Yup, in the leg many years ago during a mugging. (I was the muggie, btw). It’s a bit worse than a bee sting.
All you guys who’ve been picked off by pellet guns and birdshot… Did it make you quit stealing watermelons outta that old guy’s garden? 
My dad got shot in the forehead when he was a teenager, but just grazed. Either he or his brother were messing around with a firearm and it discharged. It took some skin and hair off his head, he was stiched up, and that night he was tending the animals again. Unfortunately, whilst tending to some horses, one of them got spooked, he was behind it, and its hoof grazed his head and took out all of his stitches.
Then in Vietnam he was walking with a couple of guys, and they were fired upon by a sniper. He felt a sharp pain in his leg, he looked down and saw his pants were soaked. After finding cover, he checked out his injury, only to discover the bullet hit a can of tomatoes, and the liquid that had soaked his leg was the juice. He sported a nice welt for a few weeks, though.
The guy next to him wasn’t so lucky. 
Honestly, I think I’m lucky to even have been born.
Happy
I was shot with a staple gun when I was 8 years old. My brother told me he’d kill me if I told Mom and Dad, so I slept with it in my kneecap. I couldn’t move my leg the next morning. I told.
I was shot in the head with a pellet gun at 14. I was driving a little fishing boat, and doing some good natured taunting to my buddies little brother. It took a second to realize he was shooting a pellet gun at me. I took on in the head, and it stuck there, until an egg grew on my head, and the pellet dropped out. Again. I told.
I was just missed twice by rounds from a Colt AR-15 (the civ version of the M-16) Me and two pals were shooting my buddy’s brand new toy in a gully out in the country. We came prepared with an old B&W T.V. and a couple pumpkins. When it was one pal’s turn to shoot, he did what he could to keep his long hair from blocking the scope, but it was windy, and he failed. It was no ordinary gully, it was a railroad gully. After the first shot snapped about a foot to the right of my ear, I hit the dirt. He took a second shot and hit the damn track again before my pal grabbed the gun away from him. He was nothing if he wasn’t consistant. The marks on the railroad track overlapped each other. This time, I didn’t tell.
When I was about five years old, I got ahold of some of my brother’s .22 ammo. I then proceeded to get the bright idea that it would be cool to flatten them. How, you might ask? By hammering them into the cement floor of our garage, ofcourse! I got one pretty well flat, when I called one of my other brothers over to show him. This one went off. It got me in the little toe and the loud bang freaked me out. I ran up to my bedroom, because I was sure I’d get into trouble. My mom did eventually come looking for me. Not for what I did with the bullets, rather it was because of the trail of blood going upstairs to my room.
Good times…good times.
~t
I was shot!
My Grandmother and my great aunt (sisters) warned me not to go to the top of the mountain on which they lived.
I was a suburban teenager and was visiting their home in Harlan County, Kentucky.
So OF COURSE I took a little “field trip” to the top of the mountain.
Little did I know that (this was 1973, mind you) there was an old fella up there that still made and ran moonshine.
I saw his house (shack?) from a distance and tried to remain quiet and I started walking toward it. Evidently, the training one receives as a Boy Scout does not necessarily prepare you for a shotgun weilding liquored-up old coot!
The leaves on the bush to my right popped and swooshed as if someone had thrown a handful of gravel at it… really hard. And almost at that same instant, I heard the report of the shotgun.
Yep! I was scared!
Turned to run and I felt a dozen or so bee-stings in my left buttock and the back of my left thigh at the same time I heard another “boom” from his shotgun.
Yep! I was shot!
Stung like MAD. I managed a mad-dash to my Grandmother’s house about a mile or more away. Bleeding, crying and limping all the way.
Luckily, he was shooting rock-salt loads. A good deal of soaking in the tub was what I needed. Luckily for me, Dad thought that being shot in the hiney was punishment enough for disobeying my Grandmother.
Still, it stung and bled for DAYS!
I was shot in the hand with a 32 ACP.
I took it away from the guy and beat him to death with it.
Oh?
Ok, well I shot myself and Dad drove me to the hospital while I kept telling him I was fine, and so sorry to bleed all over the seat of his car. What hurt was the stitches.
Actually, when I opened this thread, it was right before 2 more shootings in MD. Let’s make a profile.
Been hit by lots of pellets and BBs in the course of my childhood (and adult) stupidity, but never by actual bullets.
My friend (and pellet-shooting buddy), however, has been honest-to-gosh shot twice, both times by members of his family (usually when they were drunk and/or stupid). He’s said that it never really hurt that much at the time.
Needless to say, he keeps as many miles between himself and his family as he can now.
I had a roommate who got shot in the face with a .25 caliber (extremely rare) handgun. They shot through his car window, and the bullet went in by his left ear and out at the left side of his nose. He was a pretty hefty guy (i.e., big puffy cheeks), and astonishingly, it did no bone damage, no sinus damage, no nerve damage, no muscle damage, NOTHING. These days (seven years later), he has two very tiny scars, one for in and one for out.
The only real damage was (a) our sense of well-being shattered, and (b) when they shot through his car window, the window of course exploded in. And so when roomie came home from the hospital I had to get a pair of tweezers and spend a couple unnerving, bloody hours pulling glass shards out of his neck and shoulders.
Short story: Shot in the head, but he’s 100% totally fine. Lucky guy, and I’m a lucky guy too, since I didn’t lose a friend that night.
Yep in the service of my country, a 9mm Round in the Bicep, felt like someone dead legged my arm then profuse sweating which was blood. no major pain till about a day later, either it was the adrenalin or the shock. Took a 7.62 round in a balistic vest, didn’t penetrate but left a nasty bruise. was given the bullet by the quartermaster who exchanged my vest as a keepsake, has a nice little stand and a little plaque that says ‘if you look closely you can see my name - Hattrick’.
I was hit by the required shot from my little brother. Give 2 brothers BB guns, and they’re bound to shoot each other. It’s a natural law of brotherhood.
The same brother was hit by a .22 round in the hand. He was trying to melt the lead out of a live round. Sometimes I’m surprised any of us survived to adulthood.
And though I was not hit, I was downrange of some shooters once, and heard what sounded like metallic bumblebees screaming through the grass nearby as they shot. It was quickly followed by US screaming at them that we were out here, dammit!! Stop shooting!!
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by RalfCoder *
was downrange of some shooters once, and heard what sounded like metallic bumblebees screaming through the grass nearby as they shot.
[QUOTE]
It amazes me that more hunters aren’t killed every year. It amazes me more that more innocent people aren’t tapped as well. Shoot into hills, morons
Carmen, it’s just their way of thinning out their own herd… 
Stabbed, but that’s pretty close anyway. I was 13 at the time and it was by my 15 year old sister! I was stabbed in my lower back with an exacto knife. I’m still not sure why she did it but she has a crazy temper so I don’t bother questioning her. My parents didn’t bother taking me to the doctor they just told me to ‘buck it’.