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I couldn't even figure out where to begin, and most would get me in quite a bit of trouble.
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The cat came back The very next day |
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As scout is: Trustworthy Loyal Helpful Friendly Courteous Kind Obedient Cheerful Thrifty Brave Clean and Reverent. What about; Up In The Air Jr. Birdman. "Up in the air, upside down" |
Okay, for those who haven't heard it, here's my best story.
The year was 1989. Christian Okoye was running roughshod over the NFL and I was having a bad year. I'd never been out of the country before, so a friend and I decided to go to Kathmandu because it was the most unusual place we could think of. To get to Kathmandu in those days, you had to fly into India, so we figured we'd wander around there for a while, too. We flew into Bombay, toured that fine city, and then our next stop was a cool place about 250 miles away called Aurangabad. If you ever find yourself in central India, I recommend Aurangabad. It's got cool temples like this: http://www.easytoursofindia.com/evil...ur.preview.jpg But I digress. My friend and I were on our way to the airport for the flight to Aurangabad when our guide stopped at a hotel and told us to wait. We didn't know why, but we did. So we sat in a hotel lobby - me, my friend, and about 20 monks - for the entire day. All day, with no idea what was going on. Add me to the picture and it looked like this: https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/i...vP4Fhb6pCTEnEA Eventually the guide came back and said that the airlines had gone on strike. So we were stuck. Our options were to wait it out in Bombay, go home, or rent a car and drive to Aurangabad. So we rented a car, despite serious reservations. Our guide looked like a classic Bollywood villain and no one would know where we were. http://i.ytimg.com/vi/g5JcmMaIrWE/0.jpg The car has to come with a driver because that's how India works, and you need one. There's no signage and you're dodging cows, elephants, oxcarts, tuktuks, motorcycles, big trucks, and about a billion pedestrians. http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/...d_1842510c.jpg So we take off on a 250-mile journey. Didn't seem like a problem, and it was fine for the first hour or so. Our driver didn't speak English very well, but he knew a little bit, and we were in some native India car that looked like this: https://p3mumbai-abitindiagroup.netd...ndian.car_.jpg About an hour into the trip we hit the Western Ghat mountains, which I never knew existed. Steep dropoffs, no guardrails, and our driver started drifting off to sleep. Constantly. Which is not a good thing when you're on roads like this: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedi...i_GhatRoad.JPG And the roads were tough, too. In India, bigger vehicles take the right of way, so you have to dodge if big trucks decide to pull into your lane to pass oxcarts. So it's getting dark and our driver is constantly falling asleep at the wheel and big trucks are hurtling toward us, and the only good thing is that the driver is going about ten miles per hour at this point so we can reach up from the back seat and grab the wheel if he starts to go off the road. We can't drive because we don't have a license, have no idea where we are, and there are soldiers everywhere because the Gandhi clan had just lost power in the recent election. So we put up with this for a while and eventually find ourselves on some completely dark road in the middle of nowhere. We tell the driver to pull over and we'll just sleep in the car. He tells us no, because we're in bandit territory and we'll get robbed if we stop. Given this unexpected news, we elect to keep driving, even though at this point we're cruising along at walking speed and going off the road constantly. It turned out that our driver had been driving for 24 hours straight before he picked us up. http://www.ancient-origins.net/sites...s/thuggees.jpg He hits some mud hut village and says that we can sleep in the car there, then promptly passes out. We're sitting in the car and there's a mud hut bar across the road and it's got a bunch of really scary drunk dudes who are really checking out our car. They keep coming over and urinating next to it and looking in at us. We decide to sleep in shifts, and after about an hour an army truck rolls by and unleashes the biggest backfire ever right next to our car. That is not a good thing when you're already on edge. We were convinced that the bar thugs had located a musket or something, so we wake the driver up and say, "Go. Now." https://pvhramani.files.wordpress.co...y-deserted.jpg So our journey continued. We ran a motorcycle completely off the road, drove through a spilled wreck from an overturned tanker truck, which I hope was carrying water because it sure looked like we were driving through gasoline to me, and generally were scared to death the whole time. And then we have a flat tire. By some miracle we have a spare, so we jump out and change it quickly since, you know, we're still in bandit territory. Keep in mind that we have no idea where we are. We get back in and the driver says that we have to repair the tire because we'll likely have another one given the conditions of the road. So we pull into another mud hut village and stop. These villages have homeless people all over, so when we stop and get out we draw a crowd of onlookers. The tire repair dude comes out of one of the huts with a bunch of folding chairs and everyone sits in a big circle around the tire and shoots the breeze in Hindi while the tire is fixed. At this point it's about 3 in the morning. We get back in the car, and four hours later hit the wondrous hotel in Aurangabad, where we're two of only about a dozen guests due to the airline strike. The others were all stranded Japanese who were already there when the strike hit. The drive took about twelve hours overnight to go 250 miles and the entire time we thought we were going to be killed by either a head-on crash, driving off a mountain, blowing up in a pool of gasoline or good old-fashioned murder. But Aurangabad was really cool. |
I went to a really nice wedding once. Like REALLY NICE.
