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This is a question MTFU

When have you had to be brave when all you've wanted to do was weep like a blubber-titted bitch?
Tell us so we can judge you.

via Smash Monkey

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:36)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Charlotte's Web
I used to read Charlotte's Web to the sprogs when they were younger.
Probably the most upsetting thing I've ever read was the line, "Charlotte died".*

Had to pretend I had some dust in my eye.

Still gets me now.

*apart from court summons, post-mortem reports, credit card bills etc
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 14:45, 12 replies)
A wasp keeps coming into our office and flying around my legs under the desk where I can't see it.

(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 14:07, 15 replies)
"what's that on your arm?"
my 4-year-old nephew asked a couple of months ago, pointing at the cast on my freshly-shattered wrist.
"it's called a cast," i said, "it makes my arm all better."
"let me see!"
trying not to weep as i explained that he really shouldn't pull on Auntie Smash's arm like that was almost as hard as resisting the urge to clip him around the ear.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 13:56, 7 replies)
My leg seemed to have been bitten ... well - sort of ...
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 13:37, 16 replies)

Just recently, I went for a hellish assessment day and naturally, nearly got a promotion. Which didn't suck as hard as it could have because no one else I work with got it either.

Fast forward a couple of weeks and after much deliberation we were allowed to reapply along with external applicants so I resubmitted my application and lo and behold, I didn't even make it to the interview stage. Imagine my humiliation when everyone else I work with did.

I spent the rest of the afternoon in a black mood, pretending to get on with work. That is until a colleague came over and asked if I was ok. Don't you just hate it when you are trying to hold it together and someone does that? When I said ‘I’m fine’ it sounded more like ‘Fuck. Off.’

About 10 minutes, later I flounced out like the great big loser that I am, and went home to get drunk and cry (Apparently my other half found me asleep on the sofa in my tights and shirt with a bottle of ginger grouse in my hand and eye makeup streaked all over my face and neck – what a treat).

Furthermore, I have, through gritted teeth, suffered the further humiliation of people commenting their surprise and outrage that I didn't get through when most other people did. I'd like to thank each and every one of them for their concern by punching them in the face and then crying whilst eating chocolate liqueurs. But instead I smile politely and echo their surprise.

More importantly, no one even noticed my flounce, that's how much of a dim-witted gonk I am; Failing on every level.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 12:21, 8 replies)
The ending scene of Band of Brothers
Watching it on the train home from London, and I welled up.

I must have looke like a troubled travelling Salesman blubbering away at my laptop.

Good times!
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 12:09, 1 reply)
When I saw that I'd been here for eight years I had to fight back tears of despair.
That's not quite a third of my entire life, right there.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 10:07, 20 replies)
Lilo & Stitch
That bit when he's in the woods.
In the dark.

"I'm lost.

I'm LOST....."
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 9:59, 1 reply)
This is not my story - it was told to me by a chaplain who'd worked at a private boys school
One of the boys in the school died from meningitis and the school decided to conduct a memorial service in their old and creaky chapel.

After singing some hymns chosen by the parents, he delivered a eulogy as solemnly as he could whilst catching the eye of the devastated couple in the front row. He then called for congregation to kneel and take a few moments silence in contemplation.

He reached under the lectern for his kneeler... and rammed a huge splinter from the decaying floor straight up under a fingernail. He managed to supress the girly scream, but tears of sheer pain rolled down his face. As he started to lead the Lord's Prayer, he caught the mother's eye and her face softened.

As they left, he then had lie to the mother that, yes, he too was overwhelmed with sadness at her son's death. Sadness that increased with every squeeze she gave his hand.

Apparently they don't teach these skills at priest-school.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 9:50, 6 replies)
This is a true story, it happened to a friend of a friend of mine.

