The joys of IBS
I'm not sure that this has got a mention but irritable bowel syndrome is something that both Mr C-S and I have had bouts of in the past. You might be walking along, stomach feels a bit twitchy but nothing drastic and THEN the pain its. It feels just like a horde of arsegoblins are having a party making balloon animals out of your intestines. I have had to drop what I am carrying and cry out in pain while desperatly trying to calculate the distance to the closest available toilet. Mr C-S has been known to bang his head on the toilet wall to distract himself from the pain it is THAT intense. Only luck has prevented me from the choise of either (1) soil myself or (2) indecently expose oneself trying to void whatever it is that is causing the grief.
I have had a natural childbirth but in terms of pain intensity that is bearly there with a hangnail compared to IBS.

As for the cause, it turned out to have only been a problem in our student days when a combination of a diet mostly based on white bread (10p a loaf anyone?) and stress. We both had clingy, demanding neurotic partners and especially for Mr C-S, putting on a Happy Face while simultaneously hiding one's true feelings was a sure-fire way to bowel-related woe. Now we have a good diet and no drama-queen spouses the IBS is just a hurty memory

DISCLAIMER: I am in no way saying the IBS is just due to stress and crappy diet. Much better to get it looked at professionally rather than suffer with it.
(Cockroach-Sombrero Cook Pass Babtridge, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 20:21, 1 reply)

I was rock climbing in the desert and fell backwards into a prickly pear cactus
Took three people, no modesty and lots of alcohol to resolve.
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 20:11, Reply)

last
wahoo

[edit: 2nd last]
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 20:08, Reply)

With everbodies baited breath I hope the next QOTW isn't a shit one

( DeadEyeDick, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:56, 1 reply)

I once pulled my fingerprint off my thumb while framing a house by hitting it with one of these:
www.amazon.com/Estwing-Riggers-Framing-Cutting-Nylon-Vinyl/dp/B003SW0OFI

My boss gave me a band-aid and told me to go back to work.
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:56, Reply)

i broke my
ef esh key on my blackbe y f om all this waiting
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:47, Reply)

hurry up and give us a new QOTW
this waiting is agony!
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:33, Reply)

the pain of anticipation...
overwhelms me
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:32, Reply)

My finger hurts from all the F5-ing
or whatever other non-PC users do.

I'm suing chthonic.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 5 Aug 2010, 19:08, Reply)

OK I'll get this in quick..
..before this QOTW disappears.

In no particular order:

Being treated for six months for 'eczema'.... Turned out to be scabies. Trying to sleep, trying to work, tears of constant irritation. Thanks Mr crappy GP!

Cutting the top third off my right middle finger while oiling a bike chain... got finger cought betwixt chain and crank, all the way round -beauty. Pints of blood and 9 hours of surgery later.

Taking the bandages off for the first time 3 days after my circumcision. Ouch as well as a liberal helping of throwing my ring up at the sight of the poor little chap.

Running into a taxi door head first while off my head. Neck really hurt for about two weeks after, but financially painful as the first thing I knew about it was two days later when an irate taxi driver came round with mobile photo evidence and wanted 500 quid on the spot not to go to the police.

Running through our plate glass front door when runnning away from mum trying to make me wear my eyepatch as a kid (see username). Anyway, 17 stiches over my head, one of which has given me my lovely 'Nike' tick across the bridge of my nose, and my earliest memory of being wrapped up by a nurse in a blanket. Couldn't watch Carrie for quite a while...

edit: Last!?
( DeadEyeDick, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 18:44, 1 reply)

Toenails and doors and dentists causing pain through kindness
I once opened a door in such a manner that it caught the nail on my right big toe, lifted it up and snapped it horizontally with such force that the flesh underneath exploded. Blood everywhere and the pain, for a brief second, was beyond description. HOWEVER, this was bettered by a dental abscess. Obviously these involve pain on scales broadly comparable to an aircraft carrier when the average toe stub is a stick in the water, and this one had got to the point where I was happy to shell out obscene amounts of cash for a private emergency dentist.

Once I was in the chair, he set about administering the injections and knowing that this particular abscess was gunning for the ULTIMATE PAIN AWARDS that year, he decided to give me an extra one, right into the heart of the broken tooth that was infected.

With consummate skill and impressive accuracy, the dentist injected a rather large amount of liquid right into the pus-pocket of the abscess itself.

