*This happened last Wednesday, 6/14/17

My Current Eye Situation

My left eye is a lazy eye and is much worse than my right. I have to have fairly powerful contacts, therefore I had rely on my right eye a lot. My vision is fine when both contacts are in.

The screw Up

Ahh, It's early Wednesday morning, and my young 14 year old self has planned on making some extra cash thanks to a Summer job. I was going to be doing metal roofing on a fairly steep house with my grandfather. I'm accustomed to this job and it's not something I'm scared of, however I understand the dangers and take all precautions when working. With such a dangerous job, you would think I FU would be on the roof, right? Wrong. After hours of sweat and hard work, the job was over. Time to pack up! I start with picking up the old shingles that we scraped off to replace with shiny metal panels, then cleaned up whatever else trash was thrown around. Then, it was time to pack up the air compressor. I began to unhook the air hose from the compressor. I have done this many times, so I thought nothing of it. I began to pull the mechanism used to release it, however it was harder than usual (Most likely because it was under more pressure than I assumed). Here is where all my bad Decisions come in and turn into a FU. I pull, and pull, but for some reason it won't come off. So I decide to put my foot on it and push, as well as use both hands and pull the hose, therefore I had no way of stopping the hose once it came off and flailed everywhere. However, I wasn't really concerned about it, because what could a little air under pressure do? ^POP. Yay! It came off. I god. It just hit my right eye.

The hose didn't hit my eye, but the air did. It hurt, but it wasn't to bad. Kinda like when you get punched under the eye; it hurts, but it's not unbearable. However, when I opened my eye, there was a thick film or blur over my right eye. Remember, my left eye ain't worth shit without my right eye, so I was nearly blind. I tried to read my phone, but couldn't even see the huge ass clock on my home screen. I was panicking. My grandfather assured me it would be fine, and to just put some ice on it. I nodded, and held back my tears. we finished packing up, and got in the truck. I could tell the film had become much larger and thicker now. I asked my grandfather to look at my eye. When he decided to go to the eye doctor, I knew it must have looked bad, because he is know for not going to the doctor, like, ever. He has even cut out a in-grown toenail with a pocket knife... We get there, and the doctor tells me that I have blood under my iris (the colored part of your eye). He said any activity could result in the eye to bleed worse, and therefore potentially cause a blood clot in my eye and cause me to go blind. Then, I would be left with my crappy left eye, that's basically useless by itself.

The doctor even told me stress and being anxious is risky, as if I can be anything other than stressed out after he tells me I might go blind at 14 years old. He tells me to do absolutely nothing for 3 days, and only open my eyes for two eye drops he prescribed me. And I did just that. For 72 hours straight, I laid motionless in my bed with a rag over my eyes. This gave my mind time to run wild and drive me absolutely insane while I thought about how horrible my life is going to be if I don't get lucky. I can't express how horrible these few days where, but I can say that I would have rather voluntarily broke my arm. Anyway, fast forward to my next doctor's appointment, and he said that I was very lucky and might be able to lay with my eyes open a few days. However, I can't do any eye tracking, so no TV, Games, or Books.

What the heck is the point then? I wasn't even supposed to look left and right. Whatever, a few more days of nothingness, I guess. So once that's over, I come back to hear my verdict. Great recovery, he says! He tells me I can slowly start using my eyes more, for things like eating and showering. I feel great and relieved. Phew, I survived... He told me to immediately contact him if I have any pain, and whaddaya know... PAIN. I have a bad pain in my right eye the next day. So we call them and I now have a sty. I have a sty and a delicate wound in my right eye that may bleed at any moment. Cool. Well, today I woke up and my eye is swollen shut. That isn't even an exaggeration. Only time will tell how the rest of the story goes...

UPDATE: Thank you all that have worried for me and shared your similar stories. Some of you even PM'd me to check up on me, and that means a lot. Really guys, thanks. So everything seems to be clearing up. My vision is back to normal, and my sty has gone away. The swelling has gone completely down. I am 99% sure I'm fine, but we are still going to on Friday to see what the doctor says. I actually noticed a sty is trying to form in my left eye now, but I'm already treating it before it gets bad. Again, thank you all for checking on me! Also, added some spacing per you guy's request. It probably isn't in the right spots, as I didn't write it with paragraphs in mind. Oh well.

EDIT: It seemed to piss some people off that I explained what an air compressor was, so I removed that portion. Sorry I guess. Also, thank you very much for the anonymous user who gave me gold! It is much appreciated. Honestly didn't expect this to be such a hit.

TL:DR : I hit myself in they with air that was under pressure, I had bleeding under my iris and risked being blind. Then a few days later got a sty in the same eye and it's swollen shut.

So this was a little while ago, but the cringe I get every time I think about it makes it feel like just yesterday.

I have been living in a major north-eastern city for about 10 years. One of my good friends from back across the country had the opportunity to come live here, and we were both excited about it. I was on a road trip with my gf that summer, and set it up so that she would fly back from the west coast and I would take said friend and his belongings back in the camper van. He would then stay with us for the next month or so until he found a place.

The drive was epic, and we arrived back in the city on a Thursday afternoon haggard and beaten up by the road. Friend was tired, but excited to explore and get to know the neighborhood a little better. Me and the gf had planned to go visit her parents about 2 hours out of town for the long weekend, and it seemed like a good opportunity for friend to have some space to get settled and to enjoy the new neighborhood. So Friday morning I hand him the key chain with the extra keys as gf and I head out. Apparently not more than an hour later friend heads out to buy some food at one of the premiere local greasy spoon restos I'd told him about. On this cool and sunny day wearing shorts and a tee, and grabbing only change and a few small bills he wanders down the road for a bite. Mmmmmm. So yummy. Time to go home and set up the bedroom. Maybe do some laundry.

The place is a row house on a farily commercial street in a dense urban/residential area. The front door leads to a private indoor staircase where at the top of the stairs is a second door. The first key opens the street door, but somehow the top door to the apartment doesn't want to work. Hmmm.... This is strange.

Well, no worry. There's a back balcony that is climbable, and Friend has never know a house he couldn't break in to. So up to the back balcony he went. But this place is a fortress. Bars on windows, and a proper deadbolt in the back door. No way in without causing some serious damage. Friend started to lose hope. New to the city with no acquaintances other than me, but of course I'm out of town and Friend doesn't have a number.

So he's realizing that it's Friday mid-day, and he has 60 cents to his name and nowhere to go and no way in until Sunday sometime... Or was it Monday...

Day 1 passes fine. Anyone can find a days worth of activities for free in a new town. Having no food is tough, but there are a few peppers growing in the balcony garden, so that's something. And the reclining patio chair is comfortable... Fuck. It's raining. So he did what any of us would do and carried that patio chair all the down from the patio and around the block to set it up inside the dirty old stairwell to sleep.

Day 2 becomes a little more difficult. It's hot. Like hot enough that being outside without water feels actually kind of dangerous. And there's no easy bathroom... So friend spends most of the day staying near the one establishment he knows that will give him water. Returning to the patio for more peppers and some green tomatoes, he resigns again to the stairwell for another slanted and uncomfortable sleep surrounded by flaking paint and cobwebs somehow perched in a reclining deck chair on a staircase.

Day 3 is worse. He has somehow convinced himself that we will be home any minute, and in his hunger finishes any and every vegetable on the patio that is even near ripe. Wandering the neighborhood and essentially waiting for hours upon hours for us to return, still unable to go too far from the water/bathroom resource, he plods through a now sweaty and smelly existence as a new street kid for the area. Still no sign of me and the gf, so by nightfall he is raiding neighbors' gardens and again setting up for sleep in the stairwell.

Finally Monday afternoon we roll back to town. We park and grab our stuff and are chatting about how nice it must have been for friend to have the place to himself for a few days upon arrival. When we get to the front door we are surprised and a little confused to find one of our deck chairs wedged into the stairwell. We head upstairs really wondering how drunk Friend must have been to do that... When we get upstairs and start unloading, through our balcony window peers a sweaty, dusty face with eyes longing at us like a starving puppy. I've never seen such relief.

Needless to say we brought him in, fed him, and apologized a million times. I felt so horrible that I'd somehow only given him one of the two necessary keys to get into the house. Somehow he forgave me, we got drunk that night. I still can't live it down tho.

TL;DR: Locked friend out of house, away from his wallet, on his first weekend in new city while went away with GF. He Survived by sleeping in stairwell and stealing veggies from balcony and rooftop gardens in the area. Made him a hobo for 3 days.

edit: So lots of ppl are asking the same questions over and over, so I'll try to answer them here.

1 - Why didn't he break down the door or wondows? - Well, I'm not really sure, but I imagine even if he tried it would have been a tall task. The door is a solid wooden door and he would have had to do it perched at the top of a winding staircase. Without tools, it would have been a hell of an undertaking. Also, with his lack of stable employment and limited savings, I imagine he didn't want to incur the cost of replacing it. Also, the windows are protected by bars welded to a steel frame. He tried for hours to pull the bars apart because I think one of the windows was actually able to be opened.

2 - Why didn't he ask the neighbors for help? - He didn't know any of my neighbors, and in that neighborhood it's unlikely that he would have had much positive response. Knowing that neighborhood, I probably would have assumed scam of some sort if someone came knocking with a similar request. We are talking poor downtown residential/commercial area.

3 - Call a locksmith? - again, for someone in his situation, and knowing mine, $100+ is a loooooot of money to spend. Also, what locksmith is going to let someone in to a house who doesn't live there and can only provide out of town ID and no info on the lease holder (only her boyfriend).

4 - Why didn't he call you/look you up on social media? - His phone with my contact info was inside the house. He probably didn't know my gf's parents' last name or even the name of the tiny town near where they live. But I likely told him that where they are there is no high speed internet access, so we usually don't even bother using our devices while there and wouldn't be on social media anyways. Thinking about it now, he probably could have used facebook to track down the one friend of mine in town that he knew, but it was 2010 and I'm not even sure that he was on facebook at the time, and there was no guarantee that someone would be very active on it at all. He would have spent his entire food budget on a 30 minute internet cafe access for a long shot...

5 - Top and bottom door locks - No idea why it is that way, but that's the way I've always known it. Both lock automatically when set to do so, and with both keys in hand it was never a problem...

6 - Could have stayed in a shelter - well, I suppose he could have... But would that have been much more comfortable than his own little private stairwell with a deck chair?

Bottom line is that I understand all of the choices he made because I know him and I know his situation. He's someone I've hitchhiked thousands of miles with, so can withstand monotony and difficult living conditions. He thrives on simplicity. As much as a pain in the ass as it was, all of these decisions were the easiest and best for him at that time. Incurring hundreds of dollars of repairs and tempting fate with the police, paying for a locksmith, or staying in a homeless shelter would have all been far more uncomfortable for him than his fate. I have mad respect for him and the way he dealt with this. Others would have crumbled. He got through it like a pro, and really learned the ins and outs of the few blocks between my place and the bathroom. Also, I didn't mention it in the post, but stashed on the balcony was a small bag of pot that probably helped relieve some of the anxiety and boredom. :)

If you guys have more questions, maybe we should bring in /u/BigJoeHurt and you can ask him yourself.

If you're going to follow this story, then you're going to need to know some details about my dick. I've always had trouble pulling back my foreskin; if I'm erect then it doesn't stand a chance, however I can pull it back when flaccid, it just takes a bit of work. It's known as phimosis (caution - knobs on the wiki article!) and I'd lived with it my whole life, as I could still clean the little chap and you kinda get fond of your foreskin, even if it is a little flawed! The tip of the foreskin has numerous little notches from where it has occasionally split (not in a major way thankfully!) and healed, often with a little bit of accompanying scar tissue. Sorry I've spent an uncomfortably long amount of time describing my penis - these details should be relevant later on!

So there I was in the shower this morning, giving the little man a clean. Here comes the fuck up: I decide to keep the foreskin pulled back for the remainder of the shower, to give the little man a bit of an airing. Can't be a bad thing, right?

Fast-forward to the end of the shower and drying off, I went to put the foreskin back in its rightful place. The problem is, it won't go back. Remember that ring of scar tissue around the tip? That was now throttling the shaft, and I assume blocking off the veins. For those of you unfamiliar with the circulatory system, this meant that blood was flowing into my glans (the head) through the arteries, but it wasn't flowing back out again. I watched as the head of my penis swelled in size (it was the most purple I've ever seen it, and very very shiny), to about twice the size as it normally is when flaccid.

Still, no need to panic. Right? I grabbed some lubrication (cold-pressed, extra-virgin olive oil, although I doubt it could keep its "extra-virgin" designation after this) and attempted to slide it back. Nothing. That's alright, google will have some tips. Apparently it's called paraphimosis. The first website I found pretty much said go to hospital. The best case scenario would be "local anaesthetic gel to the penis and pressing on the glans while pushing the foreskin forward." The worst case scenario would be "tissue death (gangrene) and surgical removal of the penis".

I (understandably I think) wasn't keen on the issue of going to hospital with dick issues, so I called 111 (a medical hotline in the UK). I managed to tell them my issue after a seemingly endless stream of questions (all the while keeping my eye on the cock clock, the words "tissue death" and "removal" echoing through my mind) and their suggestion was to get to Accident and Emergency. Immediately.

