And as for my family...
Me: I have a scar vaguely shaped like the number 4 on the third toe of my right foot. I was running late for school when I dropped a rather large drawer full of socks on my foot. I grabbed a pair, dashed off, and bled all over my shoe. It's still raised and pink 12 years later. I also have a big one on each of my knees. I was 12, and I thought it would be really fun to run as fast as I could on my aunt's treadmill and then jump off. Needless to say, after having had pus-oozing scabs for two months and having the damn scars for 11 years, I can assure everyone it's really not that entertaining.

My sister: She was 2, and I had taught her to hoist herself up between her bureau and our desk and balance like a gymnast. She swung her feet back and forth, lost her balance, and smacked the bridge of her nose on the rather sharp-edged headboard of her bed. It made a sickening *thunk* and her nose started pouring blood. She still has a little line there; it sort of looks like she had an after-market nose installed.

I am NOT sorry about the length. I am never sorry.
(Shannon623, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:58, Reply)

Poles
I have a rather spectacular scar from the webbing of my right hand to my wrist.

My webcam is a bit shit, so you can't see it all to well.
Piccy:



During a drama lesson, I noticed (with no small amount of annoyance) that one of my group members was always fucking about and not doing any work. Thus, I decided to educate him in the joys of getting his scrawny little arse kicked into gear.

Grabbing a handy iron pole that happened to be lying on the floor, I walked over and prodded him with it, telling him what I would do to him and his close ancestry what I would do if he didn't start working.

Here I learnt three important lessons.

1) Small people are evil little buggers.
2) NEVER pick up an iron pole from the floor.
3) NEVER hold the end that is jagged and torn into fantastic (and VERY sharp) shapes.

He grabbed end of pole to pull himself up.

Pole is pulled down.

Sharp bit of steel cuts open my hand to a depth of 5mm, splitting the webbing on the way.

Ow.

In shock, I started to move my hand, facinated by the fact that I could clearly see the muscles moving. Then it started to spurt blood everywhere, so I went to the nurse and then to the hospital.

Apparently, I was very lucky that the cut had split the skin, but hadn't touched the muscles, or it would have taken months to heal.

It only took a month to heal up, but I had to learn to wank left-handed. Cock.
(DarkLite swallowed my entire undercarriage, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:53, Reply)

My boyfriend's brother
At the tender age of three, my boyfriend's older brother was playing outside whilst their family was barbecuing. Their dad had just put the (very hot) grill cover down on the ground when older brother decided to have a sit. Apparently the skin on his thighs fused to the metal and the outer layer ripped off as they pried him off it to take him to the emergency room. According to the family, he still has the scars, but I'll be watermeloned if I'm going to ask to see them.
(Shannon623, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:46, Reply)

so there i was
winter of 1995 in sunny sunny leeds, playing, as a care-free child does, in the sunny sunny snow. Now, normal children like to build snowmen, or make snowcastles or snowangels, or throw snowballs with rocks in them at windows. But not me.

i decided it would be a fantastic idea to use all of the snow in the garden to make a gigantic (in comparison to me anyway) ramp and drive something over it. There were a few flaws in this plan which were only elucidated after it had been put into practice.

1. Snow, is not very solid
2. as such, i bulilt the ramp leaning against, and facing towards, a massive oak tree
3. i didnt have a handy bmx lying around. so i used a wheelbarrow.
4. wheelbarrows only have one wheel.
5. and its at the back.

so, i begin my runup, holding the handles like i had seen in the winter olympic bobsled, and running as fast as i could towards my little deathtrap. As i hit the ramp i dive into the wheelbarrow, which abruptly stops, flips, gets caught at 45* angle against the tree with the two rusted handles pointed up. I land with my lower lip first on one of these handles, and proceed to punch a nice hole just under it. Cue a wonderful night in LGI, where i remember i met a schoolfriend who had had done some similar *science experiment* and broken his arm.

no apologies for the length, i regret nothing.
(end, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:27, Reply)

I was taking a PISS!
I was with a buddy of mine whose parents owned a rental townhouse not too far from our neighborhood. I was invited (dont ask me why I accepted) to go to the house to make sure the previous tenant had left it clean enough to get their deposit back...

We got to the house and I had to REALLY go to the bathroom but my friends Mom said the toilets were off limits.