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Rainman, I love a story with pictures.
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Rainman - if that was indeed your car, it's a Trabant and it's Russian in origin. Very interesting history. Pretty much anyone in the Soviet Bloc drove for decades. They're a keepsake of sorts in former East Germany now and were the first things across the bridge when East and West were reunited.
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In the early fall of 1979 or maybe 1980 a young, impressionable kidowanian and kid brother followed our grandpa and great uncle out to the barn yard. As was common during that time we did chores, fed chickens, and followed as he dumped buckets of ground corn into the bunks. To this day the smell of ground corn or coffee remind me of my grandpa.
This day something was different as they brought a tractor beyond the yard and instead of feeding the fat pig, one of them was herded nearby. I see uncle bob bring out my grandpas butcher gun. It was a single shot he had ordered from a Sears catalogue when he returned from WWII, complete with the tip broken off the trigger as it arrived. I watched him mark the x on the forehead with chalk and with a crack.....the beastie dropped onto the ground shivering. Grandpa told me to come as he had a task and I bolted to the nearby cornfield to fetch the cob he had requested. Being always inquisitive I asked the purpose, and as honest grandpas do, he answered as he inserted the cob into the south end of the pig and said something about plugging the anus so the meat wasn't fowled. They the pig was hoisted with the loader, gutted and hung to season. I was somewhat traumatized. Keep in mind the year is near 1980, Friday nights the most popular show is very influential on young boys. The Dukes of hazard ruled the airwaves....before young boys went to bed before the dirty show....Dallas. Came on. The next morning sitting in a church pew I couldn't help but stair at my grandpa, still bewildered and wonder......why on earth would he do THAT to Enos..... A couple of weeks before he died he called me indoors and gifted me the butcher rifle.....my most prized possession. |
So, the fall of 1985, my father and one of my closest friends dad took us boys out to the 'country' for a weekend...we took guns and about a thousand rounds of ammo. We shot those guns until my dads .22 firing pin broke. It was a true father son camping weekend.
Our last night, sitting around the campfire, we listened to Game 6 of the 1985 World Series on my dads Station Wagon car radio. Listening to that fateful 'SAFE' call at first base that essentially won the game for KC, I will never forget. |
I need to clarify for the story above that I saw a lot of butchering when I was a kid.. My grandparents had essentially a meat locker in thir garage. They raised butcher pigs and cattle, canned fish, and raised a couple hundred chickens and turkeys to eat each year. I was catching chickens at age 4 and dragging them to my grandma to behead, scald and pluck... Once when I was collecting eggs a rooster flew at me and scratched my face. When I got to the house she marched me back down to the chicken house, confirmed which rooster was the offender, twisted his head off and said I guess you will be nicer with noodles. I didn't back talk that sweet lady much.
No idea why the event twisted me up other than not understanding the anus- Enos difference. |
I was 23 years old. I was at a bar having dinner and a beer or two getting ready to go to the Royals game. It was 1991. A friend of mine had gone to the bathroom and gotten into an argument with another guy at the bar. I hate going out to my jeep getting ready to go to the game to the Royals game. As I backed out of my parking spot somebody slammed into the rear of my jeep. I followed him up the frontage road flashing my lights to try to get him to pull over so we could exchange insurance cards. He eventually pulled over I got out of my car and grabbed a pen and paper. As I approached his car from the rear he pulled forward did a 180 and parked on the other side of the street. I grabbed a pen and paper and walked across the street towards his car. About halfway across the street he began chasing me in his car. He chased me for probably 45 seconds. When you are running for your life, you run out of energy fairly quickly. As I ran from his car, my toe caught the edge of the curb. I looked up and saw headlights about four or 5 feet away from me, I put my arm out and his bumper hit my hand, throwing me about 30 feet into the air. When I landed I was still conscious, albeit shut up. I looked up and saw his head lights right in front of my face. I covered up and he ran me over. His left front tire went over my left shoulder, rolling me over and then his left rear tire went over my lower back. A large chunk of my forearm ended up on his bumper. My friend who was sitting in the jeep watching all of this got his license plate number. While I was at the hospital the police apprehended him and arrested him. I spent two weeks in the hospital and almost died. I've had four shoulder surgeries cents, and that bastard only got 90 days in a mental facility
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I bet he was white, wasn't he? |
The night we destroyed a golf course and 5 or 6 golf carts. It had been raining for a few days so nice and wet.
