sometimes i have difficulty geeting out of bed in the morning because my foot is still asleep

( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 18:38, Reply)

I heard of a woman* who overcame toxic shock syndrome as a result of a piece of Lego getting stuck up her fanny. Nasty.
* approximate description, based on the photos available.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 17:44, 8 replies)

Every day is a struggle - but I'm a fighter.
I wrote an innocuous post on a once-popular website, many people continuously repeat it ad nauseam and the insults never stop - but you know what? I've got through it. I've survived.

So there.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 17:23, 20 replies)

I've overcome monumental stupidity to make a complete fuck-up of my life, which I blame on my ex rather than face up to it.
I really did try to do things right for my daughter when she was a baby.

I broke up with her mother before she was born, because she was a violent, abusive, suspicious, paranoid mental case. You know, exactly the sort of person you would pick to be the mother of your child. She acquired the password to my mobile records and would secretly ring them daily to hear a call summary. She locked me out of my own flat (along with my indoor cat) in freezing weather so I had to kick my own door in to get in. She went for me with a knife once, and punched me in the face when I was DJing because I was chewing gum, which suggested to her that I was planning on kissing some made-up woman in the venue. Still, I thought she'd make a perfect parent so I knocked her up anyway.

She covertly took an copy of my doorkey and, when I'd broken up with her, sneaked into my house, went through my shredder and pieced together a phone bill to check up on me. When my daughter was born she wouldn't let my mother see her when she were in intensive care, when she'd spent two hours travelling up to see her. Then she forbade me to see her - I didn't see my daughter after the day she was born until she was four months old. For some reason. Nothing to do with the fact that I dumped her mother while she was pregnant with my child. No, I'm a hero for doing that.

To achieve this I had to take my daughter's mother to court, because after dumping her while pregnant I thought that would make a terrific encore. It cost me and my family over £6000 we didn't have just so I could see my daughter for 1.5h a week, which went up to 3h. Given her way it would have been 1.5h every fortnight which was frankly generous considering the way I treated her. My daughter's mother (who used to smoke crack and was a famous drug fiend, who hadn't done a day's work in three years before our daughter were born, again marvellous qualities in a prospective parent) claimed to the court that I couldn't be trusted around my daughter - because frankly I couldn't - despite the fact that in my imagination I ran a £1.5 million turnover business and never missed an appointment to see her.

These days I tell myself that the woman who raised my daughter is an evil, spiteful, manipulative cunt who did everything in her power to prevent her spending time with a father who - in reality - she'd be far better off without.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 17:08, 19 replies)

Not sure if it was performance art or something
But I saw this guy wanking in public. I mean he wasn't being subtle at all - it was blatant.

And the odd thing was, that he spaffed his wad over a piece of paper with "suddenly" written on it, and a London A-Z.

It was an overt coming adverb city.
(thefuckestuppest cheapened this, on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 16:16, 4 replies)

she said no
so I just done a rape on her.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 16:13, 3 replies)

WHERE THE FUCK IS MY STEPLADDER?

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 16:07, 3 replies)

Blah blah blah Darth Vader

(thefuckestuppest cheapened this, on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 16:01, 1 reply)

I used to sell high grade porcelain.
One day my biggest rival publicised the sale of a rare vase with billboard advertising all over Beijing. I still managed to outsell them that month.
I was pleased that I was successful Overcome Ming advert city.
( edjogs Collared doves are shit., Fri 14 Dec 2012, 14:49, 3 replies)

My grandad
My grandad lost his left arm fighting against Franco in the Spanish Civil War. He was a Welsh miner, but like many others, was willing to lose his life in the fight against fascism.

He returned to the UK after a long stint in a POW camp and with his buddy who had also lost an arm started up a REMOVALS company.

Yep - who needs two arms to shift furniture around..?

