The stupidest thing I've ever done to myself

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
81

I imagine you mean ‘tongs’, which are metal grabby implements, and not ‘thongs’, which are underwear that has only a string in the back.

I done a lot of self-abuse to myself. Probably the worst (psychologically) thing I did was get the very tip of my penis caught in my zipper after I was finished peeing. Wasn’t too bad of an injury, but now its ever-so-slightly malformed. It kind of tugged a bit of skin near the peehole out a bit too far.

Then there was the many times I rolled up the window on my finger/hand because I was rolling up the window without looking at what I was doing. And another time where I was attempting to quickly jump in the car and shut the door, I started to shut the door before I completely was in the car and somehow managed to shut the car door on my head :eek: ouch!

82

One time, I was laying on the top of a rock wall that stood about 3 feet tall. I decided to “casually” roll off and land on the ground in a “push-up” position…well, somehow, I managed to forget that about half an hour before this wonderful stunt, I was messing around on a skateboard, fell off, landed on a speed-bump and twisted my wrist a bit. Needless to say, when I hit the ground, my right-rist decided it wasn’t going to catch me like it was supposed to, and I hit the cement face-first. My entire face was scratched up, though it didn’t look very bad at first…it wasn’t until the next day when half of my face was covered with a couple huge scabs…I’m not easily embarassed or anything, so this really didn’t bug me. However, it couldn’t have been timed any worse. I was going through Freshman Orientation that same week, and got my university ID taken the next day. Beautiful picture, I’m tellin’ ya.

83

When I was five, I found two sewing needles (these were large ones, about 7 inches long). I looked at them for some time, pondered, and then jammed them into a nearby outlet.

My dad was sitting in the same room, looking the other way, and was quite surprised when I asked him if anyone had crawled up behind me and hit me in the back with a hammer.

Ouch.

84

Two that I can think of right away.

I was camping with some friends years ago, and the zipper on my sleeping bad would not stay zipped. I was really peeved at it, grabbed and yanked… and zipped my nipple up in the metal zipper.

About a month ago I was walking around the office stockingfooted - I’d forgotten my flats and I didn’t want to wear clunky snowboots around. There’s at least one other person who occationally socks around, and people are used to me doing it - I’m very forgetful, so the shoe thing is pretty hit-or-miss.
Most of the office is carpeted, but the hall where the bathrooms are is tile (waxed weekly). I think you can all see where this is going.
Getting into the bathroom, I skidded a leetile bit and grabbed the door to steady myself. I thought, “Gee, I better be careful coming back out.” and then forgot because it wasn’t slippery inside the bathroom, and sometimes I have the attention span of a goldfish.
I walked out and FOOMP the next thing I know I was laying flat on my stomach, in contact with the floor from cheek down to toes. I bounced up, straightened my dress and tried to pretend that I was not the sort of girl to do such a thing. Luckily nobody saw it. Lou, a coworker, asked “Did you hear something a minute ago?” when I passed his desk, but I denied knowledge.
A week later, my boss slipped in just the same place (even though she had shoes on) so we have non-skid rugs there now.

85

As a fellow biker: if you got burned because you were riding in shorts, you had it comin’, dude. If it was jeans, wear leathers the next time. :slight_smile:

My stories, boys and girls, are numerous. Some of them are similar to those already described. Let’s do them in chronological order.

Circa 1979. Six year old Coldfire sits down on the back bench of his father’s burgundy red Peugeot 304, outside grandma’s house. It’s summer, and all the windows are down. Having seen my dad drive with one elbow on the window ledge many a time, I decide that the “arm out of window” thing is definitely the way to go. I grab the open car door by the top window ledge, making sure to close my entire hand around it, and -with considerable force- close the door. With child proof locks, of course. My dad had to get out of the car to open the door from the outside, liberating my poor crushed little thumb. Ouch number one.

