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This is a question My Saviour

Labour leader Ed Miliband recently dashed into the middle of a road to save a fallen cyclist. Who has come to your rescue? Have you ever been the rescuer?

(, Thu 9 May 2013, 13:29)
Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

An open communiqué to certain members of b3ta.
I wholly and unreservedly apologise to anyone who thought that I was in any way threatening Dr. Shambolics children with this post. I was not and had absolutely no intention of causing harm or distress.

I was in that post trying to suggest (as I do fairly regularly) that Dr. Shambolic seems to spend an inordinate amount of time on this site being rude, angry and arrogant to any number of posters for what seems to be no other reason than to be divisive. Time that he clearly isn't spending with his wife and children.
Hence - "Then again he'd have to step away from the computer in order to do so.
See you here again later today, tomorrow morning & tomorrow arvo then Shambo?"

There is strong anecdotal evidence that children of neglectful parents are often at higher risk of being groomed by paedophiles.
As a parent I attempt to structure my time online to not interfere with my valuable downtime with my family. As making snide and nasty comments about other posters on a comedy website is slightly less important to me than spending time with my family.

I would like to thank the brave, principled, morally righteous person who dobbed me into the mods.
I hope they will be there for me next time posters on this comedy website are talking about my wife being "double-teamed as I watch crying" or when certain posters discuss how they would like to have a "pool party at my house where my 8 yo. daughter could be passed around to be abused". Because of course moral guardians are always impartial. Aren't they?
I'd like to ask whichever moderator it was that stepped me why is it ok for other non-story posters (as in posters who regularly come here to stir shit and not post relevant stories) to respond to stories with comments like - "I hope you kill your family and then yourself" & "I hate you and I want you to die" amongst others? Whilst my comment was seen to be so reprehensible as to cause me to be stepped. Whilst many of these posters regularly post with seeming impunity.

Maybe I should spend less time writing stories based upon the nominated topic here each week and more time telling on these morally repugnant transgressors to the mods more regularly.
It's truly sad that people who tattle-tale on others are seen in such a negative light by most of society, as they are the pillars which hold up our staunch values and strong sense of ethical behaviour. Particularly on this site.

I would like to reiterate once more - I apologise for any pain and suffering I may have caused to whomever it was that took such umbrage at my comment as to tell on me to the mods and thus get me stepped.
I would apologise for posting off-topic but seeing as some posters regularly get away with posting single words as their /qowt story - fuck it.

NB: This may not be the best time to bring this up, but Shambles regularly has claimed that he has a way of circumventing ignore2.0 by not having to logout and then back in to read users posts that either he has on ignore or or have him on ignore. He has me on ignore and has done for some time. Yet constantly is able to respond to my post, supposedly without having to logout and then log back in again. According to him.
Personally I feel that unless he is a moderator himself Shirley this is going against the very spirit of ignore2.0 and is also using a work-around to cheat an implementation by the site's mods to ensure that if you have someone on ignore they cannot read your posts and you cannot read theirs. And if he is a mod then taunting users with his "I can see you but you an't see me" attitude isn't exactly "mod-like" behaviour is it?
I'd hate to think that someone wasn't playing by the rules. That would be absolutely awful.

EDIT: "banned" changed to "stepped".
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 21:49, 45 replies)
Are the only saviour of my bins.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 20:34, 2 replies)
I once leapt heroically off my roadbike on the canalpath in Nottingham
on my way to work to extricate a pigeon which had become entangled in blue handroll and was drowning.

Oh, and a few days ago I lifted a bug onto the rocks in the outdoor swimming pool I work in.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 20:30, Reply)
Obnoxious Teenagers
A friend came to visit when I lived in Tucson, Arizona, and we decided to go hiking in the nearby Santa Catalina Mountains. We clambered up Sabino Canyon and after much hot hiking ended up at a pool in a steep side canyon. The place was spectacularly pleasant, except for a group of about eight teenagers lurking at the shore, playing thrash metal on a boom box at earsplitting volumes that echoed throughout the canyon. Still, the water looked inviting, so we climbed in.

After awhile, I tired paddling around, so I tried to leave the pool. I could not. The walls of the pool were steep, rocky, and polished-smooth, offering only one beach, over by the teenagers. There was skill involved in making the exit. One had to swim quickly towards the shore and beach upon it like a whale, because it was underlain by a rock overgrown with algae that didn't permit standing or wading near the shore. The teenagers could do this with ease. I couldn't get footing on the rock, and couldn't gain enough speed to beach myself on the shore, since I really didn't swim - ineffective paddling was my forte. I abruptly realized I was trapped. Approaching exhaustion, I tried waving at my friend, but he just waved back. I started the unpleasant but inexorable process of drowning.

