Tell us your best story. Your best day, the wildest thing you've seen, an event in your life.
I'm looking for the story that defines your life, the one you'd tell your grandkids around a campfire, the one you and your old friends re-tell half a box of beer into a night.
Tell us about the time you saw your dad kill a bear with his case knife, the day you won the lottery, the turd that was born with your child, the day your grandpa took you fishing.....good, bad, ugly. Your best story.
The only rule, it has to be true to the best of your memory. Go. [Reply]
Originally Posted by Iowanian:
We called that drill shark bait. It was a physical beating for the guys who were overweight or displayed a bad attitude.
I've heard it called that before and totally forgot about it!! When we would have districts/state practices, we would practice with the other qualifiers from Burlington, Columbus Junction, New London, Mt. Pleasant, WACO and Wapello...Columbus referred to those as shark bait.
I wonder if it's a geographical thing... Their head coach wrestled in college at Central College in Pella. [Reply]
Originally Posted by DC.chief:
Not a great story teller but here we go. About 10 years or so ago I hosted a super bowl party in my moms basement. I had my own place but it was too small to invite a bunch of people over and mom's basement was set up for party like this. She had a 70" tv, a few over sized chairs and then 3 pub tables behind that with bar stools.
Anyways there was about 12 of us there but only a couple are important to the story. One was this dude Tony who was my boss at the time. Tony was kind of a douche bag but he knew I was having people over and I think he felt left out so I invited him. I invited this new girl from work too that Tony had just hired a few weeks before. Her name was Rebecca and she was short as hell but smokin hot and had a bangin body.
So at the party Becca grabs my hand and drags me over to one of the over sized chairs and we squeeze into it right before kickoff. Game starts and guys start opening the back door to go in and out smoke and its pretty damn cold outside so it got fairly cold in the house real quick. Becca pulls a blanket over us that was on the back of the chair. She then rest her hand on my thigh and I notice she's slowly moving her hand closer to my junk. We make eye contact and she winks at me. She's now rubbing me through my jeans and before i know it my dicks out and she jerking me off. I don't know what to do at this point. She isn't really being subtle. I kind of try to stop her but not really. She is determined anyways and keeps pulling my hand away. I raise my left knee up so people can't see the blanket popping up lol.
So this goes on during most of the 2nd quarter and half time and into the 3rd. Now remember we're at my mom's house and she had been upstairs doing her own thing but she decides to come down around halftime and see whats up.. She walks in the room right behind our chair and puts her hand on my shoulder for a moment and says hows the game going? Becca slows her stroke but keeps going. I'm tapping her on her leg and pulling on her wrist to try to get her to stop for a minute but she keeps on going. I can't be to obvious as to give away whats going on. Luckily mom was only down there for a minute or so. After she left the room Becca gets real aggressive with it and I bust in my shirt. I try to roll up the bottom of the shirt some to capture it all and wait a min for my dick to go down and stand up and run out into the garage and out to my truck where I had another shirt.
I got back in the party and people are asking why I went from a red shirt to a yellow shirt. I said the tag was itching my neck. I'm dumb enough to think.. hey maybe nobody noticed. Wrong. People start leaving before the end of the game. Tony looks at me shacking his head as he leaves. I look at my buddy Norman and say whats his deal? Norm says you really need to ask? Okay so everybody knows.
I hooked up with Becca again the next weekend. Best head i've ever got and she swallowed like a champ. After that she stops responding to my calls and texts and one day she doesn't show up for work. Tony said she quit. Week later a friend of mine tells me he heard Becca is getting married! and on top of that she's getting married to a dude that was like my nemesis in middle and high school. Which is absolutely hilarious to me.
Couple months later my mom is talking to me about something random, can't remember what, and I say man that's funny and mom responds "Not as funny as getting jerked off in front of your mother"
Godddddd Dammit
:-) That last part. Damn that must still be a little devastating in your mind knowing she knew the whole time. Damn whores. [Reply]
This may not be my best story, but I need to get it off of my chest and I don't know where else to drop it. So without further delay....
Today, I found myself in a medical facility to see a specialist for something I've put off for a long time. That appointment wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but at the end they send me for labs. This isn't a hospital or a clinic..it's a specialist place with a floor for consultation and a surgical floor.....and a lab.
I'm sent to the lab, which appears to be a makeshift walled off area in an atrium area outside the office entrance. There is a sliding door that closes it off. Employees scurry in and out as I wait outside as directed on the sign.
Eventually one of the golden girls patients comes out and it's my turn. To set the stage the entire room feels about the size of a full sized pick up box. There is a large chair in the center facing the sliding door. To one side a stack of containers-supplies, and to my left a tray with vials of blood.