Circa 1982. Gymnastics at my elementary school. Once every 3 months, we’d do this thing called “Monkey Cage”. In essence, it meant breaking out ALL the equipment in storage, and create a huge playground where you got to frolick around for an hour.
One of the main attractions were the ropes. You know, the rail along the ceiling with the ropes suspended from them? They’d put two low benches on each side. The idea was that you got on one bench, grab a rope, and swing towards the other bench, then jump off. Of course, all the cool boys would take a head start by dashing towards the first bench, use it as a ramp, grab a rope in mid-air, and land way beyond the second bench. It got you the chicks, seriously. So there I go, in a mad dash towards the first bench. I lift off, make some good air, and… completely miss the rope. I land with my shin on the second bench. My lower leg grew to twice its normal size in about 3 minutes. For some miraculous reason, nothing was broken. But I can still feel the deep cut the bench made in my shin when I run my fingers over it.
Ouch number two.

Circa 1987. Highschool, shop class. Absent mindedly, I pick up the soldering iron to continue my work of art. Of course, I grab it by the business end, resulting in a freak nerve reaction causing my hand to grip ever tighter onto the soldering iron. I had to literally pry my fingers loose with my other hand. Spend the rest of the class rinsing off my hand in the sink, and the rest of that month nursing a cool set of blisters on the inside of my hand.
Ouch number three, and last for now.

The gentleman in me stops me from asking the obvious question, but the immature teenager that still resides within is dying to know. :smiley:

86

I must have been eight or nine, and my parents had a minivan with the sliding back door. We park at Pizza Hut, and I jump out. Thinking myself far too cool to use the handle on the sliding door, I grab the back end of the door and slide-a-roo. Result: Me, screaming after my parents, who are halfway across the parking lot, to free my hand from the back end of the door.

Nothing broken, though it hurt to put ice on my fingers. And we put Pizza Hut through a lot of ice that afternoon.

87

Last memorial day we decided to have a little cookout/party. I had only had two beers in about three hours, so I decided that since it was such a nice night, we should go fishing. Three or four of us drove down to the lake, tackle in hand, prepared to haul in some serious bass.
After about half an hour of fishing, I cast my lure (using a spinning reel) and apparently my finger slipped off of the line prematurely.
“Wow, my lure is caught in my hair”, says I…Laughter ensues.
As I attempt to remove the Rapala minnow from my ponytail, I realize that the two incredibly sharp treble hooks are nestled firmly in my scalp. There was no immediate pain. The plan was simple, remove the hooks. This is where the stupidity came in to play.
I decided my buddy Dave was plenty skilled/sober enough to remove a couple hooks from an idiot, so he grabs the pliers and gives the lure a good solid pull. No dice.
It felt like my whole head would be pulled off before the hooks would give way.
After a two hour ER visit, with plenty of smirks and giggles from my fellow idiots in the waiting room, I was healed.
Wow, that was a very long-winded account…Good thing I didn’t mention the time I climbed a dead tree and wound up snapping my femur.

88

I am so glad to read that I am not alone. My penchant for self-destruction is fairly well-documented around here (see the “It’s Like This, Doc” thread, which I am not going to look for now, but where my licking of a live electrical cord is posted.) Being me, of course, I do have other stories:

Coldfire - I got my hand stuck in a car door exactly as you describe. MY father, however, did not get out and get me loose - I was in the front passenger seat, so he simply reached across my lap, and pulled on the inside door handle to release it, resulting in further injury to my poor hand.

On another occasion, I had a pot of boiling pasta to drain in my right hand. With my left hand, I reached across my body to pick up a colander, and as I did so, the edge of the colander snagged a plastic drinking cup sitting on the counter. Well, I couldn’t have that there plastic cup hitting the floor and getting broken, now could I? But my right hand was full with the aforementioned pot of hot pasta. So I used my right elbow to catch the falling cup, thereby pouring boiling water UP my arm.

