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Category Archives: Horrific Stories

The Sun - at it's best

The Sun - at it's best

I don’t really need to say too much. Whoever came up with this newspaper headline must be proud.

As shocking as it is, secretly, well not now, I would have loved to come up with a headline like this. A tabloid newspaper’s headline writer is something I would love to do, I could actually make a use of my awful creative puns I bore everyone with.


During my time at primary school a new kid joined our form in my last year. He had moved school and we later found out why. It was rumoured he was bullied because he walked into a corner of a table with such force that he ended up loosing a testicle.

I was telling this story to my mate Jason when he had a similar story that was miles more impressive.

One of Jason’s mates at school was a kid called Wayne Ball. One day Wayne decided to skive one of his lessons and decided to go and hide in a field of horses. One of Jason’s friends saw Wayne walking into the field through a classroom window.

While Wayne was in the field a horse came up to him and bit one of his balls off! Ouch! For the rest of his time at that school, everyone knew he had lost a testicle. They even had a song about him – ‘Wayne Ball! He’s only got one ball! Wayne Ball!’ Poor poor guy.

Poo On A Wall

Poo On A Wall

Pretty simple point to this post. This was taken outside by work’s office just before Christmas. Is it human or animal poo? We are going for a crack user. Either way it’s utterly disgusting. Also the next day, one of my colleagues spotted a dog eating some of the poo.

I recently went to get my hair cut back where I used to live in Palmers Green. I have a wierd thing with hairdressers, only 3 salons have ever cut my hair and I just feel uncomfortable going to a new salon. That is why I go on a 3 hour round trip to get my hair done. Convient? No.

The one salon is a family friends from back home I’ve gone to my whole time in Worcester. The 2nd was in Oakwood, London near my halls and I only went in there once. I ended up having the worst hair cut of my life, but that wasn’t what put me off. This was a proper rude boy barbers I was to discover. During my 30 minutes in there I was offered, and no joke, illegal Batman and Star Wars merchandise, 2 A0 metal picture frames, t-shirts, cocaine and weed. I said no to all. All I wanted was a hair cut.

The third and current salon is in Palmers Green and this is where this post takes shape. I do miss the wierdos in Palmers Green, I really do, everyone is just too normal in Crouch End and sometimes that is not a good thing.

I got off the bus and crossed the road. I was in the middle of the main road when I heard someone shouting at me. It was a tramp asking me if I could give him some money. I replied “I am in the middle of crossing a main road and would like to get to the other side. No thank you.”

I entered the salon and waited my turn. I then got my hair washed before it was cut. There was a new woman washing the customer’s hair, she seemed like an illegal immigrant (possibly) and 50 years old. I question this, because she is 50, why is she just washing hair? To be fair she seemed nice enough. I layed back and she said i will alter the seat, she yanked it so far upwards as smooth as a rollercoaster.

I then noticed her bingo wings on her arms, and I really noticed them as they slapped my face not once, not twice but three times before she said sorry. Lovely. Around 10 minutes later while my hair was being cut, what song came on the radio in the salon? “Wind Beneath My Wings.” I found it almost impossible to stop laughing at the irony.

Now best of all between having my hair washed and hair cut, the sort of thing I seem to attract happened again. Another tramp came into the salon and I quote, “My nail is half coming off my finger could you cut it off?” The owner politely declined saying she can’t use hair scissors on nails for health and safety issues. He then left and everyone burst out laughing. I have to question why he didn’t go into one of the billion nail salons in Palmers Green (every 5th shop is a nail salon there, no really) or just didn’t pick it off if he was that desperate.

I’m glad I have private medical health care these days and don’t have to rely on the NHS as much, it really has helped me out. This however was not the standard I expected.

This is what the money pays for

This is what the money pays for

I was going in for a second MRI scan recently, this time in a different hospital, so I thought I knew what to expect. That day it was tipping it down with rain. Firstly, slightly off the beaten track, the other patient waiting in the reception was called to see his doctor – his name…. Mr Thomas Thomas. This after the previous week I found out one of the other Doctors there was called Doctor Wonder!

