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This is a question Near Death Experiences II

Freddie Woo says: I was once caught right in the middle of in an early morning high-speed 30-car pile-up on the M3, but emerged from the chaos in the only car not to have suffered a dent. My trousers told a different story, and learned that you *do* empty your bowels as Death's icy grip reaches out for you. Tell us about your audition for the Final Destination films.

Suggested by Just a Vagabond

(, Thu 15 May 2014, 12:55)
Pages: Popular, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

From the last time this question was asked...
Motorway Madness

September 1995...

Bombing it up the M1 back to uni in Leeds. Junctions 1 to 46 - 180 miles of pure, pristine tarmac. Fast lane all the way. 19yrs old, overtaking any motherfucking thing that moved. Averaging 115mph. Speed cameras still a thing of the future. Had to beat my record. London to Leeds. Last done in 2hrs 24min.

New motor. 'G' reg Daihatsu Charade GTTi. Pioneer headgear. Alpines embedded in the parcel shelf. Sub-woofer taking up most of the boot. 300w amp drilled under the passenger seat. 'Retrospective of House 91-95' rinsing through that system. "To the beat of the drum. Bang! To the beat of drum. Bang Bang!"

And me. Lit Marlboro Red hanging from my lips. Shades on. Desperate to return. Desperate get back to 'Back to Basics'. 'Vague'. 'Hardtimes'. Party time!

Like I said. Daihatsu Charade Gtti. Hottest hatch around. A twin-turbo monster that flew. Only 998cc under the bonnet. Genius quirk of Japanese engineering. That thing would never get made today.

I'm in the zone. Red-line all of the way. Leaning forward on my seat. Flashing my lights. Burning up coaches and caravans. If I'd seen myself today, would have called the police.

And then. From nowhere. An almighty. A colossal. A world-ending sonic BOOM smashed into my ear drums.

Sound barrier being broken? No.

Bass-bin blowing up? No.

Front left tyre exploding at 120mph? Yes.

Then everything went quiet. Tunes faded into the background. I knew I was having an accident. I registered that. Part of me fought with the steering wheel. Part of me tried to push all three pedals at the same time. And a bigger part of me braced himself and awaited the immense, inevitable pain, that was certain to follow.

The car turned. Yanked left out of the fast lane in a blur of screeching metal and burned rubber. In milliseconds the rear end had flipped out to the right. And for one perfect moment. For one clear as day, intoxicatingly frightening moment, I was facing the wrong way down the M1. Oncoming traffic seemingly inches away. I swear I caught the eye of a gobsmacked HGV driver.

Then time caught up with me. The Daihatsu had continued it's arc across all three lanes. As quickly as it had started, I'd spun a full 360 and was facing the correct way again. But this time skidding sideways at a terrifying rate. Towards the hard shoulder. Towards the trees. Towards the ditches. Towards the pain.

And then it was over. I was facing forward. Car not upside down. Just wedged at the far left of the hard shoulder, slightly in drainage ditch. The huge metal posts of a motorway sign just inches in front of me. The hard as fuck trunk of a mammoth fir tree just inches behind me.

Soon. I don't know how long it took. But soon a cop car had pulled up ahead of me. Light's flashing. The officers jumped out and sprinted over. They pulled open the door. They could not believe I was unharmed.

'Saw the whole thing,' jabbered one of them, 'we were ready to call in the air-ambulance. Would've bet my salary you were a gonna!'

The other one looked me up and down.

'Do you know you've got a fag burning a hole in your jeans?'

He was right. My Marlboro had been happily smouldering in my crotch for god knows how long. Jeans were burned through. Yet I felt nothing. Must have been the adrenaline. But that's when I broke down. Tried to get out the car and dust the fag butt off. I didn't make it. Fainted there and then on the hard shoulder.