Do you know how to pit an avocado? You slice it in half around the pit, then strike the pit itself with the knife blade, which will, in theory, stick into the pit and enable you to use the knife to lever the pit loose. Unless you use the knife POINT, and it’s a really ripe avocado, in which case the knife will glance off the rolling pit and go right through your hand.

Shaving my legs for the first time, I suppose it was understandable that I had no idea how much pressure was required. But when the blade caught in my leg and stopped, I probably should have released the pressure, rather than tugging it firmly upward, resulting in both a very bloody leg and a fat lip.

There are more, but this is getting depressing!

89

While I was in high school, I worked for the father of one of my friends in construction for the summer. There were three of us and we basically were the clean up crew and assisted with various odds and ends. One day we needed to tear up some concrete in order to put in a wheel chair ramp. So I got to use the jack hammer to remove part of the curb.

All went well until we put the hammer back on its rack. We lifted it up but couldn’t get the chisel into the stand. So I stupidly bend down and grab the chisel to guide it in. Being heavy, once the resistance was gone it quickly fell into the stand.

Not really expecting it I did not get my hand out of the way in time and my index finger got stuck between the base of the jack hammer and stand. It managed to almost rip my fingernail completely off. It did not really hurt all that much. The worst part was going to the doctor where I had to have a shot put directly into the tip of my finger. After that I ended up sticking with brooms, mops and wheel barrels.

90

Indeed, I virtually have; most of my inanity is now contained within a livejournal. But I still lurk here and post if I think I have something fun to share.

Didn’t think I’d be recognised. Gives me the warm fuzzies, I tell ya!

91

Tomorrow, I’m going in for a minor surgery. Not bad in itself at all, but Mr. Seldon IS OUT OF TOWN and I knew he would be when I scheduled it. My family is here and will help, but when my husband asked if he should not leave, I said of course not, go have fun, I’ll be fine.

I’m really freaking out about this, even though I’m pretty confident about knowing what the procedure is, having had general anesthesia before, etc. The thing is my hubbie only took one of the kids with him on the vacay. Thank God for day care, huh.

92

hmm… let’s see. When I was about 10 I decided to climb out on an old bridge and peel bark off a tree for some reason. After peeling a good bit, I had to reach out more and more to get to the tree. Unfortunately the area I had peeled was now a bit slick with sap, so when I put my hand out to lean on it I learned the magic of gravity, and broke my wrist when I finally hit the ground.

Also about a year later I made my own flail from a stout tree limb, some rope and a section of pipe. Well, I was thrilled. I was whirling the thing around 2-handed and decided to take a nice overhead swing at a nearby bush. I brought both hands back over my head and swung straight down. I remember sitting up, spitting out grass and wondering why my head felt like I’d been hit with a flail.

93

I was playing with some darts out in the back yard, throwing them across the yard, from tree to tree. Some I had to reach up for, or get a stick to knock them down, if I threw them to high. Being an exceptionally bright child, I had the idea to tie a fishing line to the middle of the dart to aid retrieval. Nice strong, stretchy 25lb test fishing line. The dart flies across the yard and lodges itself firmly into the tree. It was a nice, big tree, full of sticky sap that grabbed the dart and held it tight. I pull on the line. At this point I look around because I hear alarm bells which I realize afterwards is my brain trying to alert me to something I should be paying attention to. The line stretches, and then goes loose suddenly as the dart falls free. Did I say fall? No, I meant springs. Flying straight back at me towards my crotch is a very sharp, pointy object! I manage to protect my sensitive bits from serious harm by moving my cheek into the line of fire instead. I’m sure everyone knows the move. Kind of like in the middle of a jumping jack with your gut thrust way out and a look of terror on your face. The experience wasn’t a total loss as I did learn that puncture wounds don’t bleed like cuts do.:rolleyes:

