours later, the litter bin exploded, killing two kids and injuring lots more people. I rate this as a narrow escape, regardless of what the sarcastic people below say.
(IHateSprouts is baking a huge pie shaped like an enormous pie, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:42, Reply)

The most frightening 10 seconds of my life.
Meandering up the A38 in the passenger seat of my mums Vauxhall Vectra, I found myself the subject of heavy eyes and a need to snooze. Mum's conversations are dull at best, so I decided to catch up on some Zs. I was probably only out for around 15 minutes or so before I was forced back into the realm of the conscious.

The reason for my rude awakening was an uneasy feeling in terms of the Vauxhall's forward motion. It had gone from smooth to rough and rumbly, not what I'm used to from the A38.

Looking up I saw that we had in fact left the road, opting to drive on the gravel verge beside it. Our new destination, as seen through blurry, tired eyes appeared to be the solid and immovable stone upright of a railway bridge.

I turned to my mum only to see that she had also fallen asleep. I grabbed the wheel and quickly pointed the car in a safe direction, back onto the A38. The gravel was wet and loose though, so initially I was greeted with understeer. The tyres did dig in though, and the Vectra jolted back onto the road.

We missed the bridge pillar by around 4-5 foot, all while traveling at roughly 60mph. It's a 2001 car, full of ABS and airbags and whatnot but the combination of that wall and that speed would have rendered airbags and crumple-zones useless. It would have been a direct, head-on hit.

My mum came round with a start, looking shocked and mystified. Probably because I was white and covered in a cold sweat.

I swear to God the Reaper himself was in the back seat, he just wanted a thrill. I'm confident that what happened is as close to death as one can get without being physically injured.
( The Pollitt chooses to listen to Enya on, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:36, 1 reply)

100mph-0 rear-wheel lock-up on an Autoroute
Anyone who's familiar with motorcycles will know what a tailpack is. For those not so au fait, it's a large bag which straps onto the passenger seat of a bike to carry luggage. A nifty little solution.

Less so when one of the critical, load-bearing bungees snaps and, unbeknown to the rider, the 5kg bag rocks off the other side, falling onto the top of the wheel where it's kicked into the gap between rear suspension unit and the tyre. The irresistible force of the wheel pulls it further in until it's locked solid

Of course, the first you'll know about this is the rear wheel locking solid and your world filling with white-hot panic, the banshee death-wail of screeching, tortured rubber and acrid, cloying white smoke. The bike will buck and kick, the rear end will hop and tear and shred apart in seconds.

Normally, the rear will bite - hard - and the back end will entirely lose traction and knife around like a truck. The bike will ungracefully kiss the tarmac in a shower of sparks, the plastic and metal shredding like tissue as the road puts it through a hundred-mile-per-hour meat grinders. It'll disintegrate the solid steel frame and engine casings in a matter of seconds. At close to 100mph this will hurt. A lot.

If you go into the ARMCO barrier or a car coming up behind hits you, that's it, game over, do not pass go, do not insert coin for extra life.

If you're really, really, really lucky, you'll keep the back vaguely behind the front, forcing the bike to go with nothing but brute force and desperation until you scrub enough speed off to gather (what remains) of your your wits about you and gradually increase the pressure on the front brake, bit by agonising bit, until you're braking hard enough to life the back tyre and come to a controlled (ish) stop, on one wheel, trailed by a quarter mile tail of thick smoke, the stench of violently shredded rubber and a need for fresh underpants.

Unfortunately, they were in the tailpack and, thus, now somewhere on the N4...
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:35, 13 replies)

The Tunisian Plaything
When I was 6 years of age I was holidaying in Tunisia with my parents.

