I too never used to get overly emotional.
This all changed when i had kids.
Recently what has got to me is the Daniel Pelka case. I have found myself really upset at the thought of that poor little lad being tortured by his own mother. I have a son around the same age and hearing the details on the case has been very distressing to the point where I have had to leave the room when it has been on tv.
Still don't cry at films though
(andythepieman Is surfing the waves of indifference on, Tue 6 Aug 2013, 11:18, 26 replies)

Disposable
As I sit here on the floor with the blinds closed, the deafening emptiness of the room washing over me and pinning my mouth shut, I often think of him. He always arrived at the most unexpected moments; sometimes in a rush, carelessly manhandling me and pushing me around; sometimes with the greatest delicacy (often late at night), sliding his soundless footfalls up to me and easing me open. It never really mattered that there was always that famous thin layer of plastic between us...he was so focused on keeping clean, after all. It was enough to feel his hands on me, sometimes the warmth of his feet, and I still tingle when I think of the feeling of fullness he left behind. On rare occasions he would come home with someone else; I always secretly looked forward to those times, especially when it was a woman, as there was a gentleness and respect with which she would coax me to open up.

In spite of all the cast-off emotions and detritus I had to take from him on a daily basis, I never rebelled, never complained, never expressed a wish for anything different.

Some of the memories of those times are fading now, like a scattering of hot sparks from a dying firework that wink off into the darkness of the past, but I will always know my true calling, no matter if every last person in the world stays about from me.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Tue 6 Aug 2013, 9:59, 7 replies)

I trod on a plug once.
Didn't hurt.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 6 Aug 2013, 8:52, 9 replies)

This weekend I was given a dead leg and it really fucking hurt.
A three year old hit me on the thigh with an apple in his hand.

It really fucking hurt.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Tue 6 Aug 2013, 8:15, 2 replies)

Saw a cat run across the road, get hit by a car, bounce back onto the kerb and immediately leap up gyrating and trying to scratch its own face off where the car had hit it square in the head.
I screeched to a halt and whipped off my jacket to scoop it up with while it was wailing and fitting. The impact must have caused a a cranial haemorrhage because one of its eyes started projecting from its socket- gruesome sight anyway, but even more when it's still apparently concious and in agony.

I bundled it up and put it in the boot of my car and went straight to the vets where I legged it in with the (now) quiescent bundle and asked rather brokenly if there was anything they could do. The vetinary nurse dashed to get the vet and they both leaped into the examination room and closed the door.

What was probably only 5 minutes felt like an eternity, then the vet finally came out and gravely informed me that it was beyond help. They were kind enough to put my jacket through their washing/sterilising process but it must have still had some residual cat fear pheromone on it- each time I wore it I felt queasy. Had to bin it.

It wasn't even my cat!

ugh.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Mon 5 Aug 2013, 19:10, 6 replies)

Weever.
Fist day of the holiday in Cornwall, sunny skies, beckoning sea, and two small excited children. We all run hand in hand into the waves where I promptly stand on a Weever fish. I knew what had happened, and I was faced with the choice of MTFU or terrify two toddlers who would likely never go in the water for the rest of the holiday. MTFU then. It wasn't too bad... at first. But after a couple of minutes it was fucking agony. I made my excuses and left so that a nice lifeguard could stick my foot in a bucket of boiling water (as a cure for the sting - or so he said, could be some weird thing they do to grockles for fun).
(Ott3r, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 18:05, 5 replies)

CTFU
It's galling when you have a cat yet you have to catch and kill mice yourself :(
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 17:48, 1 reply)

I had this vision of people talking without speaking, and hearing without listening.
But instead of doing a cry, I wrote a song about it AND CHANGED THE WORLD.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 15:00, 6 replies)

On the phone at work
Contact lens fell out mid conversation to a Very Important Customer, no worries just pop it back in.

Forgot I'd been eating salt and vinegar crisps 5 minutes earlier.
( TGB checking Off Topic is still shit at, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 14:50, 4 replies)

I had to man up when I killed my dad
Gandalf
(McChinaman banned, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:34, Reply)

From Bad to Worse.
I said goodbye and put down the phone. There was nothing they could do, she said. He was still alive when they got to the vet but my wife said he took one look at the little guy and his expression changed and she just knew. Apparently the woman in the car had been completely distraught. Her voice broke as she told me how she had been forced to comfort the woman who had killed her beloved pet.

