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]
less than 6 months ago, I'd thought I saw a UFO - as in I was 99% sure of it - I saw a large red ball and it disappeared far greater then the rate of a plane flying of - got smaller and smaller - almost as if the light shrunk and shrunk and then vanished. Later Dave Lane convinced me I'd seen an iridium flare, although I still think it was too far into the PM for that. But whatever... [Reply]
Originally Posted by Simply Red:
less than 6 months ago, I'd thought I saw a UFO - as in I was 99% sure of it - I saw a large red ball and it disappeared far greater then the rate of a plane flying of - got smaller and smaller - almost as if the light shrunk and shrunk and then vanished. Later Dave Lane convinced me I'd seen an iridium flare, although I still think it was too far into the PM for that. But whatever...
The red light ball my friend and I saw while driving the backroads of New Mexico at night was small—about the size of a softball. We were doing about 60 mph. The light ball descended from above us, hovered a few feet over the car's hood for three or four seconds, matching our speed, then instantly shot off in the same direction we were traveling at a rate of speed that I've never witnessed aside from that instance.
We have no idea what it was, but we were very pleased we got to see it. [Reply]
I went out on a date with, damn, can't remember who it was that night. Anyways, it was a weeknight, not a lot going on so the date consisted of running down some smoke and booze. Then a trip out to one of the parking spots outside of town. We proceeded to get drunker than 100 Indians. (My apologies to any of our native American planet members) Spent a while knocking the bottom out of that inside, beside, and on my 71' Maverick Grabber. Had to take her back home around 1:00. After I dropped her off I realize the Grabber is sitting below Empty and I'm flat broke. I somehow came to the conclusion that my best bet for gas was the church buses parked towards the back of High Street Baptist Church. My Grabber sat low to the ground and the fuel fill cap was right in the back below the trunk lock. I could back up to about any vehicle, get the siphon going then just shove the hose in my tank. It would transfer right over while I sat in the car.
Apparently the church had been hit before because all of there busses, about 10 were parked side by side so you couldn't get to the fuel. Except the last one, it was parked facing the opposite way. My drunk ass figured out i could open the doors on the first nine and one by one depress the clutch so it would roll down the parking lot a bit so i could get in the next one, then the next and so on. Moved all nine busses to get to the one on the end. It was the only one without a locking gas cap. I finally am able to back up to it, get the siphon going and shove it in my tank. Sitting in my car, watching the gauge start to raise when i see something out of the corner of my eye. Across the parking lot, coming out of a side door on the church is 5 or 6 men with flashlights headed straight for me. I don't know if they sat there and watched me do all that or why they just now seen me but it was GO time. I fired up the Grabber, and it was one fast car, filled up there parking lot with the smoke coming off my tires and got the hell outta there. No way they could catch me but i figured they'd called the cops. So I take the loooong roundabout country ride way home. I ended up coming back to town close to home.
I'm nervous as hell though. I just new they'd gave the cops my plate number and they'd be waiting for me at home. By this time the suns starting to come up and I've sobered up quite a bit thinking what an idiot I was, Moving all those busses, almost getting caught red handed and trying to figured out what I would say to the cops who were at that very moment waiting for me at home. I'm sitting at a stop light and in my mirror I see a cop coming up to the light in the lane next to me. As soon as he pulls up beside me he looks over and motions for me to roll my window down. The panick is coming on pretty strong now. He's gonna tell me to pull over to the side. I'm thinking what the hell is wrong with me, stealing from a church, and the way I went about it. I'll be treated like the scum of the earth.
I roll the window down and he says " Somebody has been siphoning gas out of your car. They left the hose hanging out the back". I immediately looked at my gas gauge then said real loud " Son of a bitch, they got almost all of it". The light turned green and he drove off.
