Scars with historyYou've all got scars: they're nature's little reminders not to be so damned stupid next time. My favourite is the 1/4" round hole in the back of my right hand, created when I was 7 by my best friend putting a manure-covered gardening fork "away".
Tell us the stories behind your scars. With photos if possible.
(
chthonic, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 10:00)
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Where to beginWell, i have my share of scars.
Just to mention a few;
I'm going home on my bicycle after consuming half a bottle of scotch, 10+ beers and a couple of joints. I turn a corner and suddenly see there's a lamppost in my way. Eyebrow open wide and, because of obvious intoxication, massive bloodloss.
My left leg. Again, i'm cycling home, after another night of drinking, and pretty close to home, my mudguard starts wobbling from side to side.
I try to adjust it with my foot, and ofcourse get my foot stuck between the mudguard and the weel.
Mudguard breaks, and shoots right into my upper leg. Massive bloodloss once again.
First year of highschool. I'm carrying one of those leather, nerdy-type bookbags. To close my beloved bag, at the same time i'm putting a book back in it, i press the rather sharp lock. Unfortunately, my hand is still in the middle of the lock. Small, but very bloody cut just below my thumb.
More bike-stories; Me, a friend of mine and his wife visit a concert by Mark Foggo's Skasters. Beer and ska-music go together pretty well, so cue to utter oblivion. After the gig, we decide to go to the bar I work at for a nightcap.
7 nightcaps down the line we go home. I step on my bike, drive it for at least 3 yards and fall off. I smash my head on the curbstone and look; great scar, about 2 inches below the scar from the first story in this post.
Bikes are evil.
One more;
I'm attending a open air festival in the beautiful city of Eindhoven (Holland). After consuming a doublefigure number of beers, i'm standing at the side of the festivalground, and try to hold on to the world. A friend of mine pops up with yet another round of beers, and after handing me a cup of lager, taps me on the shoulder, just as to say "Cheers mate". This turned out to be to much, and I fall over backwards, smash into the merchandise-stand, and I'm left hanging from the -very sharp- edge of the stand by my armpit. I'm bleeding like a pig, shirt ripped and a 3 inch scar, just below my armpit as a result.
Joy.
(, Sun 6 Feb 2005, 11:44, Reply)
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