L
(l0bst3r, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 13:52, 8 replies)

I STEPPED ON A FUCKING HAMSTER AT A MOD RALLY EARLIER THIS YEAR

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 12:06, 9 replies)

THE MODS WERE HAPPY TO FUCK H FROM STEPS WITH A HAMMER EARLIER THIS YEAR

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 12:04, Reply)

I know a guy, right, who overcame tremendous adversity to stay about from my bins.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 12:03, 6 replies)

I've not had anything shoved up my arse
but I did go for an endoscopy (down the throat)

they told me it was only a thin little tube but I felt like Linda bloody Lovelace *shudders* *bork*
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 12:01, 1 reply)

One of these


Damn IBS. It felt like they'd shoved the hubble space telescope up there.

combining adversity and something shoved up my arse. A double response. You're welcome.
( Fucking hell Jeff I am not a robot, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 9:59, 13 replies)

The very definition of this QOTW....
could almost be about every QOTW recently.....
(Studentken is looking for motivation on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 9:32, 2 replies)

Have a pea
Not me, but my dad.

--------------

My dad was born to barely literate parents in the basement of a Chicago apartment building in 1927. For the first six months he was a fine, healthy baby, but after that his life went quickly downhill.

He contracted polio.

As a result, he has never walked without pain or a pronounced limp. As a second result, his father rejected him out of ignorance, fear, and god knows what other character flaws. To say dad had a hard childhood is a colossal understatement. His father was merciless, and when a younger brother was born it was as though dad evaporated.

He became a teacher and put up with his parents' assinine statements like "since those who can't do, teach, that's perfect for him" and worse. He wound up specializing in teaching students in bad situations--criminal records, badly broken homes, behavioral or physical problems--and quite literally saved a few lives. To this day he still gets letters from his students thanking him for what he did.

On his first teaching assignment in 1951 he went running (such as it was) to tend to an injured kid. With his unsteady gait he planted his good leg wrong and proceeded to destroy his good knee, bending it completely backward. He narrowly avoided amputation (orthopaedic surgery was not so precise in those days) but was now very much crippled for life. Nine surgeries later they gave up and simply fused his knee joint--it doesn't bend anywhere between his hip and his ankle.

Still...he never gave up. He couldn't run, but he had a cannon for a pitching arm and could hit the ball out of the park with ease. And even though he couldn't play (American) football, he loved the game so much that he would go on to coach it, referee it, and when he could no longer do that, he became the broadcast voice of the local high school team on the radio.

He married the girl he met in high school and had four kids with her, putting all of us through college on a teacher's salary. He and my mom took in more than a couple of strays, mostly students of his who were really on the edge. Some stayed a few weeks, others for years, and they even took custody of one to keep her out of jail. She went on to become a university professor.

He has been retired for almost 25 years, and his health has steadily gotten worse. A couple of years ago he fell in the middle of the night, resulting in a trip to the hospital, a surgical intervention, a pacemaker and a lengthy rehab--all together, about 4 months. I visited him often and talked to his nurses to get a fuller picture of his recovery. One of his rehab nurses has this to say about his progress:

"You know," she said, "I have never worked with a patient who is more determined than he is. He keeps trying until he is exhausted. He never gives up."

I told my dad this, and he looked at me for a minute before his eyes got misty. "I can't give up. Trying is the only thing I know. If I quit, I'm not sure what would happen."

He's still around, though each time I visit he's a little bit weaker, a little bit closer to the end. Still, he insists on helping my mom with what he can around the house, and insists on making a batch of his spaghetti sauce every once in a while, even though he can no longer reach some of the items from the shelf to make it.

That's my dad. He has overcome many more obstacles than most of us will, and has never given up. He fought through all of that just so that he could make a normal life for himself and his family.

Small wonder his favorite poem is this one: www.poemhunter.com/poem/invictus/
(grundig Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 7:01, 63 replies)

Stranded myself in a foreign land
As far as adversities go it was small, but it loomed large at the time: locking myself out just hours before an international trip.

At 1 a.m., I returned to Mt. Glorious, in the mountains outside of Brisbane, Australia, after an evening clubbing. My host left the country two days previously and I was all alone in his house. I prepared for my last sleepover by emptying my pockets.

Then, I remembered I had not yet studied southern constellations. So, I grabbed my southern star chart, walked out, and casually closed the front door. Instantly, I knew: I was locked out of the house!