There once was a man named ‘Chuck’. Chuck was the type of guy who when he quit smoking jumped in the air like the guy on the commercial who also ‘kicked the habit’, but unlike the guy on the commercial he wasn’t anywhere near as agile as he managed to land on his ankle, thusly breaking it.
So, I’m in the car with Chuck, who is driving, and two other people. It was winter, the roads were icy, and he was driving his old Parisienne, painted using the time honored technique of going to the local hardware store and picking up whatever was on sale and then hurling it at the car until the car is coated and all the rust is covered. I mention this only to tell you the amount of care that went into this vehicle, which includes its bald tires. I’m sitting in the back transferring the contents of an old wallet into a new one I had just purchased, when I noticed that the normal motions of a typical car (go, stop, left, right, and its variations) had taken on a distinctly rotational aspect to them! I look up and notice that while still continuing in direction of traffic, even to the extent we are travelling through a sharp ‘S’ curve and staying somewhat within the lines, we are doing it while spinning in circles. I see Chuck madly cranking the wheel back and forth, obviously with no intent or reason. I see the shocked faces of people in the cars next to us looking out their side windows as I look straight out our front one as we spin past. I see the people in the cars behind us, looking out their front windows, their faces like this :eek: as we spin past. I see this about 5 times as we spin our way through the ‘S’ curve to come to a stop exactly at the stop light, in exactly the correct position, as if we had made if there the same way as the car beside us did a half second later. When the light turned green we continued on as if nothing had happened.

I’m in the car with Chuck, who is driving (remember him?). I’m in the front seat this time. It had just rained like the floodgates of heaven had opened and then shut again. There is a large puddle on the side of the road up ahead. Chuck gets a maniacal gleam in his eye and says, "Watch this!” (Now there is universal law that if someone says, “Watch this”, or “Give it to me and I’ll show you how to do it”, that you had better just stand back and watch the show because things you can tell your grandchildren are about to happen. As another friend ably demonstrated when showing a beginner motorcyclist how to ‘correctly’ navigate down a road and then managing to hit the one pothole on a curb and thus actually demonstrating how best not to do something from the back of the ambulance). Meanwhile, Chuck heads for the puddle. Did I mention that it had rained so much that the storm drains were blocked and the ‘puddle’ covered most of the road? Guess not. We hit this puddle so hard that the water covered the entire car. It was like the Jurassic Park ride at Universal studios. Water flew right up inside the car and even sprayed into the passenger compartment soaking us. Needless to say, the engine compartment was flooded. So, Chuck, being the unflappable soul he is says, “This has happened before. Here, I’ll show you how to get the thing started again” .:dubious:
I was young at the time and hadn’t firmly grasped the nuances of the law I listed above, so I didn’t get myself into the perfect position to watch the fun. Chuck goes outside and opens the hood. He tells me to turn it over when he says to. He takes off the air cleaner and starts spraying something out of a can he got from behind the seat when he left the car. Chuck was the model for Homer Simpson when it comes to spraying things. More is better. He then says to hold down the accelerator and crank it over. Now, I am looking at this through the gap between the hood and the body of the car. I can see the carburetor and just slightly above it. I can see Chuck leaned over the carburetor as if he was looking straight down into it. I can also see the huge gout of flame shoot out of the carburetor as I turn the car over and it backfires and then roars to life full throttle. I hear a loud bang (Chuck’s head hitting the hood) and then a very fast thud-thud-thud (Chuck’s fingers hitting the fan of the full throttle engine as he attempts to stop his backwards fall which fails miserably). It is a lucky thing that he did fall backwards back into the puddle as I saw his hair was on fire as his head passed my narrow line of vision. Picture this as you drive by: A soaked, burnt lunatic with no eyebrows and frazzled hair hopping madly down the road cradling his sore hand in the other venting his rage against the gods. I saw all this through the narrow gap under the hood, or at least I could see it until the tears coming from my eyes and the lack of oxygen from laughing so hard blurred my eyesight, that is.

94

OK, this is way too late, but I’ll post it anyway.

