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This is a question Self-Inflicted injuries

Spanishfly asks: Ever injured yourself in a moment of frustration? When have you ever done something stupid or sensible that has ended up with you injured? Punched an Asda sign because they didn't have tiger bread? Yeah, us too

This isn't a question about intentional self-harm

(, Thu 28 Nov 2013, 13:06)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

One time I got annoyed and decided I needed a drink, and when I was drunk I stubbed my toe
A sort of indirect adherence to this question.
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 10:26, Reply)
about a month ago
went to a countryside wedding, about 2 hours ride out of the city. Ended up with all the male relatives at the table at the back, downing cans of beer in one, as is the custom. Got proper pissed, then threw up behind a tree (drinking so quick, the gas had bloated me out) so thought 'bleaurgh! I'll be fiiiine!'

Rode off back to the city while it was still a bit light, fell asleep, crashed through 3 roadside signs and went nose first down a 7 foot deep drainage ditch. A bunch of locals rushed over and we all dragged the bike up out of the ditch, flooded engine but everything else cool. Bashed me shoulder, bruised me foot, GF had a tiny scratch on her shin. Lucky really, I'd missed my turn completely and was halfway to the sea.
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 10:11, 6 replies)
I once done a massive dildo and tore my ringpiece.

(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 9:49, 12 replies)
A cock is like a pneumatic cuff
Possessed by a need to pee, I seized mine rather too vigorously, damaged the cuff on one side, and it bent painfully outwards. A hydraulic urethral aneurysm. Hurt for a week.

Be kind to your cock.
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 9:42, 2 replies)
Part of my bookcase fell on me once.
- Sean Connery
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 8:52, Reply)
luckylife's tale reminded me.
Mines almost verbatim. Almost.

Back when I rode motorised two wheel transport.
At that stage I had a "Postie Bike" which I'd got at an auction. It was cheap to run and went like the clappers.
With a tailwind.

Anyhoo, myself and the new guy at work went up to my local for libations and to perve at the skimpies after work on Friday arvo. The pub was about 4 blocks from my place and rather than be a clever, fit bastard I decided to be lazy and pootle up on the lawnmower engine.
A good, debauched and lascivious night was had by all and around closing we were poured out the back door. New guy suggested a cab. I knew better - my place just a stone's throw away with alcoholic beverages to suit even the most discerning palate (as long as they liked Glenmorangie and Emu Bitter).
There was my scooter/bike/moped. It was locked up and I had the key, but....
So I started trundling it home beside me. On a pretty much a clear downhill run the whole way.
After about half a block it got fucking annoying so I decided "Fuck it!" and jumped on the beast and kick-started her into life.
But wait - there was a problem. Only 1 helmet. "You chuck it on and climb aboard." I said to New Guy. There I am sailing down the quiet streets my pillion passenger holding on tightly and whooping the whole way. I calmly turned into my street and turned gently into my driveway and dropped the bike.

New Guy had a nice soft landing on me. I passed out and came to in the shower where New Guy had eventually got me and was letting the shower clean me up as good as it could. I mumblingly told him to call a cab as I knew my missus would be home from her late shift soon. With him gone I (literally) crawled hands and knees into bed and passed out. Again.

I came to screaming in pain.
Apparently when my wife got home she saw me slumbering (with the injured side of my face on the pillow) and went about her nightly wind-down routine of some port, some cones and tv after grumbling about me having left the bike in the driveway.
Then she came to bed. Whilst I'd turned over in bed. And found herself face to (nearly no) face with something like a cross between Tromeo and the Predator. So she did what any good loving wife would do - she started cleaning me there and then with betadine. Which is when I woke up!

The next day she rang me up from her work every 15 mins to a halfa or got the neighbour to wake me up as I was essentially concussed and she'd had to go in and do an early. Once she got home we went to the chemist were we bought some dressings to draw some of the gravel out of the wound.
Sunday was spent at the [expensive] dr.'s and the [expensive] xray place.
One cracked occipital orb, some soft cheek/jaw tissue damage and probable concussion later I was home in bed being monitored with the rest of the week off from work. Yay!

Boss told me off, New Guy sheepishly said he did his best (he had) and the missus gave me an ultimatum - no more powered 2 wheel forms of locomotion. On pain of divorce.

I'm still married.
But my mate's new Ducatti SuperSport 900 looks like a fucking sweet ride....

