Not mine, but someone else's
A P.E. lesson. We were 14. The teacher (universally known as The Shower Prowler, but that's another story) hands me the volleyball nets and says "go put these out!". So with a look round at - well, let's call him Arnie - and a mutual nod of the head, we set off to do just that.

Arnie tries to attach the net to the hooks top of the post, but it's just too high. He looks round at me and says "hey, give me a lift up, will you?"
So I grab him round the waist, and lift.
He gets the net attached, and says "right, put me down!"
So I let go, and back away.

Arnie does not back away. Arnie stands there on tip-toe, looking like he's stuck and in some pain.

The posts were multi-purpose, with hooks at various heights for different games.
Arnie's shorts are caught on a hook just above waist height.

The rest of us, of course, burst out in braying, pointing, laughter.

Arnie's shorts rip. He's still stuck. His underpants are also caught on the hook.
Our laughter intensifies to hysterical levels. This is comedy GOLD! We're going to be taking the piss out of him for this for YEARS!

Then Arnie's underpants rip. He's still stuck.

Suddenly no-one is laughing anymore.

With an awful lurch, a grunting pull of himself up the pole, and a collective deathly silence, he manages to his most tender skin off the hook. He bends double, and limps over towards the teacher, clutching his damaged parts and bearing a look of abject horror. And rightly so, for there's a growing trickle of blood and ... something else running down his leg

"Sir, I've .... I've cut myself"

"Where?"

He pulls his hands away.

"There!"

The teacher goes white, stammers out "lets...lets get you upstairs...", picks him up and carries him out, leaving an entire gym hall full of shellshocked kids.

After many stitches, Arnie made a full recovery, and is happily married with several kids now. He's even teaching at the same school.

I, on the other hand, never lived it down. The story passed into the realms of urban legend, spreading far and wide, and being distorted and exaggerated with each retelling. But it's true. I was there. It was me. And no matter what you hear from anyone, it wasn't a gang hit, it wasn't a hazing ritual, it was an accident.
( Young Master Ploppy, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 17:00, Reply)

Once during the school summer holidays, myself and a couple of friends went to the local disused brick quarry with our air guns for some pop can/bottle killing action.
Me and two others had crappy little .177's, my best mate had a .22 rifle
We split up looking for something else to shoot, my friend with the .22 thought it would be funny to play sniper and hide behind an elder tree some distance away and shoot up high at the tree I was standing next to.
The spring in his BSA Meteor wasn't what it used to be and the shot dropped low and got me in the tatey sack. It was some time before I was able to breathe properly and assume an upright posture from the both hands over crotch foetal position I occupied on the quarry floor for apparently over an hour.

I have a worse tale from a former workplace about a past collegue of mine.
Some of the sparkies thought it would a laugh to grab said colleague and apply a wire brush to his knackers in a typical workshop humourous horseplay manner, result was he ended up with a torsion, the knacker died from lack of blood and had to be amputated and replaced with a prosthetic so his sack didnt look embarassingly one sided. It was fucking hilarious for the rest of us.
(Finster Ate a cat biscuit for a bet, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:58, Reply)

A real ballache
After the birth of Fister Jnr II, I decided that enough was enough and it was time to go for the walnut whip. My appointment eventually came through and as luck would have it, it was for the day of Fister Jnr II's 1st birthday.

I was, by my standards at least, fairly brave and drove to and from the hospital myself. On my return, the house was filled with young mums and children of various ages and the birthday party was in full swing. I waddled into the lounge where a seat was cleared and I was ushered to it with sympathetic words and a cup of tea.

I gingerly sat down and let out an uneasy sigh - the sigh of a man who had just had his ball-sack hacked open and who forever more would be firing blanks. My son - 3 at the time - had obviously missed his old dad and appearing from seemingly nowhere, launched himself feet-first into my lap with a massive smile and a shout of 'DADDY!'