I got an insanely good deal on a non-functional Mercedes. I borrowed a trailer from my father to pick it up and rented a spot to store it. Since it wasn’t running, I decided to leave it on the trailer. But my father asked for is trailer back, so I had to unload the car.

No big deal. I got a come-along and hitched it between the car and the front of the trailer. Give it some slack, push the car, it rolls nicely to the back of the trailer. Have to push it over the little ledge at the end onto the ramps. Can’t push it from the front? No problem, just pull a couple feet of slack in the come-along and pull it from the back.

So now picture this: me, 160 lbs dripping wet standing on the ground pulling a 4500 lb vehicle towards me down a couple of ramps. Rear tires go over the ledge, car starts moving, slowly, then a bit faster, good thing the come-along is there.

Just then, I remember that the cable in the come-along had been pinched. I should have replaced the cable. The cable tightens,
the car stops, the cable parts, the car starts down the ramp with me hanging on the bumper. I just had look behind me before the car slammed me into a chain link fence. I pushed the car away from me and looked around for spectators (there weren’t any).

If it had been a solid wall, I would have been stuck there for God knows how long. I can just see the headline: Mechanical Engineer done in by Mechanical Marvel.

95

Well, this may not be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, or even the most injurious. But it’s certainly up there.

It was about two weeks before the start of seventh grade, which in those days was junior high, meaning a whole new school full of new people to meet. My family was on our first and only camping trip at a family oriented campground. So we were not exactly roughing it, there were bathrooms, showers, running water at each site, and of course, and fire pit for building campfires, which of course means toasting marshmallows on a stick. I liked mine very toasty on the outside and very gooey in the middle. I developed the trick of allowing the marshmallow to catch fire, then pulling it out quickly and blowing it off before it could get all black and burnt. Usually, the marshmallow would only light up a little bit, producing one burnt corner but the rest toasted perfectly. So when the next marshmallow burst into flame all at once, I quickly snapped it back out of the fire. Of course, the insides were complete goo and the suden yank caused the marshmallow to fly off the stick… straight onto my nose. I leaped up screaming with flaming marsmallow dripping down to my lip. It went out fast enough, and wasn’t as hard to wipe off as you might think, but as you can imagine left quite a burn.

On the upside, my mother let me have a few drinks of her blackberry brandy to help the pain. On the downside, I started school that year with a scar that, from a distance, looked like a little Hitler mustache. Which was better than having people ask me how I got it.

96

The corner of the car door in the eye thing, I’ve done that a couple times. I’ve also managed to scrape my upper chest with car door corners as well. Although the pain is very temporary, it also hurts dramatically.

The most recent stupid event was when I was boiling spaghetti in a dutch oven a while ago (I don’t remember exactly, but it was within the last year or two). The dutch oven was part of a larger pot and pan set, which all had heat resistant handles. But, the other pots and pans have long handles, so that by the time you reach the far end of the handle, it’s pretty cool. The dutch oven on the other hand, has those small oval shaped handles that are very close to the pot itself. As a result, they get nearly as hot as the pot. So in a moment of shear stupidity I forget that this isn’t a long-handled pot, and proceed to try and pick up the pot by the handles without using hot pads. I had such pretty blisters on my fingers after that one.

It reminded me of the time when I was ten or so, and was getting a pizza pan out of the oven. I had one hand in an oven mitt, the one that was taking out the pan. However, the pan was about to slip out of the mitt which would have sent the pizza flying. So in my infinite reflexive wisdom, I decide to steady the pan with my other, non protected hand. I think I ended up putting so much aloe vera on the blisters later that I killed our aloe vera plant.

And then there’s the workplace injuries. Being currently employed as a software engineer, I’ve yet to injure myself at the office, but I wasn’t so lucky in some of my previous jobs.

