Police Try to Help Man with Crotch Cut
First stop: ER for crotch repair; next stop: jail… Cops responding to a domestic disturbance at an apartment in GA heard a man threaten to kill someone, only to beg for help seconds later. They found him lying in a pool of blood, nursing a huge cut to his scrotum. He had different stories about how he wound up on the floor bleeding from between his legs. (Oddly they didn’t question who he threatened to kill.)
The officers called for an ambulance and learned the man was wanted for a felony probation violation. When paramedics arrived, the man refused treatment. Instead he questioned, “Is this really necessary?” (Personally, if I had a gaping hole in my crotch that was NOT my related to existing orifices, I’d be slightly less contentious with emergency medical technicians…) Refusing to cooperate, an officer finally handcuffed him and took him to the hospital in the back of his patrol car.
Once in an examination room, the man proceeded to curse out female nurses so badly that the hospital assigned a male nurse to deal with him. He then spit in the face of another police officer. After his release he was charged with disorderly conduct, simple battery on a police officer (for spitting) and probation violation. The moral of the story is: If you’re already wanted for probation violations, don’t injure your crotch, curse out a nurse, and spit at a cop.
It’s not death that I’m afraid of, it’s an unnecessarily embarrassing death I’d have to live down into eternity that keeps me up at night. Like this unfortunate chap: A 44-year-old man from Newport, Shropshire, who died after he tied himself to a tree, wrapped a cord around his penis and became trapped. In a Houdini FAIL of epic proportions, the man cut his wrists in attempts to escape and died of blood loss and hypothermia.
Friends of the deceased noted that on the night before he died, the man had downed seven pints of beer and a vodka/coke. He returned home at 1:00 am to make a rope with two loops for his wrists. Then he went for walk, found a tree, removed his clothes and tied himself to the tree using his improvised handcuffs, facing the tree. He was found at 8:00 am the next morning wearing only socks and boots, with the cord still wrapped around his penis. He died just a few hours later. Still no word on what in God’s name he was doing with a cord wrapped around his dick, tied naked to a tree in the first place…
Woman Severs Husband’s Penis
A woman was reported to have severed her husband’s penis during his sleep yesterday.
Suspecting that her 34-year-old husband was having an affair, she cut his penis with a pair of scissors.
The man was sent to nearby hospital and his penis was stitched up by 11am yesterday, according to hospital officials.
The woman’s mother stated that her daughter suffered from mental problems. (Ya think???)
What Cuts Me 2 The Quick: Broken Glass
I was washing dishes when a glass bottle broke (more like spontaneously combusted) and cut my arm so deeply it exposed the bone and tendon: NASTY. I hate the sight of my own blood, but that’s trivial compared to the sight of my own blood flowing over the bone in my arm.
The good news is I didn’t have to go back to Harlem Hospital (as in the case of the Pot Hole Smack Down of ’08). Instead I went to Mt. Sinai, which I highly recommend. I would, however, discourage anyone from raking broken glass down the arm.
Hair Don’t
I just got my hair cut this week. I hate getting it trimmed since I’ve been trying to grow it out for years. Basically, after I moved to Amherst for one intolerable semester at UMASS, I finally decided to cut my hair extremely short, which I had always wanted to do but never had the balls to disobey my father’s wish of Lady Godiva length locks. I’ve been trying to grow it back ever since (talk about Karma).
I really didn’t want to cut off much at all, just a trim for the ends is all I hoped for. My hairdresser asks me what I want to do, and then blatantly disregards my requests. Does anyone else feel intimidated by a service provider whom the see regularly?
My hairdresser is a very good looking Russian guy and I don’t have the where-with-all to fight back, mostly because I spend the entire time in the chair being preoccupied with whether he is focusing on my bald spot, a rather large dent in the back of my head, a small lump at the top of my crown, or a case of psoriasis I have never quite been able to kick.
Usually by the time my insecurities reach their peak potency, the length of my hair is a non-issue. Not like it matters since my hair is so curly it looks the same no matter what is done with it.