One hot day my parents decided to hop on a coach and drag me about a very remote marketplace miles away from our Hotel up in the mountains. The market was one of those really claustrophobic places crammed full to the gills with Persian rugs, giant clay pots and hanging meat dangling everywhere, and my mum had drilled into me that I should never wander off, and to keep hold of my dads hand at ALL times.
About 10 minutes later I had somehow become separated from my parents completely. By all accounts, at this point they were shitting bricks that their only son was lost around a sprawling mountain Bazaar - all alone.
All I remember is feelings of absolute terror as I screamed out loud 'MUMMY.. DADDY..' over and over at the top of my little voice, whilst all around me appeared a swell of beckoning Arabian gentlemen - all leering out from the hoods of their shrouded stalls wearing sinister grins as wide as a banana.
What felt like hours later - and by complete luck, an elderly English couple stumbled across me who happened to have been on our coach and had recognised me from it.
Soon after I was reunited with my very relieved parents, and apparently the old couple who found me were the only other English speaking couple on the entire bus.
(CjR Mix, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:30, Reply)

If I had been born with a vagina instead of my humongous willy
my next door neighbour would have certainly had a ride on me seeing as he was working his way through all the young girls in the immediate area.
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:08, 3 replies)

Firework bazooka
You probably did this as teenagers. We would get Air Bomb Repeater fireworks, light them and drop into a piece of plastic pipe to be used as a makeshift bazooka. One november evening in 1989, myself and a few others were happily blowing stuff up with our bazookas. One of my 'mates' decided it would be hilarious to point his bazooka in my direction. He had intended for the firework to shoot over my head by a good few feet just to give me a good scare. However his aim was shit and it skimmed the top of my newly permed hair (it was the fashion, honest) leaving a scorched patch. A few centimetres lower and I would have been hideously disfigured or worse. On the plus side I got my mum to give me a no.2 all over so only had the perm for 2 days.
(Andino, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:08, Reply)

Me and a friend were
Chased by racists into a large dark park once. The good thing was because we were darkies they lost track of us because, well, it was so dark. We had a good laugh about this at which point I put my hand over my mates mouth just in case his teeth gave us away. Ahh the good old days!
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:07, 10 replies)

My name's Struan
Which is a pretty funny name. Little did I know that if I had been born one day earlier (14th february) I would have been called Valentine.
(StruStru saving the world at no extra charge, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:04, 1 reply)

You're more likely to die eating a pickled onion than you are falling cock-first into Magic Johnson's mouth.
Wise words.

I had an acquaintance once, a lovely girl who liked to play fast and loose with her vagina. With a grim inevitability, the two of us mated one night in a deserted car park. Due to my pathological fear of STIs borne from an astonishing run of bad luck two years previously, and the fact that her oven-glove minge had been trampled smoother than a marble by an endless supply of penis, I downright insisted on a condom.
Unfortunately, the combined effect of my sun-dried giblet of a cock and the voracious slab of minced cattle that she called her clopper meant that the sheath slipped off at some point without us knowing. "Don't worry," she cooed as I worryingly rehoused my tepid bean-weevil. "I'm on the pill, and the doctor won't prescribe it unless you have an STI test first." Lies!

A few months later, I was told in strict confidence that she had contracted HIV. When and from whom, I didn't know. "Get yourself tested," the informer told me. I gulped and nodded. We dropped the subject.

Over the coming days, my mind buzzed with harrowing images of my death. Sunken-eyed and yellow, covered in sores and lesions, rotting away my final hours alone in a Romanian orphanage. I developed ulcers in my mouth, proof positive (in my mind) that tiny AIDS monsters were ravaging my body. I booked myself in for a test. Terrified, I sloped off to the clinic to be probed and siphoned by a disapproving saw-cock – a large, gruff African fellow with a completely understandable antipathy towards other men's stinking genitals, and the most incredibly apt surname I've ever heard (which I won't mention here).

There is no wait like the wait for HIV results. But hallelujah (and unsurprisingly, given this QOTW topic), they came back negative. I had dodged the AIDS bullet. I was invincible. My penis must be gilded with essence of luck. Perhaps the pooling residue from my recurring yeast infection was so scorchingly toxic it simply incinerated all incoming AIDS germs. I told my friend, the informer, the good news over a pint. "Oh yeah, I meant to mention that. Turns out it was all bollocks about her. Sorry if you were worried."