So now I'm getting in my car, on the weekend, so that a group of strangers can try and save my penis. It was starting to get really quite painful by this point, and changing gear caused the wounded soldier to rub painfully against my boxers. And it was a 50 minute journey in the end (clock it ticking!) so I had to change gear A LOT. I spent most of the drive stuck behind f**king tractors. Seriously, you have never felt time drag until you've done 30 in a 60 zone with your dick slowly dying in your pants.

So I made it into A&E and got seen pretty quick. The lady at the door didn't know what paraphimosis was so I showed her the wiki article on my phone, and she sent me to the more urgent care place. They saw me soon and I was nicely in a room with a big bag of ice on my crotch. The first doctor stuck some numbing gel on, gave it a squeeze (to push the blood out, didn't feel like a courtesy!) then tried to pull it back to no avail. They went and got a urologist, who apparently knew a few tricks.

The urologist came down and she did have a trick alright, and luckily it was the best-case scenario mentioned above. Not only that, before doing it she said that some doctors would "pepper-pot" the glans with a needle to let some blood out before performing the procedure. Fuck. That. Shit. Thankfully she didn't subscribe to the the acupuncture model of urology.

I was offered an anaesthetic injection, but turned it down as apparently the injection isn't too pleasant anyway. You know that sentence earlier, "pressing on the glans while pushing the foreskin forward"? Sounds innocuous. The technique is basically similar to stuffing a sleeping bag into a stuff sack. Without undoing the drawstring of the stuff sack. And both the stuff sack and the sleeping bag are capable of feeling excruciating pain.

I have no idea how long it took (no more than a hand-full of minutes) as she used her finger to push the head of my penis, bit by bit, back into the tight opening of the foreskin. Even the first doctor was grimacing as he watched the procedure take place (he wanted to see if he could pick up any tips. No, not those tips!) The pain escalated as it went on too, I like to think I have a pretty high pain threshold but I was close to tapping out. When it peaked it was matched by the relief I experienced when it was finally back in its sheath. The urologist said that the only time she's ever been punched by a patient was while performing this procedure.

Apparently mine was a pretty severe case, so I was put on the waiting list for a circumcision. I used to think it would be terrible to lose my foreskin, but now it has tried to kill my dick I think its fair to say that it has to go. And the moral of the story? I've no idea, just look after your penis guys, and try not to castrate yourself!

TL;DR Put my dick into a foreskin choke-hold of death, only to have it kindly and painfully saved by the lovely NHS staff.

edit: spellings

edit 2: thanks to all the peeps sharing their experience, I think it's been helpful for some (and myself) to have a dick talk mega thread!

Edit 3: I didn't add the dick pic to the post, it's not mine, Reddit must have grabbed it from one of the links and added it automatically!

So this happened about a year ago. I love playing video games. But soon as I had my boy, I hardly had time to play. It's not like I'm addicted to it, but it was my little get away from all the bs at work and other stresses that comes in life. Before the kid, I would play after work (of course after dinner and when wife is asleep, for couple hours), and on my days off, usually before wife wakes up, and between lunch and dinner.

And then the baby came out. Even while my wife was pregnant, my gaming time was cut dramatically, which I didn't mind, cause watching over my pregnant wife was the most important thing to do. When we had the baby, I was happy and grateful for being a father. In fact, for couple months, I didn't even log into my league of legends.

One day, my wife decided to go on a day trip with the other moms on my day off. Awesome. Finally catch up on my gaming and no one to disturb me. It was great, from the log in screen to all the way to when the announcer says victory. The combination of my E,W,Q and finishing the enemy with my R playing was viegar. The escaping of ekko through the walls. Dunking on the noobs with Darius. I missed this. I needed this. Working 55 hours a week, watching the baby, doing house work, I really needed this.

After this day, I try to get an hour or two of gaming every night. I would come from from work about 7-8pm, have dinner, play with the baby, put baby to sleep, talk with the wife about our day. By the time she goes to sleep, it would be around 12:30am. I try to get an hour or two in there, but most of the nights, I'm exhausted and I just pass out with the wife, sometimes even with the baby around 9.

After working for a company for a year, I decided to move on. I had a job offer, but I lined up couple interviews "just to see what's out there". I was going to take about 2 weeks off doing the interviews and some family vacay; and start working at a new place after.

On this day, I had my 1st interview. I told my wife, I should be back around lunch, and we could go out for lunch when I'm back. So I goto the interview, everything goes well, and I'm driving back home. While I'm driving home, I see this black clouds everywhere and starts pouring. I am very superstitious, my gut tells me be careful today, and be cautious what I do.

So I'm driving, and I'm almost home. As I'm turning the right to the street where I live, I see my old hang out stop when I was in high school and early part of my college. And it's an Internet cafe. And the idiot husband light bulb comes on. I call the wife and tell her, "hey I just got called into another interview, its about hour drive with this traffic, I should be home around dinner time." Boom, i pull in the parking lot, get my time card, and I'm logged in. I get a sandwich deli across the street about playing 2 hours, drink couple Red Bull, and I'm like back in my old days. It was awesome.

It's about 6:30. Already it's 6:30pm! It felt like I been here for only 2 hours. I rush home, and walk into the house. The wife sitting on the sofa asked me "where were you?". "I was at the interview! What's wrong...?" I knew she knew, and she knew I was full of shit, and I knew I was a dead man. Remember that gut feeling I had, this was it. She asked me again, "where were you!" I was scared to death, like in the Batman movie, when Batman screams with loud deep voice, while he is grabbing you by the neck screaming to the bad guys. I was a dead man. So I decided to tell her the truth.

Then as soon as I'm about to tell her, she tells me, "one of my friend saw you at (this town)! Are you cheating on me! Who are you seeing?! Why would you lie to me?! How could you do this to me?! I'm here with the baby all day! You thinking it's easy?!" Yea, that escalated quickly. And im like standing there dumbfounded, just the word wtf is on my mind.

So I explained to her where I was, why I did what I did. I show her proof by calling the Internet cafe, and the worker there telling her my log in times and games I played, and how many reb bull I drank (kinda scary how they have all that on the record.).

She calms down, and I'm like whew. She tells me she understands, and pretty cool about it. Then she walks to the bathroom, passing by my computer, stops, grabs the computer and throws it down the stairs... GG

Good thing I needed a new laptop for my "work" which has a sick gpu card. NT wife.

Tl;dr Lied about interview, went to play video games at Internet cafe instead, wife knew I didn't goto the interview, but thought I was cheating on her, destroyed my computer.

Edit: Thanks Reddit, TIL, one disagreement could make your wife a psycho bitch, and we need therapy and counseling. -breaking my computer, I don't really care. Like I said in one comment, it was old and it was dying. She knew it too. So whatever. -like I said in the other comment. I play games as my get away. But I did not consider her way of enjoying life. Since she is with the kid all the time, she wasn't able to do what she likes to do. At least I could get few rounds in. And I do understand her stress. Now we make time for ourself and take turns doing what we like to do. For example, day before my off day, I would be able to play games late at night and sleep in a little, and on my day of during the day, she could go do her nails and have lunch with her friends. Of course we also have family time every weekend. -all you people screaming counseling, therapy, and abuse. I just laugh, cause it was one time thing. And you guys make it out like it's a everyday occurrence, reading too much between the lines. It reminded me when our kid had his 1st fever, he was like 103, and my wife was freaking out cause when she googled it, she read our kid could die. And I rush home freaking out, and take our kid to the ER. The doctor just told us to give him some fever med and he will be fine. Don't need to over react people. -and just in case you all forgot, 1st thing I said was, this happened a year ago. My wife is an amazing mother to our child, and she is a great wife. So chill the fuck out. -why did I need to lie? We men do stupid shit sometimes. -and for my gaming, I play like 2 hours a week. But most nights my wife and I just Netflix and chill ;)

Edit #2: Just want to say thanks to everyone that commented and voted here! All the positive comments, even all the negative comments, the down votes and the up votes, understanding people, the concerned people, and the douche bag people. Thanks! Didn't know this would become big.

Also many thanks to people that messaged me and understanding!

I want to tell my wife about it, but then, I don't want to post "TIFU telling my wife the whole internet hates her."

Thanks again for enjoying my TIFU!

This was years ago, during my freshman year of college. I went to a small school in southern illinois, SIUE and lived in East Saint Louis (yes, that shitty place) at the time since I had grown up there. This was right at the beginning of the school year. It was a very hot night and if you know anything about the stl area, you know it's disgustingly humid because of the Mississippi river.

So I'm in the car with my younger cousin (he's 17 and has strangely always been a voice of reason) and we're at the McDonald's on state street (just in case anyone reading is from East saint, I want you to be able to picture this).

It's a long ass fucking line in the drivethru, but fuck it. We're hungry and this is cheap. So we're sitting there and my cousin makes a comment about how they're fighting in the car in front of us. Whatever. That always happens so I'm ignoring it...and then he puts the girl out.

Out steps this white girl in heels and a short, tight skirt. Seeing a white person in East Saint LOUIS immediately sets off "why the fuck are they here?" Alarms.

She's crying and asking for her phone and then this guy gets out, throws it on the ground and breaks it and cussed her out.

She's bawling here eyes out, hitting the car, then he gets out and walks towards her. She immediately runs away. It's pretty obvious she's used to being hit by him.

So there she is, a white girl in East Saint Louis late at night and alone with no money and no way of contacting anybody.

This shit just spells disaster for her and I can't bear to see someone crying like that so I start to get out of my car. My cousin immediately grabs my arm and says "that ain't got nothing to do with us. It's none of our fuckin business."

Disgusted and already in hero mode, I ignore him, walk to her, and offer her a ride to wherever she needs to go. My cousin is just shaking his head in the car.

She accepts and gets in the backseat of my car. I begin to pull out of the drivethru line and she stops me and asks for something to eat because she hasn't eaten all day.

She's tugging on all my heart strings so I hooked her up with a meal with my last dollar. I figured I'd eat a hot dog when I got home. I asked her where she needed to go. She doesn't say where, but just starts giving directions.

Oddly specific directions. Like, she knew her way around the city better than I did and I lived there my whole life.

We end up driving down this street and it's pitch black because there are no street lights and foliage has basically reclaimed the neighborhood. There's literally weeds growing out of the pavement.

I'm getting more and more nervous as I keep driving and I ask her if she knows where she's going.

"Oh yeah. It's about to be a house behind this grass in a minute and that's where I need to stop to get my stuff."

My cousin says "What the fuck do you mean get your stuff??? You get one stop and you get out. That's it. This ain't a fuckin cab."

I felt the same way, but he sounded mean and she was pretty so I said it was okay. That is where I fucked up.

She has taken us to the home of the guy who just kicked her out of his car.

She runs up to the front door (left her shoes in my car, btw) and starts beating on the door and yelling for them to let her in.

The door opens and you can hear lots of yelling and screaming going on inside. My cousin is urging me to drive away but I can't leave her there and live with myself.

She eventually runs out, like sprints out, and says in a super composed voice "Drive."

I start to drive away and then she says to take her to the east side of belleville which is like a nice suburb. I start to drive there and she flips a switch and starts crying and saying she got hit when she went in the house.

I talked to her to calm her down and after she stops bawling, she asks if we smoke. She has these big ass bags of weed in her from the bag she brought out of the house. They're like the size of a fist. My cousin is livid and going off at this point.

Yelling at me to kick her out of the car and let's just go home. I'm thinking, if I'm in this deep, might as well finish giving her a ride.

We take her to a super 8 in belleville where a friend of hers already has a room.

When we get in the parking lot she thanks us and even though my cousin was going off on her, she straight up asks, "I don't have no money, but do yall wanna fuck?"

It caught me off guard and I blurted out "Well, shit, if you're offering."

My cousin lost it and started laughing. This calmed him down and he came in too. And it's awesome because her friend is fine too and she wants to fuck too.

The thing we didn't notice is that the friend asked about the weed when we came in.

Fastcirward like 10 minutes and they're both going down on me and my cousin. We hear a car pull up and some guys talking outside....it's the guys from the house we left. She stole their weed. And one of them forgot to lock the door.

They came into the room, saw what was happening, turned around and went for their car.

Everything in my soul said I was about to get shot and me and my cousin got uo, ran to my car, and peeled the fuck out.

So we make it out unscathed and get about half way back home. We're on a highway headed towards East Saint. And I fucking ran out of gas. And both our phones were dead. Its, again, pitch black because this is a stretch of highway known for having deer so there aren't any streetlights.

As we sit there and determine we have to walk about a mile to get to the metrolink, my cousin just starts laughing and says "this is the worst fucking night ever and I ain't going nowhere with you ever again."

Tl;dr- tried to help a girl who was seemingly getting abused. Ended up transporting stolen weed, getting half a blowjob, running out of gas and walking a mile in dark, humid night to the train station.

You know how everyone has that one "party" story? The one that, no matter how hard you try, will never be topped? Well, I'm a second year college student who attends a university that likes to go by the mantra of "work hard, play hard", and this is that story.

A couple of weeks ago, I was invited to a pretty big annual event at my school that had a reputation of having a pretty wild afterparty. My buddy (let's call him Dewey) had just finished his semester and I hadn't, so he was pretty bored back in our hometown. I figured that, since he had nothing to do back at home, I would bring him to the afterparty and he could crash back at my dorm for the night, have a good time and all that. And we did. We had a fucking fantastic time. Even made it back to my dorm in one piece somehow. I thought we just went back and crashed, but apparently some serious shit went down after the party that I didn't hear about until later, and by then there was nothing I could do except laugh and think "there's no way that happened."

