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:
I think my favorite part of this thread, beside the excellent tales, is that it stimulates my brain and reminds me of things I hadn't thought of in years.
This story for example takes me back to my freshman year in college.
I lived in a first floor dorm with a friend. A couple of girls in the same building started a prank war with us. It started out innocent enough, greased door knobs and escalated into things like buckets of water tipped against the in-swing dorm door and a knock and run.
The girls escalated things to an entirely new level, broke into our room through the window, trashed our room, took our piggy bank(late semester beer fund) and other various things. These 2 guys....who lived in that dorm retaliated. A paper sandwich bag was the repository of a human poo, and titled "free brownies".
Upon the next visit, the two guys....jimmied the door and returned later. The bag mentioned above containing the "free brownies" was place in their refrigerator, their drawer of personals and bloomers were dumped into a pillow case and a note explaining that any missing items could be located at center court in the university gym, along with terms for their surrender including the return of all items and cleaning of the room.
Young boys shouldn't play with matches. It's been said since matches were invented, I bet.
And when I was in fourth grade, if there was something flammable, and I had matches, said flammable thing was toast: A pile of leaves in an alley. someone's notebook they forgot on the playground. A couch in a vacant lot. A junk car with a rag stuffed in the hole where the gas cap should be. etc.
My friend "Barney" had a fort on the side of his house. It was plywood and some planks and some couch cushions and, most recently, a washing machine box. He lived across the street from our school.
There was a pudding eating contest after school, but my friends and I decided to walk home first then come back. We passed Barney's house and someone dared me to light his cardboard box fort on fire (or I dared someone to do it, I can't remember)
We crept up and he held a lit match to the corner of the cardboard. A tiny flame lept from the match to the cardboard. We figured it would go out, and walked away.
We walked to the end of the block but then ran back to see if it had gone out. But it was about five inches high and spitting ashes into the air and growing thick with smoke.
So we did what any normal 4th grade boy would do: We ran back to our group and proceeded to walk home.
It must've taken us twenty minutes to go home and then come back to the school and pass Barney's house. Maybe longer, but I think maybe we ran back. When we got there the cardboard box was now in a full inferno and burning a flame higher than his house!
We RAN into the school, and told Barney that his fort was on fire. He said "You guys better not be kidding" as he got up and ran out of the school. By now we are running toward his house and you can see the flames and smoke rising higher than his roof. He opens his front door and yells, "Mom the house is on fire call the fire department" then grabs the garden hose and turns it on and takes it toward where the fort was.
(I was pretty impressed with his ability to know what to do and stay calm)
Within a couple of minutes a big fire truck pulls up and the firemen are hosing down the side of the house and breaking the fort into sticks.
The last thing I Remember is the fire chief talking to Barney's mom, saying "Your son shouldn't play with matches in his clubhouse."
I let him take the fall.
I kept that secret for two years. Then in 6th grade one of Barney's friends was over playing slot cars with me and I told him we lit the fort on fire. I made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone.
The very next day Barney comes up to me at school and says, "You asshole, you lit my for on fire."
And we would be enemies for the rest of our lives.
UNTIL...
in 2003 I found him on Facebook and wrote a long apology to him for all the fort fire and the TPing his house etc. and we are friends now. In fact, we rode on the same team in the MS ride in 2009.
Crazy world. I guess I learned if you do something dumb, repent and own up to it and try to make it right. And don't succumb to peer pressure to fit in.
Originally Posted by TinyEvel:
Young boys shouldn't play with matches. It's been said since matches were invented, I bet.
And when I was in fourth grade, if there was something flammable, and I had matches, said flammable thing was toast: A pile of leaves in an alley. someone's notebook they forgot on the playground. A couch in a vacant lot. A junk car with a rag stuffed in the hole where the gas cap should be. etc.
My friend "Barney" had a fort on the side of his house. It was plywood and some planks and some couch cushions and, most recently, a washing machine box. He lived across the street from our school.
There was a pudding eating contest after school, but my friends and I decided to walk home first then come back. We passed Barney's house and someone dared me to light his cardboard box fort on fire (or I dared someone to do it, I can't remember)
We crept up and he held a lit match to the corner of the cardboard. A tiny flame lept from the match to the cardboard. We figured it would go out, and walked away.
We walked to the end of the block but then ran back to see if it had gone out. But it was about five inches high and spitting ashes into the air and growing thick with smoke.
So we did what any normal 4th grade boy would do: We ran back to our group and proceeded to walk home.
It must've taken us twenty minutes to go home and then come back to the school and pass Barney's house. Maybe longer, but I think maybe we ran back. When we got there the cardboard box was now in a full inferno and burning a flame higher than his house!
We RAN into the school, and told Barney that his fort was on fire. He said "You guys better not be kidding" as he got up and ran out of the school. By now we are running toward his house and you can see the flames and smoke rising higher than his roof. He opens his front door and yells, "Mom the house is on fire call the fire department" then grabs the garden hose and turns it on and takes it toward where the fort was.