I drunk rode, managed not to kill or seriously maim anyone (thankfully) and got what I deserved.
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 8:47, 14 replies)
I used to share a house
with an Irish biker, who was very much a drunken scrapper.

One night he got pissed, got in a fight and had the other guy down on the floor sharpish. He then grabbed a barstool and smacked him with it, only for it to rebound straight back into his own face, badly and messily breaking his nose.
(, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 2:45, Reply)
I once set up an okCupid account and Rory found it.
It just made the bullying worse :'(
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 22:18, 8 replies)
I once done a massive shit and tore my ringpiece.

(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 22:10, 4 replies)
Not me but friends of mine
One morning at college two friends arrived and one of them (Ashley) was covered in bruises. Face, arms, torso and legs - although he hadn't needed to go to hospital. The other one (Patrick) was absolutely fine but was involved with Ashleys condition. What had happened is that the two of them had gone to a party. When it was time to leave they were thoroughly wankered and got on a bicycle like with one on the seat and the other standing on the pedals and steering. They headed downhill, skidded on gravel at high speed and crashed the bike with Ashley steering and Patrick sitting. As the bike went from underneath them Patrick and Ashley hit the road with Patrick landing on top of Ashley. Hence Ashleys almost severe injuries and Patricks preserved good-looks.

tl:dr - 2 guys leave party on 1 bicycle, have huge homosexual accident.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 21:40, 2 replies)
Beverley Allitt tried to break my cock.

(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 20:55, 1 reply)
I was once walking up the stairs and my knee bent the wrong way
I walk with a limp even after having 18 months of physiotherapy
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 20:53, 6 replies)
I broke my cock in a Beverly Hillbilly.

(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 20:48, 4 replies)
I broke my cock in Beverley, Yorkshire

(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 20:46, 2 replies)
I broke my cock in Beverly Crusher.

(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 18:45, 9 replies)
"It was a sporting injury. That's cool, right?"

One Monday morning, I turned up at work sporting a natty pair of crutches. Not surprisingly, people in the office noticed this, and naturally wanted to know what had happened. "Oh, sporting injury," I replied casually. Clearly implying that if you play as hard as I do, the odd fractured pelvis was just one of those things.

Annoyingly, they wouldn't leave it at that. There was, I have to admit, some skepticism. Not that I might have injured myself playing sports, but that I was playing sports in the first place. They demanded to know exactly what sport, and precisely how it had led to major bodily trauma.

Eventually, I had to admit that it had been roller-blading. At my 6-year-old daughter's Roller-Disco birthday party.

Nothing says "World's Greatest Dad" quite like leaving the child's birthday party in an ambulance. All the while having to smile, as if there was absolutely no searing agony whatsoever, so as not to upset the tinies.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 16:55, 8 replies)
Mom had a twisted sense of humor
My friend T and I spent a year living with my parents and working in a sheet metal shop to save up some money before going off to uni. One Friday he was tasked with moving a few score heavy sheets from one pile to another and the guy assisting him grew annoyed at the slow pace. So they started flipping several of the plates at one time. One set slipped and slammed T's hand into an upright stack, slicing through his glove and into the back of his hand. Bad cut, but no serious damage.

Off to the emergency room in a company truck with T holding a wad of paper towels against the cut with his hand in his lap. Four stitches later he was back at work to finish the day. When we got home that night, he discovered that blood had soaked through the lap of his pants and into his Y-fronts. He dropped them into the bathroom trashcan. We ate dinner with my parents and went out for a night on the town.

Next morning we discover that my mom had fished T's underwear out of the trash and laundered them, getting out the bloodstain. They were neatly folded next to the bathroom sink, along with an ancient box of Kotex and a pamphlet titled "Now You're a Woman".
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 15:10, 2 replies)
Towards the end of a Monopoly board pub crawl
I chopped the end off my finger. Absolutely no idea how I did it; I'm guessing I trapped it in a door or something.

I do recall noticing it suddenly while looking for my friends in Leicester Square. It looked pretty nasty so I chewed off the flap of skin and dipped the raw flesh in a pint to try and make it heal faster. That didn't really work so I put my Monopoly Guy white gloves (£1 on amazon) back on to try and stem the bleeding, and promptly forgot all about it until I got home.

We regrouped and got home otherwise safely but were all utterly blitzed so my flatmate was the first person to notice, or at least to show concern about, my finger. "You really need to put a plaster or something on that," she said.