I cannot adequately put into words the excruciating level of pain that I experienced. Trying not to swear in front of half a dozen young mums and their offspring doubled the agony. Even now - 12 years later - I'm typing this with knees firmly locked together.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:45, 17 replies)

I get hit so often in the old ball bag while playing footy
I think they're turning into ovaries.
( Ya What Skiddlyboop, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:37, 2 replies)

Oh FFS (literally)
Always wash your hands.
(roysin, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:31, Reply)

It was like arterial spray
I was at work and caught my cock in my fly whilst pulling up my pants. If only it was my cock instead of my banjo string as then, when after finally freeing myself, the spurt of blood wouldn't have covered the mirror. It was whilst i was trying to clear the blood off the mirror that my line manager walked in finding me with tears in my eyes, blood all over my hands and my my limp cock danging in the wash basin. To prove my innocence of anything sordid I chose to roll my foreskin back to prove it was bleeding only to get him with another litte splurt. Had to go hospital where they eventually put a disovable stitch in. On the plus side my foresking now goes as far back as my right knee.
(chovnik, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:29, 1 reply)

Something about chilis

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:22, Reply)

It was summer time...
...and I was wearing shorts, and consequently under-supported in the user-support area.

As I was playing with the kids, I sat down on the bottom step of the stairs, which left my plums resting comfortably on the step. (Within my shorts, of course. I'm not weird.)

One of the little darlings then ran up to me and climbed onto my lap, incidentally resting his knee on my left nad-dangler, to which he then transferred his entire weight. Not a kick or a blow, just a short and very hard crush.

It made me cry, and it made him cry too as the yell I let out really startled him, poor mite. I ended up apologizing to him.

No permanent damage to him or me, I'm glad to say.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:14, 2 replies)

He was nicknamed 'lover-boy'
at the local, a moniker provided through a combonation of awe and jealousy; movie-star good looks, and a constant stream of gorgeous ladies traipsing through his boudoir.

I had stopped going to that particular pub some years previously, but last year bumped into the chap through friends on t'internet. We met up to talk about old times, the interim years and so on.

Fate, irony, hubris, whatever. While he told me his tale, in great detail, of his experience of penile fracture during an athletic bout of sexual congress with a very healthy and energetic young conquest, well, the phrase:

'... and I looked down and saw I was ejaculating blood... can you imagine that? ... ejaculating blood...'

had me equally enthralled and terrified like a particularly exceptional piece of Hitchcock. And then followed up by the ambulance, emergency, doctor explanations of this type of injury being statistically rather low, surgery, rehab, blue pills...

He's back on duty, chemically-assisted. And ever-so-careful.

edit: I decided to leave the mis-spelling of 'combination', it fits better to the theme
(roysin, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 16:11, Reply)

Most definitely NSFW
www.wienerbbq.com/
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:54, 3 replies)

My girlfriend was HOT
When I was but a lad I could cook 2 dishes well. Spaghetti bolognase & chili con carni (it seems I was limited to mince) I invited a girl over to sample my chilli in the hope that my culinary prowess would loosen knicker elastic.

I liked it with a couple of scotch bonnet chillies that packed a nice punch without being too macho about it. Later on after we had eaten said chilli and drank a bit of wine chatted and flirted I had indeed done enough to get down to some business time!

We were tearing at each others clothes snogging like teenagers, then I went to rub 'the little boatman'. That was when she started making some remarkable noises "ello I thought I've got a live one here!" but my joy at my sexual prowess was short lived as she broke away no longer looking very happy "WHAT THE FUCK!" she shouted "I'M BURNING"

So apparently even having a shower after preparing chillies I had enough of the chilli chemical on my fingers to cause some major discomfort.

She calmed down (and cooled down) I offered to kiss it better and I did indeed get me end away ...so yay me
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:47, Reply)

A tale from the distaff side
My sister tells the tale of the time she found a girl slumped in the toilet cubicle at work, sobbing in pain. It turns out that in her hurry she'd spun around to close the door and, being a rather large girl with inadequately-restraining undergarments, her pendulous norks had reacted to the centrifugal forces by swinging out -- with the net result that she managed to slam one of her nipples in the toilet door.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:40, 1 reply)

Always wash your hands after chopping chilli
Always.