After some confusion about what they were to do, they get it figured out, strap my arm up like a heroin junky and start thumping a vein.....just as she starts to stick me, Mrs Doubtfire slides open the door and steps into the area. She's 3 maybe 4 feet directly in front of me. She's presenting something in front of her like a child proudly showing a parent a brownie she helped make
Betty white isn't holding a brownie.....it's a turd in something that looks like a paper plate or coffee filter and she wants to give it to the lady who is drawing my blood. Sorry ma'am I really don't need your hepatitis mainlined into my forearm.....and she stands ther, oblivious to my situation, talking with the lady who is drawing what must be several quarts of my blood. They're talking about poop....can she make more....no, Hillary Clinton thinks she's done but assures that she will definitely be able to lay a cable at home later and another lady hands her some stuff....and she leaves....no more than the door shuts, and another lady opens the door and hands a cup of piss to them.....she leaves quickly and then mrs doubtfire pops back in and I am blessed with a conversation about keeping a turd in the fridge and another room temperature and how she's going to use the glove to pick up the dooky.....
How I didn't vomit on those people I will never know.....but I will wake up in a sweat tonight, screaming....afraid of the lady with the poop on the paper plate.
I should start this story by saying I'd been skunked two days in a row. So, I was a bit frustrated.
So when a buddy of mine, Muzz, asks me if I want to go fishing for the weekend up north during the "super" moon, I hesitated. Apparently, this weekend the full moon would be bigger and brighter than any we've had in a thousand years or whatever. This will most assuredly get the fish into a wild feeding frenzy. I think about this for about 0.1 seconds before deciding that fishing would be medicinal.
So we head up late Friday afternoon. We don't arrive at the campground until way after oh-dark-thirty. We set up camp, then get rigged up and hike up and down the bank for a few hours, chucking large dark colored flies and mice at splashy rises in the 'super' moonlight.
Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Less than one. None. No way, Jose. Goose eggs. SKUNK.
So, just a couple hours before dawn, we hike back to camp and grab a bit of shut eye.
The morning brings wind. Not breeze. Wind. Cold. Wind. Thank God for coffee.
Mike catches his first fish trolling a hopper. Right, I think. This is going to be easy.
More skunk is immediately served onto my tube. Not even a nibble between 7 am and 3 pm. 19 flies are alternately tied onto then clipped off of my tippet. In fact, new tippet must be tied onto my leader, so many flies are subjected to fruitless dunking hour after hour.
Finally, I've had enough. I switch to a sink tip and tie on a Lenny's Special Lite. I kick towards a rock I know harbors no life whatever. I cast. The wind kicks up as I release the line, throwing it away from yon stone. I get a snarl in my fly line and mumble words of potent evil magic.
I finally get the snarl un-snarled and give it a quick double twitch. The fly comes to an immediate halt. I've hung the bottom. Of course. I continue my incantations of as many four letter words as I can remember. I invent three. I'm kicking back towards my fly when the bottom starts to pull southerly. I am a bit confused, and stop kicking. I lift the rodtip and pull firmly on the line.
The bottom begins to throb. Then it banks left. I start fighting. Muzz asks me if it's a good fish. "Think so. Maybe a really springy tree branch."
One minute goes by and I can't get the bottom to come up to the surface.
Two minutes.
Three. Finally the bottom begins to rise. I can feel it shaking its head and twisting down there. Sucker? I caught one in almost the very same spot last year .
4 minutes. I see color. Something pale yellow. Sucker. It comes within three feet of the surface then heads back down. It takes nearly another minute to get it back near the top. I see spots. And a shark-like dorsal fin. Do suckers have shark-like dorsal fins? It goes by Muzz, who says, "what the heck is that?"
It's the world's heaviest yoyo, I think, as the fish dives back for the bottom.
6 minutes. This hurts. And my 5 wt. plus the 6 lb. tippet I've got tied on is not helping me control this fish one bit. But it's slowly tiring. She's not heading so deep anymore. Bit by bit, I gain an advantage.
7 minutes. The fish, whatever it is, must be tiring. He/she/it swims around me several times, shrugging off my best efforts to bring to either net. Then it happens.
I threaten Muzz with unspeakable horrors if he doesn't grab that fish's tail as it thunders by him. Most of this must have been in my head, as he only remembers me screaming, "grab its tail! Grab it!"
He does. And I owe him my firstborn child and a case of beer on his birthday the rest of my life.
A very hasty measurement teleports me into the surreal. Close cousin to Alice's.
Instead of fretting about the Kung Flu and no grass hockey races on tv, maybe we can resort to the good stuff. I'd rather read about your best day.
This is something pretty close to what I shared with friends this winter but not here.
In 1982 I was 9 years old sitting at a table in the local Dairy Queen. I was eating a cherry dip cone, Joan Jett was blasting "I love Rock N Roll" on the juke box. I jealously watched a kid with a seemingly endless supply of quarters play Donkey Kong over and over and over. I didn't have quarters, definitely wasn't getting any coins from the adult I was with to waste on a video game, and I was thinking about the show, silver spoons and how that kid on the show had his own arcade games in the den.
I told myself that someday, I'd have my own damn donkey kong game.
"Someday" was last night.
I didn't have any quarters at the DQ that day, but I've got all the quarters I need in life. Bucket list item, Check.