Came round in the back of an ambulance. The coppers had changed my tyre. Was soon on my way again. Classic FM and never topping 60.
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 14:34, 38 replies)
the egg
several years ago, i had an umbilical hernia, which i nicknamed the egg. my doctor told me that, as long as it wasn't giving me any trouble, it was ok to leave it for a while before having it operated on. as this was before the weight loss, i knew that an op would be more dangerous, so i decided to do as he said.

scroll forwards 18 months and i'm doubled over in pain at 11.00 at night, with what i suspect to be yet another bad case of IBS. i'd taken my medication, but the pain was intense. i can't drive and didn't have the money to get a cab to hospital, so i phoned my friend. sadly, he'd been drinking and refused to drive anywhere. i decided to try to sleep it off.
half an hour later, the pain increased to a level i'd never experienced before. i just couldn't cope with it, so i gave in and phoned an ambulance. as soon as it arrived, i was given morphine, which instantly eased the pain.
on arrival at my local a&e department, i was wheeled directly into a cubicle and was being examined by a doctor within 2 minutes.
within 10 minutes, i was in x-ray.
within 20 minutes, i was signing surgical release forms.
not long after, i was in theatre, having a strangulated to the point of explosion colon repaired.
when the doctor came to see me on the ward the next day, he told me if i'd tried to sleep off the pain, there's very little chance that i would ever have woken up. when i'd arrived, i had had only a few hours left, that's how close it was.
since then, i've learned not to second-guess either myself or medical professionals.

clarification: the egg was indeed a hernia, but it was almost my entire colon inside it that caused it.
(, Mon 19 May 2014, 14:31, 4 replies)
I haven't even had one near death experience, let alone "II". This is shit.
Have an otter playing dead experience:

(, Thu 15 May 2014, 13:58, 4 replies)
I once worked at a Champagne vineyard and bottling plant in New Zealand. It was about 1% as glamorous as it sounds.

One day I was operating the 'thing that applies the stickers to the bottles' machine when the fork lift truck driver called me over...'Hey, could you just check what's in this pallet for me?'

I thought 'lazy cunt, can't be arsed to get out and walk the 3 yards it would take to do it himself.', but did it anyway as I'd been standing there staring at bottles slowly clink past for about 3 hours and a change is as good as a rest.

I stepped in front of the fork lift, looked up and confirmed that yes, they were the gold foiled bottles and yes, he was putting them in the right rack. I then stepped up to the side of the vehicle to tell him this when there was a massive bang as the hydraulic hose disintegrated, hundreds of bottles of fizzy wine in a wooden box on top of two metal forks suddenly had no defence against gravity and slammed about 15 feet into the ground.

Imagine a big fuck off sized party popper, but instead of being full of tissue paper and powered by a pinch of gunpowder it was full of glass bottles and powered by the pressurised liquid they contained. There was a massive cone of destruction projected out the front of the pallet as it hit the ground that would have shredded the flesh from my bones if I had stayed standing there for another 6 seconds.
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 18:12, 33 replies)
QOTW is so shit that old questions are being repeated. This story made me laugh today so I thought I would share it here. It is not my story and has fuck all to do with this QOTW question.

"What is your most awkward "I thought I/we were alone" story?"

Forgot my towel right before taking a shower. Ran downstairs naked to get fresh one from the dryer which was running (fuck yeah). I run up the stairs on all fours coughing, "Gollum! GOLLUM!" Almost to the top, roommate's gf leaning over bannister looking at me, very confused.

I do weird stuff when I think I'm alone.

(, Thu 15 May 2014, 17:30, 5 replies)
A bum rap
The sun didn't often shine in Northern Ireland back in the 80s. I was 17 before I saw a patch of blue sky and the whole country came to a stop in 1986 to stare in awe at a big shiny light in the sky, which appeared one day and vanished the next. On the rare occasions when the place wasn't a dull, miserable hole, a surge of youthful vigour surged through my pipecleaner limbs and I'd scuttle about, looking like Timmy Mallett and feeling like Brian Jacks.

On my way to school there was an old, wrought iron fence which typically required me to drag open a rusted old gate to pass. But on one such sunny day, I was an unstoppable God and by Jove, I would vault this fence!

With barely a run up, I threw myself up, up into the sky. Daley Thomson had nothing on me. My power was unmatched! Until my heel caught the top of the damned thing, of course.

My forward momentum was stalled and I hung in the air like a mewling clothes horse before plummeting to the earth, screeching all the way down. Luckily the air was soon knocked out of me and my girlish trills were replaced by a faint gasping wheeze, which did restore a smidge of macho dignity. This dignity lasted as long as it took for me to realise that I could neither breathe nor move my arms to any great extent. These were both activities that I was greatly fond of.

