In a thread about DJ misfortunes over the years on DJH, this pearl of a post
Read on:
embarassing postscript:
Read on:
This is painful but true.
When I was up in Leeds in the late 70's I deejayed for a while at a huge bar/club opposite Leeds Train station called Amnesia.
Since Amnesia was formally a bank, they ended up building a balcony and stage area about 20 feet above the ground level and the only way you could get up to the DJ stand was via a metal ladder which went up through a trapdoor in the floor of the new balcony and was accessible behind the bar. At the bottom of the metal ladder there were two 'handrests' which inexplicably had spikes at the top of each one.
Over the course of the next few months, so many people were going up and down the ladder that one of the holding screws on the right-hand top of the ladder starting working loose.
On this particular night, the place was packed and being the DJ and having to keep popping up and down the ladder to get drinks, go for a piss etc, etc, everyone would see me zipping up and zipping down this ladder every hour or so.
The place was peaking at around 10.00pm and I thought I'd better get a drink in to glide through till 11.30pm and closing time, so I zipped over to the trapdoor and started down the ladder when the right hand-screw came loose which suddenly spun the ladder round and I lost my footing.
Result was, I ended up sliding 20 feet down the left-hand side of the ladder and the only thing which prevented me crashing to the floor was the fact that my balls slammed into the spiked armrest at around 20 mph resulting in me literally hanging by my balls about 4 feet above the ground.
This was in front of around 1000 people who witnessed the whole thing.
The pain was f*ckin' indescribable - essentially the most pain I've ever endured in my entire life. But the thing is, 'cos everyone was watching, I couldn't be uncool. So despite the white-hot shards of pain which were screaming from my balls, I very cooly shook my head and then lifted my balls off the spike and very gingerely continued to the bottom of the ladder.
I then went down to the loo, went in a cubicle, assumed a foetus-like position on the floor and bawled my eyes out.
After about 10-15 minutes, the pain subsided enough for me to very carefully stand up. I didn't dare even look at the damage 'cos I didn't really want to see it. But the pain was subsiding, so I carefully walked back upstairs, got my drink, very carefully went back up the f*ckin' ladder and started deejaying again. I had a seat up there but I couldn't actually sit down - it was that tender. But the show must go on etc, etc.....
A couple of hours later, I'd had a few more drinks and seemed to be a bit more mobile and ended up going to my second gig of the night up at the In-Time.
I'd been after one of the dancers up there for a while and typically she decided to choose this night for some action, so by 3.00am I was over at her place and she wanted to give me the works. I mentioned to her about the 20mph balls-spike scenario and told her I wasn't feeling as robust as usual but that just seemed to encourage her. So we ended up having a pretty intense session. By this point I'd had a ton of drinks and had gone past the point of pain so it didn't seem too bad at the time.
Anyway, I woke up the next morning tried to swing out of bed and collapsed in agony. Oh and my balls were the size of 2 massive grapefruits. Couldn't move at all. They had to send an ambulance and take me to hospital.
It turned out that I'd badly twisted my epidydimis and the sex session has basically exploded my balls. Here's some backgound info on the epidydimus by the way:-
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epididymis
The whole thing cost me 10 days in hospital before it was eventually sorted out.
However the new balls have been so much better than the old ones ever were.......
There's actually a further embarassing postscript to this, but the post-traumatic stress of writing all this up for the first time ever has made me want to assume a foetal position again!
Ian D
embarassing postscript:
So, shortly after I was admitted to hospital, the first thing they had to do was 'drain' my balls to relieve the pressure on my twisted epididymus. This meant that a young lady had to insert a drainage tube into my ball sac which continued the pain threshold to even greater heights. Also, because of my unfeasibly large testicles the only position that I could really adopt, was to lay in bed with my legs wide open so I didn't accidentally smash my grapefruit-sized balls with one of my legs.
It was whilst I was in this position in my hospital bed aproximately 24 hours later, when a consultant doctor and 12 trainee medical students started doing the rounds of the ward. Immediately, I recognised at least 3 young female students who were regulars at the Warehouse, one of which I really fancied.
Imagine my horror, when the consultant doctor headed over to my bed with the 12 students and then pulled the curtain around my area and asked me what my ailment was.
What else could I do? I had to tell 'em that I'd slid down a 20ft ladder and impaled my testicles on a metal spike.
Already the 3 female students were smirking but the sting in the tail, was when I had to basically hoist my arse in the air and show all 12 students my swollen grapefruit balls complete with the bespoke ball-sac drainage tube.
I never did get to nail her. I mean, there's simply no coming back from some situations is there?