Cue me and my friend, sneaking down to the basement and me sliding the sliding glass door open, just enough to get the Lil Lad out and let rip...(I was in 6th grade!)

Cue my friends Mom coming down, me MID-stream (guys you know how hard it is to cut it off) my FRIEND starts to shut the door from the far end...thereby catching my Johnson and leaving me with two scars on either side of the helmet...

His Mother cried foir half an hour she laughed so hard.

No picture because I dont think its appropriate...however, any ladies reading this: He's all growed up and he works like an Energizer Bunny! :)

Apologies for length...HA HA HA!

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

Citadel
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 4:00, Reply)

I got a knife for Christmas...
..and my parents told me not to cut myself with it after I opened the wrapping paper.

Ha ha, wouldn't it be hilarious if you actually did though, they said.

It wasn't.
(deilbfe6ogcshnbcryjh, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 3:42, Reply)

I wanted soup...
and I couldn't find the can opener, so I figured....a KNIFE would do the job. So I'm stabbing the top of a soup can w/ a steak knife, stab my hand, hit an artery and spew blood all over the kitchen. Now I don't have feeling around the area I stabbed *grins*
(TeenageJesusSuperstar, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 3:28, Reply)

Dub Family album:
I only have a couple interesting ones, but my daughter and husband nab the gold ring.

Me- Two purple scars across the back of my left hand from a demented patient with the DTs and hepatitis. He insisted there were bats in the ceiling light. I tried to reassure him, so he hit me in the face with his manky pee bag and dug his filthy nails into my hand, peeling skin off down to the tendon. It probably wouldn't have scarred, but in my hysteria, I begged my friend to "dooooooo something, I don't want to die of hepatitis, waaaaaah!" He poured straight grain alcohol over it, permanently burning the dermal floor.

Mr. Dub- Decided to win Father of the Year and let the kids play in the van. Really, I ask you? Van slips out of gear, rolls backwards down the driveway, Mr. Dub jumps up, heroically yanks open the door and tries to pull the brake. (I'll save the kids, honey!) Momentum wins, he tries to bail but the door closes on his leg, punching a hole in his ankle plus scraping the shin all the way down and exposing the bone, then finishes off with the van running over him. By an odd coincidence, the day he gets out of the hospital he gets in a psuedomonas aeruginosa-filled hot tub. Back he goes in the hospital, sick unto death. The upshot is that the infection settled in his hip and he'll have his first hip replacement this March at the age of 47.

Daughter-Age 4: slips and catches herself by her arm, tearing the armpit open in a 6 inch shear injury. Does she ask for help? Even cry a little? No, she balls up her T shirt, shoves it in the wound to stop the bleeding and keeps playing. (I think she was a soldier in a previous life) I find it hours later and she gets 10 stitches. That scar is pretty neat and tidy.
But, age 10: She's walking along next to the chain link fence when she falls, and catches herself by her arm again. Oh ho! This time her arm is ripped open from elbow to armpit. It looks like chopped meat--muscles are hanging free, globs of fat are falling out, I can see the sheen of the bone, shreds of skin are swinging in the breeze, I almost puke.

It took around a 100 stiches, most of them internal to close and now she has a 1/2" wide, 11" long scar zigzagging all over. It would have been much worse except that I made a moleste fuss when the doc told me the FUCKING MED STUDENT would sew her up. My ass! He tried to fool me by saying "My colleague here is a fully qualified M3 and will blah bla" M3s are third year med students who have had their hands on patients all of 3 weeks at this time of the year. Bastard.

Ooh, I REALLY apologize for length. Tried to pare it down..
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 3:28, Reply)

I have a dent in my forehead
shaped exactly like the corner of a brick:



Unfortunately it was self inflicted - I would have been about 6 years old, playing He-Man with my neighbours, when I decided that I'd demolish my house. I ran at it (head first) rather quickly, hence the 20 year old scar.
( gronkpan @vomitinglarry.bsky.social, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 3:23, Reply)

Skateboards are fun...
Back in the heady days of 1990, a bunch of us as kids with nothing better to do out in the west country decided we'd have a go at emulating the hard as nails luge runners that belt it down a course at incredibly high speeds at the winter Olympics on all but what looks like a tea tray.

Well we decided that due to a lack of snow / ice and not wanting to ruin our mums best tea trays, we'd give it a go down a rather steep grassy hill and we'd do it sitting on skateboards to give us a bit more speed. This hill was quite high and to re-iterate, very very steep!