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The year was 1999. A fellow Evel Knievel collecting buddy and I went to Vegas to meet Evel at one of Robbie’s jumps. We had some original Evel jump photos from the 1970’s we wanted to show him. We met Evel in the Tropicana lounge before the jump.
Hanging out with there was Matthew McCaugnahey, in his “Samuel Jackson” leather jacket and yellow wraparound shades. You could tell he was really working the actor thing. Apparently they were talking to the Mattster about playing Evel in a feature film. Anyway, we watched the jump and drank/gambled the rest of the night. Around midnight I’m in the airport terminal at the Burger King. Who’s standing next to me, sucking on a Coors Light? Matt McCaughnahey. I walked up to him and said, “Hey, research.” He said, “What?” I repeated “Research, you’re gonna be the man, right?” He looked like he was about to spit in my face when he looked down and saw I was holding out the vintage B/W photos of Evel. He took them and thumbed through the pics. “These are nice,” he said. Then I asked him to autograph the envelope to my wife. He took a pen and scribbled on it and handed it back. That’s what it looked like: a scribble. A doctor’s prescription form is more legible. Anyway. I took my BK and went to the gate. I sat next to my buddy and said “McCaughnahey’s a dick. We should beat his ass.” Then who’s in the same gate? Yep. McMatt. Complete with his entourage: they looked like the guys from Friends and Party of Five put together. So, next thing I know, McMatt sits down next to me, leans over and says, “So, my boys said they heard you say you want to beat McCaugnahy. Is that true?" I was so drunk all I wanted to do is eat my BK and pass out. So I said, “No, it was this guy,” pointing over to my (6’2” 225lb auto mechanic) friend, I continued, “and he didn’t say he wants to beat McCaugnahey. He said he wants to BE McCaugnahey. He wants to BE you. You know, do some space thing, and some lawyer thing...” referring to some of his recent roles. McMatt leaned over to my buddy and said. “Is that true? You said you want to BE me?” My buddy replied (through a mouthful of burger), “I don’t know what the f—k you’re talking about. You should get your story straight. Besides, you’re a big fellow. A guy could get hurt messing with you.” At that, McMatt looked at us both, gave a dismissive gesture and went back over to his band of butt-brothers. Then he was on our SOUTHWEST flight back to L.A. Cheap-ass. |
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And entourages are don't come cheap. |
I once snuck an eighth of weed into the booking room of a jail, spent the weekend there, then walked out of that same room with the smoke Monday afternoon.
I once directly disobeyed the orders of the Ft. Wainwright Post Sergeant Major right to his face and got away with it... now I was respectful, but refused his repeated orders and got away with it on a company technicality. Talked shit smartly enough to a Green Beret to not get my ass kicked. Raised an honorably discharged Marine Engineer (hooah) AND a female rmy MP... extremely proud of the military legacy my Dad started. Once confidence bluffed my way out of a real ass kicking by 3 dudes at a bar in Riverton Illinois... by the time I was done bullshitting they were scared of me, lol. Conned a security guy in St. Louis into letting me and a pal stand in the aisle at the lowest level of risers at KISS' very first reunion tour... close enough to make eye contact with Ace and make him give us a thumbs up. On their very first headlining tour for MOP, Cliff Burton seen me and a buddy getting high in the second, standing only row, dudes were damn near fighting us over it but Cliff would only give it up to us. Went on a dope run with a buddies brother to east st. Louis, drama abounded but I held my own and kept things from getting out of hand. Just a kid acting bigger than he was, but that inner confidence I've always had really shined through for me. High school football... was easily one of the best things to happen to an otherwise terrible team, if coach said neutralize him... I got him. |
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These don't count. You have to actually tell the story, not read the movie trailer voiceover TE's story in comparison jumped 10 flaming school buses. The perfect response would have been "alright alright alright" |
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Mine just happened to me on july 04, 2014, just 5 months after the Seahawks won Superbowl XLVIII. I was at a popular lake a few hours out of Seattle with my wife to get away for the Holiday weekend, our plan was to meet up with our son who is a sophmore at WSU and a few of his buddies and take them out on my boat to go surfing and wakeboarding etc..