So fast forward to the morning after. It's windy as all hell outside and Dewey and I are sitting at a dining hall having some delicious hangover food. Suddenly, this conversation comes up:

"Dude...I did something last night."

"What did you do?"

"Something...something bad."

"Dewey, what the hell did you do?"

Then he hits me with what ACTUALLY happened that night after we left the party. Apparently, I was too blacked out to remember, but he definitely wasn't. And once he started recalling the story, I began to remember the shitshow that transpired afterwards. To this day, whenever I tell this story, people don't believe me...until I show them. But I'll get to that later.

So we leave the party, stumble our way back to the dorm, and get into the elevator, since I live on the 7th floor. We get out of the elevator without incident and kind of just plop down in my floor's lounge, which was thankfully empty. Seems alright. But then Dewey throws up. Fucking. Everywhere. On the couch, on the study tables, on the floor, on the goddamn walls...no surface was safe from his wrath.

At this point, I'm already disgusted and thinking "oh fuck, he's my guest so I'm responsible for this oh fuck oh fuck housing probation here I come". But then it got worse. It got so much worse.

After the pukepocalypse, he then says he has to "go". So I hand him my ID card so he can swipe into the bathroom, which I should mention is a mere 20 feet away from us. But he turns me down and says, "nah man, I gotta go now...like right now...and it's gonna be a big one".

Dewey then opens my lounge window, sticks his buttcheeks out, and proceeds to release the Kraken all over the side of my precious dormitory building. And when I say release the Kraken, I mean it. The immediate assault to my senses told me that it was easily the most disgusting toilet slammer I've ever been witness to in my entire life, including my own. Imagine every terrible shit you've ever taken multiplied by the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns. It was like watching the Slime fall and splatter everywhere on the Nickelodeon Kid's Choice Awards. The sound it made was awful too, like something just died and these were its final gurgles. Just the fucking smell alone probably could have killed most small animals.

He finishes unleashing his unholy intestinal sewage all over the side of my building while I sit there just agape but too drunk to do anything about it. Then we nonchalantly stroll back to my room and promptly pass out.

Back to the present: I'm horrified. Disgusted. Never in my life would I have imagined I would be privy to anything like this. But eh, what's done is done, fuck it, no harm done right?

Wrong.

I make my way back to my building and ride the elevator up so that I can relax and nurse my hangover. In the elevator, I hear this conversation between two girls:

"I can't believe someone did that to our lounge."

"Yeah, that's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen...it smelled pretty bad in there too. The cleaning lady says it's either really bad throw up or something way worse."

"Do they know who did it?"

"I don't know, but they must have been living higher up to hit floor 4. At least it didn't get inside or anything."

Now I'm curious. And I think I know exactly what happened. So I get off on the fourth floor, enter their lounge, and lo and behold, I see this masterpiece.

Yep. That's Dewey's shit. Smeared all over the window of the lounge three floors below me.

Apparently, some people were peacefully studying at 3 in the morning the night that this shit went down when all of a sudden...WHAM, Dewey's butt babies slammed into their window hard enough to make the glass shake. The wind must have hurled it sideways mid-descent, causing his work of art to splatter onto their window with a resounding thud.

I take one good look (and smell), snap the picture, and flee to my room practically dying from laughter. Then I tell pretty much all of our friends back at home because, come on, how do you not tell everyone about that? I didn't tell any of my college friends though, I don't need that kind of blood (poop?) on my hands, and for good reason. Admin heard about it and basically put out a warrant for the capture of whoever did the deed or for anyone who helped them do it. I basically had to be on my toes for the rest of the semester in fear of being charged as an assistant to this assailant of justice. People from other dorms eventually heard about it and began sullying the good name of my building, calling it "Shit Central" and other hilarious names.

They didn't just forget about him either. For the rest of the year, the "Phantom Shitter" became something of a legend. No one knew who it was, but they know what he did, and what he's capable of. His legacy lives on--in me, in you, but mostly in the shit smears he left trailing down the side of my dormitory. Those are a little bit harder to wash off.

TL;DR Brought a friend to a college party, shit went down, stained my building's reputation (and my building).

To start this is my first time posting. Disclaimer this did not happen today, but is one of the most memorable events from my childhood (roughly 15 years ago). I've often read TIFU's to selfishly make my self feel better or to just get a chuckle. I'm sure this is often intended in some postings. Which got me thinking about some of my own personal TIFU moments. I also figure this is the least I can do to contribute to a community which has so often made my day more bearable and put a smile on my face.

To begin my TIFU I would like to provide some background. My brother and I have about a six year age gap. So at the time of this TIFU event he was roughly three and half and I was about nine. Now my brother was the baby of the three siblings defintely regarded as the cutest toddler. I was the oldest and while I usually looked after him I was often the instigator in picking on him or playing jokes on him. Probably me just taking advantage of him being gullible. Which leads me to my actual FU.

So it's Christmas break, and my brother and I are watching cartoons. My younger sister and mom are at a doctors appointment, so my dad stayed home to watch my brother and I. We are watching Looney Tunes and I specifically remember the episode was of Bugs Bunny acting the part of a bullfighter. I will post a link below. Just then my dad hops in the shower advising me to watch my brother.

As we are watching I get this grand idea to reenact this episode. So I grab my blanket and tell my brother the scheme of the game and that he is the bull. Everything is laughs and he is snorting and pawing at the ground on all fours like a real bull and I am laughing ridiculously and shouting "Toro Toro!" This is where the FU starts. Now if anyone has watched this episode you may know the bull runs into a massive weight that Bugs Bunny hides behind his cloth. Which leads me to my next great idea or FU.

In our living room we have a large circle marble table. And for some reason I thought this would be an authentic practical prop. So I dangle my blanket in front of this table half thinking this will be funny, but also not thinking at ALL. My brother, on all fours, snorts and runs full force towards me in which case I remove the blanket just as his forehead smashes into the marble edge of the table.

I IMMEDIATELY know I fucked up. He isnt even crying but the force of the impact has me in shock. "Thdunk!" As I look into my brothers perfect little face he just stares back at me. And suddenly a massive amount of blood starts gushing out of his forehead. And I am talking everywhere! We had white carpets and its just everywhere his jumper is covered in it and im freaking out. This is totally my fault. I run to the bathroom where my dad is showering. I meekly tell my dad my brother is hurt. He says he will be out in a minute. So I return to see the condition of my brother. Who upon my arrival has began walking/crawling around the living room and red is just everywhere carpet, walls, couches. I promptly return to the bathroom barging in and screaming " He is bleeding!" My dad hears the panic in my voice as I run back to the living room, he runs out of the bathroom in his boxers. When he sees the scene his jaw just drops! He looks as though he has just seen a massacre and that his only son is bleeding out. Seeing the sheer panic on our faces my brothers blood covered face finally reacts the water works begin and my poor brother is just in ruins.

My dad calls our nieghbour down the street to watch me while he is gone and frantically tells her to call the doctors office my mom is at (pre cell phone days). The whole time they are gone I'm thinking I just killed my brother. I'm in tears, frantic and inconsolable.

Fast forward hours later my parents are both home and my brother has four stitches across his forehead and a concussion. This FU all results in my parents having to explain that they werent abusing my brother to the doctor. My mom spends days washing all the furniture and carpeting and my brother who is legal age now still has a scar across his forehead that he blames me for. This story also regularly comes up at family socials. Not my best moment.

Here is a link to the episode: https://youtu.be/oqCQuiq6eOo
( 30 seconds in)

TL;DR : Tricked my three year old brother causing him to get stitches and have head trauma. Parents questioned about negligence. Brother has scar for life. Blames me.

Edit: spelling & grammar

So this was like 2 years ago and I found out about most of it after the fact. 2 years ago I went on a trip to Vietnam to help teach a conference on innovation and entrepreneurship to Vietnamese college students. I was part of a group of 8 students and we had two professors with us. We were a State Department sponsered delgation, the first student delegation to go since the 70's or something. Which means a whole lot of shit but for the purpose of this story it basically means we were on everyone's radar. Every country we flew through knew we were coming and when we were supposed to leave. So our last night in Vietnam we decided to go out and get HAMMERED, like no joke the most drunk I have ever been in my life. So we all stay up all night drinking and show up to the airport still drunk.

Now our lead professor, let's just call her S is a well seasoned traveler. Apperently getting us out of Vietnam was difficult, missing tickets and what not. We are all oblivious to this because we can barely stand up. She magically gets us on the plane and we head off to catch our next flight in China. S thinks the worst part is over and we are cabable of handling ourselves from here on out, S was sadly mistken. By the time we land in China we are more sober but still really have no idea what's going on so we blindly follow S through the airport. Now unbeknowst to us we actually exit the airport and enter the country.

What we didn't know is that once you legally enter China you have 3 hours to get on the plane and get out or the government will detain you. When you go through Chinese security they take a picture of you and honestly I don't even remember that happening because I was so fucked up. We make it through security and S says it's time to go the gate. Now here is where the fuck up begins. We had 30 minutes before our flight took off for Dallas, 3 of us were too fucked up to realize that there is a time chamge between Vietnam and China so we thought we had an hour and half. So me, C, and K decide we need to get some food because we have a 15 hour flight ahead of us and mosey away from the group.

We drunkenly stumble through the airport find ourselves some food and sit down. We attempt to talk but realize we are just too messed up and sit there quietly trying regain some sense of sobriety. Meanwhile S and all the other students board the plane. They do last call and we aren't there yet. S pulls a bunch of shit trying to just keep the doors open for us. She throws papers everywhere, she barricades herself at the door. She does everything in her power to delay this flight, by the time they finally convince her to sit down we had been missing for almost an hour.

In another part of the airport the government finds out we are missing from our delgation and assumes we are national security threat. They print wanted signs with our pictures from earlier and are walking through the airport looking for us to detain us.

We all finish eating, look at our watches and realize we only have 30 mintues till take off and we should probably head towards the gate. K and I head that way, but C says he needs to go to the bathroom first and he'll meet us there. K and I are slowly walking towards our gate when two flight attendents ask us if we are headed to Dallas. Thinking it's a little strange we say yes. The flight attendents freak out and tell us to run as fast as we can. We still have no idea what's going on so very confused we start running towards the gate. On our way every single airport offical keeps telling us to run faster.

We finally get to the gate and to our surprise there is no one there. Except two women holding the doors open waving their arms and telling us to hurry. We make it on to the plane and everyone gives us dirty looks, I take my seat and ask the guy next to us what's going on. This is when I realized the gravity of my fuck up. We take off leaving C behind, the seatbelt sign on the enitre 15 hour flight, and dirty looks from every flight attendent who walked by. When we land in Dallas S tells us the whole story and explains that C is safe in LA. She had pulled some strings with the state department and someone in the airport found him and kept him in a room until they stuck him on a flight to LA. Moral of the story: Never ever ever show up to the airport drunk, eapically if you are flying to a communist country.

TL;DR: I was drunk in China, almost missed my flight and almost got detained by the government. Don't drink and fly kids.

[UPDATED]

I wish this happened over a decade ago, but this FU happened in the past week. Let's begin.

I've always thought that turning 21 was just going to be another year. I mean, I've always been able to get the alcohol I wanted by asking my SO or best friend. Why would being legal change anything? Well it does. It changes you. It evolves you into this bigger, better, more LEGAL person. You become invincible. No one can tell you that "they are too busy to go to the store" or that "they don't feel like it." Hell, I'll just hop in my car, pop out my ID and bam, I have the ability to get lit that night. The night after my birthday I was feeling extra amazing and thought "I'll just buy one six pack and be done". I get to the store, get two six packs, a bottle of wine, and some food to get fat on. Keep in mind that this is after my birthday so I have left over vodka and rum from the night of destruction. Couple hours later, I'm passed out in bed. Practically dead. The next night my SO comes over and he brings his own beer saying that we are getting legally wasted. I'm all for it. Like hell yeah, I'm a new person. I'm LEGAL. I drink and pass out again. This time I'm not too sure how I got into bed. Pretty sure SO helped out a bit. So both nights in a row I've had way too much alcohol and no water. Zip. Honestly don't know how I survived or didn't get a hangover. I get dressed for work, take a piss, go to work, and take another piss. Half an hour goes by and I'm going piss again... Oh no...I have a UTI. That's the first FU. Because of all the sugar, I gave myself a fucking UTI. Damn it. 7 hours left on my shift and my body basically hates me and wants me to pee on myself. Finally get home, take some AZO, and I'm good the next day. What do I do? CELEBRATE. I'm cured. Why not? I'll just pop another pill if my body decides to hate me again. LOL. Next fu. So again, too much alcohol, no water, basically a alcoholic mermaid by now. Dehydrated af. I wake up and I notice a certain ache in my lower back. Like its not too bad. I get up, go to the grocery for the essentials, go back home, and my back feels like it's throbbing. Can't walk. I'm dying. I don't know what to do, I'm thinking that this shit just comes with age, and I go to bed. I wake up feeling kind of amazing. Lower back doesn't feel like Satan anymore. I call my mom and tell her the situation and she's like "omg child, that's called a muscle spasm. I'm going to buy you all the stuff you need, don't move." So I don't. She gets me tylenol and ICY HOT. I Take both around 5 and I'm good. Go to bed feeling great. Wake up at 2AM Feeling not so great. I put ICY HOT on my back because I really didn't feel like eating and then taking some pills. Too much effort and I could barely walk let alone breathe this pain was so bad. An hour in and ICY HOT is sucking leggit dick. I'm thinking "I'll take a shower and relax the muscles." Probably the biggest FU YET. I finally, get in the bathroom and get the water running, swallow some Tylenol, and hesitate to get in the shower. I know the stories of ICY HOT and water. I know it's like 1000 suns touching your back, but I honestly thought an hour was enough time for the shit to be done with. Just in case, I put my hand in the water and touch my back to see if there was any pain.... Didn't feel anything. Great! I sit down, let the shower run, 10 minutes later the Tylenol kicks in. I can breathe, I can walk, I can suddenly feel my back burning like Google said it would. I get out of the shower and quickly put a towel on my back but it's no use, the burn is too great. I sit on the toilet while the shower water runs and try to accept my back cooking to a crisp. I guess it being around 430-500 AM, my body was too exhausted and I fell asleep. On the toilet. While the shower was running. So at 9:30, when I finally woke up, i turn the shower off and start planning on how the hell I'm going to pay for this water bill. The last and final FU.

