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Ernie's House of Whoopass! March 28, 2017
March 28, 2017

Short, Sweet, and Tasteless. Yep, That's Right... It's Tasteless Tuesday.

"Ernie, I have been reading your site since I was a young Marine many moons ago. I love the site and been addicted to it since the first time I read. Lately I have found your tasteless Tuesdays pretty good and figured I could add something to it. After getting out of the Corps I went to EMT school. I thought that it was a respectable and rewarding job, and I liked the fact that I would have the power to light 'em up. My story starts with my partner and I on a normal day. We have worked together for a few years and of the thousands of calls we had run together this one took the cake. It started as a normal day, running the same mundane bullshit calls. These calls being shortness of breath, high blood pressure, you name it. It may be a huge deal to that person, but to us it wasn't. We wanted a test. You know the bus full of hemophiliac nuns falling off a cliff and into a glass factory. Shit like that. Well were doing a post move; going from one part of the city to another when the call of all calls came in. Dispatch came over the radio to give us our code 3. We were kind of confused when the only information they gave us was that it was a trauma and that we were to look at our pager for the rest of the information about the call. So I light it up and head in the direction of the call. Then the pager goes off and my partner started to read. As he read the pager he began to laugh uncontrollably. He handed me the pager and told me to read it, that I was not going to believe my eyes. Sure as shit I couldn't. It read " code-3, trauma- penis in padlock." I about shit myself and almost crashed.

At this point it became personal. I put the hammer down and we were on our way just below ludicrous speed. As we start heading up the street, we see the big red house marker (fire truck) sitting on the street. We get out and walk to the back to get our gear. The whole time relishing the smell of brakes and transmission. I look toward the front door and I see a firefighter walking out and he is trying to hold back a smile. I ask him whats going on in there and the only thing he can mutter is that we just needed to see it. We park the gurney and go inside. To what do my wondering eyes gaze upon? A completely naked man laying on the couch on the verge of hallucination. When we asked to see the padlock in question he rolled over and showed us. I couldn't believe it. This was no ordinary lock. This was one of those industrial padlocks you use on your storage units. One of those disc locks. He had slid it all the was to the base of his penis. He started it at the tip and it became uncomfortable so he kept sliding it down. At this point, his member had grown roughly to the diameter of a beer can and looked like it was going to burst apart. This being because the opening of the lock was only about an inch and a half wide and once the blood went it, it wasn't coming back out. The color it turned was something that I had never seen on a human body. It looked as if you took and purple and black crayon and mashed them together.

After a few seconds of thinking, "man, that has to hurt" and trying not to laugh, a somewhat logical thought crossed my mind. Where the fuck is the key? Turns out, it was 70 miles away with his wife. Now we get the back story. He had cheated on his wife, and to show that he wouldn't cheat on her anymore, he slapped this thing on like some sort of chastity cock ring. So my partner calls the wife and asks if she can bring us the key. No surprise she said no and that for all she cares it can just fall off, and she was going to lose the key. Only thing we can do now is get this man some help. We get him on the gurney and start to wheel him outside. The whole time his friend has his camera out and it yelling how funny this shit is and that he's putting this on youtube. I've looked for the video and can't find it. Now the questions comes up of where to take this guy. Trauma center? Somewhere with a urology specialist? The nearest hospital? It's decided that we are going to the nearest hospital, and we put him in the back and are off like greased lightning. The nearest hospital is about 10 minutes drive normally, but lights, sirens, and diesel fuel, we got there in three. On the way to the hospital I call in the hospital and let them know what we are on our way with and advise them that we are going to need a locksmith. The doctor blows me off as usual, and we arrive at the back door of the hospital. We wheel him in to a room and a doctor pulls back the covers on our patient. The first words out of his mouth were, "call a locksmith." Dumbass.