So as usual my kid is running late and not at the dock where i was supposed to pick him up, so my wife and i are just kind of idling around the south end of the lake where all the hotels and stuff are (just killing time waiting for the knuckleheads) I noticed over on the deck plaza area of the Grandview are: Richard Sherman, Kam Chancellor, Brandon Browner and Walter Thurman hanging out, I pointed them out to my wife and we decided to not even mention it to my kid and his friends or they'll probably make a scene and emberass us. So my kid and his friends show up at a nearby dock (Campbells resort) and hop on my boat, the first thing my kid says is he saw on twitter that richard Sherman was at lake Chelan. I said yep, right over there and pointed to them. So we are heading out and as we pass by the dock with the LOB my son and all his friends went ape shit and started screaming L-O-B and SEA-Hawks! etc. Next thing i know Sherm motions for us to come over there! I pulled in near the deck they were on which was probably 6 feet or so above us and Sherm asks if we can give him a ride to the boat rental place across the lake. Obviously i said hell yes. Then things got scary, Sherm climbs over the handrail of the deck and begins to climb into my boat by stepping on the top of the tower and climbing in, this was terryfing to me as it was a fairly dangerous maneuver, one slip and he couldve wrecked a knee or something. As he was climbing in he had one leg on the tower and the other still on the deck, my wife is hugging his leg trying to pull the boat back towards the dock. It was a real thrill for her.. So sherm is safely aboard my boat and I asked Kam if he wanted to come with. He said yes and i asked him to use the ladder and he can simply step on to my swim step to reduce the drama. My wife was probably disappointed in this. (sidenote a guy named "white boy Nick" also boarded with Kam) So F'n Richard sherman and Kam Chancellor are in my boat! Unbelievable! They were so cool shaking all the kids hands and letting us take selfies etc.. |
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My experiences in life range from growing up in armourdale to crack houses in juniper gardens to the outlaws west side Chicago clubhouse to a wedding thatcost well over ten million dollars that I sat at the family table for.
Beat that ****ers |
When I was in fifth grade I had a friend named Jimmy Guiliamo. He was a chubby Italian kid who moved to L.A. from Chicago. He was kind of an idiot but seemed to be the only kid on the block who would take bigger risks than me, so we became fast friends and were always getting into trouble.
We were in separate classes, but would schedule synced times to get bathroom hall passes, and we’d meet up out by the gym and do stupid things like shoot slingshots at birds and low-level vandalization like dipping wads of toilet paper into the sink and tossing them up and sticking them to the bathroom ceiling. One afternoon we’re doing the latter, trying to cover one whole ceiling tile with toilet paper when Jimmy says, “I dare you to shit on the floor.” Now, the last thing (or the first thing) you want to do is dare me to do something, because I’d surely do it (point in case: my childhood hero is Evel Knievel). So I go into the stall, face the toilet, drop my Toughskins and proceed to squat. The unfamiliar posture took me a few seconds to get moving, but I eventually produced a long, dangling stinky tail. But I guess Jimmy was wondering what was taking so long, and he started to look under the door to see what I was up to. That’s when the Dookie hit the deck right in front of his face, with a resounding slap like a mackerel being tossed onto a dock. I wipe up and exit the stall with the proud smile of an accomplished dare-taker. Jimmy at this point is laughing hysterically. And by hysterically I mean maniacally. Like a crazy person or a comic book villain, it was like giant green HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! was scribbled across the room in front of his face. But gradually, his laughter turned. His smile began to flatten. His eyebrows slid down his forehead and hooded his eyes in a worried, terrified stare. The “HA!”s were slowing down. Something was wrong. Something wasn’t so funny any more. Like the Nazi in the bowler and round glasses at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark, Jimmy began to realize that all hell was about to break loose. No more HA!s. Now just a few coughs. And then. Barf. Lots and lots of barf. I was lucky enough that he turned towards the sinks before his lunch exited his face at 35 miles per hour. Must’ve been pizza because he painted the sinks pink. He wipes his mouth on his sleeve and says ‘I gotta see the nurse” and heads for the exit. I’m thinking he’s gonna rat me out for dropping a deck deuce, so I try to stop him. But he gets out the door first and pukes again. He’s now shuffling as fast as he can towards the office, a fast walk across the schoolyard, and he looks like he’s gonna pass out. These three girls are standing under a tree, and he levels himself on it, one says “are you ok?” And he BARFS AGAIN right there at their feet.” They all shriek in disgust and run away. Jimmy continues to amble towards the offices and I’m skipping along next to him yelling into his ear as quietly as possible “Please don’t tell them I shit on the floor. Please don’t tell them I shit on the floor! Tell them you’re sick!” I went back to my classroom and just expected the principal to call me out of class at any minute, but they never did. Jimmy was a stand-up guy. And so was I. |
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The girl I was after didn't even want me, go figure... But I'm here to save you Sauto, lets go before these weirdos mount a counterattack... |
July 4, 1992
My mother had been battling cancer for about 1.5 years and we all knew the end was near. I was almost 18 and like a typical teenager I was bound to celebrate the holiday with friends. However, on a crazy whim I decided to go visit Mom at the hospital before going out. Much to the disappointment of my friend who rode along with and had to wait many hours in the hall I sat there with my mother, watched the fireworks from out of the hospital windows at St. Johns and had the goodbye talk. I'll never forget that night. At 17 everyone is out to get you but after that I knew that my mother loved me. For 3 hours we watched fireworks and I probably cried buckets but it didn't matter. When I left she went into a coma 2 hours later and passed away on the 7th. |
Sauto never needs saving, I'm the captain.