You know in Star Wars when they engage lightspeed? Imagine that, but the image of PAIN HAPPENING in your vision. I actually went blind from the raw pain impulses cascading through my brain and my head flipped out with such violence that the syringe needle bent into a semi-circle. Worst of all was the weird, bubbling popping sound that came from my upper jaw. I literally cannot describe what the pain felt like. It was powers of ten beyond anything I'd felt before and I've had a lifetime of dental abscesses and a couple of bone breaks.

Thankfully the abcess was now full of hardcore anaesthetics and the pain mercifully receded at a rapid pace, but fuck me that 1-2 second eternity of pure pain was truly mindfucking.
(Tont Tont Tont, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 17:57, Reply)

Ouch!!!!
could we have a new QOTW now as I`m warn out with all the wincing
(Nahla, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 17:03, 1 reply)

I just bit my tounge,
I was eating cake at the time too, Damn you cake! You betrayed me!

*EDIT* yeah I can't spell... what chu gone do about it?
(eggs and spam *insert witty sig here*, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 17:01, 1 reply)

Back injuries are the gift that keeps on giving
I BrokenCoccyx learned several years ago just how intricately involved the back is to the rest of the body. Broken butt bone and three herniated discs after playing US football (not the FIFI stuff)changed my life.

This past week is an illustration. Last Wednesday, I developed a terrible cough. Not so bad, drink lots of fluids, wash my hands, I'll get through it. Then, after a bad windstorm, a friend asked me to bring my chainsaw to his place to segment some windfall trees.

Well, a 22 inch chainsaw is just an extension of one's manhood, so I agreed. After four hours, I realized that holding a heavy tool (even one as cool as a Jonsred chainsaw) for that much time is REALLY bad for the low back. Cue two days of laying on ice packs, walking like Igor and a muscle relaxant induced coma.

Then the cold came back with a vengeance. The cough would bug the back in its previous state, but once exacerbated, every cough resulted in a knife-stab pain in my lower back. Each sneeze resulted in a twist and a knife-like pain in my lower back. Some coughs would literally bring me to my knees in pain.

Add to this the need to work to pay Mr. Tax Man, and no days off. I was the office gimp and the pain of the repeated, "why are you walking funny" questions only added to the misery.

Finally, after two days of not being able to sleep (doze off, cough, scream, wake up, repeat), I was able to get to see the doctor, who prescribed heavy antibiotics and codeine cough medicine. The druggies out there are saying "Score!"; I say "Nay!".

Antibiotics and codeine cause intense stomach upset, which cause puking/gorping/calling ralph/technicolor yawn, etc. Imagine vomiting up the little food you've been able to keep down in the past few days, then the bile, then an alien life form, complete with all the heaving motions that wrench the back even worse. Still haven't slept, still have to work, still have "a hitch in my giddyup."
( BrokenCoccyx doesn't mind if you grope on, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 15:46, Reply)

More Pain, Vicar?
The tree from which I'd suffered my epic back scraping (see previous answers) was a big, tall pear tree. A prolific one too; my childhood summers were always sweetened by the tang of rotting pears, and a mere whiff of dying fruit takes me right back.

But anyway, I was crossing the gritty concrete patio of hell when I slipped up on a slimy smashed pear. Bananas have nothing on em! That I was wearing flip-flops was no help: I gyroscoped around wildly, but gravity won. So I went over shoulder first, right into the big pile of stonky fruit my mum had swept up yesterday.

There is only one thing that can happen to a big pile of pear carcasses in a UK high summer; it was heaving - throbbing - with black and yellow fiends, feasting on the rich, rotting pear flesh. And I'd landed on top of them.

Was this the Ouch? No - as anyone with a big fruit tree can tell you, fallen fruit ferments quick - the wasps were all absolutely fucked off their faces! They were no more capable of stinging me than they were capable of flying in a straight line. I never knew wasps were evil until the tree was chopped down; there’s nothing funnier than a drunken wasp trying to fly upside-down, but sober wasps are utter homosapienphobic arses.

The ouch came when I jerked back up and stubbed my toe. Owww.
(IChewCandlewax, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 15:12, Reply)

I'll just slide this one in before the end.
This isn't the most painful moment of my life, but it comes fairly close. To set the scene; I was vaguely getting ready to head out for a quiet night out in the town, and so had started working my way through a crate of finest wifebeater. As one does.

