I just burned my *ahem* pelvic region (sorry, no pics)

[reg]

I was smoking, AND I was on the toilet, AND on TPF, AND had photoshop open in the background. And I had the cigarette hanging out all Raoul Duke style.... and I was photoshopping.... and chatting.... and toilet-ing... until...


OH MY GOD WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST DO

As it turned out, it wasn't so much about what the hell I just did so much as it was what I didn't. I didn't flick the ash.

Now I have a boo-boo.



TO MAKE THIS THREAD SOMEWHAT PRODUCTIVE: Post your least favorite "$(%%*" story.

 

[Yahoozy]

oh dear lord...
sorry, i cant really top that one
i did accidentally drink dish soap once though...

 

[reg]

i did accidentally drink dish soap once though...

You must elaborate.

Now!

 

[Yahoozy]

hahahah alright
so i was camping with my friend david and his mother (for reasons known only to herself) decides to keep some dish soap in a propel bottle (incidentally my favorite flavor)
so david and i come back from an hour long hike (where we, of course, forgot to bring anything to drink) and we both reach for the first bottle we can get our hands on
his was delicious
mine burned, and stuck to the roof of my mouth, my tongue, and my teeth
i proceeded to both vomit and curse in copious amounts

later that night i received a 2nd degree burn from a lantern

that day was awesome...

 

[Josh66]

I almost got shot by my roommate once...

He accidentally fired off a .44 in my general direction. Blew the arm off of the chair I was sitting in, an inch higher and it would have hit me right around the elbow. Range was probably about 3-4 feet, my entire arm was filled with gunpowder.

Somehow, I was the only one that stayed calm (me, my roommate, and a couple other people were there). I had already started taking my belt off (thought I'd need a tourniquet) before I noticed that it missed. My arm started getting real warm, I thought it was blood but it turned out to just be the gunpowder burning me. Felt like minutes, but it was probably just a few seconds.

Yup, that's how we roll around here...



j/k

 

[CowboysDaughter]

Now I have a boo-boo.

:lmao: I can't stop laughing at that one.

I guess I could tell one of my horse accident stories.

I was about 8 or 9. We had seen a mountain lion about a quarter of a mile away from the house, so Daddy and I saddled up to go look for tracks. I was on Spud, my trusty mount. HA. Daddy rode down further into the pasture and I carefully circled around closer to the gate. I finally saw a print and called to Daddy, and he told me to get off and look at it. Well as it so happens, the track was on the RIGHT side of the horse. For those of you who don't know, it's a general rule you always get off on the LEFT side of the horse. Unless you are positive your horse can take the improper dismounting. Well I had gotten off of Spud on the right side before, so I went to step off on that side. My left foot was already on the ground, and when I was little, I used to pull my foot out of the stirrup last. Daddy didn't like the idea of me getting off like that and said in his 'warning tone', "Katie...." I sigh, in a rather annoyed way, and go to get back on.

Well Spud didn't mind my getting OFF on that side.
He DID mind me coming back up. So he takes off a buckin', I have my left foot through the stirrup, and am clinging to the saddle horn, bouncing off the side of this durned horse.
In case you city people don't know, it's very dangerous to have a single foot through a stirrup like that. Because if you do get thrown, your foot probably won't come out, and you will be dragged. And if your horse is really scared of something dragging alongside him, he will run faster.
So here I am, clinging to the dang horn, Daddy yelling at me to bail, and I'm too scared too. Well I finally do and I hit the ground pretty hard. Spud ran off about 50 feet, Daddy caught him, and I jumped right back on.

And all Daddy says is, "You ruined my lion track!"



It was the first time I was ever bucked off.

 

[Antarctican]

(Sorry, just couldn't resist using that smilie!)

 

[brianne5499]

Y'all are making me feel a whole lot better about being from TN!:lmao:

Anty's right...needs pictures!:mrgreen:

 

[DeadEye]

I got a cup of scalding hot coffee from 7-11 one day, jumped into the truck and put it between my legs as there was no cup holder. Wile backing out a car pulled in close allmost hitting me so I hit the break hard, this action squeezed the cup and it spit open. WELL there is only one thing you can do when that happens and its take it off NOW ! RIGHT NOW!!!

There I was in the parking lot with pants at my ankles jumping and flapping for the world to see. Screaming like a little girl that I was badly burned. Its funny now but was not at all then.