It turns out, you see, that iron masons, when called on to do decorative work would often top a boring old fence with some tasteful spikes. The cunning artificer who'd built "my" fence had adorned it with an entertaining array of penile extrusions, several of which had pierced the back of my leather jacket, leaving me dangling like Cicero's scrotum.

It was obvious that I couldn't stay there all day. What if I were seen!? So I spent a few minutes wriggling and squirming in increasingly desperate attempts to get free. Finally, I was able to succumb to gravitu and I lay on the cool earth, bemoaning the loss of my lovely coat. After stumbling, humbled to school, the full gravity of the scenarion was made clear to me when my good friend Neil said "Ha ha ha, imagine if one of thsoe spikes had gone right up your arse!"

I was -this- close to being an involuntary gayer and / or bleeding to death from a shocking anal wound. (Is there any other kind?)

As it turns out, Neil spent a lot of time thinking about things going up bums, which explains why he didn't get off with Emma Jacobs and I did. So it all worked out well in the end.
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 15:14, 8 replies)
An epic pea while I compose myself to tell a story of true near death caused by the internet

Cast your mind back to 1994 and Imagine if you will the young Australian traveller on his first visit to the continent. After a 24 hour flight to Frankfurt and a 4 hour train ride he arrives at Amsterdam for his first taste of the Dutch.

After finding a cheap and seedy hotel, he ventures to the nearest café to see if the rumours are true and you really can buy dope over the counter. Imagine if you will his utter delight when he finds not only can you buy the aforementioned brew but, you have a variety of interestingly named types to choose. With skunk, super skunk, northern lights, blonde bomb or grasshopper special blend running through his over excited brain he murmurs to the resident purveyor,

“What’s your best shit mate?”

For which the retailer asks “what sort of high are you looking for?”

“I want it to smash me”

40 guilders later he is clutching a bag of super skunk. Taking a seat at the bar, he orders a coffee (consumption compulsory) and roles up fat spliff after fat spliff disappearing for several hours into a cloud of pungent smoke.

Finally he makes to leave, baseball hat crammed on to his head, sun glasses firmly on face, back pack on shoulder he strides out the door and across the street when he hears it……………

The faintest of ding dings.

For reasons unknown,

he stops,

dead in his tracks as a rush of wind buffets his face and a 20 tonne tram knocks the baseball hat from his head and under it wheels.


length: 3 more inches forward, he would have died that day a long way from home where nobody new his name.
(, Tue 20 May 2014, 11:52, 29 replies)
Oh my word! What a weekend I’ve just had, sweeties! Unlike any weekend that you poor humans could ever experience. I am, as a result of it, quite literally a different person! Oh my! Oh me! Ah hee hee hee!


Because, as you know, my lovely, loyal, fond, fluffy fans, I am a Time Lord, and therefore I do not die – I regenerate. I can do this twelve times, and, at the end of my thirteenth incarnation, if I make a big enough fucking fuss, the Time Lords will grant me a new regenerative cycle. And, if not, my mind will live on within the Matrix, the biggest library of pan-dimensional porn, and, indeed, poon, in the entire Universe.

I can even survive being all minced up in a wood-chipper:


But sometimes regeneration can go horridly, horridly wrong:


And sometimes – like this time – it can go wunderfully, wunderfully right!

O you should see me now, my febrile, fussy, fondant fans! So sexmous it’s UNREAL. My old body – ugh! How could I ever have been satisfied with that grey, grizzly, wrinkled old thing!

So now, let me relate the story of my latest regeneration – my latest Near Death Experience, if you will.

It happened on Saturday. I was down in Plymouth, on business, and, in the evening, I sought out – as you do – a young ‘Matlow’ (as the local ‘Janners’) have it) for some energetic, brutal anal sex. (My last incarnation was a naughty old thing! Not like me now! I’m all sweetness and light and nice as pie!)

I picked up this young chap called Wayne fresh off the boat, a real wowza blond blue-eyed looker, a swoonsome Billy Budd straight off a Player’s Navy Cut poster, beard and all. (Oh Wayne, I’m so sorry! I wish I could turn back time – but my TARDIS is broken!) I wanted to show him off before I took him back to the Invicta Hotel for buggerance, so we went to the Bank for a few pints and then to the Ganges for a slap-up sit-down. Wayne ordered a boring Chicken Bhoona, but I, ever adventurous, intrepid and daring, ordered the XXXXXX-Hot Beef Murg Phaaal with Extra Chillies.