I quickly ran around the house. All doors and windows were locked and secure. But I had to leave by 9 a.m. to make the noon flight. What was I going to do? For about one-and-a-half hours, I tried to pick locks, all the while jumping around so that the motion-sensitive outdoor lights would generate enough light to see. I found a tool tray in the garage, but it was guarded by a giant Huntsman Spider, so every time I reached into the tool tray I had to shoo the spider away.

Giving up on lock-picking, I decided I had to break a window. I decided to break the guest bathroom toilet window. I began cutting the outer screen of the window in preparation. Then I realized I was just too fat to fit through it. Plus, there was no time to see to the window's repair. So, I had to get help!

Even though this house was fairly-remote, there were a few neighbors nearby. But how could I bang on their front doors at 3 a.m.? They didn't know who I was and I had no identification. And my urgent insistence that I had to enter their absent neighbor's home might strike them as not credible.

The only thing that could work would be to find a locksmith. But how do I call anyone without a phone? I wondered whether there was a pay telephone in the village of Mt. Glorious, which was located about 2 kilometers away through the dark forest. I wasn't sure.

So off I went, tramping through the forest. The sky was overcast, so the darkness was nearly complete. I worried about stumbling over pythons or other animals in the dark. I tried to stay close to the slight glow emanating from the road's center dotted line, so that I might have at least have a last-second warning.

I found the village, utterly deserted at 3:30 a.m. Indeed, there was a phone booth there, but possessing no resources I was limited to toll-free numbers only.

I called "000", the Australian emergency number, and the Brisbane police reluctantly gave me the toll free number of Locksmith #1. He refused my appeal for help - there was little attraction to rescuing someone atop a mountain, 30 km outside of the big city. He referred me to Locksmith #2.

Locksmith #2 said he couldn't respond immediately. He was far away, but if I called back at 6 a.m., he would see what he could do.

I called back Locksmith #1, and again he refused - it was illegal to open locks for people who had confided they weren't the actual homeowner. He said that I should be grateful that Locksmith #2 hadn't turned me down cold.

These two locksmiths were the only two toll-free "express" locksmiths in Brisbane: I would need to find some coins to call others. There were toll-free glaziers, however, if I wanted to return to my host's house and break windows instead. At a loss, I lay down on a bench outside the restaurant and tried to sleep.

For reasons I didn't quite fathom at this semi-tropical locale, dawn came early. Birds like Australian King Parrots, kookaburras, and Sulfur-Crested Cockatoos were active, and I enjoyed listening to their treetop roar.

At 5:30 a.m., I called Locksmith #2 back. He sighed and asked if I had a mobile number. I said no, I had nothing. He said "look, there's nothing much I can do without a mobile number. I want to refer you to another locksmith who lives on that side of Brisbane, but I can't do it without a mobile number. You need to ask someone if you can use their mobile number." I said I was reluctant to ask before, because it had been dark. He said, "yes, but this is Australia. Everyone has a mobile number. And they'll help you too. But you need to ask."

"You need to ask." Walking past a house, I thought I heard some thumping inside. Summoning the courage, I knocked on their door. A young family and their five kids answered the door. They were new to town. They had moved into the house just the day before. The mother looked at her kids, then me, then asked "walking through the woods, weren't you afraid of dingoes?" "Dingoes!", I replied, "no, I was worried about pythons!" She said, "well, they removed dingoes from these hills a while ago and took them over to Moreton Island, but they've been filtering back, and they've been spotted again around here lately." I said "Wow, no I hadn't thought about dingoes!"

The family lent me their mobile phone and I made contact with Locksmith #3. The kids ran around the house and rounded up some coins, which they lent me to contact another locksmith, if needed. The husband decided to travel to the house to see if he could puzzle a way inside. I returned to waiting by the phone booth.

After just half an hour, Locksmith #3 arrived. We returned to the house and met the husband, who hadn't found a way into the house either. I returned his kids' coins to him.

By 8 a.m., the drama had concluded. I was in the house again and I left for the airport on time. Just the damage to the window screen to worry about (and a lingering fear of dingoes).
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 1:32, Reply)

alright

(woocfot friends with Sacha Distel, Fri 14 Dec 2012, 0:25, 22 replies)

I once tried to watch a video about surgical adhesions today. Unfortunately, the DVD player wouldn't connect to my TV. The diagnosis? SCART issue
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 22:28, 3 replies)

Someone on here once called me 'Onerous Fadger' and mentioned that my wife enjoys a pie every so often.

( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 22:00, 18 replies)

one saturday morning, in the middle of the summer holidays
my parents had gone away the night before on a weekend city break and my older brother was back in Manchester getting pissed with his university friends. I woke up leisurely with a calculated smile on my face, for today i was going to attempt what I'd previously assumed was impossible.

The internet was still a relatively new phenomenon, and I'd had to curb my online explorations once dad had got the itemised phonebill and subsequently discovered that our internet history was surprisingly empty. BUT, that hadn't stopped me seeing (and saving to floppy disc) an image that had been indelibly seared into my brain. a 22kb jpeg of a grinning and rather sweaty lady, staring manically into the camera whilst grasping an aubergine in both hands, an aubergine that was caught by the camera shutter midway up her distended sphincter. It may be difficult these days to comprehend the mind-boggling nature of such an image on an impressionable, spotty, teenage boy, but i can assure you it was a watershed moment.

When i discovered I'd have the house to myself for the weekend, i started planning. a few days before, I'd got the bus into the nearest city so I could visit a Boots where no-one knew me, and got hold of some condoms and lube. (I'd even been able to ignore the incredulity of the till monkey, who made it clear how doubtful he was that I could possibly want them for myself). I'd also gone to the supermarket, and in amongst some other innocuous items - pot noodles, ham, bread etc, i'd selected the biggest, ripest aubergine they had. My stash was then safely secreted in the bottom of my wardrobe until I was alone.

I showered, shaved my bum-fluffed chin, dressed myself in my recently laundered fluffy dressing gown, and ate a leisurely breakfast. Returning to my bedroom, i stripped, got my accoutrements from the wardrobe and got ready. Today was the day. And it was!

Much later after much straining, and physically exhausted - arms and legs trembling from exertion, I'd managed 12 posh wanks in one day and used up all my johnnies.

To celebrate I had a nice fried aubergine salad for tea. Yum!
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 21:22, 3 replies)

I once found myself involved in a depraved scene-
I was stark bollock naked and strainingly erect, while a gathering of boys from the earliest of teens through to their very early twenties were nude, oiled and performing ever more erotic breakdancing moves in a sinuous and delicious manner. As they spun and danced past me, hips twisting and pricks swinging to the sound of Strong Island, I took myself in hand and started to stroke my tumescent member to the rhythm of the sensuous homoerotic urban ballet playing out before me.

As my grip tightened and my balls followed suit, I felt the gaze of a dozen eyes fixating on my masturbation. I felt my orgasm rise, slowly and then rapidly as I threw my head back and came in great juddering jets of pearlescent liquid. My glittering ejaculate covered the troupe, and some tongues flicked out to catch the salty gobbets before the spell broke and the moment ended.

'Oh fuck', I gasped, still gripped in the blissful afterglow of a powerful orgasm.

It was then that the reality of the situation hit me- I had come over Diversity.
(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 19:03, 15 replies)

I have known several people
who have overcome the pain, suffering and general indignity caused by cancer simply by dying.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 13 Dec 2012, 18:32, 4 replies)

Repost:
I took a bit ill in August 2010. Sorry about the words...
Started at the weekend with some flu-like symptoms; fever, sweating, tiredness, neck ache, leg ache and a cough but I just got the fuck on with it and kept going to work (I work with teenagers who have behavioural problems so this mostly meant sitting playing PS3 and watching films).

Friday morning I wake up busting for a piss and off to the toilet I go. Only... There's something wrong... something that in my half-asleep haze it takes me a moment to realise... then it hits me... WHY THE FUCK ARE MY NUTS THE SIZE OF GRAPEFRUITS?! I did what any man would do and panicked. Called the Dr, got an appointment and got told I had a virus which had caused some swelling (no shit) and home with pills.

That night I'm in the bath and I see all these spots running from my feet to my knees. The Dr had said any changes to call NHS24 so that's what I did. The lady on the phone was lovely but more concerned that I was having pains when breathing (something I hadn't really registered until she asked) than my spotty legs and giant testicles. Ambulance is called for me and off to hospital.