I shrugged. "Nah, hardly thought about it."
*sip*


Yeah, so not really a narrow escape, more "I thought me and someone else were ill, but we weren't"
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 16:03, 4 replies)

I've had loads of narrow escapes.
I avoided being killed on 7/7 by the mere fluke of having been nowhere near London at the time, with neither any reason nor desire to be. Had I wanted to be, and had I actually acted on that desire, and had I caught one of the tube trains that blew up, and chosen the wrong carriage, and sat near the bomb... well, I'd've possibly definitely been a gonner.

Exactly the same applies to the Eniskillen and Omagh bombs. It was only being nowhere near them that saved me.

I avoided being hurt when the Herald of Free Enterprise capsised only by virtue of not having been on board at the time.

Come to think of it, I only just escaped being press-ganged into the Royal Navy and losing my life during the Battle of the Nile: had I been born only a couple of centuries sooner, and in a different part of the country, I dread to think what might have happened.

Oh, and this one time, I was snorting MASSIVE DRUGS from the naked flesh of my supermodel girlfriend when she was run over in the head by a flaming Honda Accord. Needless to say, I had the last laugh.

It's scary, really.
(Star Wars Starwarsy McStarwars Face, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:54, 11 replies)

ABS
Most of the time, you can get through life without ever really knowing that ABS is there. It's just three random letters that you see in car advertisements. About the closest you get to it is the slight juddering stop you feel when the examiner hits the dashboard during your driving test.

Let me tell you, when you really need ABS, you realise what an unbelievably good invention it is. The time I found this out was in a hire car in Spain (a Volvo as it turns out). While passing some cars in the fast lane of the motorway somebody decides to start pulling out not in front of me or behind me, but right into the front of my car. There was not much choice for me but to go into the central reservation or be side-swiped into it. Luckily, rather than a kerbed reservation as is usual in the UK, this road had the central dividing barrier separated from the road by a strip of gravel, which is unfortunately not wide enough to accommodate a car. This is where you really learn the value of ABS: braking and swerving with two wheels on gravel and two on tarmac, the chances of me maintaining control of the car without it would have been zero.

But this Volvo was a trusty steed and instead we just had a very close shave within inches of the barrier and a hundred metres of very bumpy ride before rejoining the road; the damage was limited to our underwear. After moving over to cruise in the slow lane for a while until our heart rates had once again dropped below 250, we eventually sped up and passed the guy. I didn't look myself, but my wife reported that he was merry chatting away on his phone seemingly oblivious to what had happened.

ABS: you may not know it, but it is seriously good shit.
(Mr T, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:49, 1 reply)

I was driving a jeep while working "off the books"
for a local militia and some nutters in a black and red van shot the crap out of me, causing me vehicle to hit a mound of dirt and fly 30 foot through the air before rolling across the road 10 times.

Somehow after the vehicle crashed I was able to climb out and surrender and I didn't even have a scratch. How lucky was that?
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:45, 3 replies)

Goa
2006:

An islamic terrorist was caught by police armed with grenades and guns a few hours before he entered Goa to 'shoot english, americans and Israeli's'. It was only by luck that the police searched his vehicle and decided to nick the bugger.

Otherwise me and my girlfriend would have been caught up in his rampage :(
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:34, Reply)

Look at it
Narrow bastard, not like the IBM Model M my coworker has.



Sorry.
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:20, 2 replies)

When I fought the law.. and won.
-hazy lines transporting us back to my 14 year old self-
All this time ago, I liked the odd joint - nothing major of course.
However, an old friends parents caught wind from the friend - friend comes to my house one day, goes home rather excited from the day (as 14 year olds do).
I get a text the next day - "Parents were drinking last night, convinced themselves you sold me speed or something. Trying to get them to ring the police and take the statement back."
Oh shit! Thinks I.
Anyway, nothing happens, statements taken back in the cold light of morning - everything is good.
Till one morning, my stash in my school bag upstairs, im sitting on the PC waiting for school.
BANGBANGBANG on the door.
I peek my head around when my mother answers -
"Hello, im (police rank) and (name)"
I dont hear much of the rest as ive frankly just shat a lung out - the adrenaline kicks in, my heads buzzing. I do hear 2003 mentioned though - strange, i was 11 then..
I go into the kitchen, the bloke says hello. I turn around - look out the back window - 2 more plain clothes officers.
"What the fuck" Im wondering.
"Err.. Mam. Im going to school."
"Two seconds son, excuse me, is he ok to go?"
"Yeah, of course, dont want to get in the way of his day. Run along son, have a good day."
I go upstairs, make sure my stash is in my bag (which consisted of 2 joints..) make my way down the stairs and leg it out the door.
After saying goodbye to my dad, who was on the stairs in cuffs. This didnt register until I was in bed that night.
When im at the school bus stop - the dog unit gets to my house. Id just beat the law. I was a mastermind!
Of course, this didnt stop me passing myself thinking theyd accidently let me go - I smoked the whole lot before walking into school with a friend, and had quite a giggle of a day.