Just then, one of the teenagers noticed. He and a friend came into the pool, took my arms, and dragged me onto the shore.

But the teenagers still wouldn't turn down the volume on the boom box, so as soon as I caught my breath, my friend and I hiked back.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 19:49, 6 replies)
It was 3pm, I was about 8
My brother 9. Were walking up a patch of greenery in the town, covering a hill with 2 intersecting foot paths running down it like a sloped St Andrew's flag.

We were on our way back from purchasing Wrestling tickets, as you do, when at the top of the hill we see an unconcious man in an old suit rolling down.

We stopped him-ish, burst up to the top of the hill where there was a row of houses, screaming for help as a man had fallen unconcious and likely required an ambulance. We were rather hysterical.

Only turns out that it was the local drunk, out of his tits on super T. This is all true.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 18:42, 2 replies)
The Salvation Army
Maclir: Do you save fallen women?

Sally Army Person: Yes, we do.

Maclir: Well, save one for me.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 16:51, 2 replies)
I've already told you all about saving a woman from a knife-wielding maniac (here), preventing a suicide (here) and rescuing swimmers in trouble (here). So today I shall relate a tail of inadvertent noncery.

Walking to work one morning, I saw up ahead a small girl, about 5 years old, hiding behind an upturned table outside a pub. She was giggling, clearly playing a joke on mum. But as I got closer, the smiles faded and she started to look scared: it seemed that mum was no longer anywhere in sight.

This was near a very busy intersection in a crowded town centre, and I didn't think she should be left alone. So I approached her and talked to her, and confirmed that she'd lost her mum as I'd suspected. I knew where the school she named was, so I decided to take her there and see if I couldn't find a policeman on the way. As it happened, a few minutes down the road, I spotted a frantic-looking woman in the crowd up ahead, and so reunited them safely.

As I left them, it occurred to me rather worryingly how easy it had been to get the girl to come with me. I wondered what the two old women standing nearby - who hadn't bothered to try to help the girl, they were too busy gossiping - had made of it. And I had a long talk with my own daughters that night, too...
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 14:57, 4 replies)
When in halls at university, there was an "artist" who lived down the corridor.
He most certainly wasn't Brian from Spaced, he was more like a weird, miserable version of Rick from The Young Ones - for example, he once photocopied his mother's death certificate and wrote "MY MUM" across it in his own blood. He then framed this and took it around and sort of casually showed it to people ("What? This? Oh, just a piece I did recently"). He too was on my Media Studies course.

Being so punk rock, rebellious and cool, we all smoked huge amounts of hashes of weeds, and one Wednesday evening, one of our party went to get some more cigarettes from her room.

Coming back, she had a story: "What the fuck is it with Jeff?" she asked. "It just took me about ten minutes to get past him in the corridor."

This was a little concerning - was he getting rapey now?

"He was just standing there, with his top off, with his arms outstretched. He told me he had to show them the way ... "

"Show who the way?" someone enquired.

"The children. He said he had to show the children the way to heaven."

"What children?"

"The children of Dunblane."
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 14:24, 25 replies)
I almost helped someone.
Walking through town about a week ago I saw some bloke lying on floor, hands on his stomach, looking like he was in a lot of pain. A lot of people were looking but no-one went over to see if he was okay. I don't know why but I felt for this poor sod so I asked him if he was alright, if he needed an ambulance.

He looked up at me and said he fell over and now he couldn't feel his organs. He asked me what had happened to his organs. By this point a few people had come over to see what was wrong so I just walked off.

I'm not a horrible person, but if someone is so wasted that they think they've lost their organs, I can't really be of any help.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 13:32, 7 replies)
Not Me
but, like the blood donor story below, I'd like to give a heartfelt thanks to cyclists and motorbike riders. In the medical profession, they're know as organ donors.

It doesn't matter how good a rider you are, how quick your reactions are, you have to face the fact that the roads are full of dickheads in cars and trucks. Eventually, your luck will run out. - But you'll make a few families very happy when they harvest your organs.

If you think this is a pop against riders - it isn't. I challenge anyone who rides a bike or a hog, on a daily basis, to deny that they haven't had a near miss in the last year.