"It's fine," quoth the beer, using my voice. Who did this meddlesome hag think she was? A doctor? I was fully confident after receiving the instant medical degree bequeathed to anyone after drinking twenty consecutive halves of lager.

"No, it doesn't look good."

"It's fucking fine you old windbag."

"No," she replied. "You really, really need to do something before you bleed on the carpet."

"FINE," I relented, stomped off to the bathroom. Frugality and care being the watchwords of the alcoholically obliterated, I wound about half a roll of toilet paper around the offending injury, giving myself a gigantic round index finger which would've impressed the guys who wrapped up Tutenkhamun. I finished off my masterpiece with about 400 turns of sellotape which I found in the kitchen, while giving her the sarcastic stare of doom.

I woke up to find my bed covered in hundreds of rusty-stained lengths of tissue and briefly wondered if I'd drunkenly wanked myself into a bloody coma.

Anyway, we missed two stops this year so if anyone's up for the rematch...
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 15:06, 1 reply)
Like any self repsecting chap of advancing years I like to keep my nasal passage free
from unsightly hair. You can go fancy and buy nasal hair trimmers but I am old school and like to use tweezers. The build up to an extraction is tense. Then there is the pull, always imagining that the result will be different and no pain will be felt. Then the separation of hair from follicle and the exquisite moment of OWWWWWWW. Then onto the next hair like some strange endorphin junkie.

Once, I did not have my tweezers and a few hairs were annoying me, I grasped them with my digits and yanked. Pain! And then I noticed that the one hair had caused a small cut on the inside of the nostril, this became infected and the cut would not heal so at one point I had to look like Jack Nicholson in Chinatown.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 14:53, 13 replies)
Here we go gathering......
Near where I grew up there was a long, very steep hill (two Vs on the OS map)

Being a normal teen, I often descended this hill on my push bike without using my hands for support. Anyone who had to hold on going down this hill was a gayer - and this in a time when that meant something.

One day my normally trustworthy bike hit a slight bump; not an issue had I been holding onto the handle bars, but...

I sailed over the front of the bike but my jeans crotch and subsequently my ball sack caught on the brake handle, ripping both along the seam in a clinically incision. As I landed on my back and caught my breath, I thought “well, got away with that one!” before feeling a slightly warm sensation down my leg.

One ambulance trip, a (male) nurse fumbling around my bits and I was left with a very neat (thank you Nurse man) scar that is almost indistinguishable from the original.

Plus, I know what a goolie looks like on the inside…
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 14:33, 6 replies)
Bath-related injury
A tub filled with water, not the West Country back water.

We recently had a new boiler installed, replacing our old, decrepit excuse for a water heater, which barely raised the ambient temperature of the mains by a few degrees. So one of the first things I was looking forward to was hot, long soak.

Bath full, bubbles overflowing I stepped right into the water. What I wasn’t expecting was the lava-like temperature of the water, having been previously used to a luke-warm puddle.

I screamed in agony, but as I did, I lost my footing and slipped straight into the water, like shit flying out of a leather gun. Scalding hot water enveloped my body, the sensation too much to comprehend.

But that’s where it got weird. The burning turned into an odd wave of pleasure, the pain turning into a twisted feeling of arousal. My flapping member began to harden, as I writhed around in the soapy fluid.