The waiter gasped and his eyes almost popped out of his head. ‘Are you sure, Sir? This is not only the hottest curry known to Man... but the hottest curry known to Science!’

I chortled and waved him away, recalling the time I won a chilli-eating contest with a load of Pyrovilians. ‘Bring it on!’ I drawled, winking at Wayne. ‘I think you will find that I have an iron constitution. Despite my appearance I am as strong as a 100 oxen and have the bowels of a concrete Skarasen!’

True enough. My Time Lord metabolism, with its two hearts and respiratory bypass system, is far, far superior to that of you puny humans.

Or so I thought! I underestimated the power of the XXXXXX-Hot Beef Murg Phaaal with Extra Chillies. When it was brought to the table it spontaneously burst into flames, singeing the waiter's eyebrows! And everyone in the Ganges gasped in horror and admiration as I began to shovel it down with alacrity, impressing young Wayne. It was, I admit, rather on the warm side, and it did bring one or two tears to my Time Lord eyes.

I brought tears to Wayne’s eyes, Wayne’s beautiful blue human eyes, after the meal when I took him back to the Invicta, greased him up, and buggered him half to death (I was a beast in my last incarnation!)

Afterwards, as we both lay back in the warm afterglow of our love, I began to discern rumblings of disquiet from below. The XXXXXX-Hot Beef Murg Phaaal with Extra Chillies was beginning to make its presence felt! I don’t like to be vulgar, in my new incarnation, so, suffice it to say that I let out a series of farts so stupendous in their volume, duration and odour that afterwards all intergalactic flatulence records lay as smashed as poor Wayne’s ringpiece.

We both lay stunned in the fetid miasma, struggling to breathe, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wayne reach for his cigarettes and lighter, no doubt to commence the ritual of the post-coital smoke.

‘Wayne – NO!’ I screamed.

Too late.

There was a colossal WHUMPPP and Everything. Went. BLANK.

When I came round, it was morning. I was lying on a bed covered with ashes next to the still-smoking corpse of Wayne. (Oh Wayne! I’m so sorry, honey! But thank you from the bottom of my hearts for precipitating this regeneration, it was about time for it!) In a flash I remembered the fateful events of the night before. My hands touched my legs, my sides, to feel firm, warm flesh. I was intact! But how? Then I realised. I had regenerated!

I sat up in the bed. New teeth – yes, that other Doctor is right, teeth are the first thing a Time Lord becomes aware of in their newly regenerated body, and it does feel weird.

I gazed down at my new body, seeing pale, petite feet, long, shapely, slender legs – and, between them, a V of fuzzy curly black hair. My hands went to my chest, where they encountered a pair of small, but firm, breasts.

The first words of a Time Lord’s new incarnation should be witty, wise, portentous, meaningful and weighted with truth and wisdom and all things great.

Mine were: ‘Ooh! I’ve got boobies! Ha ha! Ha ha haaa! Boobies!’

Rather obviously, my new incarnation was female!

I sat there jiggling my new boobs and laughing to myself for a while, and then leapt off the bed to examine myself. The last time I’d been female, I was a tall, curvaceous, ivory-skinned, green-eyed, copper-haired goddess. In this incarnation – my ninth, I think, though you can never be sure - I was again tall, but slender and gangly, not really curvy, with small, but firm, breasts. My hair was long, wavy and black, and my face was triangular and rather cute, with bright blue rather cold-looking eyes, a snub nose and a wicked smile. Think Audrey Hepburn crossed with Jacqueline Pearce.

I then quickly dressed and ran downstairs to sort things out with the hotel, putting the explosion down to a faulty gas-miser or something (so excited I forget the details!)

Then I returned home to choose my costume (kinky boots, tight blue jeans, white shirt, black leather pilot jacket) and have a think. Regeneration always makes a Time Lord have a good old sort out of his – her – life, and so it was with me. Obviously I had to chuck in my job – there was no way I could ever explain my change of appearance, and gender, to my employers! I fired off a quick email to close that loop, and am now unemployed. I have enough funds to support myself for a while and foresee no problems in finding new employment, in fact, things are moving pretty swiftly on that front, sweeties!