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That isn't a story, that is a cliff note, mr lug nut. Details dam it.
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I'm still alive.
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most won't ever believe them. Hell I've had George Clinton in the back seat of a ford Taurus after a concert with four other guys and me running around the projects trying to score. His security want too happy when we showed back up. |
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I'll bet... |
I'll categorize this as an everlasting disdain story. I'll never forgive this person lol.
In 4th grade, I had a teacher named Mr. Bridges. Guy was a towering monster. 6'6 or so, being a 4th grader, guy was intimidating as hell. Anyways, a classmate of mine lifted up a girl in my classes dress, then blamed me for it. During lunch this hulking sob calls me up to the teachers table. He asks "did you lift up whats her names dress?" I'm like "I have no idea what your talking about." As soon as I finished that sentence he reaches out and grabs me by the throat, pulls me right up to his face, and asks the question again. Out of sheer terror I say yes. I spent every recess from then till 6th grade facing a brick wall. He made sure my life was miserable every chance he got. He never told my parents, and for some reason neither did I. He made sure every teacher knew what I "had done" I now work for that school district, every time I visit the elementary school I have to see his name on a plaque of retired teachers who "promoted amazing achievements" etc etc. I wanna rip that plate off more than anything ever. If I ever met the guy again and knew it was him, I would , swear to god, nail him right in the face. I have never been in a fight before or been aggressive towards anyone. That would seriously end if i ever ran into that despicable human being ever. Oh well fun times! |
My dad would have ****ed that teacher up.
He always told me if they wanna whoop me he best be there or he's whopping them. |
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My story has to be the time I ran wingman for my best friend out of Basic. The girl he wanted was smoking. The girl that wouldn't leave her side? Horrendous!
I bit the bullet for my buddy, just to be chased out the window by her father and my best friend didn't even get to seal the deal. One of the things we still talk about to this day, though. Anyone else go to this level for a friend? |
C4w. I feel your pain.
4th grade. The dragon lady puts a paper on the door of her classroom encouraging students to write "things that are green" in honor of St Patrick's day. At some point she storms into the room, snarling like the rabid cow that she was.....demanding to know who had done it....done what you ask, as I did at the time. As she stamped across the room towards my desk she ululated " someone....(looking at me) wrote "a booger" on the things that are green board. I will have a confession or no one goes on the fir,d trip or ever has enjoy,net in their life again". It is worse than after flick comes in after the flag pole. The class is restless. It's obvious she thinks I did it. The class is unsettled and stammering whispers iof "admit it" checker the room. The uterus of doom obviously thinks I did it, kids are starting to assume I did it.....so to save the team, I confess to a crime I did. It commit. The wicked witch of 4th grade rips me from my chair by the ear and arm and essentially pummels me across the room, pushes me outside and begins to slam me against the door several times as she screams gibberish about how terrible I was and that I had ruined the holiday in which we stereotype the Irish for everyone. Worst person ever! Destined to fail... I spend the next hour standing in front of the door, scribbling over the dreaded "a booger" text. Do you know what happens when you scribble on the same 3 cubic inches with a green marker for an hour? It breaks through the paper and then you spend a couple of recesses cleaning the spot on the door. The sonnabitch who did it never confessed, they could have at least thrown the standard jawbreaker candy apology my way. To this day I hope her vagina fell out. Innocent. I should seek reparations. 2 short years later, the jelly belly caper.....but at least my friends did that and I was there. |
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I laugh it off now, but inside, I would snap if I saw the guy. I feel for ya man. I know exactly where ya come from. |
Iowanian, you didn't happen to get dragged to the principals office in 6th grade by the ear by Mrs. Watts? Or get accused of stealing money out of the UNICEF box in 4th grade?