Top Tip - wash them with cold water as hot will dilute the oils that come out of the chilli and make it stick to your hand. Same after handling fish.
( herd of chickens First part only £1.99 and comes with a free, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:40, 9 replies)

Back in the bad old days
of school I was taking a class in small engine repairs. We had work benches slightly lower than a standard counter- maybe the height of the average desk. They were great as you could comfortable work on the engine while standing.

This was also where they brought in cars for students to work on.

One day I was finishing up something on my engine when the teacher called for cleanup time. I was just at the finishing point of whatever it was, so I kept working for a couple of minutes.

My friend Calvin saw me and yelled "Hey! He said to clean up!" And he scooped a double handful of wet snow off of the hood of the car that had been pulled in a few minutes before and lobbed a snowball in my general direction.

All would have been fine, only it landed on the bench and skittered down the length to impact directly in my nadgers.

It took me a week to get him back by pasting him in the chest with a snowball in the middle of class.
( Wanderer, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:17, 2 replies)

13 or 14 years old ,bored in the summer holidays
messing about in my Dads office with a Bulldog clip.This thing wasn't one of the piddley little things you get these days but a big old 1940s war office heavy duty job, Clipping it over the edge of his desk,and twanging the handle bit, Twang Twang twang...pleasant noise like a jews harp...Twang ..spang it flew off the edge of the desk at great speed right into my semi prepubescent nutsack, contacting directly with a teste Nobody in the office witnessed what happened, but just saw me rolling around on the floor crying uncontrollably clutching my crotch.
( bane, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:07, Reply)

omg i once took acid and rubbed my cock on a cheesegrater up and down and up and down and then rubbed lemon juice into the bloody ribbons of my genitalia
it were well lol
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 15:03, 2 replies)

As pointed out by some comedians
evolution of the human body has acted as something like 'design by committee' if we survey the hodge-podge of hastily stuck-together components.

The added feature of retractable plums is one of the more pathetic of afterthoughts. Temperature dropping? In they go. Imminent danger? Er... did I tell you the outer skin is breathable and waterproof?

I'll be sitting with legs crossed all week.
(roysin, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 14:52, Reply)

Don't smoke hash spliffs on the bog
Hot rocks really hurt when they land on your winky and take about a week to heal.

That's it.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 14:50, 4 replies)

Deep Heat
The ex-girlfriend fell out of a window in Germany as a teenager, forever more suffered from back pain.

During one bout of bad back attack she put some deep heat on in the middle of the night, then fell back asleep.

Sometime later she felt a bit frisky and grabbed my man parts which were doing the normal morning routine.

It hurt a lot, I still shiver when I see a tube of that shit.

TL:DR Deep heat is not a good choice for a sexual lubricant
( Locus213 Slightly to the left of Bakunin, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 14:21, Reply)

I tend to do this a lot for some reason.
Yesterday for example I took an Easter Egg out of the fridge and eager to get back to what I was watching unwrapped it on my lap whilst sat on the sofa. It had become quite hard over night and so I had a bit of trouble breaking it into suitable sized chunks. So hard in fact that I resorted to punching it, at which point it still didn't break, instead transferring the full blow of my hefty wallop straight into my balls.
( Furness, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 14:11, Reply)

I accidentally gave my wife the flaming fanny.
You all know the story- chopping up peppers, washed hands, didn't scrub under the nails. Lots of sounds of distress.

Only I came up with a way to resolve it.

See, capsaicin (the hot stuff in chilis) is an oil, which is why drinking water won't help. It coats your tongue (or other places) and won't be flushed away. This is why drinking milk helps- the milk fat is an organic solvent enough to dilute the stuff and wash it away.

