b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » My Saviour » Page 4 | Search
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.

Car crash
Back in 2000 when I was 23 and still drove like an arse I was involved in a car accident I had slowed to 80 to take a corner a red Seat Toledo appeared in the middle of the road from a hidden dip. I swerved to avoid her clipped the grass verge and fishtailed down the road. I remember at the time thinking to myself that it was going to be expensive to fix just before the car dug itself into the ditch pirouetted on its nose and continued down the road backwards. As it pirouetted I remember thinking that this was it.
Anyway car comes to a halt and I see the 3 or 4 cars I had overtaken at speed earlier all stopped with their drivers and all running towards me. I got out with horrific back pain (maybe I should have sat and not moved) A guy offered to take me to the hospital, home and let me use his phone to contact the insurance. He could have said “Me and my mates what to take you to our dungeon and grape you” I would have said yes and my brain didn’t work well. We headed back to his place and his wife was there. She made me a cup of tea and let me phone the insurance. He punched well above his weight she was lovely.
After that it was off to hospital for an x-ray, some industrial strength painkillers and2 hours of boredom laying on a bed while your wired to the moon.
I can’t remember the guys name but he lived in Crosshouse and had a hot wife. I dropped off a bottle of whiskey and some flowers the next day. Thanks for looking after and not raping me.
(, Tue 14 May 2013, 10:04, 17 replies)

(, Tue 14 May 2013, 8:59, 1 reply)
A true tale of heroism
(, Tue 14 May 2013, 5:07, 5 replies)
This was about ten years ago now
I had gone down to the Reading festival - it was generally a fantastic time, and I don't want to do the event a disservice, but stuff like this can happen. As is par for the course for these things, I was looking to experiment a bit with some illicit substances, and one of my mates who I was with said he knew someone that was there who we could buy some stuff from.

Well, we met the guy and I immediately wanted to get out of there. You know when the atmosphere around someone is wrong, sort of tense? It was like that. I don't know if he'd been dipping in his own supply or something but he looked ready for a fight at any moment. I'm not good with conflict so this guy scared me. I don't remember much of what set him off - I think he took offence to my friend taking a closer look at one of his toby jugs - but something did, and he pulled a knife on us - naturally we ran, and he gave chase.

Unfortunately it had been raining that year, and almost instantly I slipped in some mud. The guy was on top of me, and I genuinely though that this was it - I'm going to be stabbed to death. But someone pulled him off. When I saw who it was, I was amazed.

It was Sir Trevor McDonald.

I found this out afterwards, but Sir Trevor is a huge festival fan, and as quickly became apparent - he is fucking RIPPED. The two got into an intense fight - the drug dealer swinging his knife, and Sir Trevor dodging it every time. At one point he caught the blade with his BARE HANDS. Blood flowed down his wrist but he just squeezed tighter, looking right into the looney's eyes with the cold stare of a predator. It was clear to me that Sir Trevor was done playing defence - it was time to move into attack mode.

He immediately head-butted the druggie, breaking his nose, but not to be outdone the nutter managed to get in a few swipes at Sir Trevor in response, cutting off his neon green tank top and exposing his beautiful chiselled body to the sunlight. The gathered crowd gasped in awe, and Sir Trevor, bouyed by the attention, swung a perfect punch at the belligerent's face. "BONG" he boomed as it connected. "BONG" another one, this time a gut punch. "BONG" a kick to the chest, and the monged up abuser fell to the floor. Sir Trevor stood with his combat boot on the idiot's neck. "Today's top story," he announced, before bellowing, "I WIN!". He stamped down, instantly killing the scum. The crowd erupted into polite applause, as Sir Trevor walked over to me, and tenderly, lovingly, picked me up as we kissed a kiss to end all kisses. He carried me back to his tent, where we made beautiful love for the remainder of the festival.

