Wooden ice cream paddles. I cannot stand to see someone else use one. I have to go get them a spoon. They give me the shudders.
Food Poisoning.
And the Personnel Department.
Eyeball stuff. As in, anything to do with eyes. I got pretty traumatized as a kid watching a movie where a woman’s eye gets sliced by a razor blade (in close-up, BTW) and ever since, I just can’t hang.
For the record, my sister has contacts, and the first time I talked to her after she got them, I looked her in the eye (she never told me she had them because she knew it’d squick me) and I could see the edge of it around her iris. I very nearly threw up in her face.
UTI’s. They put me in the bed.
I’m guessing that the movie is Un chien andalou. You don’t tend to forget the eye scene.
Migraines. I shut down completely. Can’t see, can’t stand sound, light, heat, etc.
Actually, that’s NOT it. The scene I saw, while very similar, was in color. And while I don’t recall any dialogue, I’m sure it wasn’t silent. If anybody knows what this might be, I’d love to know, as my hubby doesn’t get what could have possibly fucked me up so bad.
You’re not bulletproof? Since when? How could you lead me on for years like this? It’s like. . . I don’t know you anymore.
I’d have to second the adult responsibility suggestion. I hate having to do stuff like a grown up, it makes me feel old. I hate feeling old. I’m friggin’ 21, I shouldn’t feel old, damnit!
Really? Now I am intruiged. I would like to know the movie as well.
<BadShatnerActing>Enhance…please…Mr. Spork.</BadShatnerActing>
Cigar smoke. If I’m walking down the street and get a whiff… oooooh boy I need to sit down and put my head between my knees.
Don’t know what’s in the stuff. I’m ok with regular cigarette and pipe smoke. But if I see a cigar smoker walking toward me on the street my brain goes into full panic mode as I start taking wind samples and calculating how I need to pass so that I’m not down wind of the oncommer at any time as we pass each other.
Raw red meat. I can’t even touch the plastic wrapped packages of meat at the supermarket. I would probably die of disgust if someone threw a wad of raw beef at me.
Thank you! You made my day. The mere thought of using one of those little wooden thingies affects me like fingernails on a chalkboard. Now I don’t feel like such a weirdo.
A paper cut on my eyeball. A papercut from one of those manilla envelopes, too.
Not really ,I just wanted to be an asshole and squick out half of the universe.
Eh, I did ok. I mean…it’s not like I won, I’d call it more of a draw, but still, in terms of possible alternatives, I’m glad that’s what it was.
In response to the OP: Spiders.
subwoofers
Snakes.
To be absolutely clear, I am only afaid of four kinds of snakes: little ones, big one, live ones and dead ones. I have lept like a impala mistaking a garden hose for a garter snake in tall grass, a discarded plug wire on the side of the road has sent me running like a scalded cat, much to the amusement of my friend.
If there is an other danger, I will try and grab anyone with me when I start beating feet, but if the danger is a snake, I will knock their ass down and run them over to get as far as I can from the snake, all the while screaming over my shoulder for no one to hurt it.
Pictures of snakes gives me goosebumps, if they come up on a tv show, I change the channel. A discarded snake skin found on my front step kept me in the house for a good three hours until the ex and the kids beat the bushes mercilessly trying to chase the snake that left it away. I directed operation by yelling through the front window.
My neighbor called me a couple of years ago to tell me that my beloved cat Jay Wily had a grass snake in her back yard and asked me what I was going to do with it. I told her that possesion was 9/10s of the law, so the snake was hers and that she could keep the cat too if she wanted. Then I hung up and locked the dog door until she called me to tell me the snake had been rescued and it was safe to let the cat back in.
To me, all snakes are anacondas, so my description of them normally does not match the actual critter. I do not wish them harm, I never want them killed, I just want their legless asses as far from me as possible. Miles away.
I am also not fond of lizards and little green tree frogs with their nasty little suction cuppy feet.
Gah! I have creeped myself out just writing this. I want to watch SOAP, but I think I will have to self medicate just to make it through bits and pieces.
T.
Men with hairy ears. Y’know the sort, big fucking clumps of hair that look like balls of dirty cotton wool.
Fucking hell, one sight of that and I’m ready for a technicoloured yawn of gargantuan proportions.
I’m a bloke and I shave and pluck my ears, that’s how gross I think it is
Sorry…Urinary Tract Infections. The bane of my existence for a several year period, though they seem to be a lot less frequent now. ::knocks wood::
It’s possibly Guinea Pig: Flowers of Flesh and Blood or one of the other Guinea Pig movies. They are disgustingly gross and have scenes of eyeballs being sliced out. Do not watch if you have a weak stomach. Or a strong one. Or if you ever plan on eating or sleeping within the next five years.
One of my “kryptonites” is the sound of slurping. Someone sucking the soup off a spoon, a straw trying to get the last bit from a cup. I’m getting chills up my spine at the thought.
The other is other people vomiting. My own doesn’t bother me but the sight, sound and smell of someone else ralphing makes me want to curl into a ball and start hurling as well.
Of course the worst situation was when I saw the movie The Fly and Jeff Goldblum was showing how Brundlefly eats. I ran from the theater. I have never seen the whole movie.