Anyway my name was called and I was asked to go along to my scan and so I followed the doctor along the corridors until we walked through the back of the hospital kitchen and through the fire exit doors. I was a little confused.

We then went outside into the rain and up the slippy metal stairs to this mobile MRI scan unit. The patient before me who was in a wheelchair was still in there with 2 of her family/friends plus 2 more nurses as me and the doctor entered making that 7 people in a space really big enough for 2-3. It was cramped to say the least.

I was then given headphones, I thought to block out the sound and I entered the scan unit and everyone left the room. The nurse asked if I was ready to begin through the tannoy system and I said yes. What I didn’t expect was for radio to literally be blasted through my headphones at such a loud volume for the entire 30 minutes the scan took place. My ears were killing and I couldn’t do anything about it apart from stop the scan midway – I just felt doing this to complain they were playing Alexandra Burke through my headphones maybe wouldn’t have gone down well but I was certainly tempted to do so.

My mum has recently informed my sister how our Great Auntie died. Now I never met her or my grandmother as they passed away before I was born. This is short story.

My Great Auntie died from being run over by a bus. Her niece / my grandmother was on that bus. Unbelievable!

I recently got told by one of my close friends – I shall not name her for theĀ embarrassmentĀ this post may cause – has problems while going to the toilet and being in the bath. What possible logical explanation could there be?

Well obviously, she often has panic attacks that a shark may come out of the plug hole in the bath and up the toilet while sat on it. If this happens she has to immediately get out of the bathroom and go into another room, compose herself before returning to the shark infested waters of her bathroom. Unbelievable. How old is she? 5? 12? No 24 years old.

I would like to add I can understand unusual phobias, after all, I do have a ridiculous phobia of tuna, I can’t even touch an unused can – but a shark coming out of your bath’s plug hole – it could be stretching things.

I was once refused entry to Reflex nightclub. This is a nightclub for those who don’t know it, that is a tribute to everything 1980s, the music, the fashion, the flashing dancefloor etc.

Me and my mates were behind a hen party dressed with huge sombreros, fake guns and big fake moustaches. They went into Reflex and we were then refused entry based on the dress code, all because our shoes weren’t smart enough. Usually I wouldn’t be too aggrieved but after what went in before us that was silly beyond reason!

To add to the previous post about the unusual sandwich bought, I have a little tale about a toasted chicken sandwich I bought once. I bought it from a small sandwich shop on the corner of Lords cricket ground that shares the same roundabout as Regents Park.

I asked for a toasted chicken sandwich to go, waited a good 10 minutes for it even though we were the only ones in the shop. I was really hungry and was really looking forward to eating. I then left the shop and walked towards Lords cricket ground. After a few bites I could suddenly taste bones, and not just a little one loads of huge ones, I then looked at the sandwich and realised they put 2 chicken drumsticks in the sandwich!!! Who in there right minds does this?? Surely they could understand this was impossible to eat, especially on the go and in a sandwich with no knife and fork?!?! I was so disgusted I threw it in the bin, I would have gone back and complained if I weren’t due to be at a tour of Lords cricket ground!

I don’t know if the Independent on Sunday still do this as it’s been awhile since I bought that newspaper. But, when it first came out amazingly in the centre of the paper there was a section called the ‘You couldn’t make it up’ section with the best stories from around the world that week. I found that quite amazing, but one particular story caught my eye that I have to tell.

The article stated that a Japanese man had been caught cheating with his mistress by his wife. The wife took her time to gain her revenge.

One night the husband went to bed early while his wife stayed up. She then chopped off his penis while he was asleep! Ouch! The husband was in so much agony as he went to hospital straight away, but when he got there and was being seen by a doctor he soon realised he forgot something… his chopped off penis!

He had to ring up someone to bring his penis to the hospital but my the time it arrived he had already lost too many cells and the doctors couldn’t sew his penis back on. What a penis!!