I was at my friends house, and we were playing with candles and wax (you know, dip your finger tips in the melted wax?)
Dumbass me thought it would be cute to wave a piece of tissue over the candle. It catches on fire. I started to rum to the bathroom, but it burned my fingers. I dropped it on the floor and stomped it out. There was a tiny little discoloration on the carpet, but if you didn’t know what had happened, you’d never know it.
Still, :smack:
OK, my story really isn’t funny like the rest of you guys’ are, but it sure is stupid,
Way back in my days of being a drug crazed youth, say, 84 or 5, I went to my dude to get some pot, and he said he had a scrip of Elavil <sp?> he was trying to get rid of.
“Oh?” says I. “What are they?”
“Well, They’re kinda like Valium, only they’re three for a buck.”
I wasn’t into pills other than speed (Although I allegedly had a lot of fun on Quaaludes back in the day haha), but for some reason, I really liked Valium. I thew him seven bucks, and got 21 pills. Since I could easily eat ten or more Valium 10s, and still be semi functional, I figured I’d take 6 and see how they were.
I headed off to my girlfriend Pam’s house, and hung out there for awhile. I didn’t think I was getting any kind of buzz from the Elavil (although my girlfriends mom said later that I seemed kind of not quite right that day), so I took 6 more. I was hungry, so I called my older sister (who’s always been a upright, non drug taking christian, BTW ) and asked her if I could come out and get something to eat. She said yeah, but she didn’t have a car and I’d have to walk.
I left my GFs, and started walking the mile or so to my sisters house.
Thats the last thing I remember. I woke up three days later in the intensive care ward with my arms tied to the bed, tubes up my nose, and a catheter in my dick.
The nurse came over to me and asked me if I knew where I was. “Y-eah”, I said.
“Do you know what happened?”
“Well”, I said, “I can pretty much figure it out”
They untied my arms from the bed, and told me the specifics.
It seems that about ten blocks from my girlfriends, I passed out on the sidewalk. According to the police report, the cops came and tried to wake me up. When I finally came to, I became violent and actually picked up a cop and tried to throw him. I have a hard time believing that, because I was this non-violent skinny pothead, and I still think maybe they were fucking with me and I was only trying to protect myself. They cuffed me so hard that the tops of my hands were numb for a good 6 months after that, and I still have a scar from them to this day. I was also pretty brused up.
You would have thought I’d have learned my lesson, but no…
About six months or so later, my friend stole a bunch of pills called Stellazine <sp?> off his nutty aunt, and we each took a bunch of them. I didn’t catch a buzz off off them either, although, I had a little trouble walking. I went home and went to bed, and the next day, went into town to find something to do.
I noticed my right leg kept acting funny. It kept giving out, and I had trouble making it do what I wanted. It was the weirdest thing. I thought I did something to it, but then my left leg started acting weird. I didn’t know what the fuck was going on, and by the time I got to my friends house, my back was getting weird too.
I put two and two together, and was sitting there wondering what I should do about it, when my neck started twisting up like something out of a horror movie, and it took everything I had to keep it under control so I could breathe. I got my friends mom to take me to the hospital where they gave me a shot of diphenhydramine and a hooked me up to a heart monitor. The diphenhydraminemade me feel a lot better, but it took about a week and a bottle of Benadryl tablets before I felt 100% better.
I learned my lesson that time. From that day on, I pretty much quit doing anything harder then pot. Nothing scares you straight more than having your head try to do a Linda Blair Special.
In retrospect, those overdoses probably saved my life in the long run. In the years to follow, my town has been overwhelmed by a heroin problem. EVERYBODY in this town has at least one junkie in the family. If I hadn’t been scared off drugs like that, I most likely would be an addict or worse right now.
A really stupid thing I’ve done on more than one occasion is to put a cigarette down on the bedroom dresser while I put on a shirt, forget about it, and later see it, burned all the way down to the filter with a big burn mark on the wood :smack:
Needless to say, I’ve become a bit obsessive about making sure I don’t leave any smokes burning before I leave the house.
Jon
Ooh! I thought of another one. All the fire stories reminded me of this gem:
This one got me kicked out of the Boy Scouts.
We were camping, and we had just recently built the fire. The scoutmaster had us practicing our first aid for merit badges.
My mother’s a nurse. I know all this stuff. By osmosis, apparently, as I have no clue in reality of what to do in an emergency. So, rather that actually be working on wrapping joints and the like, I decide to drape myself in ACE bandages, and play The Mummy.
I wrap a bandage around my leg, and start walking a la The Mummy. The bandage around my leg unravels some, and drags through the campfire. It catches, and the flame starts winding its way to my leg itself. So my left leg is now on fire, and I’m just realizing it.
Let me add another note here: In addition to my mother being a nurse, my father and grandfather were both firefighters, and thet DID teach me fire safety.
So, when I realize that my left leg is on fire, I, summoning all the fire safety tips from my father and grandfather, scream and panic. I scream, and start running around.
I trip over one of the tent guide wires, and fall onto the tent. I don’t know what material the tent was made out of, but it was flammable.