Story: 1970. I am just over 1. We are going to church in a 63 Ford. Dad, mom, my sister (6) and I are in the front seat. I am sitting on my sisters lap. Stopped at a corner, dad looks for oncoming traffic, moms head gets in the way. Dad pulls out and gets t-boned by another car. I am assuming the car is traveling well over 60 because there was no speed limit. We had no seat belts (not required then) and no car seats. Sister and I lunge forward hitting the dash and both sustained massive concussions. The car spun, and at one time was told I spun out of the car. (don't think that happened) Dad gave me mouth to mouth, as well as the person that lived on the corner. To me, I should not be here today. As far as I know, no lasting effects other than my right eye is not the greatest. They never talked about the crash. Mom and dad are both gone now. Mom lost her fight two weeks ago. Some of you may remember me talking about her. Been a bitch of a two years. |
This is the best thread ever. It made me look for him. He's 71 now. Lives in Philly. I'm preparing a very large message to his Facebook. This is therapy shit!! lol
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This is an awesome thread and has potential to be around all offseason.
I've written about 110 of my most amusing stories over the years. When I get to a computer, I'll have to copy and paste a couple. Some of them I haven't read in years. :) You guys are all hilarious and amusing btw. Love the majority of these. |
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Long form rico. The mind reels. |
I once threw a pitcher full of toilet water into a girls face during a water fight in college. It was in my buddies dorm room. We opened the door and before she was able to get a water balloon thrown she was hit with a pitcher of watcher and the door was almost slammed shut... All but the last inch. With a mighty shove the larger woman was finally pushed out of the doorway and the door was safely locked at which time it was all I could do to announce over the non stop laughing in a short winded scream "that was toilet water beeeeeooooch". The door received a mighty kick and an upset and angry voice on the other side of the wood portal announced in a threatening tone "you are going to pay for my weave"
Unknown at the time of the deployment of said water pitcher it ended up hitting with such a force that it knocked the young ladies hair weave loose. It was all in good fun. We had lots to clean up after they left. I could not stop laughing for 10 minutes, that was the first of 3 days straight of binge drinking everything from natty light to king cobra 40 ounces. I had to stop once it started to hurt when I pissed but during that first evening, a weave was ruined by a pitcher of toilet water.. A day that still lives on in infamy. Although weaves were ruined that day, no reimbursement was provided to the unknown water fight participant Probably not my best story but it's the one I currently remember lolz |
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Stories like this make me miss it. LMAO Good stuff, dude. |
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This was the first one that I ever wrote (and saved)...way back in 2006:
One of My Babysitters Became a Stripper http://ricoswaff.com/blog1/?p=33 One random weekend night about 5 years ago, my friend Poff, some other dude I didn’t really know and I journeyed across the Mississippi River to the bars in East Dubuque, Illinois after the Iowa bars closed. For Iowans who reside on the Eastern border of the state, bar close is 2:00 AM, but if you are not finished partying by the time the bars close in Iowa, you have the opportunity to cross the Mississippi River to Illinois where there will generally be a small podunk town which primarily consists of nightclubs and strip-joints that stay open until 5 or 6 in the morning. East Dubuque, Illinois is an example of one of these podunk towns across the Mississippi from Dubuque, IA (Northeast Iowa), which is where I went to college. Gulfport, Illinois is an example of one of these podunk towns across the Mississippi River from Burlington, Iowa (Southeast Iowa), which is the general region where I grew up and currently reside. When we arrived at the East Dubuque bar strip, Poff wanted to go to a strip club. I was annoyed. I admit, for a party-hardy inclined, social, sexually active male in my 20′s, I have an unusual opinion regarding strip clubs. I don’t like them. Straight up. If you ever catch me at a strip club, then the only reason I am there is because someone who I was hanging out with that night wanted to go. It is never my suggestion to go to a strip club. Why don’t I like strip clubs? A variety of reasons. I experience an array of unpleasant thoughts whenever I am in one. The first and most consistently present thought that crosses my mind is ”man, I hope I don’t have a daughter who becomes a stripper.” Nothing personal against all you stripper whores out there. Make that money how you want to, if you want to. I just don’t want to be the father of a daughter who turns out like you. I would want to beat the shit out of every single dude that had my daughter’s boobs in their face. Another thing that bugs me is the people you see while you are there. I hate observing uncomfortable, awkward and blatant displays of loneliness and creepiness. This is something you are destined to encounter at a strip club. And it baffles me that there seriously are dipshits out there who are so