Don't turn 21. It's a trap.

Tl;Dr : turned 21, got wasted 2 nights in a row, got a UTI. Then I was blessed with a lower back muscle spasm because of how dehydrated I was. Woke up at 2AM, put icy hot on my back, took a shower, had 1000 suns kiss my back but didn't feel it till the Tylenol kicked in, fell asleep on the toilet with the shower running, now I have a huge water bill I have to pay.

UPDATE: I did have a kidney infection! Went to the doctor because you guys had scared me so bad. Reddit saved me. You guys are awesome.

This whole mess just got cleared up about 5 minutes ago (though I highly doubt anyone has let it go).

About a week ago, we had a problem with the pipes that were connected to our toilets. Everytime you flushed any toilet in the house, the pipes, which led to the basement, would leak and pretty much spill onto the carpet. As a result, we had to call a plumber to fix the pipes. Turns out, the pipes are not the only problem, but also the toilets. Apparently they weren't flushing properly or weren't installed right so the pipes were bound to leak. So my parents decide to invest in new toilets, but the plumber can't install them until the week after because he is a hardworking plumber with lots of clients lined up who need their plumbing fixed.

A week later, he takes out the toilets. We have 2 toilets: first one is in the guest bathroom on the main floor and the second is on the second floor. He takes the one on the main floor out first and it's super easy, he does it in a snap. When he goes to take out the other one, he says there's something wrong. Apparently, the previous house owners got lazy when they retiled the bathroom floor, and instead of taking out the first set of tiles, they just tiled over it and around the previous toilet. The new toilets that my parents bought did not fit properly because of the second layer of tiles, so the plumber spent an hour trying to take the tiles out, but he had to leave because, again, he had other clients.

At this point, we have no toilet on the second floor and can only use the main floor bathroom. I have to say that these toilets are primo and I don't know what kind of toilets they are but they are excellent and never seem to get dirty, they're taller, shinier, fits my ass nicely, so I'm loving these toilets and I always get excited to use it.

The plumber comes back the next day and finally installs the toilet on the second floor, but he had to put sealant on the toilet, so we couldn't use it until the sealant was dry, to my dismay. My mother is quite extra, so once the sealant dried overnight, she put more sealant for good measure. Again, we couldn't use the toilet until the sealant was dry. This time, the sealant didn't dry overnight (because my mom used some cheap ass sealant).

When I came home from work today, everyone had gone to bed already, because it was late. I sat down to eat and drank some wine (you know, Friday night). Not too much that I'm so drunk, but just enough to fall asleep.

I jerked awake at round 4:30 am in the morning because I needed to pee. I went to the bathroom on the main floor and started to pee. Throughout my peeing, I'm admiring the feel of the toilet on my ass, just thinking, goodness, what a fucking nice toilet. Halfway through my pee, I realize that I could probably use the toilet upstairs because it's been two whole days and the sealant should be dry. So I stop my pee - which is a horrible idea - because I really want to try out the new toilet upstairs. Granted, it's the same toilet, but it was a new environment and I wanted my ass to christen this brand new toilet because I was certain my ass would be the first ass on this toilet.

I'm struggling to hold in my pee and I'm trying to walk up the stairs with my thighs clenched shut because my bladder needs to continue to dispel my urine, but I won't let it until I reach that toilet. I finally reach the top of the stairs only to see the bathroom door closed with a sign that says "Still can't use, sorry". My eyes go wide in panic, adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I try to run back down to the other bathroom. In reality, my limbs just decided to do their own thing and my body twisted and I fell down a couple of steps, which in turn, lead my bladder to burst and I unceremoniously pissed all over the staircase, which also happens to be carpeted.

My parents and my sister run out of their rooms to find me sprawled all over the staircase in pain, crying, maybe a little drunk, and soaking in my own piss. I had to explain to them why it happened, which got me a belly laugh from my dad, an angry "you pissed all over my carpet" from my mom and a "the next time we have a family event to go to, this is the story I'm going to tell" from my sister.

I am currently disposing of the last pee - soaked paper towel I used to clean up the stairs. It'll probably smell worse in the morning, but I'm tired and I had a long day from work, so I'll deal with it after some sleep.

TL;DR Had a plumbing problem and had to change the toilets. I was so obsessed with the way my ass felt on these new toilets that I tried to stop my pee half way to use the other toilet upstairs. Turns out that toilet could not yet be used so I ended up pissing all over the stairs.

This FU happened this week, I wrote it when it happened but had to wait until the weekend to post it so it's not in the proper tense, please excuse that.

So this morning when I woke up I warmed up a breakfast sandwich like I do every morning, I grabbed a can of Mountain Dew from the fridge, and jumped in my car. It was at this point that I realized my morning deuce was going to arrive ahead of schedule. No problem I thought, I had a quick meeting with one of my bosses before work at Starbucks; I could slip into the bathroom before the meeting or just after and then head to work.

Well, I got to the meeting about 5 minutes late because of an accident that forced everyone into 1 lane on one of the busier roads in the area. I didn't think it would be wise to make my boss wait for me to relieve myself before-hand so I sat down and we got started. The meeting ran a bit longer than I expected, it was very casual and we pretty much talked about how things were going. Time went by much quicker than either of us had realized and I had to immediately leave to get to work on time. During our conversation I seemed to forgot that nature was calling; I guess sitting down for almost an hour can have that effect on someone.

I got in my car and started on my way. I took a back road to avoid the accident I saw before and ended up following a semi that was going about 10 mph under the speed limit. A few minutes in and my colon started setting off sirens. If any of you guys have ever been driving while having to piss like a racehorse then you know the pain I was feeling. I was doing everything I could think of to take my mind off of it: I was blaring some heavy rock music, singing along to it, actively pushing on my bladder (that's what I do when I need to piss), giving it the ol' cheek squeeze, lowered my windows, and hammered down on the accelerator once I was able to pass the semi. A couple times during this drive I didn't think I was going to make it. Considerations of pulling over and relieving myself alongside the road flooded my mind but I decided against that.

Here's where the FU starts to rear its ugly head. I work at the local high school as an athletic trainer. For those of you who do not know what that means, I basically work with all of the sports teams by evaluating injuries, treating them, and communicating with coaches and parents about the injury. Anyway, as I park my car I start to sprint into the building as the pressure building inside of me is becoming unbearable, not a good idea. After 10 or so steps I slow down to an awkward waddle as my bowels were starting to move.

Once I get to the building one of the football players beckons for me, one of his teammates is having an asthma attack...wonderful. I start to alter my course for the downed athlete as a little fart peeks through, only it isn't a fart. As I feel this mistake take place, I look at the kid down about 50 yards away, towards the closest porta-john, and back toward the kid. At this point I know what I have to do. I take off in a dead sprint toward the John while undoing my belt and unzipping my pants. As I get to my destination I immediately drop my pants, turn around, and spray the seat with what can only be described as a kale-colored nightmare. I am forced to sit down on the now shit-covered toilet seat and evacuate the rest of my bowels with approximately 6 G's of force. After pushing everything out as fast as I possibly could, I wipe off the seat, my entire ass and part of my lower back, and the walls of the porta-potty to remove the foul smelling substance that was just violently expelled from my body.

I get out of the sun-baked madness and quickly make my way over to this kid who is now seemingly fine. He has already taken his inhaler more times than he should have, he has had a good bit of water, and was walking toward the shade to rest for a bit. The coach standing by the kid looks at me like I just violently murdered someone and casually walked away from his or her corpse. After talking with the kid and making sure everything was OK, I go talk to the coach about the situation that had just arisen. He seemed pretty annoyed so I abruptly ended our conversation and went inside to talk to the athletic director. I shamefully explain the situation to him and he ends up mocking me by saying that I "neglected one duty to take care of another", hilarious. I went to my office, closed the door, and turned the lights off. I am now sitting on my desk writing this FU, smelling like literal shit, and wondering where I should deposit my underwear once I am off.

TL;DR Had my usual morning breakfast, was late for my meeting and my job, ended up ignoring a kid suffering from as asthma attack, and shit all over a porta-potty and in my pants.

EDIT: words/formatting

So, This happened exactly on this week (25/06/2017), also, pardon me for any English problems you might find, since English isn't my native language and it's really late here and I promised myself that I would post this here.

Well, for a long time I was checking some destinations and locations to stay for my vacations in my country, and after finally convinced my wife to try something outside Hotels, we selected a nice and comfy house that looked perfect by the pictures for my wife and 5 year old son to spend one week. It looked clean, comfy, secure and it also had a pool, a perfect match for a couple who like to spend a reserved family time.

After 3 hours of car traveling we finally reached our destination, where we could see a small property with 3 or houses, and while we kept driving to the parking location my kid started to say very cheerfully "Look dad! There's dogs here!" Which raised my first worrying point since my kid is afraid of dogs.. If i knew about dogs here I would never rent that house.. But ok, lets keep going, I had to put my kid over my shoulders while two dogs kept jumping on me, not on a aggressive way, of course, just excited dogs :), that ripped my shirt that I only noticed later. But that's not a problem right? Lets not ruin a vacation because of a shirt and dogs that freely walk around.

So, after knowing the owner of the house, which is a very calm and welcoming person, he gave the key of the house for us, which I was excited to see it! But... as soon we entered the house, our expectations went down to the hole... Stained sheets and pillows, spiders, webs everywhere.

But ok, let's not ruin our vacations right? Since my wife and I are used to go camping and I used to participate on Music Festivals Like Universo Paralelo or Boom Festival, I could consider that we only needed to go to a store on a nearby city and purchase new sheets for us. But of course, why not just drop our things inside the house and go enjoy the pool? In order to relax from a long drive. The pool part could be perfect. But for my surprise, the dogs not only followed us but also entered into the pool, I mean, they did not jump inside the pool, but prevented me to let my kid play on the part that he could stay on his feet on the pool.

But let's not allow that ruin our experience right? No Stained with flies blood or other stains webs, spiders, dogs jumping on us and at our kid ruin our vacations. So we decided to go back to the house, organize our things and go out to the city, which was awesome :) best part of the trip!

And after we got back to our place, we slept and and at the next morning we decided to have our breakfast on the balcony, which of course wasn't possible because of the dogs. So my solution was to play with then far away while my wife and my kid could eat in peace.

So far so good, I'm having a good time with the dogs when suddenly I hear my wife screaming for me. It turned out , those flowers on the right side of the picture hides a wasp nest, which started to attack my wife and son after he, while playing with his soccer ball, had the bad luck to hit the part where the nest was. But for our luck, my wife had the dad reflex to run inside the house which kept those wasps away. We spent the rest of the day out, on a friend's house which for our luck, is a nurse and could take care of my wife and kid.

But since I'm a optimistic guy, lets not allow that ruin our family vacations right? RIGHT? Even if my kid spend all the night with extreme pain because of the stings and developed an allergy because of it.. On the next morning, I went out to check if it was safe to go out, and it was everything fine. I Decided to do small breakfast just for my kid and I, since my wife wasn't able to sleep at night because of the stings.

So, there I was with my kid, and while we started to eat our sandwich, again, the dogs approached us peacefully, and I was willing to give then a chance to stay near us, since I was playing with then on the previous day and they are good dogs. I started to try to calm my kid saying that the dogs would not hurt him... You know what happened?

Dog almost chopped off a chunk of my son leg while he tried to take a bite of the sandwich.

That was the limit for me. We packaged our things up, and by luck we managed to find a place to stay on the next 2 days. Since my son wasn't able to stay seated for long periods ( for those days, he wasn't able to walk, I had to carry him around for everything )

Also, I reported the situation to the Customer support of AirBnB in order to receive a refund , But the onwer of the propertie refused it of course, saying that what i said was a lie. So, after spending 400+€ on the rental of the house, 30€+ euros on new sheets for the house, 50€+ euros in medicines for my wife and son, we managed to managed to receive the refund only for the nights that we don't spend, and a 50€ coupon, isn't that awesome?

