Loco Honkey
Banned
Holy hell, this is probably the most random shop injury I've ever recieved.
My car's up on the lift, and I'm underneath with a torch doing some top secred R&D work and molten metal is falling. Mind you, I'm not standing UNDER the torch, but I am off to the side, and I'm wearing pants, boots, boxers, a t-shirt tucked in, and a shop jacket tucked into some welding gloves... So this big blob somehow rolls off my face shield, and down the collar of my shirt. I do a little dance to get it out, thinking it went between my jacket and shirt. Wrong. I feel a searing pain below my belly button, and I go into "ow shit" panic mode. Then it goes down, burning a path of destruction and carnage, and then goes away. Whew. That sucked. So I raise my hands back up to to some more work, and THE FUCKER IS STILL BURNING! It moves lower and... BURNS... MY... FUCKING... BALLS! At this point, I cut the argon on the torch, drop it, throw off my face mask and bellow in rage. Then, as if in one last defiant blaze of glory on it's way back to Hell, the little ball of hate rolled down my leg, and fizzled out somewhere between my sock and it's destination.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Damage report:
Burn mark just left and below my belly button.
Burn mark on my upper left scrot (the boys took one for the team).
Two burn marks on my left thigh and one on my left shin.
Lesson: My nuts flex when niggas front. That and don't tuck your shirt in when playing with fire.
My car's up on the lift, and I'm underneath with a torch doing some top secred R&D work and molten metal is falling. Mind you, I'm not standing UNDER the torch, but I am off to the side, and I'm wearing pants, boots, boxers, a t-shirt tucked in, and a shop jacket tucked into some welding gloves... So this big blob somehow rolls off my face shield, and down the collar of my shirt. I do a little dance to get it out, thinking it went between my jacket and shirt. Wrong. I feel a searing pain below my belly button, and I go into "ow shit" panic mode. Then it goes down, burning a path of destruction and carnage, and then goes away. Whew. That sucked. So I raise my hands back up to to some more work, and THE FUCKER IS STILL BURNING! It moves lower and... BURNS... MY... FUCKING... BALLS! At this point, I cut the argon on the torch, drop it, throw off my face mask and bellow in rage. Then, as if in one last defiant blaze of glory on it's way back to Hell, the little ball of hate rolled down my leg, and fizzled out somewhere between my sock and it's destination.
Son. Of. A. Bitch.
Damage report:
Burn mark just left and below my belly button.
Burn mark on my upper left scrot (the boys took one for the team).
Two burn marks on my left thigh and one on my left shin.
Lesson: My nuts flex when niggas front. That and don't tuck your shirt in when playing with fire.
Best story ever goes to: Ji !!!!!
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