Guitars are dangerous.
As a angsty teen I played guitar. During one session I sneezed hard and walloped my head against the guitar. Lot's of blood and confusion and a scar on my right eyebrow.
(rattus, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 4:04, Reply)

scars
www.flickr.com/photos/59702134@N00/3773016/

www.flickr.com/photos/59702134@N00/3250372/

In swing park with older cousin. He's standing on swing, I'm whining for a shot. He kicked swing out, jumped off and ran under it. I ran forward and got belted on the forehead by the wooden swing seat. Led into full family gathering by panicking cousin covered in blood from head to toe.

Scar above left eye from pub brawl.

Scar on forehead from ex getting upside my head with an iron bar.

Scars on sides and back of head from falling 25ft over bannisters when pissed. Both calves badly scarred from this as well. A nurse relative stopped counting when she reached 50 staples in my head.

Scar on ball of thumb from ex pushing me over a table, fell with full weight onto broken half pint tumbler.

Fading one between eyes from going to the aid of a woman being beaten by her boyfriend.

Ones above left knuckles from falling out of a moving taxi and large skull/demon rings disintegrating into hand on contact with tarmac.

Hope I've linked those two pics ok.Doesn't seem to be linking unless you cut and paste the whole thingumys. None of the one on the back of my head at the moment, a friend said it looks like a dancing stickman with no arms.

A late friend was stopped by his woodwork tutor. She told him she wasn't impressed with him showing up at every lesson with an open can of Super T in his pocket and half pissed. She told him to come in sober and see the difference in his work. He went in sober and guided the tip of his finger into the band saw, telling me that he saw it slide down the middle and opened his finger up like a banana.
(albinomeatpod, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 3:24, Reply)

Got a couple of good ones, lots of little ones
On the ball of palm on my right hand I've got a 2" scar from when I was working with a lathe and got a razor sharp bit of swarth go in one end of my hand and out the other. Instinct took over when common sense should have said "don't grab hold of the nasty sharp and try and remove it yourself, let a nice doctor do it for you so you won't open half your fucking hand up and spray blood like an extra from Evil Dead"
Took all the skin on my left shin from the knee down to the ankle when I got knocked off my motorbike and slid for about 15 feet along the edge of the kerb.
Last but not least got one running right up my forehead from my right eyebrow when I got glassed defending a friend from attack in the local boozer. Later found out he started the bloody fight by trying to cop off with the girlfriend of the biggest psycho in the place. When his wooing was rejected he calmly responded by calling her a "fuckin' fridgid bint" Que the kick off and me in casualty having 15 stitches and him getting kicked in the balls the day after.
(boltneck sacrificed a smurf to Cthulhu on, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 2:45, Reply)

I was advised to pretend that this scar was as a result of a knife fight with a gang in LA


Because admitting the truth, i.e. "you got it pulling a pot of boiling water over yourself when you were young" is not cool enough by a long shot.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Sun 6 Feb 2005, 2:29, Reply)

a scar is a reward for putting up with a lot of pain
(unless u take painkillers- then you're just a pussy)

down on good old dover beach watching my mates do backflips/frontflips/double-legs off the promenade - which i can't do - and feeling a little left out. so i jump at ze chance 2 practise wallrunning and wallhopping. i forgot to mention i'm 6ft 3" and they're all about 5ft 4" so i had a bit of a bruised ego when i figured i could jump higher onto a 5ft wall. bollocks could i. feet hit, slipped, banged shins. ruined my favourite trousers with all the blood. scarring well atm. nice big dent
(5ifty0, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 1:28, Reply)

Bitten by a desk
When I was 18, my grandmother came to stay with us, and my mother enlisted my help to shift a large metal desk to make room for a bed., but as we only needed to move it a few cms, didn't both moving the piles of books or computer off the desk. What we didn't know was that the metal top was loose, and when I slid my hand underneath the desktop ledge, it came away. Me not noticing slid my hand a little futher in (by this time unknowingly getting it between the top and the bottom part of the desk) before my mother announced that it had shifted enough, and released her end of the desk. The tabletop, because of the weight fell onto my hands, and my right index finger, which was unfortunate enough to be positioned underneath a screw. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I do remember screaming so loudly that the man from 2 doors down ran over to help hoist the table off my hand (we were an all girl household). Remarkably there was nor so much pain, but my finger did not heal, still needing dressing and bandages 6 months later. I was afraid that I was always going to have the swelling and soreness but then I flew to Detroit, and accidently broke open the wound again while lugging my bags through the airport. This time it actually healed corrctly (through it took another 2 months). Today, I can't actually tell from sight which finger I hurt.