I flailed, open mouthed as the pleasure became too much and in the excitement I became so ecstatic that I lost bladder control.
I ended up pissing into my own mouth.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 14:12, 4 replies)
I quite often make 'things'...
...and over the years, I've made a few MAME cabinets - the second to last resulted in a broken toe.
I'd actually sat and designed this one, rather than my usual MO of grabbing bits of wood and welting them together, and decided that instead of a hinged door on the back (which would result in my not being able to have the machine backed up against a wall), that I would have two spikes on the bottom of the 'door' that slotted into slots with bolts at the top, so if I needed to get inside the thing, I could simply undo the bolts and slip the door out.
I was at the point where I was going to put trolley wheels on the bottom of it and as it was a sunny day, decided to drag the whole thing outside and rest it on the garden table while I put the wheels on.
Now, a box that size made of chipboard and MDF weighs quite a bit; as I was struggling to lift it I had a brainwave!
The 'door' was probably adding 15-20% of the weight, so why don't I simply unbolt it and take it off. Being impatient, I undid one of the bolts. My DIY skills being as shite as they are, this meant that all the weight was now hinged on one bolt - it didn't hold. The door fell and one of the aforementioned spikes went straight through my shoe and through my big toe, smashing it to bits.
After I'd stopped screaming obscenities at the top of my voice, I still had to finish the bloody thing. I put on a flip-flop, as this was now the only footwear that would actually fit and went back out to finish the job. I picked up the door and laid it on my bench to fix the now ripped off bolt...and knocked a screwdriver which rolled round, fell off the bench and straight on top of my broken toe.
I've now made a smaller, more 'house-friendly' version that weighs about 10% of that one.
Bloody retro gaming.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 9:20, 5 replies)
Cleaning up a smashed jar of chocolate body paint, I noticed that I had some on my fingers.
So, I licked it off, rewarding myself with a tongue full of glass shards. Ouch.
(, Mon 2 Dec 2013, 8:45, 7 replies)
I put my head in a car crusher once.
There was this dead fit girl who worked at Londis. God she was great - lovely face, fantastic arse and huge (put pert) tits - the whole works!
Well, we got chatting once - and she let on she was really into Jackass.
"AHA!" I thought - "I know what'll make her laugh!"
So invited her round to mu "uncle" Dave's scrapyard.
I said - "SO! You like Jackass, eh? Well check this out.." and put my head in the crushing mechanism.
She mumbled something - but I couldn't make out what she said as the machine was already running...

I feel I can explain it best using poetry - so here goes...

I got my head and stuffed it in an industrial compressor,
Cos I had met this nice chick and I wanted to impress 'er,
It didn't go to plan, you know, she might have called me 'queer',
I couldn't tell because my brain was leaking out my ear.

She jumped around quite madly, like she'd just learned semaphore,
I cant see what she meant because my eyes were both quite sore,
And I was right, you know, I'll say, that seemed to be the case!
Cos both my fucking eyeballs had exploded from my face.

My head was squashed beyond all fuck, the fucking thing was mangled,
The floor all around me is with blood and gore quite spangled,
The girl I liked said that my face looked quite like fresh ground beef,
But instead of saying "thank you" I just spat out half my teeth.

My idea had back-fired totally, I felt like such a chump,
There was nothing more than blended flesh above my old neck stump,
I screamed aloud in fear and pain, just like a wild rhinoceros,
Then puke and blood and tears and pain erupted from my oesophagus.

My torn face was agony, and looked like such a mess,
I'll not try that again know - I've said but I confess,
I'll never try that once more - if you think I will start bidding!
Oh go on then, just one more time, just who the fuck am I kidding!
(, Sun 1 Dec 2013, 16:32, 9 replies)
Ive seen the light
I don't mind doing all the little jobs that make the place run but every now and then you take on a little task which has adverse consequences.

When one of the fancy low energy bulbs decided to end its working life, it required replacement. These bulbs had been in position for many years, a happy side effect and testament to their longevity. However, at the time of installation, no-one had given any thought as to how the fittings were constructed or how to remove the light bulbs. The architect specified them, the electricians fitted them and no-one else had a clue

I grabbed the stepladder and confidently headed for the ceiling. Having utilised several implements to get to the bulb, I thought it would have been straightforward to remove it. Nope. twisting didn't work and neither did pulling. I struggled for quite a few minutes before the elderly glass gave way and crumbled in my hands, leaving the base of the bulb in the fitting, but slightly more concerning, having showered my face with a white dust and shards of glass.

I brushed this away and fought with the fitting, finally working out how to extract the bulb base. Now, I appreciate that it was simple once I had a acquired a new bulb, to work out how to change it, but I didn't know what bulb to buy until I had removed it.

After I finished, I was left with a slight irritation in the eyes and thought little of it until I got home that night. It still felt quite scratchy and I wasn't totally happy with it and it obviously wasn't just going to 'go away'. On looking in the bathroom mirror I noted that I could see a sizeable lump of glass moving up and down the surface of my eye with each blink of the eyelids.

A trip to A&E ensued, and a steady handed doctor, with the aid of some significant magnification, removed the offending article.

ALL light bulbs now require goggles for change, which probably looks a bit odd but I'm not keen to repeat the experience.

Oh and BTW if the doctors seem keen to put the orange dye "fluoroscein" into your eye, try asking for a bit of local first as it stings quite badly.