It was great fun and all went well for the first couple of seconds that it took to get near the bottom until I decided that I needed to brake somehow to avoid hitting stuff at the bottom. Panicking I decide the only way I'm gonna stop is to lean to one side and I'll use my arm that's currently gripping on to the skateboard for dear life. Whoops I forget to let go and the ground rubs away a good couple of layers of skin from the top of my forearm. Doh!

My mate at the top of the hill rather helpfully shouts out to me when I stand up that my arm looks rather red from up where he is.

Cue a rather nasty scab for a good couple of weeks that itched like buggery and leaves me now with a curiously less hairy patch on my forearm and extra freckles!

No apologies for length, it's all in the genes...
(EmptyGreg, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 2:09, Reply)

just say no
two massive blokes stopped me in the street and asked me for a cigarette

i didn't have any

so they said i could be drugs from them

i didn't have any money

then one of them smashed me in the forehead with a metal bar

then they ran off while i went to hospital

the doctor broke two needles stiching my face back together

and said i have skin like a rhinosaurus
(globalloon, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 1:53, Reply)

You know that bit
of webby skin between thumb and forefinger? Ripped that open falling on a sharp rock. Fucking hurt and bled for about a week. Now I can almost detach my thumb and have it hang down as if it were unconnected to my hand. Looks like, well a thumb in a skin bag.

Not really but I did cut the fucker open down to the palm. Seriously, dont join the scouts, thats how i did it. The scar now forms one of my palm lines - people who believe that shit think I'm going to live longer than god. Either that or they go pale and say "according to this....you're already dead." Then I just laugh and stop and stare and say "you have discovered my secret you hippy bitch and NOW YOU MUST DIE" .
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 1:48, Reply)

When I was about six...
i was playing with my dad's swiss army knife. i heard him coming, so i tried to put the blade away. i couldn't figure out which edge you pressed on to get the blade back in. i ended up pressing down on the sharpened edge and still have a nice raised scar on the palm of my hand.
(sponch!, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 1:14, Reply)

Tantrum Tape
When i was a young lad my bastard brother decided to videotape an instance where one of his wind ups bore fruit (which they invariably did). Admittedly I was as pretty moody 6/7 year old with a short temper and a petulant streak; but such was the allure. In retrospect, I don't blame him.

Anyway, he'd drawn me into a fit of rage through one of his methods (probably whistling) and whilst I was throwing myself around in blind juvenile fury, he whips out the videocamera from the other room and bursts into hysterics.

I congratulate my own personal strength as to take the passifists route to such ridicule; but my attempt to evade him only resulted in rabid pursuit. His progress was quashed when I slammed the door behind me whilst running, into which my brother and the camera collide. Incidentally this door was designed to inhabit a large (and rather ornate) glass panel, which happily broke into many vengeful shards upon impact.

One of the many pieces managed to find its way into my wrist, pocuring a profuse amount of blood and much wailing. Thankfully the elder did not go uninjured, and now bears a semi-circular scar on his thumb. Made the stupid gunt think about about his motives... for about an hour.

Rest assured he returned to his sustained malpractice for close to another decade, which he started by deleting my 95% donkey kong country save. I went fucking mental
(colonelcustardscataracts, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 1:08, Reply)

Whilst working in an underground bar in Manchester
Had a bit of an accident with a pile of glass ashstrays colliding with a pile of pint pots and half the shards embedding themselves in my left wrist severing my ulner nerve, cutting off control to my left hand. Arrived home prior to a next day appointment with the neurosurgeon only for my mates to laugh out loud as I contemplated the potential end of my bass playing career.

Spoonbenders
(Eli-T, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 1:01, Reply)

Somewhat violent, actually...
Back when I was younger, I went to a private school in a class of about 30 kids who'd been with each other for about 7 years. In sixth grade, we all went to a camp-type thing for three days -- organized by the school and authorized by the pope himself! (or the local bishop, whatever) Anyways, the camp people took it upon themselves to teach a group of 12 and 13 year olds how to use a compass, and handed out compasses, paper, and pencils.

So, I take a seat down next to one of my odder friends and we're going along really well (I already knew how to use one, so I was helping him), when at osme point I make some joke about him. Long story short, he stabbed -- yes, stabbed; no, not poked -- me in the knee with his freshly-sharpened pencil. I screamed and bled, and he apologized.