Scars:
Psychological: I've never had to move anything since then. My mother feels too guilty. We've employed movers ever since.

Physical. There is a slight lump on my index finger, which is dead skin - I can't feel anything with this bit of my finger. Since the finger was also out of use for 8 months, to this day I do 2 finger typing, but with my left index finger and right middle finger. Haven't been able to correct myself 8 years on.
(wufflebunny, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 1:12, Reply)

BMX
Never bunny hop off a kerb on your little brothers BMX while drunk and having the front brake on.
I did and have a lovely 1 inch scar where the bone came through on my right elbow.
I was only going back to the pub for my arrows, needless to say I was off the team for a while.
( juanking ...and then it fell off, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 1:04, Reply)

Many
Arse- Was at local pub, in play area (aged 5). Jumped off a ledge, into the ball pit. Sat there giggling for a minute, then suddenly I feel an incredible pain in my right buttock. Some psycho 4 year old had SUNK HIS TEETH INTO ME, drawing blood through thick wool trousers and pants. I only noticed the scar while getting out of the shower about a month ago.

Right shin- Almost entirely composed of scars. While arsing about in the sea, I thought I saw a shark, and panicked. So I paddled like buggery over to some rocks, intending to climb up them to safety. Only problem was that these rocks also extended a long way underwater, and were composed of spines (where 2 rocks had pushed up against each other). Slicey slicey. I only noticed my profuse bleeding when a woman run up to me on the beach 5 minutes later, asking if I was alright. Interestinly, a shark WAS apotted a few minutes later, so I may have got off lightly.

Left middle knuckle- after spending an hour winding a friend up, he punched me. So I punched him back, and as a result I have a small scar from where my fist connected with one of his canines.

Left forearm- BDSM experiments with a girl, involving pieces of glass. I shit you not. I later found out the glass had been picked up off the ground, so once again I may have got off lightly.

Skull- Ran into a wall. Aged 5, racing my little brother, I turned round to gloat at him (he was 3, I was never a fan of fair play) and veered off course, smacking my head on a wall. Much crying, lots of blood, brother grinning madly (he won the fecking race). 5 stitches later, I'm back home, enjoying the rest of the week off school.

Right eyebrow- Attempting to suffocate brother in step-father's VW van, I jumped on top of him holding a duvet, and managed to hit myself on the in-built cooker. The duvet then became more of a means to stop us all drowning in blood, instead of a sleeping... thing.

Left big toe- Large chunk of flesh torn out byt someone in trainers kicking my bare foot against a wall during a game of indoor football in PE. I had to mop up the blood.

Respect to chriswakey- OUCH!
(youthink, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 0:11, Reply)

The Perils of Transvestism
I was telling my housemate about the post I just made, and as he was telling me a story about some of his scars, I remembered another of my own.

About two years ago, in my final year at uni, it was a quiet Saturday afternoon and I was shaving my legs in the bath (I'm of the cross-dressing persuasion). I was just bringing the razor up my right leg, when I managed to catch the skin. All the way up the shin, about 5 inches. After going "oh bloody hell, that was painful", I removed the five inch long continuous strip of skin from the Mach3 razor I had been using, and carried on doing the rest of that leg.

About 20 minutes later, doing my left leg, I manage to do EXACTLY the same thing, and create a matching 5 inch cut up my left shin. I removed a second strip of skin from the razor and carried on, being extra careful from then on.

Later on that evening, I was out with a couple of friends when I got chatting to one and she asked how I was. "oh, I'm okay" I reply "but my legs feel a bit sore because I cut them while I was shaving". "oh dear" she says "lets have a look". So I rolled up the legs of my trousers to let her see.

I think her reaction when she saw the open wounds was something along the lines of "FUCKING HELL!!!!!!" at which point she grabbed a first aid box and started cleaning me up.

When I told that story to my housemate just now, and showed him the two long faint scars on my shins, he squealed, clamped his eyes shut and went "waaaaaaaaah!!!".
(Iris_Wildthyme is three sheets to the wind, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 23:30, Reply)

The Gathering 2000
First of all, a bit of a back story. Towards the end of my first year at uni, I was going to move in with a group of friends, one of whom we shall refer to as Mark (because it is his name, although he called himself "Ashleaf" for some gay reason). This Mark decided that he wanted to shag a girl we knew and as her house plans had fallen through, he decided that he wanted her to move into the house. Cue him calling a meeting behind my back of my other so-called "friends" and telling him that he didn't want me living with them. And they agreed.

