Not a fire, but bloody hot
As I write this I currently have a bad back from being unable to stand-up properly, am holding my arm protectively across my stomach and am feeling slightly light headed due to being recently being unable to remember what the time was when I last took an antibiotic/paracetamol/ibuprofen and deciding it must be time for some more.

And no im not pregnant (bloody hope not anyway, mainly because im a bloke), rather I have an almost perfect shape of an iron imprinted on my chest. The reason I say almost, rather than exactly, perfect is that most of it is an open, bloody, puss-oozing wound.

The moral of this tale is that irons get fucking hot. And, more importantly, on no account should you EVER f#ck around with them, even after consuming a crate of carling export first. Perhaps especially after consuming a crate of carling. But failing this, you should never, ever, ever hit someone with an iron that has been plugged in long enough to get up to its normal sun-like operating temperature, because
1- this is not a nice thing to do, and
2- if they then get hold of the iron your in trouble.

Still I can see the funny side now, the doctor tells me it is probably going to scar and I will have a ‘Morphy Richards 40700 Comfigrip professional’ brand for the rest of my life... bugger

And to add insult to injury, not only is my ‘friends’ burn almost completely healed but the doctors at A&E asked him if he would like to make a complaint to the police about me, and the melon-headed, nob-jockey actually considered it.


[add own ironing board stomach joke here, ive heard them all already and none of them are funny]
(Digstar fu#king loves biscuits, Sun 6 Nov 2005, 19:25, Reply)