There was the time I worked in a cherry orchard hauling tarp for the shaker. I managed to get myself run over by a cherry rig causing me to fall ungracefully on my left arm and giving me a nasty case of tendonitis (fortunately the tank had just been dropped, otherwise the weight probably would have crushed my shins). There was another time when I was sitting down with my hand on my knee, and somehow a bee had flown into my cupped hand but couldn’t get out. When I moved my hand, I saw a bee fly out, and then felt the pain from the sting. It was one of those “things that don’t hurt until you see them” situations. Then there was the time I was bathing my arms in the cold water from a fresh cherry tank, and the wooden cover that was propped up above it decided to drop on my head at that moment.

I also stocked shelves in a supermarket nightcrew for a couple summers in high school. One of the times I was cutting a box down to size with a single edged razor blade in a holder. I was sitting down cross legged, and as I was cutting the top off the box, I met a particularly resilient strain of cardboard. Taking the “if it jams, force it” tack I rammed the blade harder and harder into the cardboard, until finally it gave way, along with the rest of the box top, my pants leg, and my thigh. It was such a pretty 1/4" deep, 3" long gash. The upside was it was the first time I got into a girls pants. One of my coworkers lent me her shorts to wear so that the wound and bandage wouldn’t be scraped by my pants until they could take me to a doctor for stitches. I discovered I was a size 10. Not that discovering this in anyway enlightened me.

Then there was the time that I had to mop something up that a customer had spilled. Someone else had left a case of six packs of pepsi sitting on top of the mop bucket. I lift the case off the bucket, and proceed to put the case down, lightly sliding the sides off my fingertips. It was at this point where I felt the oddest nerve pricking. It wasn’t painful, just a dull pricking sensation. I look at the finger that sent that signal to my brain, and see it is gushing blood, with a now useless flap of skin hanging off of it. Turns out someone had sliced a can open with a box cutter at some point, and rather than dispose of the can properly, they decided to leave it in the case for my finger to find. It took over an hour for the finger to completely stop bleeding. In retrospect, I probably should have gotten stitches for that as well.

Than there was the time I spent a summer working for a garbage company. I had to get into a garagewith a door of the regular sliding variety that was unlocked, but rather resistant to being opened. I tugged and tugged and tugged, but it wouldn’t budge. Finally summoning all my strength, I gave it a huge yank. Well, the good news is that it worked. Whatever was causing the spring to resist me finally gave out. So the potential energy of the spring releasing combined with my force of lifting the garage up, caused the garage door to fly up into the garage with breakneck speed. Did I mention my hand was still gripping the handle? It’s amazing how hands can squish themselves and become wedged in between a garage door and the overhang of the garage. It’s a good thing my mother had some silvadine handy. I was bandaging my hand for a week.

Then there was the time I got my thumb wedged between the truck and one of the arms of a 50 yard canister currently being dumped into it. Granted, since the canister had three points of contact (the hook that holds it to the truck as it is being dumped, and the arms it rest on) I probably only had about 30% of the full weight of the canister resting on a small section of my thumb, but from what I remember of physics, the force on my thumb is the mass over the area, so I shudder to think of how much force my thumb being as small as it is was having exerted on it at the time. Oddly enough, I suffered no damage to the thumb other than it was hard to bend for the next few days, since it had swollen. I didn’t break it.

97

Been there, kind of…it’s more of a practical joke that, having once been its victim, now proves useful in my bag of tricks.

College apartment, guys sitting in front of the TV eating dinner, huge, hot plate of spaghetti in my left hand, fork in my right. Roomate “innocently” asks the time. Watch is on my left wrist (the Spaghetti Hand, remember?)

Guess which dumbass flips his wrist to check the time and dumps a half pound of pasta with red sauce all over his shorts? And guess who, to this day, makes a mental note at parties of who might fall for the gag?

98

Time for two quick tales of bad luck and self-mutilation.