(, Fri 10 May 2013, 13:11, 26 replies)
If it weren't for Mrs Vagabond, I strongly suspect
I'd be under a bridge somewhere, drug addicted and giving handjobs for coins.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 12:28, 15 replies)
Three years ago on a cold evening in March a baby starling
fell out of its nest in next door's roof onto the path. I tried to walk past but had to turn back and pick him up. He didn't appear hurt, apart from being pissed off with the sibling who pushed him out, so I took him indoors.
He was christened "Sidney" and given dog food off the back of a teaspoon handle and water from an eyedropper. I kept him in a cardboard box with scrunched up paper inside. He was quiet when the lid was closed but would respond energetically when he heard me start to open the lid.
There was no-one at home daytimes so I took him to work with me because he needed feeding at least every hour during daylight.
One morning after about two weeks I heard frantic rustling as I went to his box. When I opened it he tried to fly out so I took the box outside on the lawn and let him take off. His parents were sat on our fence and he went straight to them and started begging. They looked surprised but they seem to accept him and they flew off together.
His siblings didn't fledge until three days later so chicken in jelly appears to be more nutritious than grubs and leftovers.
One of the most rewarding things I have done; people asked me why I bothered, there's millions of starlings? But it's like I said to Sid, "A mate's a mate, right?"
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 12:19, 11 replies)
magic torch's cat-overboard story reminds me of when my brother and his wife took their several terriers on a houseboat holiday
The dogs liked to run the length of the boat, leap off the end and swim around for a bit.

Then they'd realise how cold and wet the water was and head for the bank, which they couldn't climb up as it was made of steep stones, leading to frantic scrabbling and yelping.

Bro would by this time have stopped the boat and sprinted down the towpath to rescue the dog. Sometimes a kindly bystander would have already dragged it out of the canal and would variously coo over the poor ikle wet doggie or lecture Bro sternly on keeping his dog under control.

This happened several times a day. After a few days of it, and heavy rain, Bro and wife admitted defeat, abandoned the holiday about 10 miles up the canal and came home.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 12:11, 8 replies)
Blood Donors.
Everyone who gives blood rescues someone every day. They deserve a click.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 12:03, 16 replies)
Not me personally...

When I was a teenager final year I think, and it was half term. There would be many of us that would head over to the local park for drinking and recreational drugs.

A good mate of mine was out with another friend in the group who decided to take an E. After an hour or two they decided to go off somewhere ‘pilled up’. They were on a different level from us who were on cheap lager and wine. I didn’t see my mates for the rest of the evening but they filled me in the next day on the events that happened. When they had wandered off they headed over to the park gates where they found two younger girls who attended the same school. One of the girls said please help my friend she’s slipped trying to get over the spiked railings. As it was late in the evening the park gates were locked so climbing over was the only option. As they walked over they saw the girl stuck on a spike. It was a freak accident. Somehow the girl landed on the spike which had actually torn through her clothing and went up her arse! Both girls had been drinking and weren’t totally with it in the first place. My mates helped leaver off the spike and got her back on her feet but she was in shock and also in huge amount of pain, she couldn’t walk. My mate carried her back home as it was just around the corner in his arms still completely out of his nut. He called the ambulance and left her friend to it as the girl’s parents where away for the weekend. The girl stayed in hospital for weeks recovering.

When we were all back at school my mate got a mention at assembly saying how brave and heroic he was. Quite funny really because it came from the Head of Year who was trying to expel him for being such a stoner.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 11:47, 6 replies)
Slightly tenuous, and more than likely going to attract a stream of bile from the regular moaners, but here goes.
I have a problem at work.

He's a guy who has the office a little way down the corridor, and with whom I've worked on a number of projects. And he's a chaotic alcoholic.

When he's on form, he's great; he's very likeable. But for the last couple of years, he's really not been on form at all: there's been the odd good day, but nothing more than that.

People who've been here longer than I say that he's been a drunk for many years; I've known him since I came here in 2006, and I'm beginning to wonder if I've ever seen him sober. Recently, though, he's been much worse than anyone can remember.

Not only is he destroying himself; he's wrecking everything he touches as he goes. He's not doing his job; he's alienating clients; he's alienating all the rest of the staff. He's already demolished his family.

We've been covering for him for a long time, because he's not well, and because of a residual, but fading, memory of him being one of the good guys. (The upper management is staffed by vampires. None of us wants to give them the satisfaction of sacking him, because we hate them more than we're troubled by our dypso colleague.)

I know that to stop drinking suddenly can be dangerous; and I've therefore found myself praying that he has a minor heart attack or something - not bad enough to cause long-term harm, but bad enough to put him in hospital for a few days, so that he can be away from booze under medical supervision.

I hate thinking this way.