So I have a lot of time on my hands right now, plenty of opportunity to tell stories here, a pastime I know my previous incarnation loved and one which I will keep up cos it seems like such jolly fun!

Maybe this regeneration will have shaken my mind up a bit and I’ll be able to fix my TARDIS and leave this planet once and for all – or maybe even breach the omnivoox and return to my own reality.

But don’t worry, until then, I’ll be here for you, sweeties!

Your same old, BRAND NEW, SUPER SMEXY Doctor Skagra!

(, Tue 20 May 2014, 22:14, 14 replies)
Another camping one
Staggering out of the tent in the New Forest, after a particularly drunken night, I wandered down to the wooded area for my morning piss. It seemed to be taking a long time for the clouds of steam to clear; then I realised that the leaf litter below me was smouldering, with orange glowing patches visible under the ash. The more I looked, the more I found - an area about ten feet across was smouldering and spreading.

This was a problem, as we were currently enjoying a protracted heatwave, and the whole of Southern England was on wildfire alert. Even worse, I remembered that, as I'd stumbled back to my tent to pass out, one of our party had announced that no bloody heatwave was going to take away his fun of sitting around a camp fire, and had led a group off in this general direction. So it looked like our party was about to be responsible for burning down the New Forest!

I alerted the others, and we managed - after countless trips to the taps - to put out the creeping orange infection, without alerting anyone. We then rounded on the perpetrator, and pointed out that it had been pretty stupid to light a fire last night. Especially as he was a firefighter by trade...
(, Wed 21 May 2014, 13:34, Reply)
On a camping trip...
... with the scouts...

Sitting around the final embers of a campfire on a cool misty morning, drinking tea, and enjoying the last warmth from the coals while we waited for the bus to come get us. I stood up, wandered away from the rest of the group to have one last look around the site to make sure we hadn't left anything behind.

I got a few paces when I was thrown forward by an enormous explosion behind me.
I got up to see the sight of all my mates, some still sitting on their seats, some with cups still in hand but most lying on their backs. A few were frantically patting out little ember fires on their clothes and in their hair.

Me? I walked back unharmed, to find a clean, polished, completely flat baked bean can embedded in the tree that I had been leaning against. The deadly heinz powered, razor sharp ninja throwing star had passed through roughly where my neck had been moments before.

Someone - who never owned up - had decided to put a full unopened tin in the fire, presumably to see what would happen and maybe spray his friends with beans for a bit of a laugh.

I had nightmares about it for years.
True story.
TLDR: Nearly got decapitated by a bean can.
(, Tue 20 May 2014, 20:26, Reply)

(, Fri 16 May 2014, 9:56, 6 replies)
I was skiing once in Canada, off-piste in an unfamiliar area. Snow was falling and visibility wasn't great
Coming out of some trees, I managed to stop at the lip of an unexpected and large cliff. I would have put it at about 30 feet down. "Fuck", I thought, "there's no way I'm jumping off that. I'll just have to boot track back up a bit and look for another way down". However, as I clicked out of my right ski, I lost my balance, fell, and slid backwards headfirst off the cliff and plummeted. As I extracted myself from the cumquat may shaped hole I'd piledrived in the snow, and discovered that my torso and appendages all seemed remarkably intact, I was overcome with the feeling of being both incredibly fortunate and incredibly stupid at the same time. My ski even had had the decency to land next to me.
(, Fri 16 May 2014, 7:28, Reply)
Even on Russian dashcam footage, no one ever survives a second fishtail
I was driving towards the crest of a bridge over a river, behind a big rig moving slowly in the center lane. A lane ahead was closed for construction. A car rocketed past, and caught by surprise by the lane closure, tried to quickly change lanes between the truck and myself. He lost control, and fishtailed facing left, in an screeching skid across the entire highway, ripping years of rubber right off in furious smoke. I thought for sure I was going to T-Bone his car a very short distance ahead, and thought "he's gonna flip; he's gotta flip!, why doesn't he flip?"

