My frontal lobe
No not that one you filthy minded cretins, the rather important part of your brain.

Back when I still lived with my mum, I was sitting watching TV whilst furiously snaffling down my dinner, I had a bit of a cold at the time and I let rip with an almighty sneeze that loosened my eyeballs in their sockets.

As you do, I inspected the fruit of my nose that had come to rest in my snotrag, to discover an inch long quivering, lumpy red mass.
Somewhat disconcerted, I poked at it a bit and concluded that I had just SNEEZED MY OWN BRAIN OUT.

Cue me running, eyes goggled in terror, to my mum convinced I'd snotted out a chunk of my brain, never once stopping to think that the product of my nosesplosion might have been one of the chunks of beetroot I had been greedily stuffing inside me.

I was 18 at the time.
(Bellamy's Enemy, Tue 6 Jun 2006, 10:49, Reply)

Bacon slicer...
...I used to work in a butchers and once I agreed to a bet to stick my cock in the bacon slicer.
I didn't damage my cock much and found the experience actually very pleasant, but I got caught by the boss and he sacked me.

Mind you, the bacon slicer was his 16 year old daughter.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sat 3 Jun 2006, 19:25, Reply)

one leggyness
when i was a wee babe, due to complications at birth, i had a foot lopped off. Pretty drastic, in some ways, but one has to make the best of a situation, and consequently, as i am a man of mischevious ways, i found many many ways to make it as amusing as possible. Clearly, as i went to the same school as the legendary Scaryduck (and am in fact immortalised in one of his stories here : www.geocities.com/coleman66uk/life/corridor.html ), the possibilites were vast, to say the least..
Dawned the day of the first cross country run for 1st years - the legendary (and appropriately named, natch) 'sewers course'. A hundred or so skinny pasty 11 year-olds lining up at the top of the playing field, quaking in anticipation of the stinky horrors of running through a couple of miles of effluent, made worse by the Big Boys in the upper years, who'd made a point for weeks of relating the legends of the kids who'd taken the Big Step into the quag. Fuck this, I thought, and 'accidentally' released the retaining mechanism of my placcy leg. Cue the start - 99 kids leg it across the field, one takes one step forwards, performs a graceful face plant into the sward, leaving an upright leg on the start line. not a big problem, really, except for the reaction of the slightly retarded bloke that was driving the mower that day - had to be calmed down by the majestic welshness of mr Curtis, the games teacher - who could barely talk, he was laughing so much... never did do a cross country run.
Some years later, at Reading central swimming pool, a municipal pool of epic mankyness, saw me rolling around on the floor, stump covered in ketchup, shouting "shark! shark!", and spending the rest of the session hooting at the sight of mothers dragging their terrified children into the pool, giving me the most evil eye...
Twisting the old fake leg thru 180 degrees and walking along usually provides much mirth, too. Should know better, at 38, but what the hell....
(micky2shoes has more shoes than feet, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 13:37, Reply)

Congratulations....!
Unlike some of you unlucky souls, I’ve managed to avoid getting myself into many nasty scrapes and losing parts of my anatomy. That said, I’m sure the gods are now working on a way for me to do so now that I’ve written that down. However, I have ‘gained’ an extra part of my body which has provided a fascinating diversion for those who have seen it.

At the age of fifteen, I was nicely filling out into a young man. However, on watching Good Morning Britain before school, I was introduced to the new terror that was gripping the nation: Testicular Cancer! Terrified of my bollocks swelling up to mutant proportions and taking over the rest of my body, I hastily checked to see whether all was still ok down there. A quick inventory revealed: 1 schlong, one hairy beanbag and yes, 1 ball, 2 balls, 3 balls…!? WTF!!? I recounted. You’d be amazed how many times you can count to three and think you’re counting two twice.

My breakfast made a guest appearance again and before I knew it, I was being rushed into my GP for examination. A second opinion was called for and I was booked into hospital. The four days waiting was excruciating. I was expecting my mutant extra bollock to start taking over my body any minute. Or go green. Or cause me endless pain. Every day I expected it to be my last.