  1. I’m 9, playing with one of my favorite birthday gifts of all time, the “Junior Woodshop Project Kit”. This fun lawsuit in a box (for ages 9 to 14) comes complete with wood scraps, various plans, paint, small hacksaw and extremely cheap hot glue gun. Following the plans for the birdhouse project, I load a fresh glue stick into the hot glue gun and plug it in. The directions clearly state “for best results, allow glue gun to warm before starting project.” No time is mentioned. Since I want to achieve the best results possible, I let the gun cook for 45 minutes. Those of you who have experience with glue guns just winced. I pick up the (cheap) glue gun, squeeze the trigger and hot molten glue pours out of the body of the gun directly onto my finger. Much burning and wailing and gnashing of teeth ensues, including the utterance of the worst swears words I know at the time (“damn, hell, damn, hell”). Do I wipe off the glue on a nearby towel? Nope. Do I run to the kitchen sink and put my hand under cold water? Na. I do what every 9 year old does when he burns his finger, I PUT IT IN MY MOUTH! Now I have (possibly toxic) cheap molten hot glue in my mouth, charbroiling my tongue. End result? Second degree burn on my hand, huge honking blister on my tongue and damage to the enamel on my front teeth.

  2. I’m 16, trying my hand at ironing in my parent’s kitchen. Pants? Check. Ironing board? Check. Hot iron with wiggly handle? Check. First swipe at pants and the wiggly handle becomes the separated-from-hot-iron handle. Hot iron flies off ironing board and lands hot side down (wouldn’t ya know it) on the linoleum floor. My first thought is to get the hot iron off the floor so as to minimize damage to the linoleum. I proceed to hurry over and pick up the hot iron WITH MY BARE HANDS. Screaming, I toss the hot iron into the (luckily, considering the extension cord was still plugged in) empty sink. Second degree burns on hands? Check. Cracked sink? Check. Big ass iron shaped burn mark on the linoleum? Check.

99

Time for two quick tales of bad luck and self-mutilation.

  1. I’m 9, playing with one of my favorite birthday gifts of all time, the “Junior Woodshop Project Kit”. This fun lawsuit in a box (for ages 9 to 14) comes complete with wood scraps, various plans, paint, small hacksaw and extremely cheap hot glue gun. Following the plans for the birdhouse project, I load a fresh glue stick into the hot glue gun and plug it in. The directions clearly state “for best results, allow glue gun to warm before starting project.” No time is mentioned. Since I want to achieve the best results possible, I let the gun cook for 45 minutes. Those of you who have experience with glue guns just winced. I pick up the (cheap) glue gun, squeeze the trigger and hot molten glue pours out of the body of the gun directly onto my finger. Much burning and wailing and gnashing of teeth ensues, including the utterance of the worst swears words I know at the time (“damn, hell, damn, hell”). Do I wipe off the glue on a nearby towel? Nope. Do I run to the kitchen sink and put my hand under cold water? Na. I do what every 9 year old does when he burns his finger, I PUT IT IN MY MOUTH! Now I have (possibly toxic) cheap molten hot glue in my mouth, charbroiling my tongue. End result? Second degree burn on my hand, huge honking blister on my tongue and damage to the enamel on my front teeth.

  2. I’m 16, trying my hand at ironing in my parent’s kitchen. Pants? Check. Ironing board? Check. Hot iron with wiggly handle? Check. First swipe at pants and the wiggly handle becomes the separated-from-hot-iron handle. Hot iron flies off ironing board and lands hot side down (wouldn’t ya know it) on the linoleum floor. My first thought is to get the hot iron off the floor so as to minimize damage to the linoleum. I proceed to hurry over and pick up the hot iron WITH MY BARE HANDS. Screaming, I toss the hot iron into the (luckily, considering the extension cord was still plugged in) empty sink. Second degree burns on hands? Check. Cracked sink? Check. Big ass iron shaped burn mark on the linoleum? Check.

I am my own “Jackass” movie.

100

And then there was the time that I double posted to this board while trying to add a not very funny and not at all useful line to an already too long post.

My apologies.

See kids? This is why some people should post and some people should lurk.