Normally this would be the point where I got stuck into a drink but I had been worried about my intake lately. Too many too often, feeling like I "needed" it to cope. I felt like I was standing on a knife's edge.

Ah, fuck it. I walked down the street to the pub. I got as far as getting the pint in my hand. I stared at it for about a minute before handing it back. I didn't want this. I didn't want to go this way. Anyway, I still had that important meeting to go. Had I really sunk so low as to turn up half-cut to a meeting with the top brass? I turned to leave.

"Oi, are you going to pay for this or what?" I turned back around. "Oh, sorry, I... I forgot," I stammered as I produced a crumpled fiver. "Fucking muppet," muttered the barman as he made change that later turned out to be a whole pound short. I gritted my teeth and walked to the door. "You want to watch yourself, you snotty bastard. Attitude like that get you a proper kicking, like as not."

The meeting was already under-way when I got in, dizzy with grief and confusion. "12 minutes late, young man," said my manager with a smug look on his face. It only got worse from there. This was meant to be my big chance but that officious little turd had his hooks in them and he wasted no opportunity in undermining me at every turn, taking credit for all of my hard work, talking over me when I attempted to stick up for myself and generally making me look a complete useless tit in front of the big bosses. But I tried to man up, to maintain a professional veneer on top of the boiling storm of emotions.

The impressed looks on their faces as this preening twat told lie after lie was almost unbearable. I didn't know whether to cry or scream. Something caught my attention and I started listening again. I realised he was taking total credit for the web application project that had been my baby for the last eight months. I had designed and developed it all by myself; it would drastically increase productivity, it was the thing that was going to get me noticed, and here he was claiming all the glory and basically writing me out of history.

"For fuck's sake, Gerry, is there no low to which you will not sink? You malodorous cunt."

My cheeks burned with regret as I realised what I had done. Several of the bosses began to sigh and tut. Gerry prodded me viciously in the chest. "Young man, I think you and I need to step outside and discuss your future with this company."

The final straw broke. My lip trembled and the room began to blur. I began to cry, deep bubbling sobs. As the tears hit my cheeks I felt my bladder relax and felt the stream of hot wee begin its journey down my trousers. My eyes were crying and my penis was crying along with my eyes. "I want my mummy!" I blubbered as my liquid shame began to pool in my shoes. My sobbing continued, interrupted only by the occasional loud fart as I lost total control of my body. Suddenly a kindly voice cut across the pissy weep-show.

"It will be okay. You will be okay." The CEO got out of his chair and walked over to me. "Just remember that I love you," he told me before kissing me tenderly on the lips. "Who ARE you?" I asked him. "You know very well," he said.

I stared in disbelief as he pulled his face off, which turned out to be mask instead of a face and underneath it was another face, the face of a man who I knew's face. It was my old headmaster, Mr. Wilson! "I have wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you," he said. My wee of shame became a wee of joy. "Take me!" I wept, and we made sweet, sweet love, right there on top of Gerry's briefcase.

I woke up at that point, the hot humiliation of a wet dream burning a hole in my bicycle shorts. I looked around me, uncomfortably aware that I had almost certainly just yelled "NOB ME IN THE GOB!" at the top of my voice.

It took all my emotional strength to keep it together when the vicar informed me that I would not be welcome at next Sunday's service.
(Frank Snow, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 12:14, 10 replies)

Man. The fuck? Up!
My wife and I have both worked as carers for people with intellectual disabilities. Some of my missus' clients were living independently. Often in flats and units all fairly close together.

One night we get woken up by a phone call at about 0100. It's Catherine - one of my wife's clients. She is in her early 30's and has suffered from grand mal epilepsy seizures most of her adult life - many of these have left her with physical and emotional scars. They also have the unfortunate effect of killing shitloads of her brain every time it happens.
Anyhoo, Catherine has called us crying, because she's just been raped by one of her neighbours. I tell my missus to tell Catherine to check she's alone in her flat, stay inside, lock her doors and don't open them until she hears my wife's voice. I then tell her to call the cops and we set off.

