When was the last time you were "piss pounded"?

Fortunately I have never been pounded with piss.

(RONAN TO THREAD heh heh)

By other people? No. By the edge of a bathtub? Yes.

Oh jewelly, I hope that was in response to the original question and not my follow-up post...

Oh, sorry Dan. I misread the title of this thread as "Do you piss in the shower?" My bad.

Coming out of a club in 1995, slightly drunk but not so drunk to not know what was going on, I remember going out the front door and waking up in the emergency room covered in blood. I freaked out, pulled out my IVs and escaped, wandered around the Potrero District of SF with no shirt and bleeding, found a payphone and called my parents 25 miles away who came and picked me up while I sat bleeding on the street in the middle of the night next to some homeless guys who told me I looked pretty bad. I had a broken wrist, a concussion, an almost shattered orbital socked, and some giant gashes on my face. Still no clue what happened, I think I was jumped in a gang beatdown (the area is a lot nicer now).

Ouch! Sorry to hear about that. At least, if you're being a wiseass, you can look back later and say, "Well, I guess I deserved that," but a blitzkrieg assbeating for no reason is just annoying.

Just over a year ago. Two streets from my home, texting on my mobile. One of the four lads I'd noticed up ahead gives a grunt and I get my head jolted upright by an almighty smack in the mouth. As they crowd round me, I tuck my phone in my pocket and punch one in the jaw, take another hit just above my right eye (one of his rings catches and cuts me; blood streams), struggle free, run for it. It's barely 10 o clock, not yet dark. I cry for help, realising it's futile. They catch me again, push me around, toying with me. Another punch, to my chest, which hurts the next day. My vision's obscured by blood, but I spy an opening and run, run, run. They follow, giving up one by one, until there's only the leader pounding after me. "Ach, you're cut in your face," he says, excusing his sudden retreat, which probably has more to do with the couple turning onto the street from Alexandra Parade. Not that they'd have made much difference. When I tell them i've been attacked, they walk on, indifferent. The next day, after work, I walk down the street, following the blood trail I'd left the previous evening, amazed at how close I was to home the whole time, marvelling at the closeness of my escape. That evening, I walk down the adjacent street in pitch blackness, determined not to grow afraid.

The following week, I wake to hear two guys passing my window "Hey, Johnny, that guy may have got away but he sure caught you a good one." Hah hah. I look out the window. Could be them, but I can't be sure.

In the following months, I think I see them, individually, around our street, in the local shop. I indicate one to a friend. "I noticed him clocking you. How long before you move?"

"Two weeks."

"The sooner the better."

considering both my mean mouth and temper, i'm often surprised that i haven't ever gotten my ass kicked.

7th grade. It was by appointment, after school. He sat in front of me in homeroom and was a serial fighter -- he'd been suspended several times that year for fighting. (Should have been my first warning, right?) He decided to give me shit because I was new (we'd just moved), and I decided to take him up on the offer to fight for much the same reason. My mistake was thinking that I knew how to fight because I had, once or twice, hit my younger sister and made her cry. The fight lasted all of about 5 minutes, culminating with him kneeling on top of me, smacking my face with his fists, until I finally said, "OK, OK, stop." Then he got up and helped me up and that was that. I has a black eye and a lump on my forehead for about a week. But I got along fine with him after that. "I thought you knew how to fight," he said, somewhat apologetically. In high school, he got expelled for drug dealing. No idea what happened to him after that.