True story.
(, Tue 14 May 2013, 0:10, 35 replies)
after a debauched evening
of booze imbibing, techno clubbing and sitting about an afterparty getting increasingly madwaeit, i called a taxi to take me home to my bad before the sun reared his ugly head.

as the taxi sped along the nigh on deserted M8 a car in front swerved off the road and did a brilliant impression of a floor gymnast. at first i just assumed this was the chemicals making me see weird shit, until the taxi driver slammed on the brakes. got out and ran back to the overturned car to help pull the couple out of it.

woke up the next day thinking what a mental dream i'd had, until i realised my arms were covered in glass cuts.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 23:08, 1 reply)
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 23:07, 11 replies)
Craig Colclough must have saved loads of people when he was in the Royal Medical Corps.

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 21:25, 2 replies)
I save a soul in every town.
I'm a Christian.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 18:40, 14 replies)
I like to save people from having wrong opinions
By mocking them and forcefully stating my opinion in a forthright manner at them, shouting if necessary.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 15:43, 8 replies)
Old dears' car broken down on a hill.
While down in the West Country visiting my daughter I popped into town to get a paper, and driving out up a very steep hill, encountered a massive queue of traffic. Slowly they all nudged forwards and it became apparent what was holding everyone up- an old dear's car was stopped half-way up the hill with the hazards on and the constant downhill traffic was making it very difficult for the uphill drivers to overtake.

Thinking that I'd do everyone a favour, when it was my turn to get around I pulled in and then backed up in front of the car (some kind of piddly little hatchback) and leaped out to offer a tow to the car park at the top of the hill where they could await recovery in some greater measure of safety, and incidentally freeing up the traffic flow as well.

Looking a bit dubious about the offer, I asked the lady if she had been towed before and she thought she had- I explained the steering would be heavy and the brakes would be ineffective but I'd take it slowly and all she had to do was steer.

Hooking up the tow rope I drew it taut and then proceeded to set off with lots of revs to keep the forward momentum up the 1:3 slope and we were away.

After about 50 yards I could feel a dragging to one side on the steering, and looking in the rear view mirror, saw that she had the nearside wheels up on the grass verge- what was she doing? I thought she must be trying to let people overtake by providing more room. But this was adding more drag so I countered by pulling out towards the centre line- still, she was on the grass verge and now had clipped a road sign, leaving a nasty scratch on the nearside wing.

Still wondering what she was hoping to achieve, I got to the top of the hill and pulled in to the car park, then got out to detach the tow rope.

Going back to see what had happened, she admitted that she'd had the ignition key turned off, and the second she turned the wheel left the ignition lock engaged, making her veer off the road- and naturally, having a panic, didn't think to turn the ignition on to release the lock. So much for having been towed before.

Feeling a bit of chagrin I left my number in case she needed to contact me about insurance and went to unscrew the towing eyelet. Fuck me, it's bent 45 degrees off true.

No good deed goes unpunished.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 15:30, 2 replies)
Moi, savoire
cant even be arsed to make up the back story.

bit of a black monday.

apols for lack of french grammar.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 14:53, 2 replies)
This one time, I drove my escalator up a moped.
Nuff said.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 13:43, Reply)
Ima rite 2 Mama Zimbi, luks lik she cn save me.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 13:27, 3 replies)
One pleasant evening many years ago
I was walking along Upper Street opposite the Union Chapel in Islington, and cycling towards me was a boy who can't have been more than three years old, on a little bike with training wheels, his mother walking a few metres behind him. He looked like he was enjoying his bike ride, right up to the point where the camber of the pavement got the better of him and he toppled off, rolling down a couple of steps to land on his back like an upturned turtle in the gutter, arms and legs flailing with his head directly under the front wheel of a refuse lorry that was being revved ominously and appeared about to set off.

It would have been splat, basically.

I ran down the steps, frantically waving and shouting at the driver who somehow remained oblivious to any of this, and I grabbed the kid from under the wheel just as his screaming mother arrived to snatch him from me. As she held him, making sure he was alright and showering him with kisses, I said something like 'bloody hell, that was close - glad he's ok", but she was too preoccupied to hear me, so I carried on my way feeling a little rattled.

