Well try looking at an 80 year old gal in one of those tight tank tops with the built in bra, except her tits weren’t in the bra. They were hanging below the bra part, about an inch from her belly button. The worst part…her nips were hard…
Not only did I not need to see that…I reaaly didn’t like the fact that I was trying to figure out what the hell made her nips hard…It was 90 that day.
I saw something similar when I was twelve. I was walking along the train tracks through the Grandview Cut with a friend (still my best friend) and somebody callled to us: “Hey, boys!”
There was a shabby little man sitting on a bit of concrete under the bridge that let Nanaimo St. traffic go over the Cut. As we approached, he gestured with one hand toward a deflated soccer ball that was sitting a few feet in front of him and asked, “Is that your ball?”
With his other hand, he was vigorously wanking – and he didn’t skip a beat.
We just looked straight ahead and walked past him. We had some elevation and his pants were around his ankles, so we didn’t feel like we were in any real danger.
I still feel squicked out whenever I see nasty old deflated balls lying around, though.
I didn’t need to see that.
Several years back, there was this really hot, late 30s /early 40s sales woman for a temp staff company. She had these enormous tits (very rare for a Japanese) which she would encase in a cast-iron bra and would wear tight shirts. I can barely remember her face because every time she came to our company, I couldn’t stop staring at her chest.
After a drunkfest one night, we headed to a hotel and she took off the supporting garment. These subjects of my fantasies then proceeded to drop like rocks. Eighty-year old grandmothers have firmer mammary glands than what this woman possessed.
I did not need to see that. 
In a small town library way out east, I was chatting away on a public computer. A few feet away from me, in the sit-down-and-read section, I saw a man… er… taking care of himself. To Stephen King.
Ugh. Speaking of um, wankers … I was about 12 and no lunch from school one fine day. There was a great pizzaria nearby where I’d often go to get a slice. Well, on this particular day I was with a few friends and when I walked outside with a two of them and another one who was already outside (a girl of about 14, rather large, floppily well-endowed, and had a habit of flashing her boobs – an entirely separate “didn’t need to see that” event) called us over. There, in the alley between the small plaza in which the pizzaria sat, was a guy standing, pants down around his ankles, abusing himself rather lazily – almost as if bored. He didn’t even miss a beat or seem to pay any attention whatsoever to our presence. We suspected he was a bit mentally challenged, but even so…
Yecch!
Hmmm…I’m guessing Gerald’s Game.
That was YOU?! :o
I’ve got two:
I play on a coed hockey team, and I really didn’t need to see our goalie (a very nice man in his 60s) stepping out of the shower as I headed through the bathroom to get to the locker room.
When visiting a friend whose house is…let’s say, not always at its cleanest…I had to use the bathroom. That is, until I opened the toilet and saw a turd of truly astonishing length and breadth nestled in the bottom–and only about an inch of water beneath it. I decided that maybe I didn’t really need to use the bathroom after all, and made a very hasty exit lest the next person think that I was responsible for that deposit.
Visiting my 70-something mother in the hospital after heart surgery, the surgeon needed to check her incision (she’d been seeping blood) and mistook me for my father apparently we look a lot alike, except that he’s bald and has a full beard, while I have a full head of white hair and am clean shaven) and without warning he peeled back the dressing on her chest incision. It wasn’t the glimpse of boobs I’d suckled at a half-century ago that did me in – it was the blood-clotted staples holding her torso together. I mean, dude, it’s my MOM!
I did not need to see that, nope, nope, nope.
One morning last summer, I left NY Penn Station and began walking up 8th Ave to get to my office. I began to approach a homeless guy in a wheelchair applying water from a bottle onto a dirty-looking rag. He would wet the rag, put the bottle down, and then clean something on his lap. Nothing all that unusual except that it couldn’t have been anything that important, since the rag looked pretty dirty. The guy wasn’t wearing a shirt, but definitely had pants on. Again, nothing all that unusual until I got a bit closer…
He actually had his penis out through the hole in his pants, and was cleaning his foreskin! While he appeared to be doing a meticulous job, the rag was freakin’ dirty. Did I mention how dirty this rag that he was using was? Thanks for ruining breakfast, lunch and dinner buddy…for the next year!
My mom had a nasty, three-hour nosebleed a few months back. It was gushing, and I had to take her to the ER. Unfortunately, the people at the ER were completely incompetent, and during the first 45 minutes, three nurses filled out paperwork while I alone tended to my mother. We went through the two boxes of tissues and two towels that they deigned to give me. Everything was soaked. Gobs and gobs of bloody tissues, and blood smeared all over Mom’s face, into her hair, drooling out her mouth, etc. Gory.