4 young blokes sharing a house, 2 brothers and their best mates. They all work hard and they all play, fucking scarily. Each of them has a chemical vice, different in type to each other.
One loves his skag and prefers to smoke it off a gilded, heated spoon tied to a Lace Monitor.
Another enjoys partaking in de ganja and regularly chuffs it up by using an elaborate 3x 25L buckets and hosepipe setup to fill his lungs with about 10 cones at once at about 30 psi.
The youngest brother is a bit of a billy the whizz kid and likes to mainline his cooked speed straight into a vein on his turgid cock as he wanks. The elder brother is more laid back - all he takes is acid (this was the 90's dude). Using his connections as former bio-chem graduate he makes his own 'mix' which he regularly droppers into his eyes or pipettes into his beer.
As all of them aren't yet doing management level jobs they often sell their drugs of choice to the general public. From their shared rental house. At all hours of the day and night.

EDITED for the dimwits
Now none of the fellas are angels and they've all had dealings with the plod - so they are all au-fait when it comes to interacting with the local constabulary.
Eventually one of their neighbours was going to get sick of cars turning up for 10 min. or so at a time at 3am and were going twig to what was happening.
It's because of their complete disregard for this that the four housemates were surprised to find a lone copper standing on their doorstep at about 1am on a Tuesday morning. With a signed warrant to search the premises.
Despite their efforts to pull out the barely used bong and small amount of weed from under the kitchen sink (somewhat of a "lightning rod" to draw the D's away from the bigger fish in the house) the young copper walked through the house with a purpose and went directly to each of the young men's stash spots, immediately finding sale-able quantities each time. All in all amounting to jail time for all involved.
The housemates were aghast - clearly he had inside information.
At the end of the search - he even bagged up an confiscated all the liquor in the house and beer in the fridge, the young cop sat them all down at the kitchen table. By this time they weren't just quaking with fear but also justifiable anger at who had double-crossed them.

He told them each what they were going to charged with and suggested some of the consequences they might face.
At this point one of the (smarter) lads quipped - "Why are you here on your own? Normally cops patrol in twos and even so - they never search a property on their own."

The young copper sat quietly for a moment, thinking (it would seem) and then said -
"Did you just threaten a police officer?"
Of course facing the raft of charges in front of them the entire house erupted in a chorus of "No No No No No No..." and tried as hard as they could to show their deference towards the young officer of the law. They even helped him load the evidence bags into the boot of his unmarked car.

When the cases eventually came to court the young blokes were amazed to find that their charges were somewhat less than what they had expected. It appeared that the amount of evidence against them did not match what they thought had been confiscated off them on the night. Not surprisingly none of them contested this 'fact' and all paid a few hundred dollars in fines.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 9:27, 46 replies)
Shit Times.
In 2000, my Mrs and I at a routine ultrasound scan 38 weeks into pregnancy were told that our baby wasn't alive. (weeks later we found out that the acid reflux doctors had diagnosed her with during the pregnancy was actually pancreatitis, which was assumed to be the reason why we lost our little girl). she then had to give birth naturally, we had to bury the daughter we'd never got to meet.

Later in the year when her symptoms were worse and not masked by the pregnancy, the pancreatitis was diagnosed by an f1 AFTER being sent home from A and E a dozen times in as many days by consultants who weren't worried because the ecg she'd had every time she was there was within the norms. It seems every consultant that saw her had forgotten that chest pain isn't just down to heart problems, but a lowly f1, with fresher training, AND going against the opinions of her consultant tested for pancreatitis anyway. If she hadn't done the test, my Mrs would be dead. she spent a week in intensive care, had an operation to have her gall bladder removed, and went on to recover physically.

I spent nearly 8 months holding in tears, and I eventually broke down when my mum asked me if I was o.k.

Shit times. Just, really shit times.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 8:58, 80 replies)
I blame all my failings on the poor parenting I received.