To this day, I can still point out the spot where he stabbed me, since the graphite worked as tattoo ink. I probably deserved it, though -- a few years before, I bet him that he couldn't kick an orange cone more than a foot. I didn't feel obligated, however, to tell him that I'd put it over a sprinkler head...
( CTVadim Eeeeasing back into it., Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:39, Reply)

Me, a stile and barbed wire
Many years ago, when I was about 10 or 12, the family went out to the countryside, see the landscape, etc.. We came to a fence with a stile in it and crossed it without incident, until I slipped, putting my hand out to break my fall. The palm of my left hand came down with uncanny accuracy on a barb of the wire that had been strung on top of the fence, gouging a 2-inch long hole through the flesh of my palm, just by my thumb. I still carry a patch of smooth skin on my palm where the barb went in, and a faint line where the palmprint is distorted.
(Armand Karlsen, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:33, Reply)

My most memorable scar is a keepsake.
It extends from the nose-side of my left eye, to nearly my hairline.

We were in a shit car, and an old Grand Prix pulled out in front of us. My seat was reclined for a nap, and - on impact - I 'sat up' to see what was going on. Nine days later, after flat-lining three times, I woke up for a piss.

I don't remember any of it.

Cosmetic surgery has made it less of a gash, though it's still pretty obvious.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:27, Reply)

Complicated Scar Story
I lived in a grotty, mouse ridden student house. I moved out of said house in somewhat of a state, after dodging the final rent payment as a way of recouping my non-returnable bond (we all do it, don't we?)
I then bumped into my landlord on the street who threatens to deck my boyfriend and tries to force me to get in his car. We leg it. Fast.
Then last week we saw his porsche driving up the main road. We leg it up a side street. It's wet, I have high heels and a clumsy nature. I fall. Not only do I manage to fall, I manage to fall in the middle of the road, my head hitting the kerb. Ow. Cue lots of blood and an impressive eyebrow-scar. You could see my skull. It was ace.

So basically I got my scar 'cos I'm a wimpy rent-dodger.
(b3tasux, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:24, Reply)

Still in college, we were learning machining (my degree is manufacturing engineering)
I was mucking about on a metal lathe after a particularly heavy cut. While attempting to measure the thickness of my part with a caliper, and in an awkward position, I neatly stuck my hand to the nearly red-hot cutting bit.

It sizzled, and would not let go. Despite the wonderful, bacon-like aroma, I was screaming in agony and tore a nice little rectangular chunk of (well-done) flesh from the back of my hand.

Thus remains the memory from a decade ago.

/edit: you can also see a nice bead on my index finger from earlier today. I can't even remember what I hit it on, but my hands do tend to take a beating.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:15, Reply)

My Brother has massive one
on his head. His mate hit him with a PoGo stick as a joke that went wrong. I've got one too from falling on a railway line at Todmorden Station. Who'd have thought railway lines have sharpe bit's on 'em ?..........Must be to stop people trying to do 'emselves in on t'line.
(technojunky01, Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:08, Reply)

I partially made my way through college gambling on pool (billiards)
so I spent a bit of time in the game room.

I was racking, and my opponent - a rather beefy fellow - hurled the que off of the rack and straight at my face.

I nonchalantly caught it, inches from my face (okay, with a great and purely lucky degree of reflex) and managed to drive the fire of my lit cigarette into the back of my hand. The ball stung enough that I didn't notice the burn, and I opened my mouth - to silently scream with pain at the ball - and managed to extract the still-lit cigarette (butt and all) from my mouth, as it soldered it's way into my skin. Seconds later, as my palm cooled, I found urgent interest in the boiling bastard, drilling itself into the back of my hand. It had nearly extinguished as I brushed it off, but it left a terrible hole in the back of my hand.