We transfer our patient to the hospital bed and I take the gurney out to the rig. I clean up the back, and make up the gurney. I tell my partner we aren't leaving till we see what happens. He might have to be transferred, and since we were there, we could do it. I jump in the driver seat and my partner begins to write his report. Ten minutes later Mr. Locksmith shows up. I ask if he knows what he was called for and of course he has no clue. So I hand him a pair of gloves and give him a smirk. Boy is he in for a shock. We follow him in laughing between ourselves and show him where to go. When he sees the lock, and its position, he informed the staff that this was the hardest lock to break into, and he would be back. Here I'm thinking this guys got a special lock picking kit he is going to go get. Nope. He came back with a hammer, vice grips, and Flathead screw driver and a power drill with extra bits. My partner has to go outside when he sees the tools. The locksmith then goes to work. I applaud this man, because he treated the situations like it was another day breaking into a lock. He starts with a small drill bit to work on the tumblers. During this stage we all forget that two metals rubbing together make heat. The patient goes into a panic and screams like a wild banshee. One of the nurses grab some water and doused him. My partner and I grab some syringes full of saline and keep the area cool while the locksmith goes back to work. After ten minutes of the small bit, its time to really open this lock up. He goes for the big bit. He starts to drill again, working the drill up to speed when the drill bit bites into the lock. At this point, there are about eight people standing around watching and all had the same reaction. Doubled over in horror of what just happened. I seriously though he had ripped it off. Now the patient is whaling like a air raid siren. The locksmith is nauseous, and has to walk away for a moment.

A minute or so later, we are ready to get back to work. The locksmith though, puts the lock into the pair of vice grips and told the patient to hang on as tight as he could. My partner and I resumed our cooling measures. It took another few minutes, and a couple more close calls and he was finally through the lock. He grabbed the screwdriver and with a flick of his wrist it was open. The doctor slid off the lock. At this point we figured that blood would beginning to circulate again. We were wrong. After ten minutes more the thing looked the same. At that point we left. We never found out what had happened. I don't think it was good though." -- Jesse

Ernie, I was able to find a location that was 1 kilometer away from where your sign should have been, followed Streetview upstream a considerable distance, and no sign. So I'm not sure if your A590 sign exists any longer; or of course, it was installed after August 2016 but from the image quality, I doubt it. - Memphis

Hey Ernie. I found your wings place but it's not a restauarant, it's a beach supply store, which explains the sale on women's swimsuits. Nice try, you tricky bastard. Jeff.

Newport, originally introduced in 1957 by the Lorillard Tobacco Company, is a brand of menthol cigarettes owned by R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company. Newports comprise about 35 percent of menthol cigarette sales in the U.S. Newports have gained a commanding share of the African-American market; a 2005 survey stated that 49.5% of all cigarette sales to African Americans were Newport cigarettes. Newport is now the second best selling cigarette brand in the United States, trailing only Altria's Marlboro brand. The Newport brand also includes a non-menthol cigarette introduced in the early 2000s. On the box, the words "Menthol Box" for shorts and "Menthol Box 100s" for 100s were replaced simply with "Cigarettes".

We've done enough of these for me to be reasonably sure this photo was taken somewhere along the Folsom Street Fair, but I can't figure out exactly where. Can you help me out? I'd like to untie these knots before any circulation gets cut off.

Prisoner of war Jeremiah Denton declared his loyalty to the U.S. government during a 1966 interview for what was supposed to be a propaganda film. But his enraged captors missed his more covert message: "T-O-R-T-U-R-E," blinked into the camera in Morse code, a dispatch that would alert the U.S. military to the conditions he endured. Denton, who would survive 7 1/2 years confined in a tiny, stinking, windowless cell at the infamous "Hanoi Hilton" and other camps before his release in 1973, died of heart problems Friday in Virginia Beach at age 89, according to his grandson Edward Denton. "... --- / .-.. --- -. --. / .- -.. -- .. .-. .- .-.. / -.. . -. - --- -. --..-- / .-- . / .... .- .-. -.. .-.. -.-- / -.- -. . .-- / -.-- ."

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