In college, one night a bunch of us were sitting in a dorm room smoking pot and drinking beer, listening to heavy metal. One of my buddies had recently broke up with a girl on the same floor of the dorm (co-ed). He begins by stating how much of a bitch she is. That, of course, is followed by how much of a bitch the rest of the gals on the 7th floor of Tenochca hall at SDSU really are. In fact, it evolves into an entire drinking game based on the newly created 7th floor bitch scale, a 1 to 10 scale, where a 1 is pretty damned cool, and you might fuck a 10, just out of spite. We were already on shaky ground with most of the girls, as I orchestrated a threesome with two of them but denied it, and then two other guys and I managed to knock on all their doors, distract them, and then reverse the peep holes in their doors, allowing all the guys to go back later and "check up on them", allegedly of course.
Well, as luck has it, one of the guys on the floor is some sort of Radio Shack, electronics, stereo whiz. He advises us of his technical abilities, and we hatch our plan.
He will take the cover off of the speaker in one of our dorm rooms. He will remove the speaker, re wire some shit, and add a microphone. We will then broadcast a full episode of the "bitches of the 7th floor", complete with ratings and background music, Iron Maiden to be exact.
Although we were skeptical that he could pull this amazing feat off, we set a date. We even sent little notes under the doors of the gals on the 7th floor. We sneak a keg into the dorm in a "portable closet" that was supposed to be a gift from a parent. We order a shit ton of pizza from Dominos. Then, after a couple of hours of drinking beer and chowing down horrid pizza, we begin the broadcast. It seems like it is going great. In fact, we go through the entire female roster of the 7th floor. Only one problem. Radio Shack boy isn't all he's cracked up to be.
The girls on the 7th floor are steaming hot as they hear, one by one, why they are such a bitch. As it turns out, even the ones that scored a 1 or 2 were pissed, just on principal.
Unfortunately, our Radio Shack loving self proclaimed technical master ended up having us broadcast this little event to the entire dorm. All 12 Floors, and the admin and checkin offices. Oops.
A few hours later, once campus police convinced us that we did indeed have to open the door, our little party was disbanded. Four of us got shipped to other dorms, including yours truly, as I was one of the original conspirators. All of us had to go to "sensitivity training", whatever that was.
We all graduated, moved on, and became successful guys. I'm actually still pals with two of the girls from that dorm. Funny to look back now, 30 years later, and realize how stupid I was at 18. [Reply]
Originally Posted by tooge:
In college, one night a bunch of us were sitting in a dorm room smoking pot and drinking beer, listening to heavy metal. One of my buddies had recently broke up with a girl on the same floor of the dorm (co-ed). He begins by stating how much of a bitch she is. That, of course, is followed by how much of a bitch the rest of the gals on the 7th floor of Tenochca hall at SDSU really are. In fact, it evolves into an entire drinking game based on the newly created 7th floor bitch scale, a 1 to 10 scale, where a 1 is pretty damned cool, and you might **** a 10, just out of spite. We were already on shaky ground with most of the girls, as I orchestrated a threesome with two of them but denied it, and then two other guys and I managed to knock on all their doors, distract them, and then reverse the peep holes in their doors, allowing all the guys to go back later and "check up on them", allegedly of course.
Well, as luck has it, one of the guys on the floor is some sort of Radio Shack, electronics, stereo whiz. He advises us of his technical abilities, and we hatch our plan.
He will take the cover off of the speaker in one of our dorm rooms. He will remove the speaker, re wire some shit, and add a microphone. We will then broadcast a full episode of the "bitches of the 7th floor", complete with ratings and background music, Iron Maiden to be exact.
Although we were skeptical that he could pull this amazing feat off, we set a date. We even sent little notes under the doors of the gals on the 7th floor. We sneak a keg into the dorm in a "portable closet" that was supposed to be a gift from a parent. We order a shit ton of pizza from Dominos. Then, after a couple of hours of drinking beer and chowing down horrid pizza, we begin the broadcast. It seems like it is going great. In fact, we go through the entire female roster of the 7th floor. Only one problem. Radio Shack boy isn't all he's cracked up to be.
The girls on the 7th floor are steaming hot as they hear, one by one, why they are such a bitch. As it turns out, even the ones that scored a 1 or 2 were pissed, just on principal.
Unfortunately, our Radio Shack loving self proclaimed technical master ended up having us broadcast this little event to the entire dorm. All 12 Floors, and the admin and checkin offices. Oops.
A few hours later, once campus police convinced us that we did indeed have to open the door, our little party was disbanded. Four of us got shipped to other dorms, including yours truly, as I was one of the original conspirators. All of us had to go to "sensitivity training", whatever that was.
We all graduated, moved on, and became successful guys. I'm actually still pals with two of the girls from that dorm. Funny to look back now, 30 years later, and realize how stupid I was at 18.
Freshman year was Shangri-La, looking back. We were assigned a 4 person corner room. Which was about the size of 3 2-person rooms, so we already had a square footage advantage.
We proceeded to move the bunk beds to one corner and put a partition between them so we could place them side-by-side. The other side we filled with a fooseball table, couches, and entertainment center [something relatively unknown, even in homes, in 1989-90].
Then the mother lode. The liquor store in town went out of business and had a 75% off sale. We must have bought and squirreled away $200 in top shelf liquor, regularly priced $800. Never got crazy, just a nice place to get pleasantly buzzed and either play cards, play fooseball or watch a movie in surround sound [Oooohhhh!!] The way the room was situated, RAs couldn't see in to where we 'recreated' on the far side of the room, so we could 'recreate' in relative peace.
