Doug Smith - Stabbed in the Face - This Is Not Happening - Uncensored

- She says, "Oh my God. You have a huge laceration on your

face

." And I looked down, and there was blood cascading down my

face

, onto my jacket, dripping onto my shoe, and I said, "Is it bad?" She says: "It seems to be quite serious." - - Huh? Hey? Hey? Hey? - Come on. Move. Come on. - That? What is

happening

? - Come on. - This is not

happening

. No no. What... I'm... I'm the host of it. I'm your host, Roy Wood Jr. - Come on. - Ahh, ahh. - Oh! - ♪ ♪ Mm... ahh! - He is the creator of the web series "Secret Weapon".

This is Doug Smith. - I'm going to tell you a story about the only fight I've ever been in in my entire life. And it's important to note that before

this

, the closest I had come was a pillow fight when I was eight against my best friend. And you wish he had won that, because he was the kid with the nosebleed. You know these kids, right? They have blood gushing out of their head without warning. We were there waiting for the school bus. He was bending down to tie his shoe. He is standing, as if he just took cocaine.

He was so bad that my mom wouldn't even let him in the house, which was strange growing up with an indoor cat and an outdoor friend, but like that... That's how it had to be. So we are eight years old. We jumped on his bed, pillows in hand. We hit each other at the exact moment. His nose just explodes. But I discovered that I am deathly allergic to goose down. Then he has blood all over the comforter. I'm lying in bed with my eyes swollen shut, gasping for air. We both screamed for help. My throat closes.

My dad has to rush me to the emergency room. By the way, I've never seen him more embarrassed in his life. The doctor comes in and says, "What happened to him?" "He was in a fight." "What kind of fight?" "I don't see why that's important." It's definitely not much of a confidence boost when you find out that your kryptonite is feathers, you know, so... So, 20 years later, I still have an embarrassing record of 0 and 1. I'm in Manhattan's East Village. It's around 10:00 on Thursday night. I just bought weed and I'm heading home to Brooklyn. Then I walked down the stairs of the Second Avenue F Train station.

And as I swipe my card, I hear a woman scream. Now, if you live in a small town, that might be cause for concern, but in a city of 8 million people, some of them are going to be screaming. It's pretty par for the course. Then I casually look over and see a petite young blonde girl, maybe 20, and holding her from behind is a guy about my build, maybe 30, and he's getting a little hard, but I'm like, "Hey." , maybe... is he doing the Heimlich maneuver? But you can't scream while you're drowning, and besides, he has a hand on his chest.

His other hand moves between his legs. His form is terrible. And I think maybe... maybe it's a couple in some aggressive foreplay, anything I can do to justify not getting involved, right? And then he grabs her by her shirt, slams her against the wall, drags her, punches her in the face, punches her. She is now sobbing. He is trying to rip her pants off. And I said, "You know what? I don't think they're together." "I think

this

guy is a rapist. "Someone has to stop this guy. It won't be me, of course, but someone." And now he grabs her by the neck, bangs her head against the wall and no one does anything about her.

He hits her again. I say, "Shit. I have to be that guy." So I yell the most threatening thing I can think of, which unfortunately is, "Hey, buddy, that's a lady." Imagine if that was all it took, if he said, "Oh god." mine. "She's a lady. She's..." "That's the last time I'll leave the house without my glasses." Then, as you can imagine, it has no effect, and he lunges to hit her again, and I just screw the Hulk. I say: "Come on, let's go!" Which is a pretty big jump from "Hey, dude, that's a lady," right?

He could have said "Mess with someone your size" or "I'm telling you." But he catches her attention, and when he turns to look at me, she removes his hand from her throat, runs through the turnstile, up the stairs, and runs out of the station. She will be alright. But then I turn to him and he's angry. I don't know if you've ever blocked a rapist's cock... But they don't take it very well. So he's just looking at me with those steely blue eyes. And I have to tell you, under normal circumstances, pretty eyes, but... Right now they're cold and scary.

And I'm taking a complete inventory of his physical appearance. I say, "Okay, 5'10", 160". I want to be able to give a detailed description to the police when I wake up from my medically induced coma. Then he takes the first step towards me and very calmly says, "What are you doing? What to do, son of a bitch?" And part of me is tempted to try to get out of this, you know, and say, "Hey, man, "I didn't mean to interfere if you. Hurry up, I'm sure you can catch her." ". I'm tempted, but I don't do that. I'm like, "Okay, come on, fuck, this is your chance to take this guy down," so I clench my fist and start yelling, "Back off, man.

Back off, the fuck." And I can tell you that doesn't have much impact when you yourself recoil in fear. Then I hit the opposite wall. He has me cornered. I have nowhere to go. So I have no choice but to try to take this guy down. So I take a deep breath, brace myself, and deliver a devastating blow. I'm going to leave this guy out. And maybe I would have if I wasn't still 8 feet away from him. Then there's a horrible moment where I just watch my fist whiz past his face. I say, "Nooo." He intervenes and hits me.