Fast forward a few months later, and myself my friends are off to a Live Role Play Event (yes, I know...) in sunny Derby. We've hired a minibus and another friend is driving it with us and all our kit. To get on the bus, I have to go round to the house I was going to live in, where Mark was lurking outside fucking around with a knackered VW bus, and mooch around there for two hours. Mark was also going to the LARP event, but coming along later in his own car. So, we hang around for 2 hours, get on the bus and drive to Derby.

The following day, Mark turns up and I hear murmurings that he's been going round saying I vandalised his car, which I'd actually been nowhere near. Matters came to a head (literally) when he charged up to me outside a friend's tent, screamed "Keep away from my car, you fucking CRIMINAL" and brought a sword down on the top of my head. Okay, so it was a prop sword, but it still had a solid core. Even when you hit someone with one, you're supposed to pull your blow, so whirling one around your head and bringing it down on someone else's head with full force is going to cause some damage.

Sadly, I don't have any photos, but I now have a nice scar about 3/4 of an inch long just above my hairline.

Still, I got my revenge.

He was arrested for assault.

Bonza.

That WAS long, wasn't it?
(Iris_Wildthyme is three sheets to the wind, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 22:29, Reply)

Throat slash scar
When I was around about seven years old my stepfather took us all on a glorious holiday to the Isle of Sheppey. If that wasn't enough of a dream come true, while I was there I managed to not see a neck-high strip of barbed wire, and blissfully ran into it. Unfortunately I don't have the original pictures to hand, but here's how it looks now after some tidying-up surgery (excuse dodgy cam)

While I was off in hospital getting skin grafts, my step-brothers were playing with a World War Two shell they found on Minster beach, not knowing it was in fact live ammunition until the bomb squad descended upon them. Happy days.
( The Ephialtist, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 22:27, Reply)

my toes...
whilst in the the sea off normans bay near eastbourne i broke my toes...

well, i was coming back in from a swim and stubbed my toe on a submerged rock - this made me rather angry, and caused me to shout profanities etc. i also turned to one side and kicked the water with all my angry might to vent the anger from within myself. what i didn't know was that there was a second submerged rock.... fuckin' ouch - i totally smashed two of my toes up - number 2+3 from the 'big toe' end. number 2 toe had managed to rotate itself 180 degrees, so from a standing position i could see the underside of my toe. nice. when in hospital, the noise from the number 2 toe while it was being rotated back into place was very similar to the noise made when you mash up a bamboo garden cane. again, nice. both toes are scarred rather nicely and number 2 toe is healed in an unbendable position.

i also have scars on my forehead from falling off a chair at school and hitting the edge of a table, on my chin after a bicycle accident hitting the rear of a ford fiesta and slicing my chin on the rear windscreen wiper as i slid back down, part of the end of my 'pointy' finger is missing where it caught the blade on a table saw, and an appendix removal scar.
( JJ, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 21:59, Reply)

Don't play with Knives!
I inflicted a good'un on my brother. We'd been watching some violnt film or other, and were discussing the merits of the various weapons involved. I had a stanley knife and was pointing out how it makes a bad weapon cos you can't stab with it, though on the other hand it's a good frightener, for doing superficial scarring in brawls. As I was saying this, I slashed it through the air in front of me for emphasis. My brother, ninja instincts sharp as a razor, instinctively put his hand up to block it. Went right through the web of his thumb. 12 stitches. I had to do his homework for him for a month.
( same as yours, but on fire will explosively decompress on, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 20:52, Reply)

scars
I'm really pale skinned, so my scars are really hard to see once they're a few years old, but I have a lovely big one near my right armpit that took 10 stitches to close from when I was 8 years old, and fell down the stairs, stabbing myself with my brother's Buck Rogers space ship. It hurt like hell, but it was weird, because there was no blood! It was just a big pink, gaping hole. IN MY ARM! Something about the shape of the nose of the ship, I think. I got stitched up, but my drunken dad never took me back to the hospital to get a checkup, so the stitches burst, and I had to spend weeks making hospital visits to get some weird sulphur thing stuck in my arm.

I also have a lovely long scar on my right knee from surgery to screw my leg together after a tree fell on me, breaking my leg, ankle in two places, collar bone, and fracturing my skull.

Plus I have a long thin scar on the back of my right hand from a scratch fight with Michael Zoryk when I was 10. He was sorry and gave me cherry lip balm to rub on it, which was nice of him!

Last November, while half asleep (not drunk at all!), I slipped on the stairs, and bounced down on my arse, unfortunately catching my right little toe in the banister. Here is a pretty picture of it..