During the course of getting ready, the thought came to me unbidden that I could do with a little bit of a shave. Now, I haven't been properly clean shaven in years - mainly because I go from a rapey looking lovechild of Tim Minchin and Paul Giamatti to a rape victim looking Macaulay Culkin. No, I'm not sure which is worse either. Regardless, instead of the sensible option of a many bladed razor I went back to my old stubble providing fallback. The hair clippers.

I was ready to hop in the shower at the time so there I was, beer in one hand, hair clippers in the other, merrily grinding the beard away from my face. No problem here, oh no; everything went fine in this regard. It was after I'd finished with my face that some bastard thought slipped into my head.

"Hey," it whispered into my mind. "Why not trim your bollocks whilst you're at it?"

I glanced down warily, considered it for a moment, and figured I'd just go with it. Because putting a large electrical appliance which is made to cut things even remotely near your genitals is, let's face it, a completely safe option. It's quite hard to cut yourself with a pair of hair clippers.

However, if your hair clippers are the type that plug into the wall, you may notice after a while of use that they can get quite hot. You may also notice that your testicles are slightly more sensitive to heat than the rest of your body. You will notice this because you will burn yourself on a piece of hot hair clipper, and may make a little noise of surprise and pain whilst dropping the clippers.

The pain, I might add, was not too great. It was more shock.

Hurt like fuck when the clippers landed pointy end down on my foot and chewed into it though.
( gone, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 13:36, 3 replies)

*POP*
On my 24th birthday, my team were to have an off-site day at the 02. During the day, I was presented with a bottle of champagne on stage for having won some Value award (go me!). After the boring presentations, we retired to an igloo deep in the recesses of the venue (it certainly felt like an igloo as was eerily white and glowy) and free drinks were merrily distributed, as is standard for corporate affairs.

As it was my birthday, I made sure I ingested as many mucky cocktails as I could get away with before we were evicted back to join the hoi polloi in their boring, non-arctic themed drinking establishments. Already a bit pissed by this point, I started to head back to my place to pick up more friends for continued drinking elsewhere. I duly shoved the champagne in my handbag and toddled off toward the tube. Upon arrival at the flat, a half or so later, I proudly presented my champers and suggested we quaff it with haste before heading out into the night.

Have you ever drunkenly tried to open warm and agitated champagne? I wouldn’t recommend it. Just a few twists of the metal cage bit is all it takes to loose the canon, in my case straight into my left eye, from a distance of mere inches. At first, we all laughed, then I realised I couldn’t open my eye and quickly became a bit hysterical. A&E followed, so a boring and sobering wait and a late, late night; but overall, it didn’t actually hurt too much due to the shock and drunkenness. What did really hurt, however, was my follow up appointments at the eye hospital where I had to have my torn retina zipped up with a lazer. On two separate occasions. It was like having a tattoo on the back of my eye (not that I have any tattoos, but I imagine that’s what a pulsing lazer tattoo might feel like). Owie.

Now I always make sure one of my minions opens the champagne...
(Sinister Carp doesn't mind the gap, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 13:31, 1 reply)

By popular demand- The black head in my penis story.
I mentioned this in my other story & it got alot of attention, it's not the worst pain ever, maybe top 5, but anyway, here goes...

(Wavy lines)

When I was about 13-14 & during one of my very frequent erections, I noticed a tiny, tiny bump on my penis. Being a greasey teen, I knew what a blackhead was, I just didn't know how the fuck it got there! So as with any black-head, I thought to myself "pop it"! I tried, it hurt, I couldn't, I left it. I thought nothing of it, but always noticed it when I was, y'know, "Touching myself at night".

Anyway, time passed, quite alot of time infact, 2 years to be exact, & it was still there, it had grown, it was still to painful to pop despite numerous attempts. I'd even tried popping it using a pin with no joy! Then one day, I'd had enough. I'm not sure what inspired me to do it, it wasn't painful or uncomfortable, but I wanted the fucker out, & I wasn't gonna rest till it was. So I went for it! Erection caused, I placed the fingernails of my index fingers either side & I squeezed. Hard. It hurt, it hurt alot, but I kept squeezing, probably for nearly a minute, it was agonising, but I wasn't giving up. Then I felt it, it was like a mini eruption, but it was out finally.