We arrive about the same time as the police - Catherine opens the door looking dishevelled and distraught. It turns out that one of the nephews of another resident of the block is the perpetrator. He's sitting upstairs watching TV. Not for long.

The cops bring him downstairs to interview as the forensic people turn up. A lady whose probably only intimacy is with herself has to have it explained to her by my wife (her carer) that she should allow people to perform even more "invasive" things to her in order to get the bad guys.
The young fella stands out on the balcony accompanied by a young copper. Looking like the stunned-est mullet there ever was.
Even before I got fat and old, I have always been built fairly big and solid. I'm sure to some people when I'm angry I could well be intimidating.
I calmly and quietly approached the 2 young men, the cop and his younger quarry. I leant carefully towards the perpetrators ear so that the rapist could hear me whisper.
"If it weren't for my respect for that guys uniform, I'd have your throat in my hands". The young fella tried to splurt an apology and rather wisely the the young cop stepped in to separate us.
That day my wife and I both shed quite a few tears "de-briefing".

The young bloke plead guilty and spent a few months in jail.
Catherine was never really capable of understanding - she ended up being moved into residential care, not because she lost abilities but because she could never again trust the people around her.

Me & my wife - we spent quite a lot of nights wondering what we could've done to have alleviated the situation. Even tho it wasn't our fault. End of the day - we looked after Catherine as best we could and beyond that - there's a man who served a few months in pokey who'll forever be looking over his shoulder and wondering. Or not.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 5 Aug 2013, 9:40, 192 replies)

Broke up with my ex
Face to face. She was crying and everything.

Ran out of free txt messages hadn't I?
(Frample Tromwibbler climbs an obstacle like old people fuck, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 9:36, 1 reply)

I bet you've had a 'man up' more than a few times IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN AND I THINK YOU DO

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 9:06, 13 replies)

Went to work with a hangover.
Didn't pull a sickie.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 9:01, 15 replies)

Stranded by sunset
When day hiking, there have been three times when getting disoriented just before sunset nearly-condemned me to spend the night unprotected outside.

First time was getting turned around in a part of the Grand Canyon called Surprise Valley. Every boulder and tree looked alike there and the camp was invisible in the monotony. Much shouting was required to establish contact.

Second time was missing a trail branch just north of the Mexican border where groups of highly-intelligent Coatimundi were running around. I thought those animals lived in Central America, and they unnerved me. Would they eat my face off?

Third time was in Carnarvon Gorge, Queensland, where I got confused in a campground by that weird Antipodean sun placement and monotonous eucalyptus woods.

Each time, though, I got it together before nightfall. Fourth time, though, sunset actually caught me as I was making slow progress through a wilderness full of boulders, cacti, and agaves. But that was a moment of grace. A full moon rose and saved the night.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 8:38, Reply)

somebody said a lie on a internet once but i dint cry.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 5 Aug 2013, 6:41, 5 replies)

This is one of those times where manning up was the only option available....
Every few weeks, myself and the neighbours, along with a few friends, elect a place to go for a day or night out and we all go and have a good time together doing whatever is suggested. There's normally about 12 of us that form the main group but there can be more, depending on the event/available funds. We've hired canal boats for the day, gone to some gigs, drank in strange towns - that sort of thing.

Anyway, it was the school holidays and, as some of us have kids, it was decided that a day out including them would be fun. We'd spend the day at a place called the Crocky Trail, near Chester in Cheshire. This is a place where all the activities are home made and a place where Health and Safety very rarely make an appearance. It's a lot safer now than it ever was, but it's not a place for the heavily pregnant or sufferers of Osteoporosis and the like.

The place has things to swing from, climb up, slide down - usual physical activity stuff - that is big enough for kids and adults to play on together, and we had been on a few things and survived. But that's not what this story is about.

On the way around the site, there are a few 'objects' that have been placed around for you to look at in wonder, rather than climb, and one such thing is Gulliver's Chair - it looks like a normal chair except that it's made of telegraph poles, so you can imagine the size of it. The seat, we reckoned afterwards, was about 5m up....a great place to get everybody up onto for a group photo. We happily ignored the "Do Not Climb" sign and set about spending a good half hour or so helping eachother, and the kids, aloft this monster piece of furniture. I know....responsible parenting was exchanged for the chance of adventure and a great photo!