I went on home, threw the hose back in my trunk and promised god I'd never steal from a church again. [Reply]
Meh, i keep seeing this thread and i want to contribute, but none of my stories are particularly funny. They're all kind of a drag, at least for others, but maybe some will find them interesting. I'll share one. Let me write it up real fast. [Reply]
Background
My dad was a good man when he was sober. Problem was he was rarely sober. He went through different stages of addiction after my mother passed away from Lukemia when I was three. Prior to my mother’s death, he and my grandfather ran a handy man business together while he attended school for architecture. Already the black sheep of the family, after my mother’s death he packed it in and said, “fuck it”, essentially, and never recovered. I define every stage of my childhood based on what substance he was abusing at the time. This is an excerpt from the Heroin Era.
I spent most of my childhood bouncing around from shady motel to shady motel, sleeping on the streets or with someone willing to take me in while my dad went in and out of jail. At this time, we were staying in a real shitty motel in Vista CA, a town in Northern San Diego County. The motel was small, run down, and full of druggies. It was ran by a little old (90+ years old) woman who simply was too old to care for the property, nor did she have the will power to not rent to druggies. The rooms were small with only a bed and a sink. Bathrooms and showers were shared by the community. In our room, we had a small portable electric stove top and an old, small 13” portable T.V/Radio. We were fancy like that.
The motel was situated on Sante Fe Blvd; A haven for prostitution. Everyone in the motel was an abuser of some sort, mostly Heroin or Meth. My dad was addicted to Heroin at the time. The druggie tenants all knew each other as they’d shoot up with each other and buy from each other. Same for the whores. I knew 4 whores intimately.
Debbie, Janet, Letticia….and the 19 year old girl who’s name escapes me. Her name started with an “A”, so we’ll just call her Amber since she needs a name. They were sweet women. Debbie & Janet were the best to me. White women in their 30’s. They would take me to McDonalds every day. They would take me out to the local drug store to buy toys or just hang out with me sense there were no other kids around.
They would also turn tricks every day. They worked a lot. My dad referred to them as “working girls”. They had “johns” they called their regulars, as well as the random men that would pick them up every day. They were cheap tricks. $25 for 15 minutes. The problem with being a cheap whore is that you need a place to turn the trick, and at only $25 per john, it didn’t make sense for them to rent a room themselves. That’s where I come in.
My dad made them an offer to help us make ends meet. We would allow the whores to turn tricks in our room. They could use my bed to fuck their johns and in return, they pay us $5.00 per trick. MY job was to wait outside the room while she turned her trick. If the 15minutes were up, It was my job to knock on the door as a reminder. Once they finished, I collected the $5.00 from the whore. Afterwards, the whores would get back out there to the bus stop and wait for another john. Rinse and repeat for most of the summer.
My dad would eventually “date” one of the whores (Debbie), but that’s another story. Debbie and Janet would eventually die from heroin overdoses. Letticia got it much worse. She shot up so much that her left arm and tit got infected and required amputation. She disappeared for 3 months and no one knew what happened. After she came back out of the hospital she was right back on the streets trying to whore. I never saw her again after that.
Originally Posted by Pestilence:
What happened to Amber?
No idea. But she was the first snatch i ever saw in real life. It was disgusting. I would play Sega with the guy across the hall from us. One morning i got up to go play and his door was open. There she laid, passed out with her legs spread wide open. If i could describe it, it looked like a fat, red, swollen hatchet wound. She was a small, petite girl. She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred lbs.
She was almost thrown off the balcony (there's a fire exit at the back of the Motel) by another ho that was twice her size. My dad stopped that from happening :-) [Reply]
Originally Posted by Buehler445:
Christ Detoxing. You sure know how to make a guy feel sheltered.
Yep.
I grew up in Blue Springs and during my teens, Lenexa. I later went to both KU and K State, along with Johnson County CC.
I was in no way, shape or form prepared for Los Angles at age 19. It completely and totally freaked me out and I went home after three weeks. If I had chosen Manhattan at that time (1986), I probably wouldn't have lasted 48 hours.
I've always liked Detoxing and we're bro's. But if that's his "best" story, I'm not sure I could stomach his worst. [Reply]