Moral? Drugs are bad, mmmkay.
(bredstkcriminal, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:19, 3 replies)

Sheer luck
Was about to get the crap kicked out of me at the central bus station by 5 chavs pretty much just because of the trousers I was wearing.

I was absolutely bricking it and convinced I was about to die when I hear:

"Alright mate, haven't seen you in ages!"

As the older cousin of a friend rolled up on his rollerblades, holding a big hockey stick. He'd noticed me across the street after just finishing training and figured he'd say hello.

They all just walked off and he never even realised that he'd just inadvertently saved my ass. I barely know the guy, had only met him once before that and haven't really spoken to him much since. To this day he doesn't know that noticing me across the street and coming over to say hello did me a massive favour.
( Regger, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:09, 2 replies)

Bombing trains is soooo 1990's
My thing was similar to IHateSprouts. I was off sick the day London Bridge station got bombed. The train that was at the platform would have been mine otherwise. (IIRC some poor sod in the bog copped it.)

I almost felt like dragging myself in anyway just to give a metaphoric two fingers to the Provo bastards.
(Neil_E_There didn't the Aussies used to be good at cricket?, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 15:00, Reply)

Close to being killed
As he chased me down the hallway, I knew deep down it was either me or him. This black bastard had forced his way into my home and was intent of getting me. I scurried up the stairs and headed towards my bedroom. As I looked over my shoulder, I saw that he had followed me and was clambering up the first step.
He was by no means a big lad, but he was quite gangly, and the way he carried himself was very imposing, with arms spread wide in a threatening manner. I was both livid that he’d had the cheek to come in unannounced, but also very scared about what he would do. He reached the landing and turned to face me.

A standoff ensued.

I stood in the opening of my bedroom door, too scared to say a word.

He looked back menacingly, and kept making small movements towards me before stopping again.

“FUCK OFF”, I bellowed.

He remained where he was. I felt a bead of sweat trickle slowly down my face, tickling me slightly.

Suddenly, he pounced and hurtled towards me.

I leapt backwards and jumped onto my bed waiting for his next attack. He was now in my room and he began approaching me slowly after his initial burst of speed. I decided to take action and I reached over to the bedside table and picked up the only object I could find to defend myself with; an empty mug. Deep down I knew it would be as good as useless, but now I was armed it seemed to make him think twice about coming any closer. My hand gripped the mug handle tightly, turning my knuckles white.
He was staring at me watching my every move, waiting for me to lose concentration so he could get to me.

‘One more step and I’m going to twat you so fucking hard’ I thought to myself. It was as if he’d heard my thoughts, or had I said them out loud? I wasn’t sure, I was too frightened to think straight, but he came at me once more.

I launched the mug from my hand with all the strength I had left in me. It cannoned off his face and he fell to the ground, with the impact causing the mug to smash. He lay on my bedroom floor, motionless, but I was wary of leaving the bedroom. To do so, I would have to step over his body, and I’d seen in the movies that you should never assume someone is dead. I waited for a further two minutes before I’d plucked up enough courage to get past him. I stepped down gingerly from my position on the bed and I was on the floor, moving slowly towards the door, pushed up as close to the wall as I could get.

SHIT! One of his legs twitched, and I panicked. All reason and thought left me and I smashed my foot down on his face. It was over now, I was sure of it.
I fucking hate spiders.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Thu 19 Aug 2010, 14:52, 5 replies)