Do Your Best.
Back when I was a bonny member of the local cub-scout group, we were packed off on a 'survival weekend' to some godforsaken bit of scrubland near the Norfolk Broads.

The weekend involved a whole host of activities: setting up tents; cooking our own food; singing demented songs round the campfire and making our own medieval torches for a nighttime walkabout.

So far, so good. Apart from the making torches bit. We'd all been given a decent sized stick, a bundle of twine and a shitload of straw. The idea was to somehow secure the straw at the end of the stick by wrapping it tightly in the twine and then igniting it from the campfire. We were to then all gather, torches aloft and march to the local village like some pre-teen Wicker Man cultists.

But try as I might, I couldn't get the fucking straw to stay on the stick, the bastard twine cut my hands and my torch never stayed lit for more than 30 seconds. I watched angrily as my fellow cubs waved perfectly made torches in the air and were patted on the head by Akela. Desperate to fit in and prove my survival credentials (a badge was at stake here ffs), I looked around urgently for a solution to my problem. And then I saw one.

Earlier in the day, in the 'cook your own food' session, I had expertly boiled water on the fire and emptied it into the Sweet & Sour Pot Noodle that my mother had so kindly packed for me. I retrieved the empty Pot Noodle pot, quickly and expertly bound it to my stick and held it over the fire.

Result! My torch ignited with a stunning display of blue and orange flames and the other boys turned to regard me with pure envy as their straw-based shitsticks seemed to dim in embarrassment. But needless to say, THEY had the last laugh - as unbeknown to me, huge globules of molten, burning plastic were steadily dripping my Pot Noodle Torch. Suddenly my cries of joy were replaced by cries of pain. I looked down at my right hand and saw a bubbling, burning mess where my knuckles used to be.

Not knowing what to do, I screamed at the nearest person, shoving my hand in their face. 'Be Prepared' that's the motto, well this idiot didn't run off to find water or anything useful, no, he took it upon himself to spit violently at my hand and then scream louder than me.

Up bounded Haati, or one of the other weird adults who enjoyed taking names from children's stories (I mean why chose the fat, dim elephant?) and he finally found a bucket of in which I could dowse my hand. The searing pain was unimaginable. After my hand had cooled off, it was retrieved from the bucket - but still covered with a sticky, black mess that had bound itself so well to my skin, that I couldn't move a single finger.

'We'll have to get that off' stated the fat elephant man. And again, trusting him completely, I allowed the moron to pull the plastic off my hand. Skin, bone, gristle and fat had all fused together. The plastic hand burned so deeply that when he finally managed to rip it away, I could see the bones working when I moved my fingers. And then I fainted.

As this was back in the non-litigious, 'Health and WHAT?' era of the early 80's, I was simply allowed to come round in Akela's tent. All the cubs gathered as they demonstrated 'First Aid in Action' and bound my hand with whatever was in the sparse first aid kit. I still went on the stupid torch-hike and spent the night on the campsite.

The hospital saw things differently and when I'd finally made it there, they cleaned the wound properly. I will never feel such pain again. A few skin-grafts later and I have a very decent scar. It's shaped a bit like Australia, and for a party trick I can stick needles a good way into my skin till they stand up straight - and feel no pain.

Dib. Dib. Dob. Motherfuckers.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 17:08, 10 replies)

Now THIS one you can prove.

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 17:23, closed)

Reminds me of when I was in St. John's Ambulance cadets
Where I was taught that the basic tenet of first-aiding a burn after you've finished dunking it in water is LEAVE IT THE FUCK ALONE.
(squigbobble existed, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 17:43, closed)

St John's Ambulance are a bunch of harmful, useless pricks.
Just saying like.
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 18:02, closed)

St John
not St John's
(kitescreech still here, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 19:41, closed)

D'oh

(squigbobble existed, Wed 4 Dec 2013, 15:09, closed)

tl;dr Akela nonced me right up with a Pot Noodle

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 19:17, closed)

^This.
Would explain why he's retreated into a life of fantasy, anyway.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 22:58, closed)

This is nothing like Sob Fatwoes story about falling off a bike.
It's difficult to tell it's a parody.
( The Awful Puppy Bakery is still bored, Tue 3 Dec 2013, 19:50, closed)

I liked it.
Well done Alby for managing to write an original and (mildly) entertaining tale.

As Baden Powell would've have told you - "Be Prepared".
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Thu 5 Dec 2013, 6:09, closed)

Damned by faint praise from Misery!
It's a shame you weren't there. Horrible though it is - a decent sized stream from your greasy cock might have saved me from scarring.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Thu 5 Dec 2013, 8:51, closed)