Viewing Thread:
"It was spurting blood into the bath"

I had a rather unfortunate incident last night, which was painful, messy and almost not worth mentioning.

I broke a plate the other night. I'd just been to the pub with a mate of mine and grabbed a curry on the way back. Seconds after scoffing my Madras, I settled back into the luxurious folds of the sofa to sigh contentedly and sup upon my beer. In doing so, I kicked the chair over upon which the curried plate did rest, and it toppled to the floor, smashing the plate and smearing the carpet with insiduous curry remains.

That annoyed me.

I took the broken plate and slammed its remains into the black bin liner, that I am too lazy to place into a bin and eventually went to bed, not knowing that something would soon happen that would change my life forever.

Last night I came home from work and walked into the kitchen barefooted, carrying my spoils from the kebab shop (what a healthy diet I have) and sliced my second littlest toe wide open on a jagged piece of broken plate jutting out of the black bin liner. I hobbled about the kitchen for a minute, then hobbled into the bathroom and placed my foot into the bath. I turned on the taps and doused my toe with cold water. Blood spurted from the wound. Twice. And then flowed freely for many minutes. I was gutted. I didn't want to spend my evening in casualty but the blood just kept coming.

So in true bloke bravado I walked back into the kitchen to see if I could find something to stem the tide. Blood oozed onto the wooden floor as I rummaged through the drawers looking for a plaster, a bandage or anything remotely defined as "first aid". What did I find? Some bog roll.

Hungry and annoyed by my toe, I knew the only course of action available to me. Wrap my toe in bog roll, place it on the chair and eat my tea, whilst watching the TV. It was a crazy plan, but it might just work.

Well it did. The bog roll seemed to fuse with the wound; matted with blood it forced the blood to congeal and thus the bleeding stopped. My toe didn't hurt so I simply and bravely continued to watch a DVD and make the most of my life.

I did begrudge moping up the blood from the kitchen floor however.

It didn't hurt! until the next day, but by then I was so high on painkillers I could have washed my face with a mixture of nettles and wasps and been happy as larry.

anyhow I want to get some sleep. laders, and remember - running with scissors, though potentially life threatening, might just pay for a glorious fortnight in mauritius. :P

Who was crying at the time?

This is Mr Borat. He cut his foot on a sharp d!ldo while involved in a beach orgy. He got £2,500!

The only gash unfortunately, courtesy of a rusty barbed wire fence buried under the sand.

*Ching-Ching*

net result - £2500 compensation.

who's laughing now??? WUAHHAHAH etc ...

At least you got some gash while on holiday. Sorry, that was crude. How did you do it?

I thought it only fair, seeing as how he laughed his ass off at me ripping a 4 inch gash in my right foot, on a beach in Newquay. And to add insult to injury, he drank all my beers while I was having it sewn up.

You're an ass-heart?

Nein. A little from column A and a little from column B.

You're all heart. Or ass. One of the two.

Round a mates house one night, said mate stood on a tumbler glass barefoot, shattering it and embedding shards of said tumbler glass in bottom of said barefoot. Blood flowed freely in many directions, requiring extraction of some shards in bath, followed by a quick jaunt to the hospimatul.

Doctor Dibley refused to offer any treatment, save a nice fluffy bandage, due to mate being hammered to the max. Upon his return home, a sea of fingers were aimed at said mate and belly laughter could be heard for several streets.

Do you live on your own?