His car didn't flip, though - it had a low center of gravity - and the tires took the entire, brutal punishment. Instead, he fishtailed again, facing right this time, exposing his other side to another possible T-Bone. I finally stopped dead on the highway, but he righted himself and sped away, trying once again to get around that damned truck! WTF?
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 23:34, Reply)
Almost drowned by a Raleigh Grifter
Aged about 12 in the mid 80s I was coming home for tea riding my red Grifter (the tractor of the UK BMX world) and hoping it was Findus Crispy Pancakes and chips on the table. As I dexterously cycled up the narrow garden path to the shed (no doubt humming the theme to Kickstart in my head) I went to put my foot down on the low, half finished wall to the fish pond my Dad had just finished digging and filling.... and then everything went hazy.

Next thing I know I'm dripping wet stood beside the pond with my Mum shouting from a window as I tried to lift the bike out of the water.
It took two of us as it was upside down with the Grifter's massive handlebars firmly wedged across the bottom of the pond.
To this day I can't work out how I got out from underneath it.
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 16:50, 6 replies)
I once went to a shop and there was someone dressed as a baddie from Star Wars and that was my near Darth experience.

(, Thu 15 May 2014, 13:38, 2 replies)


(, Tue 20 May 2014, 9:22, 9 replies)
Junior Longjohn
Dunno how close to death this would've been, more like round the corner from Death, on nodding terms kinda thing:

One of my earliest memories is of being on a family Jollyday to some greasy spanish campsite. A day out to the local zoo proved a bit more harrowing than the usual 'why does that grubby polar bear look so sad mummy?' emotional trauma, although the true horror of what could've been only really sunk in years later.

In the reptile house, there was a small tiled enclosure, sunk into the ground and partioned off by a sturdy metal fence, which, critically, had a 3-4 inch gap at the bottom. This enclosure contained what appeared to be wooden crocodiles; whether they were all wooden or only some were, or they were all real but very lazy I will never know. All I do know is at the time, I thought they weren't real. That is, until one reared up and attempted to munch my toddler toes off, which were sticking through the gap at the bottom of the fence. A quick step back and no harm was done, I remember being largely unfazed by the near miss, probably due to shock, whilst parental what-the-fucks bounced off the tiles around me.

I often wonder what life would've been like with a metallic robot foot, perhaps with retractable wheels, pulsating LEDs like Kit's face from Knightrider and a small recess in which to store interesting pebbles/acorns. But that's another matter.
(, Mon 19 May 2014, 11:12, 1 reply)
hitching a lift with a perv who put his car into a scary spin. Oh and Jeebus. Lots of Jeebus.
I may have told this story before.

Back in my scary eyed evangelical days, I was hitching back from Nottinghamshire to Devon. A bloke stopped to pick me up, saying he could take me a little way down the motorway. He was decidedly odd, but as far as I was concerned Jesus had my back (eish!) so I'd be fine.

Then odd bloke kept putting his hand on my leg. I'd look down, firmly remove his hand and tell him nicely to stop it, then he'd do it again, only a bit further up. At this point we were on the motorway so I couldn't very easily get out.

Then he asked me what my God would do if he drove me to some remote place and raped and killed me. He really did. Why at this point I wasn't bricking it I don't know. I just replied that he'd really better not, because God was looking after me big time, and he'd protect me one way or other. Good job I believed it, because this guy was obviously a bit simple, and he started to believe it too.

But then he tried to touch me up again, at which point the bus in front braked suddenly. He wasn't concentrating on the road, but rather on my leg (honestly, I don't think my legs are _that_ special) and belatedly slammed his brakes on. This resulted in the car screeching round in a spin. It felt like it span round about three times, but it may have been just the once. We somehow ended up unharmed on the hard shoulder.

At this point I should have got out and run off, but instead I just looked at him and said "see - you'd better leave me alone!" with a smug expression on my face. I didn't even look or feel frightened (maybe partly because I couldn't drive, so didn't really know how scary that had been) while he was shaking and sweating like, well, a perv. But this time it was in terror.

Then he broke down, apologised repeatedly and said he'd never really intended to rape and kill me - he was married and just a bit messed up. I forgave him (as you do when you're a manic evangelical) and told him he needed Jesus to sort him out, and he was so sorry he drove me all the way to Exeter without trying to feel me up once, crying and repenting. As I got out of the car, I firmly told him he needed to get is life in order, and strolled off.