Therefore, you can imagine how disappointed I was when the doctor gave it a brief examination before declaring that it was nothing but a fluid filled cyst and completely benign.

“Congratulations,” he declared, “you have a spare testicle!” Strangely, he then shook my hand and sent me on my way.

So there you have it. I gained an extra bollock all thanks to Anne Diamond. But I got off lucky. Gents, next time you’re down there, have a check, you too may get the chance to be called ‘Whojanickabollockoff’ for the rest of your days. Apologies for the lack of humour, I’ll go hack my foot off so I’ve got something funny to write about next week. :)

P.S. It does have a name. I call it E.T. the extra testicle.
(Mr Evian, Mon 5 Jun 2006, 13:07, Reply)

Ewww....
A few cases I have seen as a paramedic:

21 year old female fell through plate glass window and amongst other injuries she sliced off her right nipple. I asked where it was and she opened her mouth to show me she had been protecting it with her saliva. Reattached but apparently with loss of sensitivity.

Male cyclist vs car – cyclist bit through the front third of his tongue severing it. I found it on the road (he was unconscious). It was reattached and I suspect it screwed up his taste buds and ability to French kiss or give oral. Tragic indeed.

Torn scrotum and severed testicle on man who kicked a police dog. The police dog did the severing. Luckily the dog didn’t swallow.

Many “deglovings” - I hate these. This is where (for example) an unrestrained child suddenly goes through a windscreen causing the scalp/head skin/facial skin to be removed/skinned/peeled as it goes through the glass. (Seatbelt your kids please.)

A psychiatric patient who deliberately cut off his ear with a razor and on my arrival was holding it to the TV speaker. Sewn back on under protest.

A bikie chick who lost a leg – her partner was equally injured in the same accident but there was a happy ending. He gave up his outlaw bikie lifestyle, married her and now loves to crack jokes about their coital efforts. His favourite line is “C’mon baby, spread your leg!” Lovely people.

Only been to one intentional decapitation – severed by a train and no, they didn’t sew it back on. Train driver near lost his mind, poor bastard.

Total loss of all skin on a burns patient (suicide) who had 100% 3rd degree (full thickness) burns. Really strange appearance. Hard to describe. Died of course, but not straight away, and he did talk to me for a brief time which was a bit unnerving.

And then you get the 'real emergency' cases such as the young lady who phoned 000 (911/999) for a broken fingernail. I needed counselling after the trauma of that one...


Heaps more, but that’s enough length for now. Unless of course you want to sew it back on.

(edit: Undercovercarrot - thanks, loved the link!)
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Sun 4 Jun 2006, 16:58, Reply)

Womb with a view
10 years ago I had to get neutered for medical reasons and being 24, I asked that my girly bits be returned to me so I could give them a decent atheist burial. After a considerable hospital stay, major surgery and some top class drugs, I was discharged home. 3 weeks later I rang the hospital and asked where my ex-organs were. Long story short: 6 weeks later I finally tracked down the charge nurse on the gyny ward and she told me to come in and pick up a package that was stored in the ward fridge. I trekked over, got the brown paper bag with a heavy container handed to me and headed back home on the bus.

At 2am I decided to take a peak (as you do) and I shit you not, the container was filled with mashed spud and mixed veg!

I like to think that some poor old dear was served an interesting snack that night and a couple of nurses got well fired. Never did find out where they went.....
(jo-jo the majic clown, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 10:49, Reply)

I got attacked
by this dodgy fucker that lived next door to my dads flat. it later turned out that he's a smack-pushing paedophile, but that's peripheral to my story. i was on the balcony outside my dads flat, when this guy comes hurtling out of the darkness (bear in mind i was 17 at the time) and lamps me one in the face, goes ape to attack me, then shoves me off of a second floor balcony.

luckily, my dads flat was right next to a stairwell, and the only thing which stopped me dying was catching onto the lower stairwell with one hand. thats fucking scary. so i hauled myself back onto these stairs, and ran back up to find this guy attacking my dad, who at the time was suffering from liver cancer (RIP), and the pair of them hanging off the edge of the balcony. not just hanging off, but them only staying on by the back of my dads knees hanging onto the last unbroken slat of wooden fence along this balcony.

