My Brother...
...came home from a trip to Ibiza. I met him from the airport and casually asked him what the Fcuk he was doing on crutches, as he hadn't taken them with.

The real explaination still remains a guilty secret from our mother. When quizzed by her, he explained that his 4 stitches, bad limp and inability to sit down were all casued by a cactus.

To this day she still doesn't know the truth... and true it truly is.

He had returned to his Hotel, suitably shitfaced after an evening on the sauce. Having misplaced his hotel key, he decided that the only way back to his room was Spiderman-style, via the drainpipes and balconies. Amazingly he made it, stripped to his kecks (it was hot) and laid down to sleep.

So this was how, a few moments later, in nought save his boxers, whilst vomiting over the railings - he fell from the third floor balcony of his Hotel. Thankfully he landed first in a tree, then unceremoniously on the dirt below it. He dragged himself around to the front of the hotel where he lost a LOT of blood, before being carted to the hopsital where he saw out the remainder of his holiday.

The gouge that cost him the blood loss was an inch away from his testicles. He still fears that our mother may castrate him if she ever finds out.
(toomanydecibels has bleeding ears on, Fri 31 Aug 2007, 17:05, Reply)