Thinking back, I realise how fucking stupid I was, getting in his car in the first place, and also not just breaking his fucking fingers when he was trying to fondle me, then getting out and reporting him to the police. I really hope that something in him did change (even if he did go to the Jeebus crowd) and that he didn't kill and rape some other hitcher who was less persuasive.

But at the time I had the arrogance to think that despite all the shite that goes on in the world, Gawd almighty was looking out especially for yours truly because I'd been praying and was doing his work. It took me an embarrasingly long time to figure out that it's all a pile o' shite, but I did in the end thank fuck!

And look - it wasn't all a build up to a daft pun or anything!
(, Sun 18 May 2014, 13:17, 6 replies)
Alcohol / cars / MASSIVE DRUGS / and also shitting myself
Friday night, hometown, out to the local fat slag whaling club in my home town. Club kicks out at 2am and we meander back to my friends house not so far away. The partying continues various other people who have been in other venues arrive including a friend we shall just call "C".

About 4am and we are running low on massive drugs, so we decide to take a walk to the local dealers palace after giving him a little tinkle, of course he is awake, when C offers instead to drive me there. A very drunken and at this point in time made from adamantium SpanishFly decides that's a great idea. It's a 10 minute walk 2 minutes in the car after all.

On the way to the palace there is a stretch of road that is notoriously bad, with a canal on one side of it and terraced houses and parked cars the other, the road is kinda snakey, we are going far far far too fast when I hear these words "FLY FLY FLY WE'RE GONNA CRASH" and then we got a parked car head on doing about 50mph, and I ladies and gentlemen did not have my seat belt on. The car came to rest upside down some 40 feet away from the initial impact, I was, quite amazingly, still in the passenger side of the car. The first thing I noticed was that all of my teeth have been knocked out, I know this because I can feel them all in my mouth, I have a mouthful of broken teeth. I start to spit them out to see that they are chunks of glass and in fact all my teeth are intact. The second thing I notice is severe pain in my right leg, broken ankle severe soft tissue damage the works.

I see "C" making a run for it and telling me to run, it's at this point I realise how totally fucked my leg is and that I have indeed shat myself. Badly. So I strip off clean up with my boxers, lob em, and put my pants back on and try and make a break for it....which I don't.

He police later told me that I was probably the luckiest bloke alive, something to do with the g force and the way the car spun and flipped pinned me (for the most part) into the car seat. However when we went to see the car before it was crushed there was a very distinctive open mouthed face shape in the window screen on the passenger side of the SpanishFly, and just there on the passenger seat were some dirty cunts shit stained pacman boxers.

EDIT JUST FOR THE LOVELY STUJ: tl;dr - crashed as a passenger, should have died, shat myself
(, Sat 17 May 2014, 8:12, 8 replies)
18. Old enough to drive. With use of car. Reasonably proficient with a screwdriver. Temporarily employed as an electricians mate.
Mainly because I had a car and his was off the road and he had a job to do at Bruntingthorpe airfield. 60 miles away.

£25 a day for two days' work in 1989 seemed OK to me, so we drove over and he surveyed the job- wiring up portakabins to a distribution board for mains, fed by an Aggreko 50kW diesel 3-phase genset.

Natch, as the 'mate' I got the casual unpleasant jobs, such as attaching the earth strap from the toilet block to the earth rod next to where the shitty sewer water was leaking out of the toilet cabin greywater pipe. I also had to hand tools back and forth like an operating theatre nurse and crimp twin-and-earth wires to eyelets but it was all jolly and new and exciting to me. We even had the fun of two A-10 tankbusters lazily mock-dogfighting in the air above the airfield and wondered if my Mini Metro was being practice-targeted for missile-death by the pilots. That wasn't the near death experience.

Once all the cabins were wired up to the electrician's satisfaction, the last task was at the distribution cabinet- three phase bus bars with the spurs bolted on, the electrician suggested the last thing we need to to is the 'Bottle test'. 'Can you just ratchet up the tension on the earth bus bar nut while I check the generator?'

OK, I did so. Metal ratchet driver, metal bar, conductive path but Earth, so surely safe enough. *Applies tool, starts ratcheting. Leaning forward, cabinet open, three phase bus bars 6 inches from my forehead as I lean down to tighten the earth bolt. Still, it's not electrified.