Maybe reading the manual for the light fitting in the construction file would have prevented it. Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe I couldn't be bothered to go into the loft and find said file before attempting such a job, it was only a light bulb after all.
(, Sun 1 Dec 2013, 13:54, 5 replies)
The other day I went to grab something and bent a nail back.
It left a white mark about halfway up the nail. Absolute agony. Worse than childbirth and kidney stones and shingles and I should know, I've had them all.
Contemplating this, although i'm obviously a tough guy with huge pain tolerance honed by years of poverty and hard living, I'd have succumbed instantly to that Japanese torture method of whacking bamboo splinters under the nails that people used to talk about when I was a kid.
Or was that the Chinese? Anyway,Burma railway. We should never forget what they did to our boys. Cruel people, they're just not like us, eating rice every day. I wouldn't eat that muck, there's cat and alsation dog in it, I'm a meat and two veg man, always have been.
Where was I? Where the hell are my glasses?
(, Sun 1 Dec 2013, 13:32, 11 replies)
Went down to the truck park last year
and had the best night with one hell of beauty. I just received my STD test back yesterday as I had a nasty rash I could not get rid of. Turns out I am HGV+

Seriously though, standing on stunt nuts of bmx, when I stacked the bike going up a curb. Managed to walk the bike home with no apparent damage, till I walk in through the door, and wonder why mother is looking at me strangely. It was then that i noticed the rip in my jeans and blood pouring down my leg. Turns out I had managed to rip out of a chunk of my leg through the spokes of the back wheel. Still have the scar covering the hole to prove it.
(, Sun 1 Dec 2013, 9:35, Reply)
I had a couple of mates who got called up for jury duty a few months ago.
Flynn is a knock-about kinda fellow. He's never really held a "real job" and even when he is working he's often got something else on the go.
Edward is a bit more of a "straight player" - he does everything by the fucking book. If it ain't documented in triplicate then it didn't happen.

A few months ago a big murder happened. Amazingly both of them got called up to perform jury duty. It was a huge case with a lot of media scrutiny so the powers that be decided to put the jurors up in a hotel near the courthouse in an attempt to keep them from being swayed by the media's bias.

Flynn and Eddie got lumped in the same room. As you can imagine after a few days the cracks started to show. These guys really were like calcium carbonate and Gruyère and having to spend all their waking AND sleeping time together was taking it's toll on the friendship. Some of the press started to notice the antagonism between the two and decided to make it the focus of their reportage.
It all came a head one day - Ted and Flynn had been at each other for days, while the defence lawyer for the defendant was questioning someone Eddie leaned over in the jury dock and whispered something particularly unsavoury about Flynn's wife to him. Flynn responded by surreptitiously but vigorously flicking Ed as hard as he could. The magistrate noticed and told them both off for inappropriate behaviour.
Of course the court reporters noticed and wrote what they could using a headline they knew would sell "Flynn flicked Ted in Juries."

(, Sat 30 Nov 2013, 23:39, 7 replies)
Middle class cheese related injury
I had a parmesan knife. It's like a little stubby dagger, with a rounded wooden handle. Like this: goo.gl/jzTqNA

I'd started the week by buying a bunch of delicious salad ingredients with my meagre wage packet: nice leaves, asparagus, parma ham, lovely posh herbs and so on. Can't remember the reason for the extravagance, think I'd done something good at work and I seem to recall I was celebrating.

I'd had a couple of beers after work and then opened the wine as soon as I got home as I started to cook. The salad looked amazing. Absolutely incredible. Sitting there, glistening, all prepared, just in need of the finishing touch: some flakes of parmesan, and then I could tuck in.

You're meant to use these a parmesan knife a bit like one of those rounded potato peelers: you hold the cheese in one hand and gently cradle the knife handle in the fingers of your your other hand, scraping off some lovely wibbly flakes of cheese, guiding the blade by pushing it sideways with your thumb. I knew this, but I was feeling buouyed about life, and so, so hungry. So instead, I held the cheese loosely in one hand, grabbed the knife, daggerishly, in the other, and began to enthusiastically strike the blade against the cheese like one would a flint against a firesteel.

Naturally I removed much of the skin on my topmost knuckles, together with a small amount of parmesan, all into my plate.

Given the expense I still ate the salad, wearing the "got no plasters" emergency mitten, made out of kitchen roll, on my left hand. Occasionally pausing to pick out bits of cuticle and fingernail from my dinner.
(, Sat 30 Nov 2013, 23:32, 3 replies)

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