Then the resident arrived and jammed this weird packing sponge up her nose. It’s about 5 inches long, an inch wide, and half an inch deep, and it’s hard. He jammed it up in there to the hilt, so her nostril was stuffed so full I thought it would tear. When he crammed in the last two inches, I felt like I might puke.
The bleeding stopped while we waited for her ENT. When he arrived, he had her do some snort/spit exercises to clear her nasal passages of clots. Next thing I know, Mom is gagging, then spitting out a blood clot that looked exactly like a half-pound hunk of raw liver! When that thing plopped into the basin, I gagged and very nearly threw up.
My money’s on Four Past Midnight. Library Policeman, I have no doubt.
I mentioned this in another thread, but I did not need to see the picture of a dead child being carried on a stretcher on the FRONT PAGE of the LA Times this morning. When did they start doing things like that anyway? (yes yes, I’ve said it twice today, but it just squicks me out.)
A summer or two back, at that lovely part of NJ known as ‘Journal Square’, I had the misfortune not to bring lunch to work one day. Walking outside at lunchtime, and dodging the 10+ people coming up to me and begging for money, I thought I had cleared the rapids for a smooth walk on a bright and sunny day to the restaurant I was going to get food at.
As I walked, I noticed a man lying on his back on a bench in front of a local school. He seemed tired and smelled awful, but he seemed proud of himself that he had found a way to beat the heat. You see, he was creating his own personal fountain…a yellowish arc that to him was not only entertaining but cooling. Yes, this sad, sad man was Pissing On Himself in the most visible way possible. Worse, he seemed to be enjoying it…! :eek:
Well, my appetite ruined and my confidence in humanity shot, I did the only thing left for me to do: I clapped loudly. He smiled, and then he offered me his hat for a donation. Sadly, though the show was entertaining in an very dysfunctional way, I did not part with a dollar. I didn’t even pee in his hat, though I was sorely tempted. I just walked away. Somehow, I just knew that he wasn’t the sort of person to get into a pissing contest with…
I cut the palm of my hand rather deeply on a piece of glass the other day and when I pulled it out, I could see yellow fat (or something non-skin inside there). I did not need to see that. I never need to see something from the inside of me that’s not supposed to be on the outside of me. Bleech.
ugh - Greywolf, just reading what you wrote gave me the heebie-jeebies! <shudder>
I definitely wouldn’t want to see that.
I know I have told this before, but anyway… this is way TMI and probably too serious for this lighthearted - if yucky thread - but it is what came to mind…
Do not read if you are having a laugh about this thread so far…
Seriously
When I was 19 I was crossing the street with a good friend of mine after a night out at a local club. About halfway across I came the the startling realization that we were not going to to make it. The cars bearing down on us, unbeknowst to us, were drag racing.
I just jumped on the curb when I felt the heat of the vehicle as it passed within inches of my calves. I turned to comment to my friend, no doubt something witty like “Stupid assholes that speed.”
As I turned I got to watch the car hit her. A second before impact I heard a scream, it was either her or me. Hard to tell. She went up on the hood, cracked the windshield with her head then cartwheeled, like a rag doll, before her head bounced off the curb and she sprawled on the pavement.
I did not need to see that.
I did not need to see her eyes open and unseeing. I did not need to feel the unnatural squishiness of her skull as I tried to perform mouth to mouth. I did not need to hear the gurgling in her blood-flooded lungs.
I did not need to accidently put my hand into her large open leg wound and see and feel the fatty tissue now poking out.
I did not need to see the look on her parents faces when they were told she was not going to make it.
I did not need to see her blood run off my hands and swirl down the drain as I washed up.
*Sorry, feeling a little melancholy, I almost deleted this post. Sorry guys, if it brings you down. *
I was at the bus stop one time standing next a man. I looked for the bus over my shoulder. I then turned around and saw him nonchalantly peeing at the glass part of the enclosure. That was one bus stop I avoided for a few months.
He was one of many men I’ve seen publically urinate.
I know men have handly gadgets but I strongly suspect that even if women had penises you still wouldn’t see us using them in public.
It was The Stand. I think there may have been a sex scene in the book; I can’t really remember. Either way, I completely did not need to see that.
Ah…Harold and Nadine, no doubt. 
Unless it was the new version. Maybe it was Trashcan Man and The Kid. Ewww!