A minute or two later I heard a "Hey mate!" and turned to see some bloke running up to me.

"Excellent!" he said, "I saw what happened there and I just wanted to say that what you did was brilliant."

"Oh, it was nothing really, anyone would have done it," I replied, using the standard English format.

"No, I just wanted to tell you that because she thinks it was you that knocked him off his bike."

I carried on walking.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 13:02, 8 replies)
Or was it Allah?

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 12:44, 1 reply)
Holding out for a hero...
In the immediate aftermath of the London 7/7 bombings, the city was in chaos.

The tube was closed, all buses were called in and the trains were not running. As the working day ended, what seemed like 100,000's of people were aimlessly walking the streets, fighting over the tiny number of taxis still on the roads.

With no plans to get the transport system up and running any time soon, the huge logistical nightmare of stranded commuters became more and more apparent.

I was lucky. I was working in Camden at the time and traveled to work on my trusty Vespa ET4. I could escape.

But not wanting to go home, I cruised the streets taking in the apocalyptic scenes, you could not move for TV crews, whilst all the time sirens continued to blare from every direction.

Near Euston I was suddenly overtaken by a posse of moped riding chavs. They screamed past me in a blur of souped-up Gileras and Yamahas, heading at break-neck speed to the station.

Thinking something major had just occurred I tagged behind and followed them to the main entrance. I watched as they all dismounted and then began shouting at the large crowd milling about outside.

'Anywhere within five miles, £20!' I heard one of them scream.

Suddenly a scrum of people charged the bikers. Literally fighting them off, each scooter owner selected a passenger, passed them a helmet, helped them on the back and then rode off at terrifying speeds.

Wow! I thought. These kids are geniuses. They'd seen an opportunity and jumped on it. Calculations ran through my head, they'd easily be able to do 20-30 journeys - and at £20 a pop, some of them would clear over £600 via their impromptu taxi service. Clever bastards.

No! I thought. This is blatant profiteering. A disgusting, cynical attempt to make money from a horrible situation. These kids should be ashamed of themselves, screwing fellow Londoners for cash when the city was under attack. What happened to the Blitz Spirit?

Filled with righteous outrage, I pulled up alongside the melee and shouted at the top of my voice:

'Anywhere within five miles, £10!'

There was a split-second of silence as the crowd looked my way. A lovely looking blonde ran over and straddled the rear seat, wrapping her arms instantly around my waist.

'Can you take me to Hampstead?' She begged. 'I've been waiting for three hours.'

I explained that I didn't have a spare helmet - but reasoned that the police would have more important things on their mind. And as I pulled away, leaving the gang of chavs to deal with an almost violent bidding war, I caught a proper glimpse of my passenger in the rear view mirror. She was gorgeous!

As we sailed up the near empty streets towards the sumptuous surroundings of NW3, my mirrors were filled with a vision of blonde hair billowing in the wind. She grinned happily as we tore past angry mobs of permanently stranded working folk. And I grinned too - as every time I braked, she squeezed me tighter and her lovely breasts flattened against my back.

We were at her place within 10 minutes. She hopped off and fished inside her bag for a tenner.

'Thank you so much,' she said, 'would you like to come in for drink, its been a hell of a day?'

I politely declined, as by my calculations, I'd be able to clear over £300 if I kept at it.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 11:45, 84 replies)
An open communiqué to certain members of b3ta.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 11:44, 11 replies)
A couple of years ago I was driving to visit an old mate when just as I stopped at a set of traffic lights I saw an old gentleman fall to the ground like a sack of spuds and lie twitching and trying in vain to crawl away from the roadside and grab onto the wall of the nearby building.

Cognisant of how often you hear of people callously walking past dying souls and ignoring them I pulled over and leapt out of my car (imagining my coat falling away to reveal the familiar red and yellow 'S' on my blue superhero leotard.)