sex-deprived, desperate and/or sex-addicted that they eagerly throw down wads of cash….JUST TO GET SOME BOOBS IN THEIR FACE. I just…never really thought of getting boobs in my face as a difficult task by any means. I surely wouldn’t pay for it, when I know damn well I can get it for free if I want to. You want boobs in your face so badly that you are losing money over it? Well, a solution to that would be growing a pair and learning how to spit some game. And if you feel you are too ugly for your “game” to work, then either use your pair and hit the weights or start running or tanning or something and maintain your hygiene, OR swallow your damn pride and lower your standards and spit some game to a girl who you evaluate as being as ugly as you. You just might hit the jackpot and get some boobs in your face for free. When I am in a strip club, I also start nitpicking the hygiene/sanitary issues that I frequently notice. I am always thinking, “God damn, some of these strippers don’t wash their tits after smothering them in these dudes’ faces!? And to make things worse, most of these pecker-heads’ greasy faces make it appear as if they took a Vaseline shower before they arrived.” So basically, when you pay a stripper a dollar or whatever to put her boobs in your face, you are not only getting a face full of boobs, you are also getting soaked with a concoction of facial and head grease from tons of these creepy dudes who got the boobs in their faces prior to you. The beer is also more expensive in strip clubs. That pisses me off. So with all that said, strip clubs make me feel depressed and if you EVER see me in one, I am probably pouting and pissed off that I am even there. HOWEVER, one time I did have a very funny, memorable experience at a strip club…….. So we strolled into this now vacant East Dubuque strip club called “Diamond Jim’s”, and this decent looking stripper immediately approaches me and says with enthusiasm, “OMG, I SO know you!!!!” I replied with, “yeah, I have one of those familiar faces. Everyone seems to have a friend who looks like me.” And she was like “no, I like seriously like, KNOW YOU!!! I haven’t seen you in about 15 years, you are “Rico” (she actually said my real first and last name, not “Rico.”) and you are from Mediapolis, Iowa!!” Considering the fact that Mediapolis has a whopping population of almost 2000 people, and it is located 2 and a half hours South of East Dubuque, my eyes were officially opened. I was shocked and very curious at this point. I inquired, “ummmm…how the hell do you know me?!?!” She replied, “just look at me closely and try to remember.” I looked her up and down while she stood there with a beaming smile on her face, in her flossy little red thong and her tiny matching bra for about 45 seconds before it finally hit me. She was my babysitter when I was 4 through 6 years old. I loved it when she babysat me because even back then I thought she was pretty cute. I probably used to pop little mini-boners when she babysat me. Most of all though, she was a total sweetheart. She was extremely nice to us. She wasn’t like the awful babysitter before her, who forced my brother and I to gargle and swallow Dawn dish soap, simply because we asked her when our parents were coming home, which distracted her for she was trying to pay close attention to the Phil Donahue Show. (Oh man, did my parents get pissed…she’s scared of my dad to this day). But no, this babysitter, the one who is now currently a stripper….she was cool shit. (Just to clarify: for those of you who know me well and remember who some of my babysitters were back in the day, I will tell you one thing about this stripper’s identity; It was NOT Tanya Fisher. Thats the only clue I will give you). When I came to this realization, I was like “holy shit, I totally remember you!! It’s so nice to see you!!! It’s been so long!!!” And it was nice to see her. I genuinely liked her when I was a kid. She was one of my favorite babysitters we ever had. I always wondered how she was doing… So the genuine thrill of seeing this person who I thought highly of, who I hadn’t seen in 15 years made a quick transition from excitement to intense awkwardness, especially when I asked her how her life had been turning out since the last time I had seen her… as shes standing right in front of me in lingerie, about to strip for 50 greaseballs at a rinky-dinky strip club in a podunk Western Illinois town. I mean, shit, did I really need to ask? According to our conversation, she indicated that she has had her ups and downs in life, but at the moment she really wasn’t feeling too bad about the way things were going. She did however mention being a bit embarrassed that she encountered a kid she used to babysit at that particular employer of hers. After a few minutes of chit-chatting with her about our lives, families, etc. the announcer of the club shouted her name. It was her turn to strip onstage. However, he elaborated a bit by saying, “this girl is having a special night tonight, for the boy in the black shirt she is talking to right now is a boy she used to babysit!” Everyone in attendance began laughing, whooping, hollering and applauding. I wondered how the announcer knew this was going on and was informed by Poff later that night that he chimed in on my old babysitter and I’s conversation and as soon as he discovered what was going on, he thought, “THIS IS AWESOME!” ran in bee-line fashion to the strip club announcer to inform him of this unusual encounter. So earlier