I looked down at my fingernail & on it was a thing. A browny, yellowy green thing! It was huge. Well, not huge as such, but huge considering it was in the skin on the shaft of my penis! It was the size of a small ball bearing, about 4-5mm in diameter & the relief I felt now that it was out was immeasurable. It was then I looked down at my now flaccid penis, & was shocked to see a trickle of blood entering my pubes, clearly eminating from a small but very visible hole. I was very light headed all of a sudden.

Length? About 6 inches if I round up!
(Dr Fishfinger Want's to see a fat man give a tit wank, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 13:13, 3 replies)

Glue gun of death
During the eighties the glue gun was invented. My dad insisted on buying one and once devoted a whole saturday evening to glueing together everything that needed fixing and a lot of things that would have benefitted from simply being left alone.

To the uninitiated: the glue gun works on the following principle: solid stick of white plastic goes in one end, gets melted somewhere down the workings of the gun and molten sticky glueness comes out of the nozzle. Simple.

The glue gun was left unattented as my dad was laying some cable in the toilet upstairs. Adjacent to the gun was a pile of run-off glue, the inevitable consequence of too much pressure at the trigger. My young self postulates on the temperature of said pile of run-off. With my youthful curiosity unsatiated I then promptly decided to give the pile of runoff a poke to see if it was still hot.

Of course it fucking was. I am now faced with a blob of glue on the end of my finger that seemed to be burning its way up my arm. Rushed upstairs and dad is in the can. He came out, leaving a stink of biblical proportions in the bathroom, but I had to run in and get it under the tap.

It wasn't budging. No way was this puppy going to be stopped from its one purpose in life. I knew what I had to do. I tore the blob off of my finger tip. I had to run it under the warm tap to try and dull the pain, but this had little effect. In the end, as my tears of pain steamed up the bathroom mirror I removed the offending blob along with a good three layers of skin. For just about the next decade my middle finger sported a wicked round scar as testament to an injury that took six weeks to stop hurting whenever I picked anything up. Luckily I had the presence of mind to make sure I touched the glue with a finger from my left hand...
(mersault, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 13:05, 1 reply)

Prince Albert Piercing
A few months ago I got a Prince Albert piercing done. It was the single sorest thing involving my penis that I have ever experienced. I was told by a mutual friend at the time that it wasn't a sore procedure to get done. Somehow I was convinced that letting someone stick a metal rod thing down my urethra would be a pleasant experience.

I spent the next week waddling around like a penguin with paper towels wrapped around my member so that my clothes were not stained with random leaking blood.

It was worth it though.
( Fat Fred too weird to live, too rare to die, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 12:33, 43 replies)

On Saturday
I went paintballing with a few friends, and got hit in the throat.

Wasn't the worst pain I've experienced, but still stung like a wasp trying to shag a porcupine.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 11:01, 5 replies)

My parents told me they didn't love me because I'm fat, ugly, and I smell.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 10:38, 10 replies)

Bonk
My girlfriend and her mate were strolling into Norwich city centre one fine afternoon. When waiting to cross a fairly major road, a big old truck coming down the hill last control, and started coming toward them.

In true movie tradition, instead of darting out of the way, they stood there screaming as the truck skidded, expecting death.

Instead, the truck hit the traffic light they were standing next to, which now started to fall on top of them, screaming was resumed as the big black bastard descended, expecting at least serious injury.

As fortune would have it, the traffic light stopped just above them, presumably tethered by the concrete base, and they breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Then one of the circluar plastic casings that house the individual lights fell off, and bonked my missus on the noggin.
( SigmaX0 Dear Die Hard. You rock!, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 10:09, 10 replies)

I know a woman .....
who got hit crossing the road by a Police motorbike. That must have been a bit ouchy.
It seems to have been the making of her though. Despite being as mad as a carrier bag full of wasps she married some old fart and got a few quid in the divorce settlement. He didn't seem to mind that she needed a razor for one leg and a plane for the other....
And if it hadn't happened she'd still be doing soft German-style porn.
Gypsies were right. Lucky Heather.
( Sallyrsm, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 9:58, 1 reply)

"My bollock was ripped off"
Is what I would have said, had this happen to me. Thank fuck it didn't but I did a read story in FHM True Stories* once that made me cross my legs for quite a long time.

Couple of mates sat in a sauna, au naturel, except for a towel around their waists. One of the guys stood up to to let someone else in, or to get out, can't remember which, but as he did so and unbeknownst to him, one of his bollocks slipped in between the wooden slats. As he stood up, he left his nut behind and fucked his vocal cords from the screaming.

I'm going for a lie down...