I'm not sure if this is allowed here, but I just wanted to share my history.

TLDR: First time trying airbnb, my son almost got drowned by dogs on the pool, got stung by wasps and developed an alergy and almost lost a chunk of his leg while dogs tried to ate his sandwhich. But I received 50€ coupon , so everything is fine.

My teammates and I go to the pub after every football game and this occasion was seemingly like no other. As the rest of my team queued up at the bar, bought their drinks and went to sit outside, I was the last to be served with my friend and girlfriend.

My girlfriend nipped to the toilet and so I made my order.

It should have been a very ordinary, very predictable experience.

"Two pints please", I say. So far, so good.

"Anything else?", she asks. Once again, a standard response.

"Yep, that's it", I respond, confidently.

"You sure?", she asks again. Something immediately doesn't seem right. Perhaps she thinks I've forgotten to order some pork scratchings.

"Erm, yep?", I say, this time far less confidently.

"Did you want to buy one for the lady?", she asks, before gesturing towards the end of the bar. At the end of the bar is a girl sitting on a barstool.

Now in this moment, time stops and I assess the situation. The lady in question is sitting at the end of the bar, eating a McDonalds. She's with two other guys and is chatting very familiarly with another barmaid. Instantly I assume that this girl and the barmaid serving me are either friends, or she herself is an off-duty barmaid. Understandably, I'm fairly put out. Quite clearly, she's trying to get me to buy her mate a drink. She's clocked me coming in, knows I look fairly timid and is going to exploit my inner Englishness by putting me in an awkward situation that I'm desperate to get out of.

Maybe previously, she'd have every reason to think that. Maybe in the past, I'd succumb to the desire to not get in a confrontation and would just agree to buy her a drink.

But no. Not this time. How bloody dare she assume I could be manipulated in that way.

I turn back to her to respond. It's probably only been a second or so.

"Nah, you're alright", I say.

I've won. I've vanquished the evil dragon and am king of my own castle. No one tells me what to d...

"Oh... erm ok", she responds, and raises a quizzical eyebrow. That was not the response I expected.

I'm immediately aware that the general tempo and atmosphere of the exchange has become somewhat soured, and I can't for the life of me think why that is.

"Is there an issue?", I ask?

The barmaid replies: "I just thought you'd want to that's all".

The fucking cheek. She knows I wouldn't want to. Of course she does. She's amped up the awkwardness. She's gone all in. No. No I'm not going to do this.

I become desperate: "well would you if you were me?", I ask. I desperately want to know the answer.

"Probably, yes", she replies.

Why? What? What the fuck is going on? I look around. I'm getting panicked. Does it say somewhere that I have to buy the staff a drink?

And so I do something that I detest myself for. I fold, I give in. The situation has gone on far too long already, I wanted to be gone, with a beer and outside with my friends.

"Fine", I say. I have a face like thunder, like a petulant child. "I'll get her one".

The collapse of my resolve did little to ease the tension between us. The barmaid looked like she wanted this conversation over as well. Maybe she sensed that I was not a willing participant in this.

"Great", she said through a false smile. "What do you want to get her?".

At this point, the only weapon remaining in my arsenal was sarcasm.

"I don't know, you tell me", I scowl. Ooohhh that'll show her.

"Why on earth would I know?", she exclaims. She's pissed and it terrifies me.

What the fuck is going on. I want out of this conversation right now, I want to be out of the pub and in the safety of my friends and I don't even want my fucking pint anymore. This should have been simple and it's not.

"Well why would I know?", I splutter. I'm running out of energy and patience.

"Well she's your girlfriend isn't she??", she pleads, and points to the end of the bar.

And then it hits me.

At the end of the bar, next to the girl, is a door. A door that leads to the toilet.

The door my girlfriend went through 30 seconds ago.

It's at this point I should tell you that my girlfriend didn't want a drink.

Part of me felt elated. There was a genuine reason why all this was happening! Just a simple miscommunication! I didn't have to buy a stranger a drink!

But there was one small problem. I couldn't say to the barmaid that I thought she was asking if I wanted to buy the stranger at the bar a drink because if that's what I thought she said, then why the fuck did I agree to buy her one???

Thankfully, the barmaid wanted out of this conversation even more than I did. My blurted response of "noitsokactuallyshedoesntwantone" was very quickly accepted and monies/beer were swiftly exchanged.

Without making anymore eye contact I left the pub and haven't been back there since.

TL;DR Got into a horribly awkward standoff with a barmaid who I thought was trying to get me to buy her friend a drink when in reality she was really nice and trying to make sure I hadn't forgotten to buy my own girlfriend one

A couple years ago, when I was about 15, a massive storm surge hit our house during the summer. It was one of those phenomenons that rips branches from the trees, turns the sky purple, floods different areas, and essentially creates a clusterfuck of chaos. I know people in other parts of the world have it far worse with natural disasters, but for a relatively sheltered kid living in suburban Georgia, big storms are sort of our “natural disasters.”

They cause plenty of damage to homes by way of falling trees, and often result in power outages. And at the end of these things, I always remember coming outside like I’d just survived the apocalypse, venturing into a new world filled with terrifying branches scattered about my driveway and, of course, looking for survivors.

After this particular storm, I ended up discovering a little, half-fledged blue-jay. It sat stunned out in our driveway, probably thrown around during the storm. At the time my parents were gone, so it was just me and my 9-year-old sister.

Being the good souls we were, we decided to help the little guy get back on his feet. We ended up taking an old aquarium and filling it with twigs, towels, and birdseed before moving this stunned creature into its new home.

From there, the next logical step was to give our newfound pet a name, so I jokingly suggested calling it by its initials. Unfortunately my little sister loved this idea, and before I could do anything else, they were dead set on feeding her little “BJ.”

Fast forward to my mom coming home, and I, having spent a considerable amount of time suggesting other names like Jellybean or Blue or Jizzanthepuss, frantically searched for another moniker. Anything but this horrible misnomer that I knew would land me in deep shit. I felt kinda bad for my mom too, because she came home relatively tired and the first thing that greeted her was my sister thrusting the bird in her face and saying, “Look at our BJ!”

My mom took a couple moments to process this new development: the adolescent bird, her beaming daughter, the awful name, and then she focused on me. I only smiled guiltily, willing to go along with it and shrugged. “We got a BJ in the driveway.”

The tricky part of this entire fuck up was my little sister was 9, and my mom, who spent a lot of time with younger kids as a teacher at our church, was rather sensitive about what they could absorb. Honestly, the best thing would’ve been to tell my sister straight out, but I guess my mom thought it better for her to get it out of her system.

This didn’t stop her from giving me an earful when we were alone though. She explained how inappropriate it was, but as a 15-year-old male I thought it was pretty ingenious.

Now looking back on it, I think my mom was actually willing to let the entire ordeal go. Especially given we’d rescued little BJ with good intentions. But things only escalated from there when my little sister had a friend over for a playdate.

She spent the entire afternoon with her friend, who we’ll call Erica, and the two of them treated little BJ like their baby. Throughout the day, my mom would glare at me when the term “BJ” cropped in some innocuous way. “Let’s take BJ outside!” “Let’s let BJ fly between us!” "Let's give BJ a bath!" I continued to think it was brilliant, a hilarious scheme for which I could not be blamed. But then my mom got revenge, and this was where the fuck-up bit me in the ass.

Erica’s mother eventually returned to pick her daughter up and the first thing she said, having spent all day with little BJ was that she wanted to "get a BJ for herself." Just like my mom, Erica’s mother did a double-take, not sure she’d heard correctly. Then she went to talk to my mom in private and, after a couple minutes, the two of them came back smiling.

They’d decided it was better for the girls to know what BJ stood for, and they decided to let me impart that little nugget of birds and bees wisdom on their little darlings. Suddenly I was in a tight place, as the girls continued to fawn over the little blue-jay, I gave a very quick, Urban-dictionary style rundown of what it was.

I still cringe at their reactions during my explanation; a mixture of wide-eyes, revulsion, and “boys are so gross!” from them and laughter from the moms. I only wanted to die, feeling what had started as a rather brilliant fuck-up on my part spiral into a conversation fraught with awkwardness. And poor little BJ had to sit through all as his birth name came to light/

*Important Note: Since I know you critical bastards will demand evidence, here’s a couple pics of BJ in the flesh...er feathers: Links to Lil’ BJ: https://imgur.com/a/n9k1E

I also learned a very valuable lesson here: Don’t fuck with my mom. She’ll get you back in a twisted way that ends with you learning something important.

TL;DR We rescued an adolescent blue-jay, I jokingly named it BJ, my little sister loved that and stuck with the name. My mom had to deal with her nine-year-old shouting “BJ” all over the house and I ended up having to explain what a blowjob was to both my little sister and her friend.

*Slight Edit: BJ did end up recovering a couple days later and flew away. And for those of you doubting I actually had to tell the two girls what a BJ was, I'm curious how old you were when you began to get the birds and the bees talk.

Obligatory "this didn't happen today, but 3 weeks ago" (I was waiting to make sure I didn't actually end up dying).

About 4 weeks ago, I had the curiosity to explore my nether hole, having never done so in my life. I was obviously not gonna go in there dry, so I ordered some lube, as well as an anal douche for extra cleanliness, and a complimentary 8'' silicone dildo (yes, the dildo had a flared base too). 48 hours later, I receive an message informing me my new toys are here, and scrambled to get home early from work.

At home, I take a long, hot shower, making sure to relax my sphincter and prepare it for fun. I went through some thorough anal douching (which by the way felt kinda erotic on its own), to make sure no "accidents" happen. I also went through the extra step of cleaning my dildo before using it (don't want to insert any industrial toxins inside my body). The dildo didn't seem like anything I couldn't handle (I've taken bigger logs in my life), and it seemed fairly flexible too. Anyways, out of the shower, I lay a large towel on the bed for extra safety against "accidents", dildo and lube on my left, gentle softcore porn on my right. I put on some relaxing music on my headphones, lay back, and start gently rubbing/caressing my self, wanting to take things slowly. Start from my face, down to breasts, tummy, and then down there, totally natural and slow progression.

I put on some lube on my middle finger, and slowly circle the outside, and then push in, making sure to prepare Ms. Anus for the dildo. 10 minutes later, I feel ready to take on the dildo. Get it ready, cover it in a ton of lube, and try to take it in missionary with the dildo suctioned on the floor. That's when I realized that the dildo was actually way too girthy, and there was no way I was gonna get it up there at that moment, in that position. I wasn't quite sure if being in that position was tensing up my sphincter, or if the dildo was actually too big. Anyways, after some more warming up, several finger in there at the same time, and feeling Ms. Anus get significantly wider now, I suctioned the dildo onto my bedpost, trying to take it with me lying on my back.

"Shit the dildo's actually way too girthy". But as I am in more control in this position, I push myself in slowly. I struggle to get the head in, it feels a bit painful, but I think "I'll get used to it". It does go in at the end. Success... Now time to take it in deeper, going deeper feels painful, but nothing unbearable. I go a bit faster now as I'm a bit too horny to control myself, and I'm getting less patient. 3 minutes later I'm fucking myself vigorously with the dildo, taking its full length. This goes on for a solid 15 minutes while I also masturbate to orgasm. I pull myself out, and a stream of burning pain and blood comes oozing out, in what can only be described as "Oh, I guess I'll die now".

I quickly go sit over the toilet, and shuffle between going to the ER now, or going to the ER if things get worse "Last thing I want to get called is a hypochondriac, this is probably nothing, I don't want middle aged men laughing at me for impaling myself on a dildo. It's not like I've never bled before". I decide against it, and after the bleeding stopped I took a shower (also washing the blood clots off my dildo), and thought everything was dandy. There has been several fuck ups up till this point, but that last one probably got me nearly killed.

I wake up that night feeling very cold, almost sick, thinking to myself "When did it get so cold in here". I wear my winter clothes, close the windows, and turn on the heater. Over the next 3 weeks, I have a severe headache, can't sleep, sore throat, runny nose, I vomit once every 2-3 days, and every time I go to poop, I'd poop blood and feel cold for a good 3-4 hours. I had to take several days off of work because I simply couldn't get myself out of bed. I thought for sure this is how I die.

About 3 days ago things started turning around for me, and I pooped for the first time with no trace of blood in my bowels. I've been feeling fairly good these past few days, and am recovering well. The symptoms are gone/receding, but the mental impact this had on me will live on.

TL;DR: Impaled myself on a large dildo, didn't go to the ER, ended up nearly dying.

I initially wrote this last night, but second guessed myself..

Yeah, like most - I didn't fuck up today. But tonight, I sure realized the magnitude of my fuck up from years ago. I'm a little blown away, sitting on my bed in disbelief, having just gotten home from a spontaneous 2 hour drive coming from my hometown.. from my 10 year "reunion" with some friends to be specific. Reddit this fuck up happened over 10 years ago and this shit just came to haunt me... on my 28th birthday.

Growing up, I got to meet a lot of my dad's friends over the years and they're quite the characters. This one guy in particular, my dad would hang out with quite often, while I was around the ages of 6-10. He had his own shop that they'd hang out and drink beer, and what not. I got to know this guy pretty well and his younger son (younger of the two - 6 years apart). We ended up moving a few cities over and this friend started having a hard time after his wife split with his kid. Apparently she had disappeared with the youngest and the eldest stayed with my dad's friend. This didn't phase me much... I was probably 10 when this happened.