Anyway, all went well and those that were able to make the climb did so, while those that couldn't took the photos. It was lovely up there, as long as you didn't rock about too much or go near the rotten poles...

We had got just about everybody down again safely and (as far as I can remember) I was the last (or nearly last) to come down. I don't really know what happened but I remember my foot not connecting with anything solid and then a very, VERY, rapid descent sideways onto the concrete below....

Now....I hit the ground from the bar below the seat, so it was only about 2m high but in that fall I knew I had landed hard as nothing in my body seemed to belong to me any more. There wasn't any pain but I was winded and breathing like a fat kid running to a buffet. I lay there for a minute or so and then looked around at the entire group looking at me as if I was dead. Ambulances were mentioned so at that point I felt I had to get up and show I was OK. I was told not to stand, of course, but I had to man up and get to my feet. As I did, I hit my head on the crossbar that I had slipped from and fell back down like a sack of shit,.

I had to laugh that one off - that was just a dumb thing that happened - so I rose again, more carefully this time, and gave myself a quick check over. I felt a little drunk and unsteady, but otherwise ok. My hand hurt a bit, my chest was sore, my leg was numb and I was a little dazed, but had to put on a brave face as the kids were starting to cry!

We hadn't actually been at the place for very long so I said I would walk off the pain for ten minutes and see how I go - if I need medical help, I promised I would let everybody know and then go to be checked. Of course, we'd been looking forward to this day for weeks and I wasn't going to let them down. I gritted my teeth, dragged my sorry ass around that place for the rest of the day, pretending everything was ok but just bruised or something. I even joked about how I'll "feel it in the morning!".

After the day out at the trail, it was planned that we'd go for a pub dinner - I'd driven to the trail so jumped straight into the driver's seat and set off. I used to own a VW Transporter and can honestly say that the clutch was easier to use in that than the Ford Escort I was driving. My left leg was agony to use! Of course, again, I had to keep a brave face, after all, I had promised to say if I felt the need for hospital....

So we arrived at the pub, managed to eat a meal despite finding it hard to breathe, swallow, hold anything in my right hand or even raise enough energy to join in the banter. I couldn't even face a drink. It was THE most miserable, painful pub meal I had ever had.

After any of our days out, we head home to the neighbour's house. I live next door of course so my kids were able to run around and I could get a beer. That beer, I think, got me through the next couple of hours as by now my body was hating me and wanting to curl up into a ball and die somewhere. I knew that in a few hours, once my wife was home from work and able to take over the looking after of the kids, I could go for help. The end was in sight....

So she duly arrived, the kids were placed into bed and kissed goodnight and, as they chattered between themselves about how great a day they had had, and how happy they were and how amazing we'd all been to them, I slid slowly down the stairs and into my friend's car, where I was taken to the nearest A&E.

Turned out I had done more than a little damage. I'd broken my right wrist in two places, broken one rib at both ends and two ribs at one end each. I had torn a muscle in my right thigh, severely bruised my left shoulder, damaged a tendon in my right foot and had some internal bruising in the kidney area (I won't tell you how difficult it was to piss for about 2 weeks after. Oh.....I just did...). They were amazed I'd lasted the 12 hours or so since the injury and thought I was an idiot not only for climbing that chair thing in the first place, for falling off it but for not getting an ambulance. I kinda agreed at that point....

So there it was.....to avoid upsetting the kids and ruining a day out with my best friends and neighbours, I carried on with a broken body around a kids play park, eaten a pub lunch, driven and partied, all while looking after the 4 kids I had taken. I can, hand on heart, say that I "Manned Up" on this occasion, right?
(INGSOC Room 101 will be awaiting you on, Sun 4 Aug 2013, 20:14, 6 replies)

Drain clearance
Clearing the annual fat blockage of the kitchen sink drain is a manly enough activity, but today...

After scooping all the congealed ick into a bucket I look down to see an eyeball gently float to the surface. Barely suppressed girly scream later, I realise it's a googly-eye that the kids must have flushed down the sink.
( chthonic, Sun 4 Aug 2013, 15:20, 8 replies)