(snorgle, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 20:39, Reply)

School Playground Bench...
Cue me standing on top of the aformentioned bench (trying to look over the brick wall and to freedom) when someone shoves the bench really quite hard.

Cue me hitting the concrete playground, chin first - splitting it open with a perfectly straight tear - lots of blood, worried teachers, worried parents. I didn't care - day off school, and a trip in an ambulance! (I was 7 at the time).

Only years later did I remember all this when I was shaving and the other half looked in the mirror - 'What the hell is that....' she said...

Ah, happy memories of primary school
( HSDriver was probably still at work on, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 20:30, Reply)

The 13th Element
Back in high school, I was lighting my, erm, pipe, and a chunk of burning phosphorous flew off the match and burned a hole in my eyelid. After a short career naming how many fingers with my eyes closed, word got round, and I could no longer ogle the sexy bird in my social studies class without her knowing.
( scartoonist, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 20:04, Reply)

Teethmarks in the breast, anyone? No pics!
As a young nurse at a particularly brutal mental hospital in the 1970s I misguidedly took pity on a puny boy of about 11.
His arms were tied inside his pullover, crossed over his stomach and secured behind his back. (I promise I'm not making this up.)

He wandered around all day like this, sobbing constantly. I was told that he attacked anyone in range, hence the bizarre knitwear arrangement.

Green as grass, I approached him, said 'Hello little boy, what's your name?' and placed a hand on his shoulder.

He immediately spun round and bit me viciously under the left nipple. The pain was intense - I thought I might faint.
Not wanting to admit my 'accident' to anyone (I'd never have heard the end of it!) I sneaked off to the bog to examine the damage.

A chunk of skin had been bitten off, through my uniform, slip and bra, and there was so much blood that I had to pad the area with bogroll to soak it up.

Luckily I'd been wearing new shoes with much thicker soles and deeper heels than before, making me a little taller, or I definitely would have lost my left nipple.

Fortunately, although I didn't have any treatment it healed well. 30 years on, when I see the scar in the mirror, I still shudder.
(A kind of wild justice, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:53, Reply)

Perky Cyclopean Breast Bone
I had a growth spurt when I was three years old, but didn't get enough nutrition to keep up, so developed a misshapen breast bone as a consequence. In school gym class, it was a torment - "What!, one boob instead of two?" - but since adding on fat and a bit of hair, it's less of an issue now.
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:51, Reply)

Self-harm-mimicking scars
are NOT funny. I slid down a stable door, aged about 8, and gashed a wrist, leaving a long, neat scar which apparently identifies me as a 'cutter.'

I also have a moleste blue one across a knee from a blasphemous Sunday-School bunking-off incident. Having excused myself to read comics in the toilet, I then tried to peep through a high window to see if they'd finished yet, pulling a heavy window box down upon myself.
I learned that day how much Jesus hates skivers.
(A kind of wild justice, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:34, Reply)

Memories of motorbikes, meals, dogs and jobs
The scar on my chin -- not currently visible because it's under my beard -- is a reminder that it's not a good idea to drink mass quantities of alcoholic beverages right before operating a motorcycle. (I have a full-coverage helmet now, too.)

The scar on my left index finger serves as evidence that utility knives are quite sharp. I learned that particular lesson when I had a summer job covering houses with aluminum and vinyl siding. I was trimming a piece of siding while standing on a scaffold just under the eaves of a two-story house; the knife slipped and I cut a deep gash about an inch long, stopping at the second knuckle. I swore, shook my hand, and painted a long streak of blood down the baby-blue siding.

In the middle of the back of my left hand and just behind my left thumb are a couple of jagged scars that I got when trying to break up a fight between my Labrador Retriever, Pantone Black, and my neighbor's dog, Lucas, Prince of Darkness. Lost a nice pair of deerskin gloves during that episode, too. (My dog won, no thanks to me.)

My right hand was relatively unblemished until a few months ago, when an experimental Chicken Marsala recipe splashed hot grease onto my wrist. I really should get a lab coat for the kitchen....
( katzenfinch, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:30, Reply)

WARNING:
twin sisters and dessert spoons do not mix...

after continually asking my sister if she had seen my geography book, she got a bit annoyed and picked up the first thing within reach to throw at me. unfortunately, this object turned out to be a spoon, which hit my head (just above the eyebrow) and left a nice cut . this was the day before the school photos. bitch.
still got the damn scar...
could have been a very late payback for me throwing a brick doorstop at her head a few years previously.
oh, and dont forget the scar on my arm from where an 18 month old me attempted to retrieve a cat bowl from my satanic dog. and the one on the tip of my finger from the hot cooking oil. and the numerous ones from hamsters, rabbits and evil tin lids that dislike me.
(PAMPAMPAM, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:13, Reply)

Southern Hungarian fire regulations - non-existent.
At a fancy dress party in southern Hungary, I impressed the locals no end with my inventive arm-flapping dance. Actually, my Grim Reaper costume was on fire and I was trying to simultaneously beat out the flames and tear it off.