Fast forward a few years and I'm now a Sophomore in high school and active in sports. One sport had this ridiculously witchy coach. Unfortunately I couldn't drop that sport because it was required for me to do for another sport I played. Part of off-season conditioning. (Reddit, I learned petty at a young age... you'll see.) One day, probably while I was being a brat, this coach and I got into an argument and she sent me home. I was all pissed off and venting to my dad and I spewed her name... "Coach Witch Witchy (but her first and last name) is an asshole!" Or some ridiculous insult some emotional high school fetus would say.. I'll never forget the look my dad gave me....

He asked me to repeat her name, so I did. He asked me if I had a picture of her, so I showed him the last years yearbook photo. He asked me how much I knew about her and I said what I knew. She was a witch, her son was on varsity football and a pretty well known and well liked guy. I may have had a crush on him at one point. So my dad says to me "that's My Friend's son and wife..." and proceeded to remind me of what had occurred years prior. He had since stopped talking to his friend after his friend moved to the next state over and said he wouldn't know what to do with the info anyways.

So what did I do? I take my stupid petty ass to MySpace messenger and I search the younger son's name. I message him and ask him if he's talked to his dad lately.... because we were longtime friends. Reddit... he told me his dad died when he was younger. So I fucking told him NOPE. Not true. I showed him his dad's profile and photos and showed him a photo of us growing up and he had told me his mom had told him he had passed away when he was a kid.... he thanked me and I literally never talked to him again. He ended up graduating and I did my own thing obviously.

Well tonight happened... and I'm chit chatting with some old high school friends. Tons of them were on the football team, so it happened. Damnit. Someone brought up the younger son. And the mood got heavy. I was completely oblivious (having joined the military and leaving home)... then it dropped - they told me he slipped into a huge depression after he graduated and let his life kind of go down the drain, then disappeared roughly 5 years ago. That moment I realized..... I PROBABLY ruined his life with a family secret.

I never found out from his family or mine the circumstances in which his depression came about or the details of his life after school... and how or why he disappeared. But I know I changed his life with that info. Selfishly. Just to get back at my coach/his mom. And I honestly don't know if I want to dig to find out more.

I ended up leaving not even 10 minutes after that and drove the super long way home just so I could think about my shittiness.

TL;DR.. I wanted to get back at my coach, so I told her son that his dad was actually alive (which is completely true and accurate as of today).. Now he's a mentally unstable transient and not at all close where he belongs in life.

Obligatory two years ago. There's a tiny bit of set up to this fuck up. It's a fine summer afternoon, the Sunday of move in weekend at my school. I finally got to meet up with my friends from orientation and lo and behold, one of them had a hover board. You know, the ones that had exploding batteries that you had to balance on? Well, of course I want to try it, as it's all the rage; especially since another person in our friend group said it only took him five minutes to figure out how to ride it. So friend 1, owner of the hover board, gives me a quick run down of how to mount, drive and dismount properly. They both said we should do it outside so I don't hit any walls or furniture and I thought this was solid advice.

MISTAKE #1

So we go to the loading dock of our building that also has a mini parking lot for the RD and a half basketball court. We set it down and he goes over the mounting process again.

So here's where the fuck up begins. I step on the hover board (HB for ease of typing) with my right foot. Since it sensed pressure, it started to turn. But not after I picked up my left foot to fully mount the HB. So now that I'm half suspended in air with this devil machine spinning, I instinctively tried to lean back to balance.

MISTAKE #2

So now the HB is spinning backwards and my balance is thrown completely off and I fall to the ground. Now, since the HB is spinning, it rolled over my ankle. Mind you, these puppies weigh a solid 35+ pounds. When I fell, my vision was pure black; when it rolled over my ankle, my vision was pure white. I immediately know something isn't right by the immense pain I have. I can't move at all since the pain was so intense. I sat there holding my ankle off the ground for about five minutes, when I was finally able to sit down on the loading dock, I couldn't get my shoe off until I completely unlaced it. I then knew I had to get the swelling down. Luckily I had an ice tray in my room so I gave one of the friends my key and he went to get it.

Fast forward 45 mins - an hour and I can finally get up off the ground without my ankle hurting. I had to get to my room to lay down, as we thought it was only a bad sprain.

Here's where the universe decided to start saying "Fuck you luap12314." My room was on the third floor and when we asked the RA on duty for the elevator key, it wasn't working. So I had to hop up three flights of stairs to get to my room. It's now about 6pm (the fuck up was about 4 pm) and it took me, a picture of my ankle, and my Aunt who was an EMT for 10 years about 30 minutes to convince her I needed to go to the hospital. Her only request, "Don't take an ambulance."

So I ask the RA what to do, and he says to call university police and see what they have to say.

Ahhh, minor tidbit I missed: the nurse's building on campus is closed on weekends which is why my only option was the hospital.

University Police call an ambulance for me and my mom isn't happy but there wasn't much we could do about it.

Here is the Universe's next fuck you. The entirety of the students in my dorm had to be down in the lobby for a mandatory meeting about rules and regulations at 7 pm. You can probably guess when the ambulance came. 150+ of my new, freshman colleagues, saw me leave that night.

Fast forward to hospital room, after x-rays and stuff. Nurse comes in and tells me and my mom, who was on the phone, that I fractured both malleoli (both of the nubs on your ankle) and I needed surgery in the morning to fix it.

Fast forward a day of waiting in the hospital, wake up from the surgery and the doc comes into the room. He tells me and my mom, who drove 7 hours to be there with me as I was terrified of my first surgery, that they had to put 11 screws and plate in my ankle and they had to stay there for the rest of my life. He tells me that I am to be bedridden the next day and that I can go to classes starting Wednesday. he prescribes me hydrocodone for the pain and to "take it around the clock."

Fast forward to Wednesday, I'm in a wheelchair wheelchair, obliterated on pain meds, and I wheel into my first class. Not fun. My reputation spread as "The freshman who broke his ankle on a hover board."

I spent those first two weeks in the wheelchair, the next four on crutches, and then as soon as I was fit enough to walk, I went to physical therapy for the rest of the semester.

I would "veg" out and miss classes from the meds, and since I took them around the clock, I only have about 10 or so memories of those first two weeks of college.

OH! I set off metal detectors now too.

Tl;dr Fell off hover board first day of college. Broke my right ankle's melleoli (the nubs). Had to get 11 screws and a plate for the rest of my life. Spent first two weeks of college hopped up on hydrocodone in a wheelchair and barely remember it.

Link to metal ankle x-ray and said picture of swollen, broken ankle NSFW

http://imgur.com/a/vvTYU

First of all, excuse my english and any corrections in order to improve my writing are more than welcome. So, this happened about eight months ago.

I was finishing my degree in computer engineering and one of my teachers aproached to me and offered a job in his bussines. This bussiness is small, only 10 people working so everybody is close and there is a good ambience. It's a well consolidated start up and the main activity is R&D focused on radio signals and embbeded systems. So this offer for me was like a gift from heaven.

More context: I am currently 38 years old. I went to college after having a brain stroke and loosing my restaurant because i could not manage it any more due to phisical disabilities caused by the stroke. I was receiving a pension from the goverment and starting to work would jeopardize this pension.

Worst case scenario: start to work, lose the pension and lose the job. Also, in my country you can have an "eventual job" or "permanent job" and I started as eventual.

So here is the story: This is probably in between my third and fourth month in the job. I am very happy working here and learning so much while i'm finishing my degree. I have the newest computer in the office (as a newcomer, you usually get the scraps but they bougth a new computer just for me).

I've been developing an operating system for an embbeded system powered by batteries. And i asked a coworker if it was ok to debug the system while still powered by the battery and not only by the USB. (I do have some knowledge about electronics and electricity but better by save than sorry, right?).

This proyect is almost done and they assign me to a new one wich is porting some software from an old chip to a new one. This proyect consist in another embbeded system that monitors all type of stuff and variables in an electric socket where you can plug any device. To simplify let's say that you plug this thing in a socket and then you can plug any household appliance (for example) so you can monitor the electric consumption, surge or any problem or event with this device.

I alreade have started feeling confidence and i don't want to be asking every moment for everything. Also, there is something wrong in the code and is taking me a lot of time to find the problem. So I start debugging it, plug it, unplug i, plug it, unplug it... and so on.
Getting tired of this I remember my coworker telling my that i can debug while there is an another power source connected.

And here comes the FU: So I take a look at the prototipe and yes, it is connected to 220v but there is a power supply that converts this 220v to 3v and powers the system i'm about to debug so it's basically the same as being connected to a battery, right?. well.. WRONG!

This fucking thing shares the ground in the 220V and the 3v power supply through a chip and i haven't reallize that, and the moment y plug it into the electricity while still connected to the debugger the whole office goes black while a huge spark makes my desktop brigth as fucked. 220 volts entered through the debugger and the usb port of my computer frying the motherbaord. All my coworkes lost power suddenly and they lost data not saved and the prototype kind of blew up. So now all of them looking at me and i feel like Steve Urkel: whoops did i do that?.

Consecuences: brand new computer fried, data lost, prototype blown up. Me? scared shitless.

Previous days we had a "work inspection" because of my pension and those things so we had to do a modification in my contract.

And just next day my boss comes asking me to sign something while i was thinking "shit, i'm out". And then he hands it to me very serious and tells me.
-I didn't have no choice.
I take a peek and it's a new contract as permanent.

Today still working here, very happy and everybody calls me "220 volts".

TL;DR: I am new in the office, I fry my computer and blow up an expensive prototipe by making pass 220Volts through the usb port and my coworkers lose data. Didn't get fired and got a new nickname: 220Volts.

This is a long one, so there's a TL;DR at the bottom. Also, here are some pictures of the bear taken just before this tale occured: https://imgur.com/gallery/VB3Iq]

So first I'll start out with a bit of backstory. I am currently employed as a grounds keeper in a privately owned canyon in Colorado. It's a fairly popular attraction, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is that this park is surrounded by tens of thousands of acres of undeveloped forest, and filled with various wildlife. As you may have guessed, one kind of wildlife we frequently see both outside and within the park are black bears.

Now normally, black bears are not a problem. They're small (for bears), only hunt small game like rabbits when they're not chowing down on berries and such, and in general are very skittish. Of course, there's an exception to every rule.

This exception comes in the form of a young, perhaps 2 year old black bear cub, who will from this point on be referred to as "Persistent Jerk" or PJ for short. PJ, as far as anyone can tell, is an orphan, as we have not once seen her with a full grown mother or even in the vicinity of any of the know bear families in the park. This of course means that she was apparently not taught proper bear manners, including staying the fuck away from humans and their garbage. I mean, I get it, it's hard resisting the smell of rotting garbage on a hot summer day right? But it's perfectly doable, right...? Well not for PJ!

This particular instance began with my coworkers and I taking our lunch breaks in the break room next to the main office. While talking and joking around, we hear some thudding and sniffling, where upon we noticed our intruder. After attempting to scare her away by blasting loud disco music at her, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I took hold of a nearby shovel and one of our cans of bear mace, and took off after the bear. Unsurprisingly, it did not go as well as intended.

First off, the bear did indeed run in fear at the sight of me, who must have been quite the picture as I sprinted towards her, yelling and banging my shovel against a nearby trashcan. Or I would have, if I hadn't immediately smashed my fingers against said trashcan with the shovel, immediately bruising them and cracking a few fingernails in the process. But still the bear ran as I did a small dance or rage and pain. After calming down a bit, I took off after the bear again and followed it to a short retaining wall it had jumped up so it could escape into the woods behind our main office building. Again I was caught up in a heroic vigor, and attempted to leap over the retaining wall as well instead of taking the time to climb it. Needless to say I missed. By a lot. In fact instead of leaping the wall, my knees smashed into the top, launching me face first into a pile of granite rocks a gravel. Luckily the impact only gave me a black eye, but now between the quickly forming black eye, freshly smashed knee caps, and slightly mangled fingers, I was pissed. So pissed in fact that I remembered my ultimate weapon: the bear mace.

Now some people might not know what bear mace is, so sit down and let me learn you a thing or two about bear mace. Basically, it's pepper spray on cocaine. It has an effective range of 15 ft (depending on the can), it's generally this noxious orange color, and it's at least 10 times stronger than law enforcement grade pepper spray. Sounds fun, right? Well I thought so too as I removed the safety tab, pointing the nozel straight at PJ, the source of my woes and anger. As I crept closer I was completely focused on PJ, who had stopped to watch me with what looked like curiosity mixed with a bit of smug amusement. Moving into range, I let loose a bright orange torrent of bear mace, showering PJ with awful spiciness... or so I thought. Here's what actually happened: as I began spewing forth the fiery contents of the can, a powerful gust of wind came down the hillside. Not only did this gust of wind keep most of the bear mace from making contact with PJ, it allowed her time to run off into the forest until she was out of sight. I was not so fortunate. You see, the same gust that shielded PJ from the fiery fumes blew them back towards me. Fortunately I closed my eyes in times, but as I mentioned earlier, this stuff is at least 10 times stronger than even normal pepper spray. As the orange mist washed over me, I immediately began coughing and sneezing harder than I ever have in my life. This only made the problem worse and I inhaled more of the mace, filling my mouth with a spiciness so hot that I nearly vomited then and there! I turned around as best I could and went back down to the main office building, filled with rage and pain.

