Holy shit.
IIRC, that’s exactly what I said.
Once, inter-railing, I spent a few days in Paris. I had a good few days, but it was time to make tracks, so I breakfasted on McDonalds and then headed on to Gare Montparnasse to catch a train somewhere (I hadn’t decided where yet).
So there I was, in this massive train station with a few hours to kill until my train. I wasn’t really in the mood to do much, and the temperature was well below freezing so I elected to take the lazy option, and just sit with a grumpy look on my face and my coat zipped up to the top. Did you ever sit still for a while and find your mind wandering? I might have looked like I was gazing intently at one spot, but really I was lost in my own thoughts, thinking about god knows what.
Anyway, eventually I came around, only to realise that I was actually looking directly at something, and had been looking at it for about ten minutes. It was a man standing about twenty foot in front of me, standing right in the middle of the main thoroughfare of the station.
Now, this man was obviously homeless, or a bum, or an alcoholic or whatever the politically correct term is these days. He was wearing faded trainers and a dirty sports jacket along with a pair of old tracksuit bottoms. He had a dirty beard and straggly hair, and I bet if he had been any closer he would have smelled like a four day old fart. He was a bum, just like any old bum.
Except that he had one distinguishing feature. He had a disfigured hand. I don’t think he had lost the fingers on his right hand; it looked more like he just had malformed digits, as if they had all merged into one claw like appendage. Think about the Penguin from that Batman film, the Danny De Vito one. His hand looked like the penguins flippers.
So I had been staring at a bum with a disfigured hand for ten minutes. No big deal, he hadn’t noticed me. But as I grew more aware I started to realise just why he had jolted my out of my reverie in the first place!!!
You see I didn’t notice his hand straight away. I couldn’t have, because it was currently stuck down the front of his pants. “Whoa”, I thought, “if you are going to scratch your balls you could be a bit more discreet about it”. But I could soon see that he wasn’t scratching his balls, he was reaching far too deep for that. Oh man I thought, this just gets worse, what is he scratching?
The bum fumbled about down there for about another thirty seconds, reaching elbow deep into his pants, before bringing his hand back out and lifting his hand up to eye level, showing me the odd placement of his fingers.
I must admit I was laughing a little as he brought his hand up and stared at it. “Good man, admire your handiwork…” I thought to myself.
The laughter soon died though. Laughter will do that if you watch a grown man stick his hand down his pants for ten minutes, and then proceed to spend two minutes licking his malformed fingers again and again, seemingly to ensure he got every inch of nourishment his smelly fingers could provide. And when he was done? He went back for seconds!!! And when he finished at the front. Yes, he reached around and reached down into his ass crack, and scooped out every nasty vitamin and mineral he could literally get his hands on.
I could only sit there aghast. It was pure train-wreck tourism. Utterly disgusting but how could I look away as that man stood there a good thirty minutes digging around in his pants and eating whatever his hands could scoop out. Eventually I just got up and wandered of, wondering how a human being could fall to such levels. The morbid thing is, of all the things that I seen in Paris, the Mona Lisa, the Eiffel tower, Notre Dame, all of the great buildings and paintings, the thing that I will remember for the longest time, will probably be that crazy bastard who couldn’t possibly have been THAT hungry.
I wonder what his name was?
Ah, L.A. … . 
I’m perversely proud.
IIRC, they eat dead things for part of their maggot cycle, but for later stages, they actively kill healthy tissue to eat it.
I was visiting a not very nice dairy. We had spent the earlier part of the morning slogging around in the fog and mud, rectally palpating cows for pregnancy. One cow had an abscess about a foot across on her hip. We decided to lance it. The head vet got a scalpel and made a quick, hard jab. About half a gallon of wine-colored pus poured out into the mud. A nanosecond later, the dairy owner’s dogs were eyes deep in the stuff, snorking it down like shop vacs.
Can you clarify how this is pronounced? I may have a new favorite word.
It probably doesn’t measure up to some of the stories here, but I was helping a friend at his cattle farm once. It was time to castrate the young bulls, and the vet had come to do that. My friend would separate the young bulls from the herd, and guide them towards the chute where they would be castrated. My job was to get the young bulls in the chute that would contain them (and the vet) during the procedure, and close the gate behind them. I would also hold the gate shut, so the bulls couldn’t back out. (After the procedure, the bulls–now steers–left by the gate in front of them, which the vet opened.) Things worked well, and the vet was as kind to the animals and as efficient as he could be.
But as things went along, I noticed that my footing wasn’t as good as it had been at the start of the day. By the end of the day, I looked down and realized that I was ankle-deep in bull testicles. Thankfully, I was wearing firefighters’ steel-toed rubber boots, which could be easily hosed down, but still–yecch!
Ok, time for the hooker story.
I was in a Miami HoJo waiting on cruise ship that my buddy would eventually get married on. This HoJo was in downtown Miami. We wanted to get a few beers that night, so we went to the BP station.