had my dad not just been in great peril, the guy would have experienced the feeling of the meat cleaver i was running along with, but deciding saving my dad was much better, i ran over, and pulled up both fully grown men by this guys hair. sweet.

he slinked off, and my dad got me to hospital, where i had lost two pints of blood, two front teeth, both lips split, and a fucking huge crack up the front side of my skull. i can't thank the guy who fixed me up enough, getting up at midnight from south london to come all the way to romford to help out a busted up kid? champion of the world, mate.

now i have fake teeth, which glow under uv light. and the guy who attacked me can no longer walk. *cough*

and just for sheer trophy, i have about three square inches of this guys scalp, complete with lank unwashed paedo hair, in a fucking bag. hardcore!

apologies for length and girth, but you love it, you filthy, filthy slut you.
(fantomex, Sun 4 Jun 2006, 10:30, Reply)

Not Me
But I was responsible.

I used to be a really strong bloke when I did lots of rock climbing and I used to show off arm-wrestling people. Not any more.

The last time I arm wrestled was at a party in the early 90's. I was showing off, taking on all-comers and chatting breezily away while they tried their hardest to make my arm move even a fraction. Then I'd glance at them while still chatting to someone else and slam their arm down without the slightest effort.

Then this guy I worked with had a go. We faced off, gripped hands and took the strain. Then my opponent hurled his full strength and body-weight into his arm and *pushed* with all of his strength.

CLICK-THUMP!

Honestly that's what it sounded like as his arm hammered into the table. He was still bent over with the effort and looked up.

"Did I win?" he said looking amazed...

"Errr - mate. Look at your arm" said one of the onlookers...

He looked down and arm was flat on the table, my hand was still gripping his hand and where his upper arm was snapped cleanly in two with a big loop of muscle hanging down in the middle of his arm.

He looked shocked.

"Fuck" he said. "This is going to really,really hurt" and promptly went into shock.

So that's my tale. How last time I arm-wrestled, somebody's arm came off in my hand......

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 10:16, Reply)

Missing boob
I used to work with someone who only had one boob (breast cancer had resulted in the loss of the other one). Being quite a well-endowed woman, she wore a large fake one to balance herself out.

One morning, she came dashing into my office, looking awfully lopsided, and shouting 'I've forgotten my boob!' It was too far to go home to fetch it, so she wrapped some bubble wrap in a duster and stuffed that in instead. It crackled when she moved.

Epilogue: she since had reconstructive surgery, meaning I could employ that rarely-used phrase 'Your new boob looks great!'
(Pachey, Mon 5 Jun 2006, 23:59, Reply)

Lost my norks...
...after breastfeeding 2 kids. DD to a B. Hungry little parasites.

Also grew two shoe sizes, one for each kid. Started at a size 7, now a size 9.

No boobs and clown feet. Getting old sucks.
(Peelmytangerines, Mon 5 Jun 2006, 14:57, Reply)

oh yes
A bit of my ear came off once when I fell off my bicycle riding down a hill blind drunk.

There are lots of elements to this story, including me shouting incredulously to a foreign cleaner in a geriatric ward that she needed to sew my ear back on AT ONCE!

But the main part was that when I eventually found Casualty and was being seen to, the Doctor got a needle stick, and said she needed to ask me some questions. She asked my profession and, hilariously, I replied "rent boy". She said "this is serious" and I told her "don't worry I'm a high class hooker, my blood is clean as a whistle, you won't get the AIDS or anything".

When I went to have the stitches out a few weeks later, sober and ashamed, they said "you're not Browser are you?". I replied that I was, and that I was surprised they knew my name, given that I was a day early for my appointment. The nurse said "so you're a prostitute then?" and I replied in the negative; "I work in publishing".
"Well" she replied "I've got prostitute down here on your medical record so I'm afraid you're stuck with that now. Ah well at least you are 'high class'". How they all laughed.

If I'm in an accident please tell my mother my medical records are inaccurate.

