Fishing (with an "H" - not a "T", you dirty-minded people)
It goes back to when I was maybe fifteen - we were on summer holidays at a little town on the far north coast of New South Wales. Most mornings, my father and I would get up early, go to the beach and fish - standing waist deep while the waves broke around us, trying to catch lunch or dinner.

One particular morning, as I was fishing, and not catching anything, a larger than normal wave approached. I took a few steps backward, where the water was not so deep, and as I did, less than a foot in front of me, was a large, open mouth full of really sharp teeth. The shark proceeded to chomp down on where I had been only a second or two ago.

I promptly emptied my bladder in record time, all while sprinting backwards at a great rate of knots. And to tie in with the QOTW from two weeks earlier, had I not had a good early morning shit before leaving home, I would have emptied all of that in to my shorts.

I've never been fishing again. I don't even like watching fishing shows or scenes on TV.
(Maclir, Thu 10 Apr 2008, 20:10, 1 reply)

Jesus Christ
That'd put me off water, fishing, anything like that for life.

Totally justified *click*
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 11 Apr 2008, 18:33, closed)