The tent ignited. Once the scoutmaster (and the other scouts) put out the fire (and me), they kicked me out of the scouts ON THE SPOT, and DROVE ME HOME RIGHT AWAY. My father had to answer the door at almost 3am, and listen to what happened.
Stupidity highlights:
In school a whole group of us decide it would be ‘cool’ to throw elephant dung at each other.
First day in the summer holidays I decide to balance on a soccer ball. Fell 10 inches and broke my arm. Spend most of the summer with my arm in a plaster.
Deciding that it would be fun to shoot down flies with a staple gun.
Doing the ‘squeeky pop test’ for hydrogen. “Hey, a little test tube of the stuff goes pop, so what happens when I place a lighted taper next to the 2 litre flask containing pure hydrogen?”. Still got the scar on my leg, and apparently the scorch marks are still on the roof.
Last year. Losing an organic sample down the ~US$250,000 NMR machine.
Nitro- your story was scary. I started to tense up just imagining that reaction.
Dumb thing- husband did it- about 3 weeks ago.
He is using some kind of blue screen stuff to make movies at home. Well its late at night, everyones asleep and he is up 'cause he just got home from tech support job. Decides he needs a blue screen shot of a flame going up. That’s all, a shot of a flame. He goes to our monster sized blue screen, positions the camera just so, turns out the light, gets on the floor…
squeezes some type of car fuel spray into air while igniting it…
gas ball hovers over our very low ceiling, ball of flame about the size of a basketball. Panicky husband struggles to get up and keeps slipping on residue (?maybe?) stands up and turns it off. Meanwhile wifey NVME and the three babes fast asleep, unawheres in their little safe trusting beds.
He paints over it and prays that I dont find out. Guilt overcomes him and he confesses. doofus.
I know I’m going to be embarrassed once I hit post, but what the heck…
My brother and I are extremely competitive. EXTREMELY. When we were kids, we came up with ways to compete at just about anything. I don’t remember who came up with this one, but somehow we started a game of trying to see who could finish in the bathroom first–as in who could be done peeing, flushing, zipping upn the pants, and getting out of the bathroom first.
Now, I was at an anatomical disadvantage, being born a girl. It was really peeving me that my brother was always able to take a piss faster than I was, so I came up with this ingenious idea. It occurred to me that the “paperwork” was costing me precious seconds in this race. So I decided that if I could wipe faster, maybe I could win.
I started out by trying to quickly wrap the toilet paper around my hand as soon as I sat down so that it would be at the ready when my bladder was emptied.
But then, inspiration really took hold! It struck me that if I could wipe before I finished peeing that I would be all done with both jobs simultaneously. Why the impossibility of this did not register is a mystery to this day. But in any case, I gave it a try.
It was only when I felt the warm, wet urine splashing over my hand that I realized what an idiot I was. And my brother has forever remained the pissing champion in our family.
:eek:
You sound as though you speak from experience. 
About two months ago, I tried to make some Minute Rice in the microwave for my girlfriend. She’s usually the one who makes it. Not thinking (duh), I put the rice in a bowl and splashed a little water in - the same as I do when I reheat cooked rice to keep it moist.
“Hmm. What’s that smell?” Five minutes later… The microwave turned the rice into a charcoal briquet. The smell was unbearable - I got Natalie and the baby out of the house because I was nearly choking on the fumes and had no idea what might be in them. (Aside: Was there anything dangerous? Rice in a standard Corelle bowl.) I got the smell out of the microwave after intensive cleaning and about a month of use, though the inside’s still stained a deep yellow-brown.
A second stupid thing: When I was about eight years old, I convinced a babysitter (don’t ask me how) to let me go down the basement stairs in my bean-bag chair. ka-thunk OW ka-thunk OW ka-thunk… I insisted I was okay, though, since I didn’t want to get her in trouble.
Last time I had her as a babysitter, I think.
I bought a nice new cookie sheet. I brought it home and washed it. I mixed up some cookie dough, put it on the cookie sheet and put it in the oven. Soon, the kitchen was smoke-a-riffic! I had neglected to remove the paper label from the bottom of the pan.
Mere weeks later, I had a new pot. I brought it home and washed it. I poured some water in it, got out the macaroni and set the water to boil on the stove. Soon, the kitchen was smoke-a-riffic! I had neglected to remove the paper label from the bottom of the pan…
I was talking to a coworker and stuck my hand in the fryer. Ow. Luckily it was turned off and had cooled a little but my hand still bubbled up. Dumb, dumb, dumb…
Mild . . .
I was makin’-a the spaghetta, and had just finished draining the pasta in a plastic collander. I returned to the stove, empty pot in one hand and collander in the other. Clearly it would not be wise to put the empty pot back on the still-warm burner, so it put it on one of the unused, cool back burners instead.
Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have a spoon for the sauce, and there weren’t any in the drawer by the stove.
Three guesses where I put the plastic collander while looking for a spoon.
I realized my stupidity before I’d taken two steps, and quickly lifted the somewhat-melted collander. It’s still useable (didn’t even ruin the spaghetti!), and I keep it around as a little object lesson in thermodynamics.