Apologies for length (OF MY PENIS!!!!)
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 16:11, Reply)

Big Fight With Dad
My Dad went a bit "mental" once after the loss of my Mum (which he was totally responsible for, but that's another story ...)

Anyway, I once had this MASSIVE fight with my father, resulting in him slicing my entire hand off with a fucking hot sword, you really couldn't imagine the pain I was in.

Anyway, after many hours of painful surgery, I was fitted with a prosthetic hand and fingers.

Which was nice.

I didn't want to rule the universe with him anyway.

(Pop!)
(fatboybubba, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 13:08, Reply)

1 Ball
When my cousin was born a few years ago,the doctors discovered he only had one ball. They decided it may still be floating about in his body,and they'd need to operate to get the little bugger and put it back in the ballbag.

Now,seeing as it was a baby having an operation,every relative we know of bought him hoardes of cuddly toys,baby books,and videos.

One elderly relative actually bought him a video called 'Pingu and the lost ball'. And didn't even realise the cruelness. Fucking funny though.

In the end it turned out my cousin didnt have that elusive second nadger,and his parents didn't make him have an implanted false one. Hah,he'll have some explaining to do in the future...
(Miharu, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 11:08, Reply)

Not me but....
my cat. 22 years old he is, and he still wont die. had to have an eye removed, cost £150!!! could have done it for free with a stick.
(TurboGEEK is thinking wizards should know better., Tue 6 Jun 2006, 13:54, Reply)

I cringe to type it, but...
We've all heard fingernails on the chalkboard. Done correctly, they reduce the finest of men to sniveling hairy sacks of viscera and excrement.

My friend decided to see if teeth on the chalkboard had the same effect.

He approached the slate and scraped his incisors downward. Clutched his mouth, ran from the classroom - a few seconds later, cue a muffled yet blood-curdling screech from the gents.

Left on the chalkboard was a thin straight white line. Of his tooth enamel.
(ZugZwang refuses to update his profile., Sat 3 Jun 2006, 4:13, Reply)

Me nephew's got in "innie"
Not as in belly-button, but as in his cock. He had a rare condition that when he was born, his penis had developed inside-out and was growning INSIDE HIM instead. Obviously, if left unchecked and he got a hard-on he'd end up fucking his organs (literally), so docs had to operate on him at the age of 2.

So he was administered in hospital, and had to have the only thing which works for this; a penis extension operation, which was a complete success.

The kid's now aged 3, hung like a donkey and starring in porn.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 11:59, Reply)

3 years ago I lost a testicle to cancer
which was a bit of a downer but better than death, but now I have loads and loads of extra skin in my ball bag, the one remaining testicle now hangs so low I have to wear tighty whitey underpants because wearing boxers gives it too much freedom to swing round and under my arse so I'm constantly sitting on it which frankly hurts.

There's so much skin because proir to the removal of the dodgy nut it was twice the size it should have been and as heavy as a lead weight.


I s'pose I should as for a tuck really..
( Darryn.R, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 11:42, Reply)

I lost my
foot, did'nt know how i would cope but the difference is staggering!
(djgalaxe, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 8:55, Reply)

I have three bollocks!
That got your attention, but seriously this was what I thought for several months at about the age of 15.

Eventually I plucked up the courage and got my mum to take me to the Doctor who was very sympathetic and explaned carefully and quite tactfully that I didn't actually have 3 bollocks (or cancer - my other worry) and it was in fact a cyst ( a sort of water filled sack of nothing)

Anyway I went to hospital and after many scans etc they decided to remove it. General anaesthetic job etc.

The first thing my Dad says when I wake up is:
'something went wrong'
before explaining that the thing was actually a giant bitch of a hernia, meaning I now have a scar on my scrote (I can't find it anymore though) and what appears to be an appendectomy performed by a blind mong just inside the pube area of my lower belly.

sincere appologies for length but at least you don't have three balls.
( WormuIus, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 19:17, Reply)

Hair.