Shady neighborhood to say the least. At the BP, there was a crack whore (an actual one) who asked us for food. One of the guys gave her a cheese and crackers thing. We left with beer, and a small sense of generosity.
Later that night, we’re all drinking beer on the balcony. I say that I have to pee, and as I’m heading to the bathroom…I’m chided. “Dude, piss off the balcony, or piss in a can.”
Not being shy or one to buck the trend, I peed in a can. Of course.
Immediately after this, a discussion started about whether or not someone could hit the aforementioned crack whore o the street with the piss can. To me, this didn’t seem even remotely possible. She was FAR from us.
To one of the guys there, this was a challenge, that he was up to. He hurled that can of hot piss at that poor crack whore, and it missed her by a foot or so.
We all shrank in fear of having near killed an innocent person, even though most of us thought it was impossible to even get that close to her (this was quite a long distance).
The crack whore dodged the can, or at least didn’t get hit by it, and then wandered back to it.
She saw a Bud Light can, foaming in the street, wanted a beer, picked it up…then chugged it.
Hot urine, not even one minute from my body, was flowing down this poor woman’s throat. She stopped eventually, but then got in the car of some unlucky bastard right after.
I told the groom of said wedding that he may well remember that moment more than his actual wedding, sadly this was true.
Certainly. Eck-el yick-el. (The ‘i’ should be a ‘y’, but it looked silly.)
I was at a party where a totally hammered guy diarrhea-ed in his pants, went to the bathroom, dropped his drawers and sat on the toilet to take the shit he didn’t realize he already took, puked violently into his pants as they lay around his ankles, stood up and pulled his pants on and then proceeded to walk around the party trying to make conversation while effluent ran down his legs and onto the floor.
How do you reach that level of wasted without passing out?
As a nurse, I deal with a lot of poop. No big deal: wipe the guy up, roll and remove the bed pad, dispose, all is good. Except for GI bleeds. Imagine diarrhea that looks like a gallon of thick grape jelly and smells like…rotting? It’s hard to describe. It’s a smell that I’ve mentally classified as the smell of dying. I celebrated my last day in the transplant ICU on Thursday, but I’m certain that some things will stay with me forever. That’s one.
Another: On a slow day in school clinicals, I wandered into the ED to see what was up. A man came in with a cyst on his ass the size of my fist. How he’d been sitting on that thing is beyond me. The doc, some young, inexperienced thing, injected the lidocaine and got to work. What came out was…well, nasty. Blood and pus poured forth like a massive, bursting zit, but what really got me was the screaming. I don’t know if the doc didn’t use enough lidocaine or what, but that man was in some exquisit agony.
The procedure took 10 minutes. I imagine 10 minutes feels like a very long time when a rookie is digging fist deep into your ass with a scalpel. I held the patient’s hand and tried not to cringe.
Once you smell it you always recognize it. Did your transplant unit do bone marrows? GVHD is much worse than say, an alcoholic bleed, or Barret’s.
Good times. :dubious:
I’ll lose points for using a movie, but the *Jackass crew has put in serious work to be included in such venerable lists as this one. I don’t know if it was Part II or the Lost Tapes, but the worst I can think of right now is The Vomelet. The chef basically uses his stomach as the mixing bowl for all of the ingredients. He chops everything up and wolfs it down whole, then drinks a cup of half a dozen raw eggs, shakes it up a little, pours it in the pan, frys it up, and Steve-O (not the chef) eats it.
*yeah, that kind of “pour”
ETA: Definitely could have been improved by proper use of a Donna Reed dress though!
To say nothing of a new username.
When I was a prosecutor doing a stint in child support enforcement, there was an oft-repeated (but probably apocryphal) story about a woman who had nonidentical twins with two different men. She had sex with each of them at the same wild party, turning the same condom inside-out for the second guy.
Turns out that maggots have some medical uses (warning: mildly unpleasant photo of maggot larvae on human flesh): Maggot therapy - Wikipedia
But if she used a condom in that way, she probably would have only gotten impregnated with the first guy’s sperm.
I did find at least one case of fraternal twins with different fathers while searching.
I was once waiting to cross a main street in lower Manhattan, around lunch time. There was a semi, and right next to it, a kid around 18-20 on a bicycle, probably a messenger. All of a sudden the kid lost his balance and fell, right under the semi’s tires. He was squashed like a bug. I remember seeing his guts and his brains and part of his face. Everyone started yelling for the semi driver to stop, but of course it was too late. The driver got out of the cab and looked at what had happened. He just fell to his knees, wailing and crying. It was horrible.
2004 presidential election. We all knew that the feces flinging monkey was piloting the ship onto the rocks. Yet we decided that Kerry would be a step in the wrong direction? I am still stunned and disgusted at a nation full if idiots that would do something so stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.