The closest we got to trouble was when someone pulled the fire alarm, and mysteriously, there we were with our girlfriends in t-shirts standing next to us on the sidewalk. But even then, it was just a sideways glance from the RAs.
I'm still deadly shooting from the back two in fooseball. [Reply]
Originally Posted by Pasta Giant Meatball:
Tell us a story Rausch
My top 2 I'll only tell in person.
No. 3 was (somewhat) witnessed by another planeteer.
Over a 3 day period I got drunk with Otho from the Bettlejuice movie, got drunk with (one of my ****ing idols) Tom Savini and a Canadian official trying to get a mission to Mars funded, met and had a about a 10 minute conversation with Peter David (IMHO the best comix writer out there,) watched David Carradine's drunk ass get thrown out of a bar I was in (violently,) and hung out with a vacationing hooker who I milked for every bit of information she would give.
Looking back I was young and horribly selfish. This man gave me a key to a door that opened a world I would never have had access to. My only point to being there was to help Misplaced Chiefs Fan do his thing. Instead I went full on Raush mode and accomplished little other than pissing him off. Likely forever.
That said I could type a ****ing novella about the few days I had in Atlanta and it would likely not scratch the surface. This was a Hunter S. Thompson experience if there ever was one and I feel a burning urge to put it to paper every time I touch the keyboard. There is absolutely no way I could ever repay the man for the 3 day stretch of insanity he allowed me.
In fact he sent me pics later to...clarify events I didn't even remember that just added to the moment.
So I will take this moment to thank you, as a grey-beard now, for making the mistake of allowing me to come with you and have the best 3 day stretch of my life... [Reply]
I grew up in Louisburg Ks, there was big 2 acre farm pond out in the country we called Lake 5. My brother and I along with several of our friends had either dirt bikes or smaller street bikes at the ripe old age of 13 to 17. We the county well and would travel the countryside on our bikes by way of the county gravel roads. At times finding ourselves up to 30 miles from home at the other end of the county.
Several of us had girlfriends and since I was the oldest I had a girlfriend a year older than me that would get her parents car. Sometimes we would all meet up at Lake 5 for our own crazy times. At times either the girls or the boys would have the pond just to ourselves. It was a semi secluded place, a good 1/4 mile back in the field, only visible by one side of the 2 county roads leading to the property.
One day we thought we had the pond to ourselves. These crazy bitches sneaked up to within a 100 yards of the pond from the west and surprised us. This is the entrance that is covered well so you can not see anybody coming in until they get right up on top of you. They are just giggling so we're thinking come girls, jump in just like the many times you have done before.
Here we were, 8 of us out there on a hot summer day, taking a dip before the girls showed up, not knowing they would be there.Not wanting to get our clothes wet, we all stripped down and jumped in. Lake 5 had a long deck that extended out in the water 25 yards with a diving board on it. Once in the water, you can not see anything to the west except the deck. You can only see the road to the north if you are on the far east end of the pond.
So here they are, laughing at us, giggling as we are expecting them to just jump in. Instead they just grabbed our clothes and left, hit the fucking road laughing their ass's off at us. So now what, Here we are STRANDED, at Lake 5 in our birthday suits and motor bikes, 6 miles from home.
Now, being as my dad was well know in the county, hauling grain & livestock to the market for many farmers and my uncle is the Chief of Police in Louisburg, we were a group of boys that are well known as well. But being young, dumb and naive with little common sense at the time, we jumped out of the water, got on the bikes to attempting chase them down. They left us our helmets & shoes along with a bruised and humiliated ego. So here we go streaking through the countryside for about an hour, dusty roads, pissed off, chasing a car that we are not going to catch. Finally we just gave up, each man is on his own getting home with his glory exposed.
Half of us lived in the country while the other half, myself, my brother and 2 friends from town that rode on the back of our bikes. The family rule ( from my Dad & Uncle ) was not to ride the bikes in the city since my uncle was the Chief of Police. It was 1.5 miles from our side of town to the city limits. Most city folks knew us since the town small, maybe 1000 people at best. We always had to walk the bikes 1.5 miles both ways every time we went for a ride. :-) On No Freaking Way this time, we had already spent an hour chasing these bitches through the countryside to no avail. We had those bikes screaming through country not stopping at any stop signs any where. I wasn't planning on walking that freaking bike home, I'm riding that bitch to the house as fast as I can.
We make it to just short of the city limits thinking we were OK, nobody has saw us, we never got caught, almost home with the toughest stretch coming up .... within the city limits! :-) Now how in the hell are we going to make that 1.5 miles through the city without getting caught?:-) I'm going for it, I can do this, even with my naked friend on back with my brother and his friend chasing.
Now little did we know that the county sheriff department gotten a few complaints of kids riding around the countryside naked. They had descriptions of the bikes and a couple of them even said it was us since they knew us through my dad. ( Yeah, you can see what's coming now ) So we don't know that the sheriff and my uncle are aware of the events taking place.
But here we are still thinking we have a chance to somehow get home as we are approaching the city limits of Louisburg. Awaiting 1/2 mile from the city limits is my dear old uncle. Unaware that the girls surprisingly drove back to town and gave him our clothes. He busted out laughing so hard about it he decided to meet us outside of town knowing which way we traveled in and out of town. The good thing was he never told the county sheriff department about it.
We still had to walk our bikes through town back home. But hey, at least we had our clothes on. My uncle told us he knew it was us before the girls gave him our clothes since we had told him once before we would go skinny dipping with the girls out there and he figured that they must of took our clothes. My brother and I, along with 6 of our friends had to face our parents about it that night.
Lesson learned ...... Never let your guard down and don't trust a bunch of crazy girls. [Reply]
