Last Christmas eve
I wound up in hospital with my dad (long and VERY amusing story for another post) and while we're waiting for him to get some stitches to his leg (really, it's a long story) he whispers to me with a grin, for such is the way of my dad.
"I really need to fart"
Just then the ambulance guys deliver a morbidly obese guy who had torn a ligament in his arm when he fell to the curtained off bed next to us.
He's in a bit of pain and moaning, so they install him in the bed and walk off to fill out paperwork.
Dad winks at me, lets rip and it's LOUD.
All eyes in the emergency room turn and look straight at the fat guy.
( difficultchild, Sat 12 Feb 2011, 21:52, 4 replies)

Withholding click
Until story told.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Sun 13 Feb 2011, 10:47, closed)

OK... I really was saving this for an appropriate QOTW, but here you go.
So last Christmas Eve I arrive in Adelaide, South Australia to visit my parents who have moved from the house where I grew up to a semi-assisted living place. It's like a gated suburb that has its own shopping centre, community centre with a pool and library, lawnbowls place and bar and a doctor on call 24 hours a day.
Its where you live when you've still got all your marbles and are still able to get around, but wouldn't mind having someone close by who can keep an eye out for you if you need help.
(This is important background because it gives you an idea of how utterly insular this place is, nothing ever happens and everybody wanders past to say hello, everyone knows everyone's business).
Anyway, I arrive and as usual its fucking hot, 37C so I say to day: "Got any beer?"
"Actually," he replies, "I've got 60 beers, I've taken up home brewing! I'll stick some in the fridge."
While his brew was cooling down we're sitting relaxing when I hear, through the wall, "BOOM!"
"WTF?" Dad asks, we get up and walk into the garage and see the homebrew is not reacting well to the heat and four (not in the fridge have exploded sending beer and glass everywhere. All over the car, up the walls, all over the floor.
I've got my son with me who is 16 months old, so he gets rushed back inside, dad grabs the crate of 40 bottles and as I yell "Whatthefuckareyoudoingputthemdown!!!" he bolts outside to put the beers on the footpath well away from where we all are. As he turns to run away, a few more go off and he's blasted with glass.
Fortunately it's all from the knees down, but there's blood everywhere, beer everywhere and chaos galore. So I sit him down and much to his horror, call an ambulance.
Sirens blaring, they arrive, throw a blanket over the seething case of beer at the footpath and sort out Dad's legs. Fortunately of the 20 or so cuts, most are quite small and they remove the glass, telling him only one needs attention.
While they're telling him this, another bottle explodes, so the ambo calls the firebrigade to aks what they should do about the other bottles.
"Right... Ummm, OK," the ambulance woman says and about a minute later we hear more sirens and a firetruck with half a dozen guys arrives, followed nother minute later by the State Emergency Service truck (also with siren going) and a further five guys.
It appears the call has somehow been misheard as "multiple gas bottles exploding in a nursing home".
So predictably, they arrive in a hurry, noisily and with every bit of exquipment they can carry.
And laugh when they realise the mistake.
Anyway, they're here, so they unroll the hoses, put on the heavy leather aprons and gloves, helmets with big visors and set about sort out the beers.
Every third or fourth beer goes "BOOM!" as they uncap it, exploding glass all over the place, much to the general amusement of the various emergency services people who are milling about.
By this stage, as you can imagine, almost everyone in the complex has come running to see what is going on. There's crowds of bored old people standing around pointing, staring and offering advice. One old dear walked right up to the case of exploding beers with her small dog on a lead because she was too deaf to hear everyone yelling "GO AWAY! NO! NO! BACK OFF!!!"
Eventually they had to (in the words of a very amused firie) "execute controlled detonations" of all 60 beers, then sweep up the glass, hose down the beer and send dad off to the hospital.
It was by far the best Christmas the retirement place had ever seen and whenever anyone asked me what I got for Christmas, I say "An anecdote!" and explain.
And no, I didn't think to take a single picture while this was all going on. The only evidence I have is a copy of the ambulance report which says: "77 year old male has laceration to right lower leg post beer bottle exploding (home brew) overheated" as the cause. And a pic of his stitches.
And that's the story.
( difficultchild, Mon 14 Feb 2011, 0:31, closed)

That
is bloody awesome.

And clicked.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 14 Feb 2011, 16:51, closed)

Great story.
Click!
( Evil Bastardo, Mon 14 Feb 2011, 17:32, closed)