A decade later, the scar is still plainly visible.
( Syncubus Yarr! Ye'll be walking Planck's Constant! [GMT-5], Sat 5 Feb 2005, 0:07, Reply)

Never again will I underestimate my cat's ninja powers.
When I was young and foolish, I once leapt headlong onto our living room couch, not noticing that the cat was curled up peacefully in the middle of it. Lucky for him, he noticed me careening towards him, and took appropriate action: he leapt away with acrobatic ease, and somehow, with ninja-like powers of awesomeness, managed to give me a rather deep cut *behind my ear* in the process. How he did this, especially considering that he has no front claws, is still a mystery to me.
(BlurOfSerenity, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:50, Reply)

My primary school scar
I was 5. Graham Holiday procalimed to have the sharpest pencil at Shalfleet (Isle of Wight) Primary School. I did not believe him. He proved it.
(MintyMat, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:22, Reply)

just remembered
i got one on my top lip when i was 6, from going through an internal glass door between our lounge and the hallway, trying to beat the dog to the newspaper that had just dropped thru the letterbox. Stupid thing is, the dog realized and stopped, mind you it was a golden retriever and they are supposed to be pretty smart arent they so i didnt feel to bad at being outsmarted by a dog.........
(Aleister Crowleys Badger Nothing to see here, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:15, Reply)

Can you help me mate? (the impatient need not read on!)
When I was about 14/15, my friends and I used to foolishly muck about in derelict buildings to 'keep us off the streets'.

On departing from the place one Sunday, I heard what I thought were my jeans ripping as I climbed through a seemingly glassless window. One of my friends asked 'Who's bleeding?', pointing to the trail of blood on the window ledge. I then noticed the perfectly neat and straight 2" opening on the palm of my hand. Quite a deep and wide one, pouring with blood, I somewhat calmly held the wound closed as we made our way back home to get taken to hospital (Sunday services would have meant standing around bleeding).

I saw an oldish man getting into his car and the fact that I was now shitting myself forced me to ask if he would run me to the hospital, accompanied by a friend while another reported home. The kindly man gave me a bandage to help stop the bleeding.

Luckily, I felt no pain (shock) UNTIL my nerves were kicked back into duty by the anaesthetic needle going in to deaden it for stitches (four).

Still, it taught me a lesson, but not my mate, who gashed his thumb open mucking about in the same place two days later - only got three stitches.

Silly buggers were we.
(Green-Alsatian, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:07, Reply)

On the left, artistic temprement, on the right, green fingers gone black...
I dropped a shovel on my right hand when i was about 10 - it made a nice diagonal black stripe across the back of my hand finishing with a little finger that's still swollen larger than that of the other hand. My little fingernail went black then blue and then dropped off when i was swimming. It grew back fine though.

And embedded in the middle of the palm of my left hand is a piece of graphite that's been there since i was about five. I was drawing a picture with an HB pencil, and the damned seagulls just would'nt come out how i wanted them to, would they? So in a fit of artistic rage, i drove the freshly sharpened point into my hand, breaking the tip off in the process and producing a good deal of bleeding and tears - on my "artwork"!

For some reason, maybe because it was in too deep, it never got removed. So my skin healed over and it's still in there as a little blue dot and a reminder of why I did Design Tech GCSE, not Art.
(mister_charlie, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 23:03, Reply)

I have a scar on each wrist
in the same position as crucifix nail scars.

I got mine from falling off my bike

I doubt Jesus did.
( Devil Duck: ( ' )< and his cunning stunts, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 22:57, Reply)

Spang
I was drying the dishes, like you do when you are deprived of a dishwasher, and i caught the ladle on the tea-towel.

I tugged it free but this resulted in the ladlle spanging me right on the bridge of my nose.

It bled and everything and i have this line across my nose cause i spanged myself with an over-sized spoon. Needless to say, we now have a dishwasher...
(LoLLie, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 22:51, Reply)

Lets play hurt the baby!
So, I'm just learning how to walk. Toddling around, as you do as a toddler, I decided to go visit my sister. My sister was in her room, playing, and I toddled to her bedroom door.

But she didn't want to play with "the baby" (me), and slammed the door... on the ring finger of my left hand. Apparently there was much crying and bleeding and taking of me to the hospital. A few stitches later I was good as new, except for a very fine scar and the fact that the nail doesn't grow properly.

Fast forward two years. Sister and I are at my Uncle and Aunt's house, and Uncle and Aunt have a dog named Bow (because his ears hung low, they wobbled to and fro...)

Anyway, I wanted to visit the doggy. The doggy was in in the kitchen, playing with my sister, and I toddled to the kitchen door.

But my sister didn't want to share with "the baby," and slammed the door... on the ring finger of my RIGHT hand. Cue much bleeding and crying and my sister getting yelled at. This one scarred much worse, leaving a weird puckering around the nail. Boo to that!
(dragonrose, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 22:42, Reply)