I know some people here have written about their battles with the bottle; and so I'm asking - at risk of sounding like I have a Messiah complex - Is there any way any of us can intervene to save him from himself (and the rest of us from him)?

Or should I just look for a job somewhere else and forget him, leaving him to pickle?
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 10:32, 36 replies)
I thought about "saving" B3ta
decided not to
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 9:48, 4 replies)
I caught a girl when she fell over in the street the other week outside Archway tube station
She was trying to run in heels, caught herself awkwardly on the kerb and performed an inelegant ballet of wobbling, skittering, tottering and flailing before finally spinning on one foot and pitching over backwards.

It was completely by pure chance that I was in exactly the right place to put my arm out and catch her before she hit the ground, but I did get to look like a bit of a hero for about ten seconds.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 9:40, 13 replies)
I refused to give money to a tramp
as I knew he would have just spent it on booze and drugs which would have eventually killed him.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 9:35, 9 replies)
I am my own saviour.
I was so desperate to be pissed off as a teenager - people are CUNTS, and everything's SHIT - so in need of a reason to feel righteous, worthy anger.

Then I suddenly realised I could concentrate on enjoying the good moments in life, and spend time with people I like, instead.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 9:28, 6 replies)
Old Man Down!
Years back, I was making may way through the dark, dangerous backstreets of Wakefield to the sanctuary of my car when I noticed an old guy lying in the road. He was barely conscious, barely coherent and unable to stand up but somehow I managed to move him to the pavement.

I didn't have a mobile at the time so ran the mile or so to my car, drove back at speed, and with great difficulty sat him in the passenger seat ready to take the guy home (he was refusing hospital).

We got to his house and I helped him out the car. He looked directly at me as though he was going to say something profound - then burped in my face! The vile aroma of too many double whiskies, beers, pork scratchings and pickled eggs hit my nostrils and I suddenly realised he old cunt was fucking drunk.

I almost kicked the old bastard through his front door, told him to take it fucking easy next time and drove away. Halfway home, I noticed something dark on the grey seat fabric so reached over and put my hand in a cold, wet puddle.

He'd fucking pissed himself.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 9:05, 1 reply)
Natural selection is doing a really piss poor job of thinning out you genetic dead ends.

(, Fri 10 May 2013, 7:53, 6 replies)
The Eloi
Oh yeah, and I rescued my former office team from a bunch of cockheads by getting them fired. I felt just like H.G. Wells.

I never knew how hard it was to prove a cockhead is a cockhead.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 4:20, Reply)
Rolling Stoned
Years ago I worked in town near a homeless shelter, which by some strange coincidence happened to be situated merely a block away from one of the largest liquor shops in town, which naturally sported some collection of shelter guests on property any time the doors were open.
Being driven by food, mostly, I happened to be walking opposite the hooch market en route to lunch when, on hooch side approaching, I notice a wheel-chaired gentleman who appeared to be asleep, rolling his wheelchair up the hill as I am walking down.
Being a people watcher, this of course interested me greatly, and as I near him I begin to see he is muttering to himself with his head down; I also notice that the homeless home-boys further down at the hooch-house also have some interest in him.
About the time we both come directly across the street from each other, he arrives at an alley access way, which in typical fashion, has a gradient and slope necessary to bring curb and street to level. This proved to much for wheelchair Bob, who managed to conquer the challenge of sidewalk to asphalt, only to be bested by the sum of the angle of the hill combined with the asphalt to sidewalk gradient., which immediately renders him tits-up in his chair, mumbling and cursing.
So there I am, the only person around save for the homeless gang at the liquor shop, who are actually enjoying this part of the experience and making no visible effort to assist a man whom I can only assume at this point is there "friend?"
Of course I couldn't just ignore him, so I ran to the opposite side of the road, and as I got closer started noticing this was no small fella, as he was definitely pushing 250-300lbs - a data-point that may explain why his homeys were in no hurry to help.
Once I arrive I asked if he was OK, but he just kept muttering and mumbling. I called that a yes, so I hefted him upright, and rolled him back down the hill so he could work out whatever he needed to with his buddies, who proceeded to give him the "you dumbass" treatment.
Sensing I had re-united a happy family, I continued on my lunch-quest, renewed with a sense of purpose and commitment to my fellow man. Huzzah!
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 4:10, 3 replies)
TLDR: I saved a small girl from downing while on holiday
When I was 18, I was lucky enough to find myself on the Balearic Island of Gran Canaria.

I'd managed to get into a tight nightlife posse during my first week and our drill went like this: sunbathe off the hangover at the beach in the morning, swimming pool in the day and hit the bars and clubs at night. Rinse and repeat.