(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 8:44, 6 replies)
Bus from Ealing back to Greenford about 12 years ago.
Sat on the top deck at the front with my flatmate. Gang of about 6 guys sat next to and behind us and started demanding we give them money. I had my rent money on me so wasn't about to hand it over so said no. They started to make threats so I stood up they blocked my way so I pushed through with all the strength I could muster. Amazingly I ended up on the other side of them so I legged it to the stairs and started to descend. Unfortunately they had a 7th guy waiting as lookout at the bottom of the steps who ran up the stairs and delivered an uppercut to my chin. I went down like a sack of spuds and they all piled in and kicked the shit out of me. Bus driver pulled over and let them off the bus. He later told the police that he thought I had just fallen over. I had several people saying things like "Oh sorry mate I didn't want to get involved you know what its like" and I don't blame them really but everyone had mobile phones then and not one person called the police. I ended up with broken nose, black eyes, chipped teeth, cracked ribs and bruising covering my back. Only thing that I still have to show for it is a scar on my chin where the first punch landed. My flat mate, not a fucking scratch.

They didn't get my rent money though.
(, Fri 2 Aug 2013, 8:13, 3 replies)
Oh dammit, I'm too late. Could everyone please just delete all of their posts before this one? Thanks!
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 23:36, Reply)

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 23:23, 5 replies)
Bus warrior
A few years back I caught the bus into Brighton ('insert' raging homo erotic quote here).

I sat upstairs and was drunkenly minding my own business listening to some music.

There were some rowdy teens, doing their best at proving just how far they'd push Chuck Norris and Bruce Lee in a game of who's the hardest bastard on this bus.

They'd invented there own swear words it seems and had even managed to reinvent the laws of gravity with their knee hugging belt line.

A few minutes after I'd got on, an old dear boarded the bus, clambered up the stairs with her weekly shopping haul of tinned goods and asked one of the unruly mob if she could sit down on one of the eight seats the three of them seemed to have acquired.

They duly informed her that these seats were 'd'er fuckin seets bitch' and 'you'd better go fuck yourself or I'll knock you out...

In my lubricated state my internal dialogue wrangled with whether I should intervene, but I was obviously too slow on the draw...

An old weathered chap who looked like Captain Birdseye on steroids stood up, shaking with rage. Knocked the ill fitting cap off the nearest scally and said:

"It's not fuckin', it's fucking. And this lady can sit down wherever she 'fucking' wants to. Now FUCK off!"

The effect was amazing. The little shits shut up in an instant and got off at the next stop. But not before the old chap had a round if applause from everyone else on the bus.
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 22:35, 3 replies)
Man Beats Parent Whilst Horrified Cooked Legumes Watch!
Threatening to bash mummy.

I'm going to preview this tale with a couple of salient points - I'm an only child, my mum was a single mother all of my life by her own choice (she had boyfriends but never wanted to settle down). She raised me to be generally polite and respectful towards people who had earned my respect, she also taught me to never hit a woman (which I have followed as rule ever since). We very rarely got on (chalk & cheese) but I had a lot of respect for her due to her drive and achievements.
About 7 years ago my mum died. It was mostly the lung then brain cancer that got her (but she did manage to get her PhD 6 mths. before she karcked it - I made sure she was Dr. on her grave slab thing as it was obviously important to her). She was adamant that she wanted to stay at home for as long as possible, which meant I had to care for her and eventually coordinate all her home-care. This entailed me basically having to leave my wife and bubby, take leave from work and return to the family manse to live (on & off) for about 6 mths. which as you might imagine was fairly stressful.

I had to attend to all of my small,frail mum's needs. Including bodily lifting her into and out of the bath (she was a Pom and I indulged her because she loved having a bath - 1 regret I have is that when she went into palliative care I tried very hard to get her a final bath and couldn't).
Anyway - one night I just couldn't do it. Mum started getting upset @ not having her bath and things went from there. All of the frustration I'd felt over the last 6 mths. came out - having to wait for hours at a time after the scheduled appt. time to see her oncologist, missing my missus & 2 yo. daughter, watching my mum get even sicker after every round of chemo/radio. Everything... I ended up standing over my mum shouting at her (bearing in mind that we fought like cats & dogs anyway).
She said to me at a lull in my tirade -
"Are you going to hit me now?" not flinching but genuinely scared.
EDIT: I should point out - my mum's first marriage was physically abusive for both parties and she did have tumours in her brain at the time of this incident, so she could well have confused me for someone in her past who had hit her.
I knew she was being manipulative. But it stopped me dead.
I said matter-of-factly - "No Mum. You've always taught me not to hit women." But it hit me a bit like a brick shouldn't (thank you Mr. Adams). In that moment I saw my mum as human being rather than a parent and it scared, shamed but enlightened me.