I've been visibly losing my hair since age 16 or so, which led to my growing it long in high school. I'm 28 now, I don't mind being bald, and people are even occasionally inclined to rub my head, which is nice.
( Rob T Firefly talked, like, William Shatner, on, Sun 4 Jun 2006, 1:53, Reply)

He smells great!


I was taking care of a man who had lost his nose. The docs had grown a replacement for him out of his own forehead (now that was gross) and reattached it to his nose-stump. I was cleaning the stitches of dried blood and mucus and chatting away with him. I told him it was going to look so much better now and he told me he'd had a plaster on it so as not to scare his 7 kids. I asked, "How'd you lose it in the first place?" He blushed and admitted he'd been in a bar fight and "some asshole bit it off."

"Well, why didn't they just sew it back on at once?"

In this tone of utter and passionate outrage, he answered: "The motherf*cker SWALLOWED it!"



And-- I had a tumor in me tongue about the size of a lima bean and painful, so the doc wanted to sedate me, then take it out under general. I don't do sedation since I am so filthy-minded I make Brian Blessed seem angelic and without any brakes on my tongue (haha) I'd probably ask the cute anesthesiologist if I could blow him.

So he did it under local-it was the coolest thing ever! I could feel everything, but without pain. I could feel the scalpel slide through my tongue, the forceps rootling around in there, the rasp of the tendils of tumour riiipping free... It sounds gross, but it wasn't. I'd love to have an operation like that--to feel everything without any pain.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 20:11, Reply)

The ultimate culinary faux pas
Normally I'm not a bad cook. One day I was cooking grilled trout with fennel couscous for a friend. Our story begins with me chopping lemons for the couscous. Somehow, the hand holding the lemon slipped and I cut my finger instead. There was quite a lot of blood but it didn’t hurt too much, so I thought it would be a really bright idea to just bandage it up until the bleeding stopped, and clean and dress it properly after lunch. I should have realised due to past experience [being dragged kicking and screaming to casualty with a dislocated kneecap that I insisted was “just a bruise”] that when faced with serious injury I tend to have;

a) Impaired judgement; and
b) A stupidly high pain threshold.

Alas, this did not occur to me.

So, we had lunch, which was quite yummy. My finger throbbed slightly, but I ignored it. Then we had some tea. By this time, it was about an hour since I had cut my finger. After hunting around for another several minutes for steri strips, I removed the now blood-soaked plaster to inspect the damage.

I was missing the end of my finger. Oh yes, a substantial chunk of my fingertip had been cut clean off.

It was then that I had a horrific vision of the events of an hour previously. After I had finished squeezing the lemons, I had actually scraped the dregs of lemon juice left on the chopping board into the salad. I had actually served my guest *human flesh*.

Luckily this turned out not to be the case – the missing fingertip turned up in the leftovers, but having been marinated in lemon and olive oil for the last 90 minutes, the chances of having it stitched back on were pretty slim to say the least.

It healed no problem though, and I even played a cello recital only a month afterwards.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Fri 2 Jun 2006, 12:06, Reply)

Not like your average story...
My dad's friend had a body part die inside of him. No word of a lie.

Years back my dad worked down't pit as all Yorkshire folk did. He worked with a man who, though a lovely bloke, had terrible breath.(And when you're a mile underground ain't no fresh air coming in).

The guy stopped coming to work and my dad asked his mum why. And was told he had two months to live.

Turns out the guy's lung had become blocked and died inside of him. The bad breath was the rotting flesh. He was never in pain. And died peacefully - and in true Yorkshire style joking to the end.

So whilst there will be the typical 'I knew a man with no finger rofl!' comments, imagine the man my dad was mates with, all those years ago, who lived for over a year with a dead, rotting lung inside his chest.
(Northern Lovely, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 22:58, Reply)

A chickpea in my knee
I found a weird lump near my right knee. This, oddly enough, corresponded with my Dad's weird lump near his right elbow - which looks like a third elbow, it's so big.

Sensibly enough, I decided to operate.

Myself.

Upon myself.

Bizarrely enough, I wasn't pissed.

So.

I cut it out.

It looked just like a chickpea.

It hasn't come back.