You would think that my tale ends here, right? Well you're wrong! Being half blinded, I stumbled toward our office building, hoping to wash the little remain mace off of my body. I nearly made it too, except I smashed my knees again, this time into a steel railing that leads up to our offices. Bruised, battered, spicy, and on the verge of tears, I limped into the office and locked myself in the bathroom as I washed the mace off and tried not to cry. When I finally did come out, I limped to my supervisor's desk and told him this tale. After getting a good laugh out of it, the kind woman decided I had had enough for the day, and allowed me to stay in the office for an hour or so as I iced down my various wounds.

And that's the story of how I fucked up today! Thanks for reading everyone, and remember, don't screw with bears!

TL;DR: In an attempt to chase away a bear at work today, I ended up smashing some fingers, bruising my knees (twice), and giving myself a black eye. Oh, and I somehow managed to spray myself with some bear mace.

Edit: formatting

So this story spans about 2 weeks. Over the summer, I have been working at an internship for $company in $nowhere Oklahoma. Not the town Nowhere but just somewhere in the middle of Oklahoma. I am renting a room from some people that own a house near $company. They have a place for me to park my truck by the side of the house, next to some fire wood and a sort of wooded area. Anyways, about 2 weeks ago, I notice a big spider web in my truck bed. Im not particularly scared of spiders...but I do not like them in my room, truck or on me. But I thought, "its not hurting anyone, I'll just leave it until I need my truck bed." That was my big FU. Because it was about the size of a quarter and a bright OSU orange.

Over the next week or so, I noticed some cool patterns in my bed and just thought "Cool! Look at that design!" The next week, I commuted back home and my father helped me wash my truck. I didnt think of the spider and didnt find him anywhere while we were washing it. So I just thought that he died or moved on.

That takes us to day. I’m back in $nowhere, Oklahoma and I had the munchies for Freddies Stake burgers. I went to the drive through to get my burger. The cashier woman handed my my burger and my fries. And while she was trying to hand me my drink, this big ass spider jumps from my room MI3 style onto my succulent sweet tea. She, of course, flips out, throwing my drink and also the spider into the air. I, with my amazing reflexes, catch my drink upside down in a way so that the lid comes off and washes the spider onto the ground with a rush of that cool, cool sweet tea. She apologizes and gets me a new drink. I go home thinking that that will be the last of it but no. He somehow climbed back onto my truck and positioned himself on the middle of my driver side door.

After I climb out of my truck, I notice that he is sitting there rubbing his sticky bastard feelers in a diabolical way and has somehow figured out how to change his color from OSU orange to death black. I knew that I would either have to deal with him now or tomorrow morning at 6am when I go to work. I ran inside and grabbed a cup of water and ran back outside. To my surprise, he was gone! That sneaky bastard knew I would come back with something to try to at least get rid of him and hid somewhere on my truck. Now, again, I'm not scared of spiders...however, this...thing! Has already attacked me (or maybe my sweet tea) and has taunted me in that evil spidery way. So I start looking around my truck thinking hes just trying to find someplace to make a web or something. After about 5 minutes of looking I think back to how he attacked me before. He jumped. Off of the roof. So I think “No, that was just a coincidence.” So I decided to get in the bed of my truck to check the roof. And there he is. That bitch of a spider is sitting right above the drivers door in a way that you can only see him from above! Waiting for me to climb back into my truck so he can make his next move!

He must have noticed that I found him because he turned to me and looked into my soul with his beady little eyes. After judging me to be his next target he, once again, jumps from the roof MI3 style onto the drivers door in a desperate way to escape. I was a little stunned because I have only seen squirrels and cats plot the destruction of man. So, I jump down from my truck bed, next to the right rear tire. Slowly walk over to the door only to see that he has dispersed again. Now at this point, I should have realized that my truck is no longer worth the trouble and I should have doused it in gasoline and burned it. But I was too scared of letting him learn about the destructive force that is know as fire.

I search around again and find him hiding beneath my driver side mirror. Now this probably didn't happen but I was starting to freak out a bit and I swear I heard him hiss at me. I poured a little water on the mirror and he fucking jumped about 2 feet to my driver side window! I wasn't expecting that so jumped back and threw the rest of the water at him. It was a pretty damn good shot because it washed him off of my truck and about 5 feet away into the wood chips. I swear he hissed at me again and ran off. So now I’m hiding in my room with my trusty Dean Marten lighter and a bottle of hair spray just in case. I don't know how to kill a spider that has somehow adapted in such a way that it can change the color of its skin; is the size of a quarter and now probably has the taste for blood and, very likely, the taste for sweet tea. I hope that fire will have some effect on it so if anyone knows where I can buy some fireproof paint (preferably blue) for my truck or maybe a clear coat, I would very much like to know so I can shoot fire at him if he tries to MI3 me again.

TL:DR: Orange spider that is the size of a quarter learns how to change colors, learns the sweet taste of blood or maybe sweet tea and tries to kill me or kidnap my sweet tea. He hisses at me and plots his next move. I need to know where to get fire proof car paint in case of retaliation.

Edit: So I thought I should update you guys on the day after my encounter with what I can only assume is an apostate of Satan. Anyhow, this morning I carefully approached my truck with my lighter and hairspray in hand ready for the impending attack. And after a short inspection and a few ignorant remarks from my neighbor, I determined that the said apostate had run off. On my ride to work, I was most worried that he had webbed up my engine so he could attack me when I go to fix my engine, (you can tell I watch too many movies) but that didn't happen. My desk had a few more webs on it than usual and I'm pretty sure HR would be pretty pissed if I tried to cleanse my desk with fire so I just cleaned it with sanitary wipes. Have yet to see that little bastard and hopefully yesterday was the last and only attack...but paranoia (and too many movies) tell me that hes just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Still wondering where to get some flame retardant paint so I can blast killer spiders of biblical proportion off of my truck.

This did not happen today, but roughly two years ago. I was traveling around Europe and had been staying in hostels for the last month or so when I made a stop in Inverness, Scotland. I was close to the last week of my trip and had been pretty frugal, so decided to treat myself to having my own room. It was close to where I wanted to be and cheap enough, so I stayed in a quaint Bed and Breakfast run by a lovely couple.

I check in, get the tour, and decide to go exploring. I walk around the town a bit and stop for some dinner at a pub near the castle. It began to rain (shocker) so I shared my table under the covered patio with two guys from Dublin in town for a wedding.

We become friendly and decide to go to a pub nearby called Hootenanny's to hear some live music, at the recommendation I received from several locals. We go, enjoy the music and a few brews and have a good time. One of them shares a story with me involving the last wedding he went to, in which he got drunk and lost and spent the night in a strangers shed. I regret not getting his contact information, because I'm pretty sure that he jinxed me and I will now never be able to tell him what happened to me after we separated.

I get back to my B&B around midnight, and celebrate the fact that I am not in a shared hostel for the first time in a while by sleeping in a tank top and underwear.

Fast forward a few hours later, where I wake up in pitch blackness having to piss like never before in my life. Sheer panic hits while I am still half asleep and can't remember which country I'm in, let alone which sleeping arrangements. I blindly fumble for the door while trying not to soak myself, dash across the hall to the bathroom and collapse on the toilet to do my thing.

My sigh of relief was not even finished before my mind flashed back to my earlier tour with the female owner:

"Make sure ya keep your keys with ya, cause the door to yer room locks automatically and ya dinna want to be locked oot."

Just then I pictured my keys, safely sitting on my nightstand behind the locked door with the rest of my worldly belongings, including the rest of my clothes. Even during July, the temperatures at night in Scotland are...well, not underwear weather.

Realizing that my phone and the emergency number to reach the owners were also behind my now-locked bedroom door, I quietly crept around the lobby for any information I could use to reach someone and even snooped around a bit looking for spare keys. Nothing.

Dejected, I grabbed a book from the bookcase and headed back upstairs, made myself a bath to stay warm and settled up for the night.

Around 7 AM I heard the husband come in with their dog, and crept out to the top of the landing. I called down the stairs in a bit of a shout-whisper, "Excuse me? I accidently locked myself out of my room, could you help get me in? Also...I'm stuck out in only my underwear."

The sound that answered me was a fairly distinct one that I believe only a man from the Highlands can make. An uproarious guffaw with a touch of throaty wheezing, with I'm pretty sure a bit of Gaelic teasing thrown in. After a few agonizing seconds of that, a gentle, "Aye lass, wait it oot in the toilet an I'll get ya sorted" came up the corridor.

As instructed, I stood in the bathroom while he came up with a spare key and released me from my porcelain prison, all the while listening to his soft continued laughter. He gave me the all clear and shuffled back down the stairs, whistling and chuckling as he went. I scooted across the hallway into my £40/night room that I spent two hours in, and slipped into bed.

Just before I fell asleep, I realized that I had signed up for a full Scottish breakfast at 8 am, and remembered that the wife was from Glasgow and no way in hell was I going to piss her off by wasting food. Dragged myself downstairs to the husband cheekily handing me my breakfast with a "Good mornin', (insert my name here)! How'd ya sleep?" All with a mischievous but harmless glint in his eye.

TL;DR: Went out drinking in Inverness, Scotland. Came back to a B&B with self locking doors, woke up to piss in the shared bathroom across the hall in just my underwear and left keys behind. Spent the night in the bathtub and was teasingly mocked by the owner over breakfast.

This happened today. I'm still trying to figure out what to do tomorrow, how to lie without lying, and how to explain this to a doctor without sounding like I'm trying to cover up a strange sex act. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Time for a story.

On my first day of work I was being shown around the building and when we got to the top floor there was the sound of a thud from the roof above us. I looked at the cute HR lady and she said, "Oh, that's bossman he has a gym on the roof."

Later that day I was in my office when bossman stops by. I mention getting the tour and that I heard about his "gym". He laughs and says it's not much but I am more than welcome to join him anytime. I told him I haven't lifted in years but that I probably should.

The next day I show up to work with a gym bag in tow and after work I changed and headed for the roof. I find that he has a bench, squat rack, multiple bars, a good compliment of plates, hanging rings, kettle bells, and even a battle rope. Monday through Friday after work we hit the weights and do some crossfit. I'm not into crossfit at all but because my workout partner is I guess I am too.

Fast forward six months. The hour after work and before I get home is a fun (as much as fun as a flabby guy working out with a crossfitter can be) and cathartic time. For a little bit he isn't the owner of the company and my direct supervisor, we are just bros.

I explain all that to explain the nature of the relationship. While we workout together as equals outside office politics he is still my boss. There may be good natured ribbing and egging each other on but there is still a degree of distance. Maybe there doesn't need to be but there is.

I also need to explain that it's hot here and I sweat a lot. Recently I have been bringing an entirely different set of clothes to work but today I was in a hurry and forgot. Luckily enough I had forgotten to take my clothes from the day before out of the bag. The shorts and shirt were only mildly smelly but the boxers were just too much. A freeballin' day.

Our workout ended and I was putting the weights away. The banter was on point and we were laughing about something that has totally faded from my memory. I was putting the plates onto a rack that looks something like this. Now notice the angle of the arms that the plates sit on. After years of use they have become quite slick. I set one 10 kg plate on and it slides down. I place the second plate on, he says something funny, I respond, the plate slides, I feel an awful pinch and it takes my brain a moment to realize where the pain is coming from.

I yelp and drop to one knee. I clutch at my pinched dick. I must have been leaning too close to the plates and it got smashed between them as the second slid down. The pain is intense and pulsing. I take a deep breath but it doesn't fade.

My boss looks over, "Pinch your finger? That sucks."

I gasp out "Yeah, it does."

"Oh come one, don't be a weenie. Let's go lock up."

Right now, I am sitting at home looking down at my bruised penis. It looks like some sort of blood blister has formed. It is dark and swollen. My wife is almost in tears with laughter.

I am trying to figure out if I need to go to the doctor. And if I do, what I'm going to say to my boss. The company is small enough that my absence will be acutely felt and I would need a good excuse to be gone. Sure, I have personal days but I don't want to put any more burden on my coworkers if I don't have to.

Do I lie? Do I come clean and say, "Hey HR, I'm not going to be in today, I smashed my dick between two 10kg iron plates and I need to make sure I can still function"? And how is that going to sound at the doctor's office? Am I going to explain that my bruised phallus is the result of my negligence and not some heretofore unknown (maybe, I don’t know what people are into) sex-act? Can I trust my wife not to make subtle BDSM references at the doctor’s office?

TIFU and it hurts.

*TLDR; Smashed dick, am embarrassed. *

Update: I went to the doctor and he barely raised an eyebrow as I explained what happened. I was given some painkillers and sent on my way. I called into work and the conversation went like this:

"I'm not going to be in today, I'm going to the doctor." "Ok, take care." Click

18 y/o skinny kid, living with my parents. today, 4 am, i was sharpening the kitchen knives, and i was testing them on various objects i could find in the kitchen (being the retarded useless shit that i am). Curiously enough, I thought that if i poked a hole in the water bottle over the water dispenser, it wouldnt need to gurgle and bubble when being used, i felt brilliant! "Why havent they done this themselves? I'll fix it!" First I tried the sharpened knives. I tried poking, then vigorously stabbing the plastic bottle above the water line.