 

[Tyjax]

I got a cup of scalding hot coffee from 7-11 one day, jumped into the truck and put it between my legs as there was no cup holder. Wile backing out a car pulled in close allmost hitting me so I hit the break hard, this action squeezed the cup and it spit open. WELL there is only one thing you can do when that happens and its take it off NOW ! RIGHT NOW!!!

There I was in the parking lot with pants at my ankles jumping and flapping for the world to see. Screaming like a little girl that I was badly burned. Its funny now but was not at all then.

You. Win.

 

[Alex_B]

That is why I do not smoke, if you just spill your (cold) drink there it might look embarrassing, but it does not hurt

 

[Alex_B]

hahahah alright
so i was camping with my friend david and his mother (for reasons known only to herself) decides to keep some dish soap in a propel bottle (incidentally my favorite flavor)
so david and i come back from an hour long hike (where we, of course, forgot to bring anything to drink) and we both reach for the first bottle we can get our hands on
his was delicious
mine burned, and stuck to the roof of my mouth, my tongue, and my teeth
i proceeded to both vomit and curse in copious amounts

later that night i received a 2nd degree burn from a lantern

that day was awesome...

but everyone knows that storing chemicals of whatever type in that kind of bottles is a big NO-NO.

 

[Pugs]

Hm...

Not really an accident, but I can share my most embarassing moment.

My wife and I honeymooned in Ireland and I had dragged along a guitar because I had just started playing again after more than a decade of not and I didn't want to lose a couple of weeks worth of practice time. Plus I figured that it would be cool to maybe learn something from any musicians we might come across (because, in Ireland, there are wandering bards and minstrals... really... all over the freakin' place... or something like that). Keep in mind that I had only been playing again for about a month at the most and I was never that great a decade earlier so I wasn't exactly high-speed and low-drag at this point.

The place we were staying at was an old manor house that had been converted into a B&B right in the dead center of Ireland in this little rural community called Castledaly. There was a man who was a sort of local historian whom the manor's proprietor had arranged to speak to us ig'nant Americans when our group first arrived. This gent was a fantastic man. He had worked for the UN for his entire adult life before retiring back home to Castledaly.

Upon seeing me disembark the bus that bounced and tossed us from Dublin to Castledaly (my ass still has bruises to this day!) with a guitar, he remarked, "Ah, we have ourselves a musician amongst us!" (you'll have to imagine his rich rolling brogue that barely qualifies as English). My protestations that I had only been playing for a month or so fell on deaf ears as he placed my claims of inexperience squarely in the category of false humility.

That first night, however, the manor house was hosting a wine and cheese tasting party to raise money for the local school. They had a wonderful trio of bass, guitar, guitar, with all three singing. They were fantastic (see... wandering bards and minstrals!) and happily I could sing along with many of the songs because of my South Side, Chicago-Irish-American upbringing.

About an eighth of the way into the party (meaning midnight), the historian guy gets up and grabs the mic in between songs and says, "We're blessed tonight to have with us a guest musician from The States" (again the written word can't do justice to the beauty of this man's brogue, so you'll just have to make do with imagination).

At this point, idiot me was looking around the room trying to figure out who this guest musician could be since I didn't recall seeing any other instruments on the bus from Dublin. I looked back up at him and he looked at me and said, "Dan... are you ready?"

I was stunned and my first instinct was to act like he was talking to someone else, but as a six foot, two inch, one-eyed Asian man in the middle of Ireland, I kinda stood out in the crowd and people were already staring at me. My wife, my brand new bride, bless her over-supportive, adventurous soul, was poking me and saying, "go get your guitar, Honey, what a memory this'll be!" And the other Americans of our group, in a bond forged in the shared trial and tribulation of that bus-ride, lent their very vocal support as well (drunk Americans in a foreign country are VERY vocal... I can't explain it, but it is an unalterable truth!).

In a moment of panic, I caved to the pressure of my wife and peers and went up to our room to get my guitar as the band kicked up a rousing reel. I briefly pondered the possibility that I could stay in our room and that my absence would go unnoticed. There was still that big, one-eyed Asian man thing working against me, though. So I resolutely grabbed my guitar and went back down to the bar.