I was trying to mend a broken earring (worth less than ten cents, probably–early 80’s) with super glue. I managed to super glue the earring to my thumb. I worked at a film center at Univ of Tx Medical Branch, so one of the guys ran and got the acetone. Nope; didn’t dissolve the glue.
By this time I’m panicking. I had to play piano for my mother’s wedding the next day. How was I going to do it with a yellow plastic earring glued to my thumb!
I went to the emergency room at the hospital, anticipating amputation. They took me and put me in a little room. About every two or three minutes, a doctor or a nurse would come in, examine my thumb, and then leave whilst vainly attempting to suppress their snickers.
They finally had me soak the thumb in a degreasing formula until the oils in my skin were gone and they could peel off the earring.
Now when an earring breaks, I throw it away.
I was a youngish child, early teens perhaps, when I thought up a great new game to play. With a long stick perhaps an inch thick in one hand, and a regular old pub-style dart in the other, I ran about my back yard having a grand old time. I’d throw the dart into the air as hard as I could, then run to get under it and catch it on the stick. I got pretty good at it, too. Then I had a brainstorm… if I held the stick in front of my face and stood directly underneath the falling item, I’d have incredible aim and could catch it every time! The dart landed on the side of the bridge of my nose, perhaps 1/4 inch from my right eye. No permanent damage but the loss of an otherwise fun game.
My brother had gone ahead to buy tickets for a movie, and I had to make a quick trip to the bank beforehand. It happened to have just started pouring rain, and I needed to run through a parking lot. When I was running through, I noticed a car was about to move out of their parking spot. This went through my mind,
“Hey, it’s going to be dry where this car used to be so if I stand there when it leaves, I won’t get wet.”
It dawned on my when I stood in the parking spot, that things don’t work that way, and that I need protection above me not below me to protect me from rain. I told my brother about this and it’s been a running joke for a while now.
I should pay you royalties on that one. It still makes me laugh just thinking about it.
When I was a kid one of my responsibilities was being the “fireworks” guy…I pick them out…buy them and shoot them off for everyone we had over for the Fourth of July party every year
This of course required “research” in this case in the form of taking bottle rockets(the big ones with the stick as big around as pencils and almost two feet long)and lighting them…throwing them in the air when they just about to go off(I didn’t need no stinkin’ bottles…no sirree not me)
Well on one of them I chickened out and threw it too early…it went up and up and up…then began to go back down before making any speed and at about at a 45 degree angle it shot like a bullet right INTO a passing car(the lady had her drivers side window down)…I can only imagine the havoc it caused while ricocheting around inside the car before it exploded…I can only imagine it because once I saw it go into her car I ran like the wind into my house
I was leaning against my front door going “Oh no oh no oh no!” when I hear…bang bang bang…the lady is knocking on the door…whatever could she want?
I still in idiot mode say “Who is it?”…like I have NO idea what this is about
Fortunately she didn’t get hurt but man oh man was she mad…I had to stand there and listen to her yell at me for 10 minutes…some of the things she suggested to me I didn’t even know were possible so she might of been using hyperbole a bit…I forgave her
In a million years this could not happen again…so many things had to happen exactly right
Once upon a time, my dad made coffee. This was years before Mr. Coffee had been invented. He made it in a metal drip coffee pot. (For you younger kids, this involved a lower pot part, an upper filter part, and a lid. You put the coffee in the filter part, and poured boiling water over it, where it would drip down and brew the coffee. You would leave it on the stove to stay warm.) Anyway, he left for work, with my mom in bed, and us kids gone to school already. Instead of turning off the stove, he accidently turned it on high!
When my mom woke up, the pot was melted onto the burner. She put a flower in it for when he came home.
Sorry, Tortuga, I’m just getting back to this. The reason dantheman is giggling is because I am a woman.
And yes, it is possible for a woman to pee on the back of her pants while hovering.
And since I’ve got one foot in the hole, I might as well get myself in deeper.
I’ve been sitting on the toilet, having to pee REALLY BAD. I’m pushing out the pee SO HARD that the flow of my urine actually does not go straight down, but angles out. Hence, wetting the back of my pants.
This has happened on more than one occasion.
I should probably just wear a diaper.
[sub]I can’t believe I’ve just admited to this![/sub]
And it’s served me well a few times on stage, too. Especially at college campuses.
Two of my cousins and I were playing a great game we thought up. We used darts (yes, the sharp pointy kind) as baseballs and pillows as bats. The goal was to catch the dart in the pillow, but often as not it was sent flying back towards the pitcher. Then the game became, don’t get hit by the dart. After a few near misses, I, being the smart one in the group, decide the game is too dangerous and crawl under the bed to watch and laugh.
Sure enough, one wayward dart bounces straight upwards from the pillow bat and hits my cousin in the eye. It’s been 20-something years and I still vividly remember him standing with a dart dangling from his eye.
Luckily, he didn’t lose the eye, but he had to wear a patch for more than a month as his eye healed. We three got in trouble. Never played the game again either.