* I know, I know, may not be true.
(Tighthead, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 9:56, 4 replies)

Sex game gone wrong.
My mate got rushed to hospital last night with a toy horse stuffed up his ass.

He's in a stable condition.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 9:55, 3 replies)

LEGO. Dark. Barefoot.
nuff said.
( bierbelly, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 9:52, Reply)

Not my tale of ouchiness, but how could I not mention it?
After reading the debate below on cyclists jumping red lights, I was walking to Waterloo station after work yesterday and came to a crossing. Just as the green man popped up, a man in the group of people on our side started crossing the road... and got absolutely SMASHED into by a cyclist going full speed through the red light. It happened in slow motion, but they fully collided and seemed to be suspended in the air before they both collapsed onto the road.

My friend helped the pedestrian up and onto the pavement, and two motorcyclists pulled over to check on him. Whilst we were seeing if he was ok, the cyclist was insisting “I was braking, I tried to stop”… sure you were, which is why your front wheel is completely bent in half from the impact.

The pedestrian sat with his head in his hands, and then after a few minutes said he thought he was ok. But as he stood up he passed out and started shaking so we called an ambulance (and on the motorcyclists’ request, the police). He was conscious again by the time the paramedics arrived so we left our phone numbers and went on our way. Not before hearing the paramedic ask the cyclist how fast he was going, to which he admitted “pretty fast”. (Funny, I could have sworn I heard him say he was slowing down…)

But at least he stuck around I guess, and the pedestrian seemed to be ok- looked like a fookin almighty crack on the head when he fell though…
( awayfromthenumbers, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 9:43, 7 replies)

Back in high school when I was around 16,
I wanted to impress this one girl that lived across the street from me. You know how it is - she would wave hi every day, then every now and again she'd come over when my parents were having her parents over. I was in love and I had to do something to get her.

We went to the same church, so one Sunday after morning worship (let me point out I've since turned and am a normal guy now), a group of us headed to the woods for a hike. I got to walk right behind her, and oooooh, that butt was to die for! I could feel my woody rising I watched it wiggle!
A few feet ahead was a tree with just the right amount of climb space that I knew she would be impressed if I just monkeyed up there like Tarzan!
So I ran ahead, took a running jump at the lowest branch and hauled myself up. Hauled myself up onto the next branch and by this point the rest of my buddies are telling me to go higher. Which I did.
Being weedy and nerdy, I naturally lost my footing trying to get up to the next branch, and fell.

I landed balls first on the branch below which doubled me over, and so fell again...stomach first onto the branch below.

Once I wiped the tears away, I realized I had serious pain in the region of my groin and gingerly "went for a piss"....to discover a splinter of wood lodged in my dick.
After two days of it festering and digging deeper every time I walked, I finally went to the Emergency Room where they got it out under local anaesthetic and sent me home with 3 stitches and cleaning instructions to give to my mom. (My parents never found out).

The most painful thing.....my unrequited crush laughed at me.
(nolongernuts, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 5:44, 1 reply)

Masochist's Dream Cart
When I was a teenager, I was driving along the Rio Chama in northern New Mexico, when I spotted a tiny cart that hung from a two-wheeled assembly that ran across the river on a cable. It was probably some kind of government hydrology cart, which presumably allowed a person to measure depth in the middle of the river and other river statistics too. The cart wasn't locked up, and it looked like great fun, so I jumped in and merrily rode the cart over the river.

And then the cart stopped halfway across the river. There was no motive power for the cart on the sagging, outstretched cable, so if I wanted to complete the journey across the river I would have to reach up over my head with my hands and pull both the cart and myself uphill along the cable.

The first time I reached overhead and started pulling the cart uphill, the two wheels riding the cable rolled right over my right hand, ripping the skin off my thumb. It hurt like a bitch too, especially when I reflected that all the harm was entirely self-inflicted: my own weight was being used to rip my own skin off and maybe break my own finger bones too. It was a masochist's dream cart! I couldn't abandon the damned thing and jump into the river: I don't swim!

In pain, I reversed course and started hauling myself uphill, trying (and failing) to avoid running over my hands again. I left the cable slick with blood. (If I'd really been a masochist I would have spent the entire afternoon at this place, of course.)

Interestingly, my thumbprint was permanently changed by this event. Thus, I have prudently avoided a life of crime, because I'm too easy to finger.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Thu 5 Aug 2010, 5:21, 2 replies)