I did a quick, crappy tuning with hands that were shaking like a double-wide in a tornado. Now, understand that I have no problems with public speaking. I can get up in front of a group of the most powerful people in the world and deliver a lecture, run a seminar, give a presentation, whatever. I love speaking in front of groups. It's my gift, my talent. For this, though, I was terrified. Absolutely petrified. The finest tuning fork in the world can't quiver as I was at that moment. Maybe it had to do with the fact that I sucked as a guitar player, but I was more frightened than the time I decided at fourteen or fifteen to pick a fight with one kid without realizing that the six guys on the stoop across the street were his friends and family.

The band was wonderful in giving me space, hooking my acoustic-electric guitar into their PA system, and what-not. I was still trembling, though, and, if anything, it was getting worse. I thought, okay, I'll just rip through some fingerpicking pieces that I know cold and be done with it, but I was shaking so badly that songs that I'd played hundreds of times became an impossibility. Freight Train sounded like it had jumped the tracks, the simplified arrangement that I knew of Für Elise sounded more like "furry lisa", and Malaguena was just "mal".

In my panic, I somehow decided that holding a chord and strumming would be a better idea. The only problem then is that you then have to sing or it's just plain boring. Again in my panic I decided that'd be fine; I've got a so-so voice and a reasonable sense of pitch.

I don't recall smoking crack that day, but I surely must have.

So there I was stumbling my way through a horrid rendition of "The Gunner's Dream". Every note I sang came with its own built in vibrato and was at least a quarter-step below where it was intended.

My wife, bless her over-supportive, adventurous soul (yeah, I know I'm recycling phrases, but bless her, it just fits, especially that evening), decided that she would come up and help me out by singing with me. You have to understand that my wife has a lovely singing voice but completely lacks any musical training or sense of music. If there are a couple of measures of instrumental only at the end of a verse, she'll just keep motoring on to chorus without pause.

So there we were singing "Closer to Fine" and I was playing the instrumental at the end of the first verse and she was singing the chorus and I had to stop us. Did I mention that in addition to having no sense of timing, she also has a tendency to ignore the accompaniment altogether and sing in whatever key is comfortable for her? No? Well, yeah... that's what she does.

So, I stopped, but she wasn't listening and kept right on going until I had to say into the mic, "Baby, we gotta stop, Baby... we sound terrible..."
You'd think that I'd have quit there, but no, my fear and panic had disappeared into the black hole that my self-esteem left behind as it shrank to a miniscule point. I was suddenly determined to somehow redeem myself in some small way so I launched us into a rousingly retched rendition of "House of the Rising Sun" (have you noticed that the songs kept getting easier and easier?). We managed to finish off that number and my self-esteem. Any determination that I had left had wilted to the point where I was no longer able to beat back the tide of self-pity long enough to do another song so I gracelessly exited the stage dragging my guitar and my pride behind me. I packed both into my guitar case.

You'll have to again imagine the historian's brogue as he took the stage after me and said, "Let's hear it for Dan... perhaps he'll be back again and with a bit more practice he'll truly be something!" Bless him and his kind, generous, Irish heart. I don't think he realized how far that comment would twist the dagger.

So later that night, or rather morning, (around three), as we were lying in bed, Beth snoring so slightly in her wonderfully adorable way, I was still staring at the ceiling listening to the band still going strong downstairs, pondering how incredibly awful my first live performance had been. Beth must have sensed and been awakened by the vibes of negativity and self-pity that radiated from me, because she rolled over and said, "Honey, what are you doing still awake?"

"I think that I should go down and apologize to the band for how bad I was," was my reply.

To this day, I bear the scars of that experience. And I'm not just referring to the bruises on my ass from that bus-ride. At no other point in my life have I ever felt the same abject humiliation that I did that night in Ireland. I'm starting to flush and sweat just thinking about it.

It was definitely not an experience I would wish on anyone and I haven't performed publicly since.



Oof! Sorry for the long-a$$ post!

 

[Phazan]

Well it was my 18th birthday a few days ago, so me and a couple friends decided to go smoke a cigar at the park to celebrate the legalness...I accidently rested the ash part on my leg (I was sitting reallllly fancy) and it hurt. Hahaa

 

[tasman]

I was smoking, AND I was on the toilet, AND on TPF, AND had photoshop open in the background. And I had the cigarette hanging out all Raoul Duke style.... and I was photoshopping.... and chatting.... and toilet-ing... until...


Now I have a boo-boo.

Now thats an image I have in my mind now, so I dont want to see the real image. The other thing I want to know is, why were you TPFing and Photoshoping and Chatting while on the........... LOL. Now I have heard of multitasking but.......