I dont know if this counts, because it wasnt really an attack. It was more a favour gone wrong. It was 1993. Blackpool. I was wearing a red WWF hat and had a red space gun that went "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuum" when you pressed the trigger. I'm about 9 years old here. Anyway, I was on a donkey (Billy was the name, Blackpool pleasure beach the place of origin.) The first day was class. The woman in charge of the lads must have taken one look at the basin pearing through the red hat and thought "definitely on the spectrum" and tied me in like a small child younger than my years suggested. I'm in junior school. I had "Bruce 4" on my back for fucks sake. I didnt need to be tied into it. Or did I??????
Well that went swimmingly. It was like being on a bike (one that you were tied to and your Dad was riding.) The next day we were down the beach again. I asked my Mam if I could have another go. No Billy this time, sadly. Instead we got Jack. Blackpool Jack, to give the name on his chain. This wasnt half as friendly. No harness either. Blackpool Jack didnt look like he wanted to be there, and especially didnt want to have me on his back. I gets on him, and the woman in charge of the donkeys began clapping to make them run. I didnt get the memo that you had to hold on to them, since I was essentially glued to the last one. So, no word of a lie, I bump like Mick Foley did at Revenge of the Taker through the announce table. 2 years before Christopher Reeves as well. Nearly fell on my head. That would have been a tragic storyline. Sadly I didnt do a Droz, because I'd have at least had sympathy and at the very least a trip to disney land as compo. No, I was fine, but my foot got hooked in the harness that was attached to it and dragged me around the pleasure beach for what felt like 20 minutes (I was 15 seconds.) Shite everywhere, too. Its only when you get dragged around a beach in front of holiday makers you see the evil in some people.