Not only was I weak and scrawny with my jabs, but my sharpening was apparently shit quality too (I later realized I was sharpening serrated knives using a grindstone, and I ruined the teeth, making them even duller :|). The thick plastic water bottle was unexpectedly tough, more than able to stand up to my feeble attempt at gouging it, and it never really came to mind that this was for a reason. I was about to quickly find out. I got a (shitty) idea. I heated up a knife using the stove until it was red hot, and then gently pressed it onto the bottle. The blade glided in like a hot knife through butter.. or, er... plastic., leaving a 1 inch long hole.

About 3 seconds later the laws of physics took over, water started gushing out from the top of the water dispenser, spraying all over the carpeted floor, the microwave and nearby wooden table. I jumped, panicked, i threw the red, hot, burning knife on said wooden table, lifted the water bottle from the dispenser as it was continuously spilling water everywhere, struggled towards the kitchen sink, and tossed it in. I set it upright. At this point I had lost about half the water. It was still leaking from the hole, I had a stick of hot glue laying around. I heated the glue over the stove, and painted the bottle like a fucking maniac having a stroke. Needless to say my efforts were unsuccessful. I taped the whole on top and flipped the bottle upside down. It was no longer leaking but the hole was still there. I turned around to see my kitchen table was on fire. Holy... fuck.

I took some water from the tap and doused it on the table, the knife sizzled and popped, the fire was out. Water was still leaking from the water dispenser, no idea where. I got some rags to start wiping to water, but as soon as I touched the dispenser, I got electrocuted, fell to the floor, the arms were spasming out and I felt like the a biggest failure ever. I got back up, and carefully sneaked around the evil, murderous dispenser and flicked it off. I ran back, started wiping the place. The carpeted floor was not handling the water well at all. While all hell was breaking loose in the kitchen, my mother was in the living room about 15 feet away watching henna tutorials with headphones on. The stress levels were high. If she found out all the crap I did... I actually dont know what would've happened. There's a giant black crater in the table. The dispenser and ground are covered in water. I use some more hot glue on the hole, still scrubbing the stick over it. I tape a plastic sheet over the glue and hope its air tight. Put it back on the dispenser, I hear a small hissing sound coming from the patched hole. shit shit shit shit. I run and grab the tape, and start slapping on more tape all over the place hoping the hissing will stop. 15 seconds later and the water starts gushing out again. shit shit shit. I lift the water bottle again and toss it back into the sink. Again water all over the fucking place, im dripping soaked.

My mother hears banging and clanging sounds. "What are you doing in the kitchen? Whats that sound?" I yell back, "Nothing!! I just dropped something!!" I've lost 3/4 of all the water to the ground. I tape the top and flip it over again for the second time. I tear the tape, the plastic sheet and glue off. And I carefully dry the exterior, apply some more hot glue, slowly, and I let it cool off this time. It looks like a good seal. I place it back, and it looks good, its started to gurgle and bubble again!

I turn on the water dispenser, electrocuted again, I turn it back off. bad idea lol.

Theres a 2 inch black charred crater in the wooden table, any way i can fix it? I've covered it with a table mat for now lol. Also the kitchen smells alot because of the water. I used alot of rags and tissues to clean the water, but theres still alot left. Any remedy to that? My mom asked why the carpet is wet and why it smells. I told her the gutter must have leaked. IDK how long she is gonna believe that. Is the water dispenser gonna work after it has dried?

TL;DR: poked a hole in the water bottle, didnt realize the physics, water came gushing out, accidentally set a wooden table on fire with a red hot knife, got electrocuted. Theres a crater in the wooden table, the kitchen smells, the carpet is not happy.

update: Its the next day. My dad is real suspicious. He noticed the water missing, and he thinks there might be leak. The smell is still there. He thinks its coming from the gutter. The charred part of the table is still under the table mat. I also bought some wood polish spray, im thinking of filling the crater in the wooden table with hot glue and spraying it with the polish to make it seem like wood? Will this work or should i not even try it?

update2: I filled the crater with glue, and painted over it, its noticeable, but not from a distance. ill still cover it with the mat tho. might post pictures later. I used a wet vacuum cleaner in the kitchen, the carpet is doing better, its dried over the 2 nights, but the smell still lingers. I've been using heavy amounts of air freshener. None of my parents have noticed the missing water.

I need to get this out of my system, tonight's been extremely heavy, I don't think I would be writing if it weren't for luck... (TL;DR down below)

Day 1 Salvaging - Smooth.

So, I have a motorized scooter, and it's been progressively turning bad recently. Knowing what was the problem I bought the tool required and waited to order a new part for the engine, I wasn't in a hurry to spend that much money. But yesterday during work I stumbled upon the exact same model of scooter that I have, only abandoned and completely stripped. So without hesitation I asked a colleague to come with me the same night, the neighborhood isn't even that bad, but I suppose if you stumble upon bad people who wants to fuck with you, they'll come swarming real quick. So we went there, quickly recovered the part, a neighbor was watching from his balcony, I asked if the vehicle was here for a long time, she said yes and that I really wasn't robbing anybody at this point, everything went smoothly, I even installed the part on my vehicle not ten minutes after. My scooter was in the best shape ever, extremely responsive and fast.

I was satisfied, and I wanted more, my brakes weren't in par with the speed anymore.

Day 2 Salvaging - The Chase

So I decided to return tonight, I headed there with all the tools, parked at a distance, got prepared, started unscrewing, people passing by, no problem. But then, a young dude from the projects passed by, tracksuit, trainers, and aiming to blend in and justify my business, I asked him if he lived here and if the vehicle was here since long, I should've shut the fuck up. Dude immediately understood I was an outsider salvaging, he claimed the wreck was his friend's, I understood I would be fucked real quick, I got my tool in my backpack, started walking out, he followed me, called some people, then two others joined, I almost went for a deserted park but quickly turned back thinking this would be the end of me, I quickly ran towards busy roads as they were yelling "stop him". I passed about 4-6 dudes trying to get my sorry ass in a narrow street. I ran like hell, they were coming with determination, I had a glimpse at a gigantic black dude behind me, they all would've broken me in half. Arriving at a roundabout I tried to stop cars so they would pick me up, first was full with kids, dead no, the second was in the same case, the third was a single young woman, I begged and she opened the door, I got in and she stepped on it to catch a green light. I thought I was out of the shitstorm, she was laughing a bit at the situation, I couldn't think straight, I was just in shock and I wasn't even checking behind me nor giving her instructions to turn somewhere, we were on a straight road. I was waiting for the stress to settle down, without knowing I was waiting for the shitstorm to hit me a second time...

Collateral Damages and The Escape

Without me even noticing it, the pursuers were right behind us in a white car, they all got out and I started hearing voices and hitting sounds on the cars, I began to see what was happening, one tried to open the driver's door where that innocent girl was, another took some trashes from a trash container (wtf?) and threw it at my opened window, she quickly drove, but not fast enough, that trash guy broke a passenger window and when I turned my head forward I notice the windshield was partly broken aswell, everything went extremely fast, I asked her to go fast while I checked behind, they were pinned back, I asked her to turn after we took some distance, she rightfully switched her mood to being very mad at me telling me that the car wasn't even hers, I told her to stop and she told me to fuck off out of the car. I was in a weird state of being concerned for my safety, being sorry for the collateral shit, and still very very focused on my life and how I would survive this. The street was deserted so I stopped for a sec in a private garden to hide just in case, stayed a tiny bit.

From this point, I had two goals, recover my left behind vehicle that was well outside the pursuers perimeter, and also not stumble upon them whilst trying to get there, I know the neighborhood by heart so finding the safest route wasn't a big deal, but I was getting extremely paranoid, "hide from every car" paranoid. Running when crossing the boulevard, walking near parked cars so I could hide quickly, at some point I even left my backpack below a car to lose the weight. I couldn't allow them to find me, although it was very likely that they were back at the starting point, or hiding in the same area, we have a heavy cop presence in my city, when shit goes down beside witnesses you can start to count, cops will be there within minutes (I even heard sirens when recovering my vehicle, I'm sure the pursuers are linked). So I made my way there à la MGS, hiding from absolutely every vehicle, I quickly got to my scooter, put my helmet in a hurry, and fucking took off as if there was a tsunami behind me, evading the main streets.

What now...

Again I sometime work in that neighborhood, so my options are to never wear my tonight's outfit, nor the noticeable holster that holds my money. I could keep a very light beard for some months, and always keep my helmet's sunshade in that neighborhood, I could ask colleagues to go work there in my place when available. Thankfully there are no connections between my vehicle and me.

Now for the young woman and her car, she could either claim that I am guilty, or that the pursuers are. Can't tell if she would go to the police or directly manage this with her insurance. I just want to stay alive, I don't mind paying a fine, I don't know if the salvaging is truly illegal and if I'd get identified by bystanders.

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TL;DR Needed parts to repair my scooter, found wreck scooter in bad neighborhood, successfully salvaged it a first time, tried my luck a second time, unsuccessfully. 4-6 dudes chasing me, I went for roads, begged passerby drivers for help, got in a car, thought I was good but didn't notice the pursuers were still on my ass, they broke two windows of that stranger's car, we got away, I took off alone. Went MGS near the said neighborhood trying to recover my left behind vehicle. Successfully. Now I can't really step there anymore, though I'm sometime obligated to. I'm doubtful and a bit paranoid now.

This happened yesterday. My boyfriend and I bought a house about 3 months ago, the first time he mowed the lawn, he used the bag attachment to catch the clippings. There was a lot more than he expected, and it filled up a large garbage can. Not knowing what to do with them, they ended up sitting in our garage with the cover on and he completely forgot about them (we have not used the bag attachment since that first time, as we have read up on proper lawn care).

Fast forward to yesterday- I was cleaning out the garage while my boyfriend was at work. I come across this still-full garbage can and decide to get rid of the contents. I popped off the lid, and BAM. The smell hit me. The grass clippings had started to decompose in the dark, humid, enclosed space and smelled absolutely awful. Like a farm that also processed sewage and mixed the smells together.

I throw on some gloves and decide to dump the contents into an area of our yard that is mostly dirt and has been somewhat of a compost heap. Yes, it smelled terrible, but I thought that it would last a couple days and decompose quickly. Plus it was better than letting it rot inside this garbage can forever.

I have a very strong stomach, but it lurched at the smell and I almost ralphed more than once. I had to walk away a few times to regain my composure. Now, I should note that my dog, Stella, had been outside with me the whole time, not really paying any mind to the smell or the grass itself. I figured she didn't want anything to do with the stench.

An hour or two later, my boyfriend comes home and I'm catching him up on everything I did around the house. I show him the clippings and tell him to be careful of the smell. He thought I should have poured the clippings into the garbage bin we take to the curb, which I thought was impossible as I couldn't lift it up to pour it in and also because it wasn't bagged and our bin would smell like that forever. We shrug it off and go on with our day.

Later that evening, I let the dog out to do her business and call her in a few minutes later, as it's about to rain (she hates the rain). It takes me three whistles to get her to come, but she trots in while licking her lips...odd, perhaps, but she likes to munch on grass and june bugs, so I think nothing of it. As soon as she gets inside, her ears go back, head lowers, and she goes straight to her kennel. Now I know something's up. I look down the hallway and she had tracked in what I assumed was mud (it was wet out). I yell to my boyfriend that the dog tracked something in and it's all over the carpet. He's on the phone and can't help right away so I go into the room her kennel is in and get a closer look. I immediately smell the terrible smell of the rotting grass. Crap. She was walking around in it and now it's all over the carpet. But wait, she was licking her lips when she came in. She couldn't have been....no way....was she...eating it?? I yell for my boyfriend and make him smell her face, I couldn't bear to do it. He confirms that she had been eating the death grass. Gross. So gross.

We get her out of the kennel and put her in the garage while we clean up the carpet and her bed. I've worked with dogs for over 6 years, so I know that we can use hydrogen peroxide to make her throw the grass up. Better now than in the middle of the night in her kennel, which would get all over her and the carpet again.

We give her the proper amount (1 tsp for every 10 lbs of dog) and wait. In the meantime, we decide we need to get rid of the grass.

By now it's raining, so we are out in the mud, shoveling shit-grass into garbage bags and throwing them into the bin. I'd also like to add that this happened right as we were about to go out for drinks, so I had just finished my make up, we were both freshly showered and dressed, now wet, muddy, and can only smell the terrible stench of death-grass.

We finally get as much out of the yard as possible, look over to check on the dog, and see that she has finally thrown up. To our horror, there was two HUGE piles of death-grass puke on the driveway. HUGE. Like two baseball glove-sized piles. We are amazed. We tell her it's okay and that she's a good girl for throwing it up. My boyfriend gets the honor of cleaning that up, as I am taking her into my mobile pet grooming van (conveniently parked behind our house) to give her a bath and brush her teeth.

We ended up staying in and reminiscing about our terrible evening together, with the dog in her kennel next to us so we can keep an eye on her, and to contain any rogue pukes of death-grass. Luckily that didn't happen and we ended the night on a positive note.

TL;DR I emptied a garbage can full of decomposing, terrible smelling grass into the yard, dog ate it, tracked it into the house, puked it up. We spent what was going to be our night out cleaning carpet, puke, dog and yard.