I'd set it aflame by leaning against a wall while worriedly contemplating the venue's breathtaking flouting of all known fire regulations.

Drunken students were crowded to the point of suffocation into a tiny basement club with one entrance/exit, thoughtfuly situated at the top of an open spiral staircase.
Hundreds of lit candles were placed around, including the one busily igniting my back.

Slight scarring to one hand, too trivial to photograph, reminds me of this ironic injury. Could have been much, much worse, and not just for me.
(A kind of wild justice, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 19:12, Reply)

Danger - hot rocks
Picture the scene - I'm slumped in an armchair getting happily stoned with my mates (as you do). Suddenly a massive hot rock falls from the joint, burns through my T-shirt and lands on my belly. Cue much pain and me suddenly jumping out of my chair, which in turn causes the hot rock to slip down into my boxer shorts, still burning away.

My stoned mates look on confused as I slap my groin screaming in pain. One manages to say "don't drop the joint, man". Sympathy or what?

Left with a small scar on my belly but, thankfully, nowhere else.
(lolwhites, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 18:47, Reply)

Blue Crayon
When I was about 10 I was bored at school. Idle thumbs and all that, I decided to get a compass (the drawing kind) and jab the 1 inch spike through the end of a blue crayon.

Well, as expected the crayon broke, the compass went straight into my thigh with crayon still on the end.

I'll try and get picks but 14 years later I can still see the blue bits of crayon in my thigh
(grimmmy, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 18:26, Reply)

...
I have some really odd-looking scars on my lower legs from not some amazing accident with beer or scooters... but... grass. Yes, grass, that green stuff on the lawn that turns brown after the dog takes a piss on it. I was running around playing... I dunno... pony princess? and slid on the grass quite spectacularly. There was a significant patch of sharpish grass (With the sharp reedy edges.), and I didn't apparently feel the freakish long semi-suicidal looking cuts across my bare legs. Went on playing. Eventually looked down. Not-moleste-but-memorable amounts of blood all over my lovely new tennis shoes. Went inside looking shocked and trying to fix it with a whole boxful of bandaids and Neosporin. And that is how my shins started to look like they belong to a mental patient.
(ZooLurker is an angry chick with a mullet!, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 18:22, Reply)

Still hurts now

Basically, the moral to this one is "never walk into a pub that's selling Grolsch at £5 for 4 bottles. Especially if they've got steps outside." No, not the band, I didn't get into a fracas with H and Lisa. I merely spent about £30 and lost body control. Oh, the taxi charged me £30 to get me from the Hospital to my home in The Shire.
( the wild elk Freeing excellence affects reality, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 17:17, Reply)

Evil shot glasses
Was in Austria for a snowboard holiday. First night went out on the lash to this bar and drank a shit-load of shots. At some point decided that I wanted to nick the shot glasses and for some reason decided to hide about 10 of the buggers under my beanie while it was on my head. Subsequently had a massive drunken snowball fight with about 20 other similarly intoxicated tourists on the way back to our hotel, completely forgetting that I had all these shot glasses under my beanie. Got home to find that not one of the shot glasses survived intact, and they were mostly in the form of glass shards sticking out of my scalp. Lascerated my hands when removing said beanie and running my fingers through my hair. Have lots of tiny little scars on my scalp.

Serves me right for nicking them though.
(freshtonic, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 16:36, Reply)

On my forehead
There's a small wrinkly scar, from when I was 4. At my aunt's house, I slipped on a throw rug and fell head first into the doorframe. Went to the Emergency room, got butterfly stitches, went on with my life. A week or so later, I got the stitches out, and went back to my aunt's. And immediately slipped on the same rug, fell into the same doorframe, and hit my head in the exact same place. Back to the emergency room. Cue a year of follow-up visits and developmental tests to find out if the two concussions in a week had left me brain damaged.
(puttysan, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 16:19, Reply)

when i was about 8
somehow my dog got his claw caught on my lip, while he was jumping around. he frantically started thrashing about, with me getting yanked around like a rag doll.
( AgentMuu hentai coordination, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 16:04, Reply)

chriswakey...
...the FP of QOTWs indeed. Respect!
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 15:46, Reply)