(I was pretty impressed with his ability to know what to do and stay calm)
Within a couple of minutes a big fire truck pulls up and the firemen are hosing down the side of the house and breaking the fort into sticks.
The last thing I Remember is the fire chief talking to Barney's mom, saying "Your son shouldn't play with matches in his clubhouse."
I let him take the fall.
I kept that secret for two years. Then in 6th grade one of Barney's friends was over playing slot cars with me and I told him we lit the fort on fire. I made him promise he wouldn't tell anyone.
The very next day Barney comes up to me at school and says, "You asshole, you lit my for on fire."
And we would be enemies for the rest of our lives.
UNTIL...
in 2003 I found him on Facebook and wrote a long apology to him for all the fort fire and the TPing his house etc. and we are friends now. In fact, we rode on the same team in the MS ride in 2009.
Crazy world. I guess I learned if you do something dumb, repent and own up to it and try to make it right. And don't succumb to peer pressure to fit in.
****THE MORE YOU KNOW
When you TPed his house, did you then set the toilet paper on fire? Because that could have been really spectacular. [Reply]
Originally Posted by loochy:
like the time you made love to Jameis Winston?
No, the jumping off the bridge for business story and the laundromat vigilante story where I was false imprisoned, punched by a woman who threatened to stalk me wherever I went and who wound up calling the cops on me whereby I was nearly arrested if not for video and some witnesses. [Reply]
OK, this is a story I'm more getting off my chest than entertaining with.
Still pisses me off to this day, and this thread asking for old stories reminded me of it.
I worked a couple summers as grounds crew for a country club.
One summer, we happened to have a mechanic who was allergic to work, and I had a couple pieces of equipment break down on me, so he was pissy about seeing me around the garage.
Then one morning, working a type of mower I wasn't usually on, I got stuck on relatively flat ground in a puddle. It shouldn't have caused a problem, but it would just sit there in it's rut and spin, and it was too big a piece of equipment [more medium tractor, than residential mower sized] to move by hand. Eventually, I got towed by a passing colleague.
I got no end of shit about it back at the garage, so far as the big boss asking if I thought I'd get stuck pulling my mower out of the garage hardstand. I took it in silence.
Then to find out later through my own research, that the traction setting for this particular piece of equipment was HIGH GEAR!!! What other piece of mechanical equipment on earth sets things so you pop it into high gear to get traction? It goes against everything I'd been taught about operating power equipment from drills to mowers to tractors, to cars. And nobody ever said a word of training in that respect. Sure enough, when I got stuck on that piece of equipment on subsequent occasions, pop it into top gear and some form of traction control engaged stopping it from spinning it's wheels unnecessarily, and getting out of a rut was easy as pie.
I'm willing to learn quirks of mechanical objects, but JESUS!! If the operation is counterintuitive to a trained tradesman, TELL THEM BEFOREHAND!! [Reply]
I used to know a few Playboy playmates and I got one to come to KC for a comicon since the promoter liked to feature two playmates. She had dinner at my house and it was my friend Chipp's 40th birthday, so I combined the two events. He's never come close to matching that for one of MY birthdays, however. In case anyone was wondering, Angela Melini was the one who I had over to my house. And no, I didn't get any. I also used to send comic strips I drew to Kerri Kendall and she put them on her website, so that is as close as I have come to having anything published. I never got any from Kerri, either. [Reply]
Oh yeah I forgot the time I dated a millionaire playboy! We flew to dinner in his private jet to exotic places. He was even more handsome than Christian Grey!!!! Just he wasn't a pervert bondage s&m type. [Reply]
I had a buddy I always hung with during my heavy drinking days. We would go play pool a couple of times a week, go watch games, and for spurts, we would frequent strip clubs around town.
One night we are at a strip club here in town, and out walks onto the stage an ex of mine. She was one of the hottest girls I had ever dated, but also one of the most religious (I mean strict religious, adhering to sabbath, church 2-3 times weekly, etc). She was also (unrelated) very dumb.
We would go out for a few months, and I would realize I just couldn't deal with the dumb. Then a few weeks later I would see her somewhere, and think, "But she's so hot... I can deal with it," only to end things a few weeks later because of the dumb...
Anyhow, we finally broke things off in so ugly a way that it was never going to rekindle, and a year or so later, here she comes walking out onto the stage. I'm a little tipsy, and I start laughing and probably yelling a little. She awkwardly does her thing. I'm being a complete asshole, and throwing dollars on the stage.
Her song ends, and she walks off, and decides she is going to not pick up the dollars I had left for her.
My buddy (As I type this I cringe... poor girl) stands up and absolutely berates her as she tries to slink off, "What! Do you think you're too good for his dollars?!!? You're a friggin stripper! Pick them up!"
She sadly walks over and picks them up, and we don't see her the rest of the night. [Reply]
Oh yeah I forgot the time I dated a millionaire supermodel! We rode to dinner in her yacht to her own private desert island. She was even more beautiful than Kate Upton. It's too bad that she wasn't a pervert bondage s&m type. [Reply]