During the swimming pool sessions I'd muck around, dunk some girls, show off some dives, anything to catch the eye of a sun-baking-beauty...I was 18 remember ;)

I was also aware that this was a family pool, so there's no sordid takes here. In fact, I'd race against all the little kids in the pool and this quickly became their daily entertainment.

One little girl no older than six, a confident swimmer, would always be the first to take me on. Of course, I always let her win. This was her domain, she was in that pool when the sun came up and was still in when it went to bed, I would not spoil her fun.

Entering the night part of my routine, I met up with all my new-found pals and headed towards the hotel's bar, near the pool. The place was fairly deserted, many out for the night already, the rest in bed, but there was one familiar face: the little girl. She was still splashing away, while her parents went inside for another drink.

That's when it happened. I still see it as I saw it then. Hasslehoff Baywatch-style slo-mo vision. The little girl was visibly tired, scrambling desperately towards the edge of the pool under the weight of her own exhaustion. Her head bobbed above the water, then below, above the water, then below, above the water, then nothing. She was drowning and no-one had noticed.

Here I was in all my splendour: my slick gelled hair, my chino pants, my pulling shirt, beer in hand...all forgotten...as I dived into that pool and scooped her up from the bottom.

I put her on the side, no breaths coming from her tiny frame, so I gave her CPR, and she spluttered into life, just like TV.

I looked up, suddenly aware of a crowd. Her parents were there, my friends too. There was no applause, celebration, no fist-pumping, no high-fives. I had just saved a little girl's life.

I headeed into town soaking wet but the generous climate of the island dried me out.

The next morning I skipped the beach and started my hangover/tanning/sleeping duties next to the pool. I didn't get to complete any of those tasks though as I was visited by my new best friend: Sophie.

Not only was Sophie a great little swimmer but she was pretty acomplished climber too: hanging from my legs and on my back, like a little chimp, for the rest of the holiday.

It probably didn't help my chances with the sun-baked-beauties but I didn't mind one bit.

The most amazing thing was that very day - Sophie got back in the pool and kept her head above water - while she raced me for the 100th time. She beat me once again, of course ;)
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 2:48, 21 replies)
when i was 15 i used to smoke spliffs out the skylight with my mate
we used to have to take it in turns to lean right out to stop the horrid stench of the plastic ridden soapbar getting us into shit. puffing away one day i dropped the spliff. as the badly built bifter rapidly rolled down the roof of the three storey building i lunged instinctively. i slid on to the roof and as my knees passed lip of the skylight i started to think oh fuck. my mate grabbed my lower legs and hauled me back up. if he'd not been there or if he'd not reacted i reckon i'd have been all mashed up at best or dead. nice one.
(, Fri 10 May 2013, 0:33, 5 replies)
Save our soles!
I was waiting for a train at the local station when a woman on the platform near me was alternately kicking her legs out as if shaking off cramps or something. As she kicked one leg forward her shoe came off and landed between the tracks next to the platform.
Without a word I took out my earphones dropped my backpack, jumped down onto the tracks, retrieved her shoe and gave it back to her receiving a rather stunned "thank you so much" for my trouble. I then put my earphones back in, picked up my backpack and carried on waiting for the train as if nothing happened.
I couldn't do it now since the station is now manned and, no doubt, here are proper health and safety procedures for this kind of thing.
(, Thu 9 May 2013, 23:42, Reply)
Got run over by a motorbike on a zebra crossing
He was overtaking a hearse on the inside. Hearse driver gave me his name and address as a witness on the back of a list of all the local funerals.

Hope they all got there ok.
(, Thu 9 May 2013, 23:00, 1 reply)
I once
dropped a couple of tuppences into a buskers guitar case
(, Thu 9 May 2013, 20:22, 7 replies)
Was knocked off my bike at a roundabout by a bloke in a car who was overtaking a minibus.
Both vehicles stopped, holding up the mid-Saturday afternoon traffic, and while the car driver apologised profusely ('I honestly didn't see you!' Yeah, obviously) the minibus driver was quietly checking my bike over and loading it into his 'bus.

He gave the bike and me a lift home. I wasn't hurt, just bruised a bit, and the bike was OK. As I thanked him he just laughed and went on his way.

Next day I bought a thank you card and a nice big tin of Celebrations or something and dropped them off at the minibus office.

I explained it all to the woman I handed them over to. She said said 'Ooh, sweets? The fat bastard'll LOVE them!'
(, Thu 9 May 2013, 20:13, Reply)

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