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This is a question I Hurt My Rude Bits, Again

My commute to work was made excellent the other day when I saw a motorcyclist try to ride on the pavement to avoid a traffic queue, lose control, fall off and land bollock-first on a concrete bollard. He was fine, eventually – but tell us your tales of the old blinding agony to the gentleman's or gentlewoman's area.

(, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:50)
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Panic sets in,
We'd climbed the scaffolding on the front of the Sheldonian in Oxford to claim another new roof joint (oxford university roofs are surprisingly accessible, and garner great views) and had smoked a couple of spliffs and finished the bottles of beer we'd brought. Perfect, just time to climb down, run across to the Purple Turtle for a quick drink, and head home. We peer over the top to make sure of our route, and at the bottom of our climb, university security and a cop car. Bollocks. Don't really want to have to deal with this. Must be another way down. So we go exploring.
Perfect, one side of the building has a fire escape ladder stair thing. That'll do, once we're on the ground we'll sort the next stage, if it's a fire escape it must have a way out.
We clamber over a couple of bits of nice architecture and drop on the the stairs. Well, I drop on to the stairs, T drops one leg on to the stairs, and one not. Right on the rail. Right on his man undercarriage. The sort of screech that sends birds flying from their nests in films comes from his throat. And I panic. They must have heard that round the front. We've gotta run. But, after easing his errant leg on to the right side of the rail, all T can muster is a stumbling gate.
So we run/stumble down the stairs, towards a gate that I have convinced myself is open as, who locks the exit from a fire escape? The University of Oxford apparently.
It's not a huge fence, so I give the slowly recovering T a leg up, and scramble after him. I don't know what happenrd next, maybe I lost my grip, or it was wet, or whatever, but just as I am about to make it over, BOOM, balls meet gate. It's white hot agony. But somewhere, in the back of my mind I remember we're escaping. And I panic, adrenaline kicks in, and we're suddenly lead actors in a ballache - great escape. We sort of painfully run back round to the front, past the security van, and make our way up the broad and to Boozey victory at the PT. We make it at about 2, waved in by the bouncer who knows us, grab 2 bottles of beer each, and sit, drinking one, and cradling the ice cold second beer next to our slightly throbbing balls.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 2:18, 27 replies)
You were chasing a stumbling gait?

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 6:36, closed)
you went to Oxford and you can't spell 'gait'?
fuck this, I'm declaring a PhD.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 7:39, closed)
I live in oxford, I didn't go to oxford.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:30, closed)

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:42, closed)
Oscar Pistorius
wants to send you a special "Intruder" Valentines message.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:52, closed)
alright Ringo,

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:53, closed)
Alright Windy.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:08, closed)
I also came here to pick you up on the single typo you made

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 7:44, closed)
I was also peturbed by the levels of Smug.
bearing in mind that this was the closest the OP got to an Oxford education, I found the dissonance jarring.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 7:55, closed)
I preferred you when you had Cancer.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:34, closed)
I liked her when she had 2 breasts.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 10:54, closed)

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 14:31, closed)
I'm trying to be nice to Janet here.
It's hard I know. But let me try.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 19:11, closed)
Oh man.
You know a bouncer?
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:26, closed)
it's weird, back then we thought we were cool because we knew a bouncer.
I have to employee bouncers for the pub occasuonally now, they're not as cool as I remember.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:33, closed)
I don't think I ever thought bouncers were cool.
Possibly because my mate's brother was one and the first thing I remember about bouncers was watching them have an after hours game of "gutpunch until you puke" and then one of them telling a hilarious tale of how he'd raped his way through the ports of south east asia. Charming gents.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:42, closed)
one of the fellas we had last year fat St Patrick's night told me that he liked the noise of muffled screams and breaking bones.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:53, closed)
The ones I knew used to play "knob ya".
Wherein they'd stand at one end of a crowded bar, flop their cock out, and try to run the length of the bar rubbing their helmet on everyone waiting for a drink.

Invariably there would be one of their friends waiting at the end of the bar to punch them in the balls as soon as they completed a run.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:39, closed)
I fell over a stumbling gate, once.
Bit dangerous to have one on a fire escape, if you ask me.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 8:26, closed)

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:00, closed)

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:06, closed)
Another vote for stumbling gate here.

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 9:53, closed)
stumblinggate is the new watergate

(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 11:18, closed)
Broken fucking Britain.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 11:24, closed)
Don't listen to these cunts, WP
I loves ya.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 11:33, closed)
One of about four actually entertaining yarns this week and we end up with TYPO-GATE.
Soz, typo-gait.
(, Tue 12 Mar 2013, 21:10, closed)
I used to live in Oxford.
Stumbling Gate is a less well known tourist spot, a little off the beaten track at the end of Port Meadow where it often floods and is a popular skating arena in winter.
Shambling Gate is at the opposite end.
(, Wed 13 Mar 2013, 9:16, closed)

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