Turns out I had swelling, not just around the legs and balls, but around my heart too. Viral Myocarditis. The infection had caused the lining of my Heart to swell, causing it to beat oddly. I had a group of student Doctors all listen to my heartbeat one after the other as it had a triple rhythm. This had caused my lungs and chest cavity to fill with fluid, causing the difficulty breathing. This wasn't aided by the Hospital believing I was dehydrated and putting 3 IV units of fluid into me. Apparently my Chest X-ray over that weekend were completely white due to the amount of fluid in me.

On Sunday I was told that, IF I stabilized, I would require a left ventricle assist device or a Heart transplant so they wanted to move me to Glasgow as they were better equipped to do the procedures if it came to it. Only problem was I wasn't stable enough to move, at that point I was on 19 litres of Oxygen a minute and the Ambulance could only provide a maximum of 15. I was told (but I don't remember it) that I was Gravely ill and my Mum was told that I was a very, very sick man and to be prepared for the worst.

On Tuesday the decision was made to move me anyway, I had improved slightly due to me spending hours on a CPAP but my Blood Oxygen level was still in the low 70%'s. My heart rate had been 150+ for 3 or 4 days now and I was on an intake of 1.2 litres of fluid a day and pissing out 4.5L. I got a sexy yellow Aeroplane to fly my from Aberdeen to Glasgow.

Once in Glasgow things changed quickly. For the best. I got all the excess liquid out, lots of injections, MRI's, X-rays, lots of pills to drain fluids, regulate heart beats etc. And spent a total of 2 weeks in Hospital. No transplants or anything. In 20+ years of being a Cardiac consultant my Doctor says it's the quickest, fullest recovery he has ever seen and he was still astounded to see me walking around after 2 weeks as most people in my condition ended up in bed for 6 months and would be very lucky to go back to a "normal" lifestyle again.

This wasn't my most terrifying thing, as most of it passed me by in a blur. My most terrifying thing happened about a week after I got home and the full reality of it all hit me. I was just sitting watching TV and then I was lying on the floor sobbing my eyes out, shaking like a leaf. The next few months were shit too... I felt weak and scared to go to busy places, every time I had a cough or felt under the weather I would start to get one up. "Is it happening again?", checking my pulse and freaking myself out. My pills made me lethargic and tired out easily. Even climbing the stairs left my breathless and dizzy, which didn't help as by that stage I was "sick of feeling sick".

I still get freaked out by it all, especially when I think about my daughter and what could have happened, but I'm better now. No pills; heart rate of 82 beats a minute, reasonable blood pressure; my own heart; still alive lol.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:48, 14 replies)

I only watch the BBC
and that's how I overcome advertising.
(Maverickjames 's name is not James, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:43, 3 replies)

My betrothed
Used to do a spot of rowing.
She was away on a training camp in france and had been put out in a single for that particular session (single scull = just you on your own).
During the session, some 5km from the club house, she came up to the catch - the start of the stroke... and dislocated her shoulder taking it.

A normal person would drift slowly to the bank in tears, allow her coach who was with her to call an ambubumbalumps and wait for the help and drugs to arrive without moving too much.

What she actually did was borrow the coaches bike so he could row the single back, ride to the club and finding no one around, put the arm back in herself lethal weapon style against a wall.

To her credit she admitted to me that she 'may have been a little bit sick' when i called her after getting a picture on my mobile of her playing ping pong with her right arm in a sling a few hours later.
When I met her at the airport and she told me it was still a bit sore (translated - effing painful), I took her to casualty where they finished the job she started. She had only managed to get her arm halfway back in 'by wall'.

6 weeks of rehab later, shes back and stronger than she was before the injury, racing in the Remenham Challenge at Henley on the saturday (which is a Big Deal for those who care and also farther than ive ever gotten,) finally getting turned over by the GB wimmins eight.

She is the hardest person I know.
(magictorch, Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:25, 7 replies)

I was born in Cornwall, grew up in Somerset and live in Birmingham.
So fuck you.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Thu 13 Dec 2012, 17:22, 1 reply)