No, I didn't flush her out with milk. I reasoned that other fluids would act as an organic solvent as well.

As the sweat was drying she finally forgave me. Especially as I had a slight sensation of heat on my knob as well.
( Wanderer, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 14:06, 6 replies)

bored
I have spent the last year working away from home, which sounds quite exciting but in reality is truely boring. It has given me the opportunity to experiment quite a bit with the deeper recesses of my imagination, and so in a fit of complete gungho idiocy, I decided to buy one of those ab toner belt things and attach it to my genitals. I thought this might be a great way of automating a process and providing some much needed help during my internet fuelled 2 hour long masturbatorium sessions.
Turns out it's really fucking painful, and exceptionally difficult to switch off in a blind panic. I suspect I detached a retina screaming...
(kaptinkurtz, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 13:47, Reply)

(Pearoast) My son will not forgive me for telling you but ..

at the tender age of five he dropped the wooden toilet lid it's full height on his knob. The noise he made was like the death throes of a warthog. The bruising it left was spectacular and remained for a good couple of weeks. The sound of muffled adult laughter lasted almost as long.
( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 7 Mar 2013, 13:43, Reply)

Age 14, or so, and loitering innocently in the school computer lab,
when I was shot, point blank, in the cock, with a BB gun.
The fact that I was able to shrug, and laugh it off, gave me the brief reputation of being IMPERVIOUS TO PAIN.
To be honest, if I'd have been hanging to one side, I'd have copped it in the plums, and not been laughing.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 13:30, Reply)

My dog is awesome
However, he gets very excited when I ask him if he wants to go to the park, and has an unerring knack for jumping up and landing one right on my "gentleman sausage".

I do love the look on people's faces when they ask my dog's name and I say "Cockpunch" :D
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 13:05, 2 replies)

To make up for the fact that we've imposed this QOTW on you like FASCISTS, here's the full story...
The last mile of my commute to work is a dreadful crawl of traffic lights, idiot drivers and the bottleneck of having to cross the Thames. It's tedious, but nothing that killing everybody else won't solve.

One such morning of tedium was made completely EXCELLENT by one motorcyclist's attempts to jump the queue. Finding both lanes of traffic at the usual standstill, he decided to resort to the one clear route to the other side of the river: Nipping in front of everybody else by driving on the pavement, like a LAWBREAKER.

While I don't believe in such things as Instant Karma, I – and others in cars and vans around me – watched with no little joy as he over-revved trying to mount the kerb and his bike slipped out from under his leather-clad arse. One thing led to another as he grappled with the throbbing monster escaping from between his legs, and he was hurled – bollock-first – onto a concrete bollard.

I dare say his helmet visor prevented his plums being bodily ejected through his mouth. Oh, how we laughed.

Full-fat 12-inch remix HERE
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 13:01, 10 replies)

I hope CHB posts the story about the stripper and the dodgy pole.
Never mind, found it b3ta.com/questions/nightclubs/post401365
( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:59, 3 replies)

3rd! Yay!
18 year old me at home talking to me mum. The hoover was out and I picked up the plug end and was swinging it by the cord. I had just got it to the speed were it starts to make a wooooooh noise when I lost concentration and the plug gave me the faintest of twacks in my gentleman area. I thought 'phew that could have been painful'. Twas about 3-4 seconds before my world ended. Foetal position on the floor, white lights in the eyes, sick feeling in the stomach and my right nut feeling like it was going to swell to the size of a beachball. Mum just carried on chatting. Good times.
( sneep used to date Freddie Starr's hamster, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:57, 2 replies)

Ouch

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:56, Reply)

First
I have a four year old. Every time I enter the house she runs up for a cuddle and headbutts me in the knackers. I sit down and she wants a cuddle, elbows and knees in the bollocks. She crawls into my bed and kicks in her sleep, wallop.

I swear its cos she never wants me to breed again, thereby securing all my attention/money/love.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:56, 6 replies)