You wanted to EAT the hot chicks instead of DATING the hot chicks? Maybe they should have kept you in the ER.
I’ll kill this thread by saying, know how the first time you ever saw a ceramic knife in someone’s kitchen? and you picked it up and looked at it, and thought, I wonder if this thing is really as sharp as I’ve heard?..
Well, it is. Curiosity satisfied!
Sorry salinq, I think Scubaqueen’s got this one. I kind of cringe and close one eye just reading her post.
You are SO no fun at all!
You know how you’re remodeling a basement and you’re stapling insulation to the drywall and you’re wondering if the stapler jammed or something because no staple went into the piece of insulation you’re working on and then you feel this throbbing pain in your hand (the one you were holding the insulation in place with) and you look and realize “So that’s where that staple went”?
I hate when that happens.
You know how it is when you’re a kid and you’ve got a new bike, so you take it on a long ride across town, and you’re coasting down this hill when you hear something rattling on the front fender, so you stick your foot up there to try to stop the rattling, and your foot gets sucked in between the fender support and the front wheel, causing the forward motion of said wheel to stop and the back of the bike, including you, to do a cartwheel, sending you and the bike skidding along the pavement for 20 feet or so, spraining your ankle and taking off a goodly measure of skin? And then you have to limp the two miles home, pushing your bike because the rim is bent and you can’t ride it?
It really sucks when you do stupid things.
Oh, nothing as hair-raising as Scubaqueen’s ordeal. Just a little test-touch to the new-to-me ceramic blade. No biggie, I just got to wear a big bandaid on my finger.
Autolycus, I’m impressed! Not only by your getting right back to the fun, but it only took 90 minutes! I’m assuming this didn’t happen on a Saturday night, which would have taken you (not 90) but 9 hours.
Visualizing slicing myself open on sharp things strikes deeply at my primal fears, and causes cold sweats and nausea, so I won’t be reading this thread! (Oddly, *actually *slicing myself on sharp things causes reactions varying from Cool! I can see the layers of skin, and muscle, and stuff! to Damn, where’s the band-aids? Go figure.)
Well, are you really surprised? According to the warnings on some medication ad, it’s apparently possible to freebase the elderly.
So, you know how you’re at your bathroom sink after a work out & you realize you haven’t put all the caps back on all the bottles, but Hey…its Your sink in Your bathroom. And you hit that bottle of rubbing alcohol with your elbow, but you aren’t wearing a towel because…its Your sink in Your bathroom. Or when the pain makes you elbow a glass bottle, which falls and breaks, leaving you a present to step in. I guess it teaches you how to Zen-pick glass out of your bleeding feet w/o worrying about the pain, as your alcohol-burned balls have your attention.
Still, there are those weird red half-dried foot prints that lead to the tub and the sad realization that you never stocked this bathroom with bandages.
“Well, if I wrap that foot in 1/2 roll of TP and pick the cheapest towel as the outside wrap, can I walk downstairs to the closet with the bandages w/o leaving bloody foot prints on the beige carpet? Hmmmm…”
PS- Stoid, Please feel better. Meatloaf grease will just make some girl some day think you taste better with ketchup.
I totally hate slicing my foot on a sprinkler head in the lawn and when I go to find something to stop the crimson flow in the house, I realize that I have new light colored carpet. NOTHING, not even my own blood is going to get on that beautiful, thick, clean, new carpet. So I have to stand outside the patio doors, enthralled with the beauty of my carpet, a river of blood coming from my foot. In a flash of insight, I remember that the window to the bathroom is still open! As I tumble inelegantly through my bathroom window, my foot flings blood everywhere. But my carpet is pristine.
How silly! you say. When I was 13 I sliced my thumb and hand with an exacto knife. I roared for my mother who took one look, and said in the frostiest tone I ever heard her use, “Don’t you DARE bleed on my carpet!”
All I’ve got to add is, if you drop a sharp knife, don’t try to catch it, because, well, just don’t.
You know how when you’re drilling a hole using a spade bit, and bracing the wood with your feet while you’re wearing socks? And then the bit catches your sock and pulls your toes into it? Yeah, I fucking hate that.
You know how sometimes you’re seven, and your uncle in Arizona sends you a prickly pear cactus leaf, and you take it to your room and mess with it a bit and then leave it right there on the floor when you’re done because, y’know, you’re seven? And then you wake up in the morning, get out of bed, take a step, and find you’ve given yourself half a pair of new leafy green combination sandal-cleats with red liquid trim?
Fuck that shit.
Are near-misses okay?
You know how you’ll be riding the #6 train uptown, right. Get on the escalator in your white leather Keds sneakers, because it’s still the 1990’s. And not thinking, you jam your feet up against the stair ahead of you. Not thinking at all.
Then as you reach the top, you learn for the first time that escalator stairs have GROOVES that enable them to ‘sink’ into the following step before they disappear to make that magic loop that brings them down to the bottom again.
If you keep your white leather Keds jammed right up against the step ahead of you, once you get to the top, that step will fall into its groove with your step, and CHEW THE ENTIRE FRONT OF YOUR SNEAKER OFF.
I curled my toes back at the last second, and escaped with my digits intact. Did I go bleat to the nice ladies behind the bullet-proof walls of the ticket office? Of course not. I knew I’d be called various names, DUMBASS among them, and told to fuck off. So I trotted on my merry way.
You know how no good deed goes unpunished? Like when you’re about 15 years old and look out the front window and there’s this 6 year old kid standing next to his fallen bike and crying, so you go outside to see what’s the matter and he tearfully points to the chain that’s come off the sprocket; so you reassure him and flip the bike onto its back and thread the chain back onto the sprocket, and then to make sure it won’t come off, you start turning the crank really fast, but you notice that there seems to be a lot of slack, so you stick your thumb up there to test it while the crank is still spinning and it just sucks your thumb into the gear and tears the top off of it? And then you know how you run into the house and stick said member under the faucet and the pain is like a bolt of lightning jabbing into your eye and you stare, disbelieving, at the tattered remnants of your thumb, which is now gushing blood all over the sink? And you end up bandaging it up instead of going to the doctor and it drains blood and pus for the next week?
Oh yeah, I REALLY hate that shit.
I hope you dashed right over to your wife and bled all over her.
My fear has always been this, but the knife pins your foot to the floor and you pull back your foot and tear it in two
You know how when you’re a kid and you have a new bike and you think you’re invincible, and you and your best friend go riding the bike really fast around an empty parking lot where your bike hits a big rock and throws you off. You brace the fall with your hand, but when you brush yourself off, you notice that there’s a lot of blood coming from your hand with a strange new hole in it filled with little pebbles? And you’re afraid your parents will get mad at your so you and your 10 year old best friend bandage it up and try to hide it? I never went to the hospital for that, it eventually closed, but I have a purplish scar on my palm reminding me of that
Also, you know how when you’re at a convention and you’re so excited while running from one event to the next, that you trip over your big bags on the escalator and go knee first into the grooves? Then, as blood runs down your leg, you try to wrap the thing in toilet paper while hobbling to the nearest first aid station? For a second I thought some Japanese tourists would take pictures of my bleeding knee thinking it was part of a costume
Second, except that I’m reading it anyway for some reason. I mean, every few posts my hands are involuntarily clenching to protect themselves, but other than that. . .
Well, ideally that’s just a lead-in to the main event, but yes?