Thankfully.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 21:37, Reply)

Norks!
I have a chunk of my right boob missing - it's a tiny chunk. I had an abcess that had to be surgically removed a few years ago, and as the wound had to be left open to drain (and packed with dressing on a daily basis), I now have a rather nice scar where the bit of my boob is missing.
I'd post pictures, but nobody wants to see my boobs, do they?
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 19:57, Reply)

ow, twunt
a friend and his dad went fishing. They got all the stuff out of the boot, and dad slammed it shut. On my friend's thumb.

The last half-inch was hanging off, and his dad, in a moment of 'clarity', ripped it off, ran away, then threw it in the river.

We will never know why.
(niceandwarmandhot vive la résistance, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 19:05, Reply)

A chunk of my left kneecap
Broke off in a sport related incident in school (though I wasn't even involved in the sport since I'd forgotten my PE kit). I was messing around with a football and someone decided it would be fun to try a sliding tackle. My leg bent backwards with an almighty crunching sound and I end up with torn cartiladge and a chipped kneecap. Unfortunately, this didn't show up on the x-ray and therefore wasn't removed. So here's the semi-confession: It's not missing as such. It's still in there floating around, and quite frequently gets stuck in the joint meaning I can't straighten my leg properly. Occasionally this happens while I am in motion causing me to mis-step and fall flat on my face.

How I love the human body.
( shovelboy This is bad - Two minutes to Belgium, Thu 1 Jun 2006, 19:05, Reply)

Been done?
I lost virtually all my facial hair in a bizarre accident this morning with some soap and a so-called 'safety razor'.

You'd think I'd have learned by now, same thing happens every damn morning when I'm getting ready for work...
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 5 Jun 2006, 13:14, Reply)

Skin from the waist down

I was in the fitter’s workshop changing some bearings or other when in rushed Wee Johnny McEwan the smallest and dodgyish pieces eating Scottish fitter you'll ever meet. He proceeded to remove his overalls and sprint as fast as his little legs would carry him into the toilets/changing rooms. It was then that a strange eggish sort of smell filled the air. Thinking this must be some sort of hideous trouser filling incident I turned round to see smoke coming from his discarded overalls, upon further inspection and a subtle boot I found his overalls were slowly disintegrating leaving a nice little concave dome in the concrete floor. Being a nosey git I went into the toilets to find Wee John in one of the ablution fountains with an Indian operator holding down the foot pedal and John frantically washing large bits of blistered and burnt skin off his legs off with water. It transpires that to carry out some work on one of the furnaces John needed to isolate the oil feed to the plant; valve height approximately 7ft, now to a six foot fitter no problem. To a four foot six sweaty sock some form of elevation device was required. This took the form of an inconspicuous blue plastic lidded barrel which completely unbeknown to John contained the etching acid for the piston pins we used to make and sell. So up jumped John, stood on the plastic lid which with its inability to hold a small Scotsman gave way immersing him up to at least the waist with acid. Funnily enough shortly after this incident all of the acids were kept in a locked bund wall container and there was talk of a drench shower. The whisper was that John settled on a six figure sum out of court and went on to be a trolley collector at the local Sainsbury’s. Working in this sort of environment people regularly lose fingers or finger tips because they "link out" the safety devices on machines, we had eyes lost and even a pair of feet! but to lose all that skin below the waist without being Jewish? Thank god I'm a desk jockey now!





** Its long and thin, but that’s only because I'm a tight fisted wanker!**
(The Hooded Fishfinger, Mon 5 Jun 2006, 8:12, Reply)

Arsecrack
Where there should be a crack, there is none. I come from a greek backround, so that makes me about 95% hair. One of the hair folicles near my crack decided to become ingrown. I needed 2 surgeries to get rid of it. Now the area is flat with a scar where it used to be.

And it's gone all numb as they had to sever a nerve to get rid of it. So if someone poked me, I can't feel it. It's especially annoying as if it gets itchy, I have no idea if I'm scratching it or not.

I really wish that story was more exciting.
(silentnick, Sat 3 Jun 2006, 15:55, Reply)