Sprinting across the road to imagined cries of "It's Superman!" I got to the poor old gentleman, put my arms around his chest and pulled him up with sympathetic enquiries as to his wellbeing. It was only as I realised that the warm wet feeling on my hands and arms was fresh vomit that he volunteered that heartwarming phrase "Help get me to that pub, will you mate?"
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 11:18, 3 replies)
Winnie the Pooh was playing football
Yeah. With Tigger and Piglet and that sad donkey one. Right. So Winnie's been shoved in goals (like the fat kid always is). Trouble is, no matter how bad the shots Tigger and co punt towards the fat honey-gobbling ursine, he never saves them. No reflexes. Right? So finally the melancholic donkey runs up, blooters a fierce shot towards the greedy bear, and Winnie manages to dive in installments to the bottom corner and keep the ball out. A triumphant Winnie the Pooh shouts:

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 10:58, 1 reply)
Rolling back from a club one morning in a mildly chemical state
my mate spotted a cat bobbing in the water. With no thought for his own safety or comfort he plunged in to the murky depths and spluttered his way to the distressed animal. And that's how he rescued a block of polystyrene from the Leeds Liverpool canal.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 10:40, 12 replies)
Apparently there's a new video standard out, modelled after rodents.
I only found out about it when this guy came round to fix my telly, he was indecisive about whether to connect things via SCART or use this new port. You should have heard him, he was all like "Mice AV, or ...?"
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 10:15, Reply)
Sorry, I meant God.

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:57, 1 reply)
I've got a pet bat colony.
But I like to refer to it as a "Mice aviary".
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:57, 3 replies)
My PC reset button
dont think I need to elaborate...
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:49, 3 replies)
Sorry, Jahweh.

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:26, Reply)
Aunt Bessie.
She has saved me more times I can mention.
Even though she looks like an evil bitch on her packaging, go and have a look... she does.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:04, Reply)
Jesus, obviously.

(, Mon 13 May 2013, 9:02, Reply)
Caveat emptor.
I had a Great Aunt Beatrice until a couple of years ago.
She had a fairly good life, well educated she and her hubby worked hard to get what they wanted and did the best for their 2 kids.
Unfortunately he popped his clogs in his 50's from a heart attack, but as she was a young bride she still was fit and vivacious enough to enjoy herself a couple of years after she had gotten over his death. Which she did.

As part of her rebirth Aunty Bea started to go out with some younger (than her) men. And iteration they steadily got younger.
Don't get me wrong - she wasn't just going for the "young & dumb and full of cum" guys (there were a few tho) for the most part these guys were all up and coming professionals that she had met in pubs, wine bars, clubs & even the student union bar.
To her they were a "bit of fluff" or somesuch term - despite her liberated open mindedness she was still a baby boomer and tended to delve into Benny Hill territory when talking about her conquests. To them she was the fit cougar/GILF who clearly enjoyed the good life and was prepared to share it with whoever could keep up. Of course her children didn't see it this way and were often skeptical if no t hostile to about many of her youthful suitors.

Eventually she settled into a relation with a young man who specialised in in wealth management. And finally the day came where she organised a dinner to introduce him to her children.
After a sumptuous meal at a swanky restaurant they were all sipping their coffees when he son got up the gumption to challenge her about her latest beau. He asked her as to how she'd seen so many doctors, engineers, and other professionals, this guy was different?
"Well" she purred, as only a lady in her situation could,
"Finacially he is my savvy Oooo-wer"

Seeing the way many of the non-story posters perceive me - none at all.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 8:12, 25 replies)
I've been reading a book
about the historic activities of a group of semi-nomadic people located in Kenya and northern Tanzania. It's called "Maasai of Yore".

Yeah, fuck it, that'll do.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 8:00, 1 reply)
According to the strangely coloured leaflet stuck in my door,
it's a long haired,bearded white man in a nice dress carrying a lamb through a brightly lit pastoral scene with a rainbow backdrop.

Which seems nice.
(, Mon 13 May 2013, 4:21, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1