in this post, I made it very clear earlier that I don’t like strip clubs and never pay the strippers to do anything to or for me while I am in one. When I am in a strip club, I am basically a fuddy-duddy drinking over-priced beer, counting the minutes until we move on and get to the next thing. But this situation was different. Much different. My freaking babysitter, who I thought was a hottie since I was 5 freaking years old was employed at this strip club and about to do her thing. I felt an exception to my usual strip club behavior was completely justified in this situation. I remember thinking “holy shit, she’s about to go on stage. I totally have a chance to get my ex-babysitter’s boobs in my face!!! A chance of a ****ing lifetime!!!” I mean seriously, I probably wanted her boobs in my face when I was a little kid and there I was, age 22, with the opportunity staring me right in the face. So what did I do? Did I buy a Budweiser for $5, find a seat in the back and pout while simultaneously tormenting myself with an array of depressing thoughts? **** NO!!! As soon as she took the stage, I instantly sat down in one of those pimped out Zebra-stripe colored chairs in the front row and my former babysitter went straight up stripper-crazy on me. Not only did she put her boobs in my face, but she pulled her thong down, flashed me her crotch and fiddled with herself a mere few inches away from my face. And I didn’t even have to pay. She whispered to me that because of who I was, I received a “special deal.” I even got a free lap-dance from her afterwards. It seemed like she wanted to do it, which I thought was a tad weird, but hey, I took it with pleasure! That was the only pleasurable experience I have ever had at a strip club. Speaking of her, it’s been about 5 years since that happened. I wonder how she’s doing these days? |
Tl;dr :D
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And I wasn't trying to dish anything out... I literally thought your quote was probably from a movie or TV show...which isn't a bad thing??? It's just something that I notice in your posts quite a bit...TV/Movie references. I think there was a misunderstanding, dude. :D |
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2. I have a few persistent antagonists who apparently take my every pop culture reference as an affront to CP decorum. So I thought you were needling me [like 'what's that, one of your smart mouthed movies lines, movie boy?'] 3. In response I needled you back, knowing; 1) you're a wrestler, 2) you write long posts, 3) Foxcatcher is boring, and 4) referring back to my movie reference reputation. |
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You didn't **** her? Slacking... |
I go to rehab centers for veterans. It is tough seeing the boys in bad shape. I want to show my love for the american soldier so I often give them money. Lots of times they give the money to someone else. I think peoples lives would be rich if they know that giving time and money is what brings true joy and happiness in peoples lives.
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Lots of times I think people don't understand that you reap what you sow. If I go to rehab centers and put in time and energy to help people. I get back so much in return for my efforts. It build character. It expresses my love and energy of being a man. That my friend is how you become you own hero.
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I require closure in my life to keep me at peace. We're going to need to see this post and a response....sooner is superior to later.
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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. Hadn't thought of that in years. Quote:
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long, long, long time ago me and two buddies took a dead muskrat that we trapped and stuck it in a school bus. middle of the night...we stashed it in the little cabinet over the door where they used to keep the first aid kit or some shit. propped it's little mouth open so whoever found it would see the teeth and scare them, I guess.
days turned to a couple weeks and no one said anything...then they took the bus down to the state track meet. turned pretty warm that day and it started stinking pretty bad. they finally pulled over and searched and found what was described as opossum soup. one guy that did it with us was on the trip and never said a word. 37 years later, that guy's an engineer and is still scared to death he's going to get busted for it. has 2 sons in hs and forbids me to tell them any stories about when we were in hs. sec |
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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 |
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When you TPed his house, did you then set the toilet paper on fire? Because that could have been really spectacular. |
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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!! |
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.
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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.
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I'm starting to wonder if bep is being 100% truthful in some of these posts.
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Sorter's story reminded me...
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. |
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