As I ratcheted up I heard a loud sooty splutter and then the sound of the generator starting up and settling at idle speed.

SHIT I am 6 inches away from live 3-phase electricity, 415 Volts, if I fall forwards into this open cabinet I will be toast, charcoal, cardiac arrest and I didn't even get laid......

Muscles locked in fear- back away, back away, take hands gently off metal ratchet driver still connected to earth bus bar and back away...back away....8 feet away SAFE.....oh hell. OH HELL I NEARLY JUST DIED.

Electrician came back over round the back of the generator with a jovial smile on his face.

'I only started the genny, I didn't cut in the breakers! That's why they call it the bottle test! See how you react!'

*Apparently I should have known because the note of the engine exhaust would have gone from a steady 1500rpm to 1200rpm under load had the breakers actually have been cut in.

So I thought I nearly died but for the mercy of a pranking electrician, I wasn't actually close.
(, Thu 15 May 2014, 19:59, Reply)
My wife.
This weekend she cut her hand on bit of broken glass, I stopped her from bleeding to death by putting a plaster on the wound.

I'm not sure that it was near death, but you'd have fucking thought it with the way she was banging on about it for hours afterwards!
(, Mon 19 May 2014, 10:42, 8 replies)
Cheap drill
rubbish story with no punchline but a few months I bought a really cheap drill but after only a few goes on it, the part which grips the drill bit exploded, sending pieces of steel rushing past my face.
I now intend to spend at least twice as much (£20) on my next one. Boy have I learnt my lesson.
(, Sun 18 May 2014, 21:56, 7 replies)
Had a good few of these, mostly motorcycle related.
Probably the most memorable was having my front tyre blow out after hitting a smashed bottle at 140mph+. German motorway, before you ask. I highsided the bike trying to save it and somehow came out of that unscathed, then slid down the road (thank the lord for leathers; if you're gonna lose skin on the tarmac, make sure it's not yours) watching the crash barriers getting inexorably closer. My feet against the barrier stopped me, at approximately the same time I realised that I now had 170kg of originally expensive metal and plastic chasing me. The bike itself was going end-over-end and somehow managed to bounce over me, the rear wheel clipped my shoulder.

When it's not your time, its not your time.

No Otters were harmed.
(, Sun 18 May 2014, 19:24, 2 replies)
How hum
Was on M25 getting home from work.
Just on the Dartford bridge when there was mass pile up in front, I hit the brakes and missed the anal encounter.
Like in slow motion in my rear view multiple cars slammed into each other, human centipede style.
Then BANG! I was then joined to the centipede and smashed up through the rear of the car in front.
3 Wheels left on the ground, glass blown out everywhere, pissing blood.

I remember not a lot other than being dragged from the car by a Police officer and some guys shouting 'You Cunt' at me from a minibus.

Shoved into hospital and exited some time after, fucked my neck, back and knees, otherwise ok.
(, Fri 16 May 2014, 18:53, 9 replies)
Once as a lad on a Scout Jamboree (a big international camp) I got a ticket to go gliding.
After my go, I was stood next to this huge Swedish older Venture Scout (or whatever they have) watching the winch they used to launch the gliders. It was basically an articulated lorry cab sat on the back of another lorry cab, to drive it around. The one on top had the cab facing backwards and a big winch drum on either side where its back wheels should be.

The wire cable is run out to the glider, hooked on, then the clutch released and the winch winds the wire in. It picks up the tension in the wire, yanks the glider forward, and at some point it picks up enough speed to take off. The pilot releases the cable as he passes overhead, and a little parachute stops the steel buckle on the end of the wire dropping fast enough to crack someone's skull. At least, that's the plan.

When the wire snaps, however, there's nothing to stop the tension in several hundred yards of wire whipping back half the length of the runway, over the winch, and lashing a two-inch-deep gouge in the tarmac a few feet to my right. To this day my parents don't know how awfully close I came to going home in two rather slender but very separate boxes.
(, Fri 16 May 2014, 14:13, 2 replies)
I nearly drowned in the river where they filmed Deliverance.
Wouldn't mind but I only went there to get buttfucked by some hillbillies.
(, Fri 16 May 2014, 8:03, 4 replies)

(, Thu 15 May 2014, 20:10, 10 replies)

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