Non-the-less the horror feeling I had & the fact that my mum seriously thought I might have hit her left me sobbing. (Call me an Internet Pussy once you've worn these soles 9-5).
She gave me a big hug.
To all the Usual Suspects - trust me nothing you could possibly say would make me feel any worse than that moment. But I'll steal your thunder by saying -
My Mom.
Apologies for length? Try the 2 years it took from her being diagnosed to when she died.

EDITED a little bit to bring it up to date and whatnot.
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 22:26, 41 replies)
I want my Mummy!
I am a teacher; a tweed-clad, chalk-dusted wrangler of the tiny-humans. I teach science, which means that at occasional, brief intervals between cups of coffee, I have opportunity, means, and motive to set things on fire for the delight and betterment of the next generation of mankind.

Occasionally, however, there is the opportunity to string together several of these 'demonstrations' into something even more exciting. It was science week, and I had planned a lunchtime of explosions to entertain the masses and enthuse them if the joys of the subject. A dozen dutiful little nerdlings arrived, and I began light things on fire.

'Ooooh!' They say, as the first demo happens. 'That was a hot one!' I quip, hilariously.

'Aaaaaah!', they coo. As various miniature-sized delights spew steam across the desk. 'Nearly got me that time!', I yell, at a volume needlessly elevated for the small crowd.

And so we continue at this game for a little while. The room gradually fills with smoke, and my reputation grows as master of all things fiery and dangerous. So confident was I, that when I go to set off my last explosion of the session, I forget about the rather fragile and less-than-fire-retardant nature of my fingers. The explosion (a displacement reaction involving magnesium and copper oxide, for those interested in recreating my misery accurately) lights up the desk, and leaves me with second degree burns on my finger and thumb.

'Ow!' I shout, desperately fighting the urge to unload the most violently cuntitudinous and visceral swearing. 'Hahaha!', laugh the children. 'No, seriously!', I mutter, through gritted teeth, 'I think I might be actually hurt!'. 'Hahaha, good one, Sir!', they cry.

It takes nearly a full minute, before I convince one of them to go and fetch a proper, responsible adult. I spend the rest of the day cursing gently in front of vastly unsympathetic ranks of bored teenagers, and the rest of the week with my finger and thumb bandaged up like a poorly mummified lobster.

I love my job.
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 20:52, 2 replies)
Cyber Hordes
So there I was on Magnius Beta surrounded by thousands of Cybermen, and I was armed only with a potato laser knife with a flat power pack. I was terrified, but I MTFU and managed to destroy them all.

(Don't worry, fans - I have a much better, and MUCH MUCH longer, story to tell. Take me a while to put it together, so see you in a couple of days!)
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:41, 3 replies)
\/ \/ \/ \/ \/ SPOILERS \/ \/ \/ \/ \/

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:40, Reply)
End of Toy Story 3
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:19, Reply)

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:18, Reply)
As some of you know, I was orphaned at a very young age.
I was fostered with people that I definitely cared about but never quite felt I belonged. I was still utterly devastated when they were shot by storm troopers but my sister is well fit.
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:18, 8 replies)
When someone put pencil shavings on my head

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 18:11, Reply)
I hurted my knee :(

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:53, 3 replies)
Dating the manager of a pub has its pros and cons
On the plus side, free beer. However, when customers get aggressive and violent, you're expected to step in. More than once I've had to eject some idiot who thinks threatening the barstaff is acceptable behaviour, though thankfully they're usually so pissed that their wobbly, telegraphed haymakers have about as much chance of landing as the Colombia space shuttle.
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:47, 19 replies)
Somebody said something nasty to me on the internet

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:43, 4 replies)
oh fuck only 2nd
Damn, blown it again!

I think I'm going to cry...
(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:39, Reply)

(, Thu 1 Aug 2013, 17:39, 11 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1