My knees buckle, but I don't fall. I say, "Okay, punches" aren't my strong point. "I'm going to come back and kick this guy in the balls, like he just completed a women's self-defense class." So I go in, I swing, he backs away at the last second, I miss his balls, but I hit him in the stomach, and this is what I know about my fighting style so far: Too polite, I can't land a punch, and When I kick someone, I make this sound. I go... It's not my proudest moment, but I make contact. And he stumbles back, turns around, and runs out of the station, so now I feel like shit.

I thought, "I have a power, the Bruce Lee kick." I didn't back down. I got punched. He ran. I think I finally won a fight." Right? And more importantly, I saved that woman. I think I'm the first guy with a mustache to save a woman from train tracks instead of tying her to them. So Now I'm feeling invincible. I'm about to get on the train and go home. And an older woman stops me and says, "Oh my God. You've got a huge laceration on your face." And I looked down, and there was just blood cascading down my face onto my jacket dripping onto my shoe, and I said, "Is it bad?" She says, "It seems to be pretty severe." And my adrenaline is pumping, so I don't even feel any pain.

I just feel hot, and I kind of replay everything in my head and I think, "Well, that guy was holding his hand in a funny way." He didn't really hit me so much as, rather, he hit me. "There's blood everywhere. "They didn't punch me. "I didn't win a fight. I just got

stabbed

in the face." Now, I don't know about you, but when a stranger stabs me with a foreign object, the first thing that comes to mind is, "Oh my God. Now I have AIDS." I know that's not how it works. You have to share a glass of water, but right now...

Paranoia was taking over me, so I was like, "Oh my God," a spiteful psycho running around town "with an infected cutter." They just cut my face and now I have AIDS running through my veins." I think, "You know what? Maybe it won't set if I'm bleeding it all the way through," so I lean in. Like, "Go. Get rid of. Get out of me." And the same woman says, "What are you doing?" She reaches into her purse, grabs a wad of napkins, and slaps them in my face, because, you know, every woman over 30 has a surplus of napkins in her bag.

And she left me on the street, called 911, dozens of police arrived at the scene in a matter of minutes. They all want to see the cut. So one after another I take away the napkins. , another liter of blood gushes out. And they all have the same reaction. They just say, "Ooh, give it back, give it back." Then another cop comes and says, "Hey, do you mind if I see it?" He says, "You see this, man. Imagine another one right next door." Then all these cops were milling around and I remember, "I have that 1/4 ounce of weed in my backpack." Now, this is New York.

This is not the marijuana you're used to. It's not like I'm going to show the guy my medical card and he's like, “Oh, great. I have one too, okay." No wonder I'm going crazy. And I feel this big glove on my shoulder. And I was like, "Oh my God. You can smell it. I'm screwed up. I'm going to go to jail." He spins me around and this detective says, "Hey, how does it feel to be a fucking hero?" And he reaches into his back pocket and hands me his business card and says, "If you ever Maybe you need something, if you're in a bind, call me;

I've got your back." And I was like, "I might take care of that a little sooner than you think, sir." Then the ambulance finally shows up. I'm in the hospital. They're stitching me up. And I listen to a lot of rap music. I listen to a lot of rap music. references to the dollar fifty. And a dollar fifty is a facial laceration that requires 150 stitches, and I don't know if you can see the scar right there. Do you see it? Only 23 stitches, which makes you wonder what. kind of fucking facial laceration requires 150 stitches... I think that's decapitation.

No need to be alarmed, sir. We'll just sew the head back on. You'll be ready to go. Ten days later, they removed the stitches. I'm recovering very well. And that night, I'm brushing my teeth and I notice this clear liquid dripping from my scar. It was just a residual substance. No big deal." And it goes on like this for a few days. I go back to the doctor and it turns out that when this guy cut me, he hit my salivary gland. So now I'm drooling down the side of my face. Not a little drool, cubes of drool every time I see food.

If you put a plate of wings in front of me, I'm just a drooling Saint Bernard, which is ironic, because at that point I'm a dog walker, so I'm just wandering the streets of New York with. a pack of dogs in tow. They look at me like, "Oh, now it's one of us." It was so bad that I was able to push the gland and shoot it across the room, which is a shame I didn't have it at the time. attack, right? I'd say, "Back off, man. Don't make me do it." So now I feel terrible.

This is just a pittance. I should run out and join the Coney Island freak show. I'll be the guy with the Super Soaker face. So two weeks go by and finally It stops, the drooling stops and I go back to the doctor. He says, "Okay, I think you're finally out of the woods." All you have is that nifty looking scar. "Halloween is right around the corner. Let me guess. You're going as the Joker." And I said, "Well, the Joker has a scar on both sides of his face, so unless he goes out and stops a left-handed rapist..." "No, I don't know, man." But everything has an end. happy.

I'm fine, obviously. Turns out I didn't get AIDS the whole time. The girl ran away and they caught the guy. Three days after everything happened, they found him running right outside. station. Remember I thought he was my age? 55 year old drunk bum. He's 20 years older than me, it seems, a beautiful baby blues. The sexiest drunk in the world kicked my ass. So he's currently in prison. He got sentenced to 15 years for having a house. And people ask me if I'm worried about him coming after me when he gets out. And it's like, "Well, he'll be 70 years old.

So unless he washes this up in prison and comes after me with a pillow... I'm pretty sure it's a fight I can win, so wish me luck. Thank you all so much." - Doug Smith, everyone, Doug Smith.