Your best Story

[eDave]

Originally Posted by WhawhaWhat

I still have a big scar on my knee from the bottom of that pool at scout camp. I also have a scar from accidentally wood carving my finger.

I always wood carved the nose off the Indian...

Wonder if I can still weave a lanyard.

[Baby Lee]

Originally Posted by eDave

I always wood carved the nose off the Indian...

Wonder if I can still weave a lanyard.

Still have one of my proudest carving items from camp. That's a ball and socket carved into wood. That is, there is a ball carved inside the top of the cross around which the cross can swivel freely. Sorry for the lack of focus. I think my old Z760 is losing it's mojo and I don't feel like pulling out the 40D.

Edit: OK, twist my arm

[sd4chiefs]

The details of my life are quite inconsequential... very well, where do I begin? My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds- pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking- I highly suggest you try it.

[Barret]

Second hand account of a submarine story.

So, on a sub if you want to go to the bathroom (the Head) you would go into a stall and the toilets would basically have a ball valve that you would have to open and shut. Do your business, fill it with water, open the ball valve and it would then move your poo to the San Tanks (sanitary tanks).

Under way you have to flush the sanitary tanks to sea. Since you are under water you have to use air pressure to over come the pressure of the sea to dump the san tanks. If the a-gangers are doing their job they are supposed to tag out the stalls with a big red tag that says they are out of commission due to the sanitary flush.

They forgot to do that.

So Ricky recruit noob seaman ( not me ) decides he needs to go take a dump. He was at least trained on the toilets so he knew to fill it with water. Unfortunately this was right during the san tank flush and the tanks were pressurized with air. He then doing as he remembered cracks the ball valve and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. He is screaming his head off as pressurized poo and every foul thing in the sanitation tanks shoots up his ass, up from his legs and into his mouth and from what the corpman said he was even having to get it out from under his eyelids.

So always remember to do your job or you or someone else will be in a world of shit.

[Iowanian]

On a warm Saturday morning in June the summer I graduated High School, my dad asked me to come down to the barns and help pull a calf from a heifer. Our barn lot consisted of a metal building with a horse shoe shaped opening between 2 other barns. In the middle of the opening a wooden post was in the ground that we used to tie cows to so we could medicate them, or pull calves using either a chain or a calf jack.

That morning, Dad, Mom and I tied the heifer to the pole with a rope dallied(wrapped over itself). We successfully delivered the calf and stepped back. Dad began to undo the rope to allow the cow to lick, bond and nurse it's new calf. As the cow gets a few feet of rope, the look in her eye changes. She takes an aggressive posture and lunges onto the calf, stamping it wildly. At the time, money was tight for us and every calf mattered. Dad began to pull the rope to get the cow from the calf, but the cow pulling against the knot stopped it. Before I could blink, I see my mom rush to the calf, grab it's back leg and begin to pull it away. As she does, the cow lunges at her, her boot slips in the slippery matting of crushed hay and mud. Standing 10' away, I see her try to get up as the cow kicks her with it's front feet. I see another blow hit her in the leg, hear and see it snap and turn leg backwards above the knee and as I'm rushing the cow see it kick her in the head and see blood spatter.

Time stopped. I could hear nothing, and in my mind I can only think that she's been killed. I see dad fighting the rope as there isn't enough to get the cow off of mom and with the pressure he cannot get it cut free. I grab the cow by the head as he cuts the rope. I think I was going to try to throw it off of her, fight it, bite it, whatever I could do to get the beast off of her. The rope lets loose as I grab the cow by the head and I feel myself in the air. She runs towards the steel barn, lowers her head and does her best to drive my body through it. I find myself on the ground with an angry cow in my face furiously stomping at my head and torso. I can tell I'm being kicked but I can't feel it, I can't hear it, I just get occasional glimpses of my mother on the ground.

Dad charges the melee, and the cow jumps back, raises her head and strolls out into the lot.

I'm flat on my back in the mud. The world is cloudy and I can only hear 2 sounds. My heart beat pounding in my ears, and my mom saying my name. I can't draw in any breath as it's been stomped completely out of me. I roll over and get to my feet and go to her. My dad is stooped over her wiping blood from her eyes and I can see her mangled leg as her body is pressed a few inches into the earth. She isn't answering questions about her injuries, she's only concerned with me. I look down and see my shirt is ripped and a 12-14" cut across my torso and welts of hoof prints on my chest and gut.

The ambulance comes, she and dad go. I local sheriff stay to help me put gates back up, and call for someone to come watch my sister and then driving me to the hospital. In the waiting room after a couple of hours(doctor wouldn't come from golf course for an hour)....I hear a ruckus. Momowanian is mad and won't go to the larger hospital until she knows of my exam and status.

She ends up with stitches, some surgeries and 10 days in the hospital. I spend a night and check myself out the next morning, with a dressed torso wound, mush lump on my aching head and some hoof print bruises on my front and somehow on my back.

I learned 2 very valuable lessons that day.
1. Momowanian is tougher than boiled owl shit. She never made a peep as she lay there so broken, other than to show concern for me. Very, very humbling experience.
2. I learned to stop being a teenage asshole. Any disrespect I'd ever had for my parents stopped in that 30 seconds.

My folks changed that day. They relaxed and in truth acted more like happy people after that. I think we all understood how close that came to a less happy ending.

[BucEyedPea]

Mine have already been written and posted in detail in other threads somewhere on this MB. Didn't feel like typin' it again.

[loochy]

Originally Posted by BucEyedPea

Mine have already been written and posted in detail in other threads somewhere on this MB. Didn't feel like typin' it again.

like the time you made love to Jameis Winston?

[BucEyedPea]

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.

[DaNewGuy]

The day me and my band played our first gig, a shitty rundown bar in Daytona, felt like I had finally had some purpose in my life something that had been lacking since my teenage years.

[Holladay]

Some what similar to Baby Lees' story.

Summer of '84, I was stationed at Fort Sam outside San Anton, TX for Army Medic training. This was between my freshman/jr yr of college. I had taken Army Basic the summer before. Thus I arrived a college student amidst trainees just out of basic. Keep in mind that half the company were females. Females...just out of basic.

So, the first weekend of leave, I found out fast. I knew what I was going to do (not if). It was all a matter of with whom. I didn't do the asking. Goodness gracious.

As I was processing in, I noticed a tall (I am 5'8") dirty blonde helping with the paper work. She was, ummm, interesting. Not drop dead gorgeous, though quite attractive in her own way. An 8. I remember thinking that I would like to bang her. Most the time I think that, it doesn't happen. This wasn't "most of the time". Keep in mind,female<-basic.
Remember this is army medic training. So of course my line to her on the first week of leave, I happen to be visiting with her on the front steps of the mess hall was "How about we go study anatomy tonight at the ABC motel"? Of course, since my mastery of the English language, my wit and my natural good looks, I knew I was a shoe in. She didn't bat an eye.

The next day, I awoke thinking that maybe my nose was broken. It was sore. Then I remember that pelvic bones are very hard.

There were many others that would approach me and I got to choose. In the end I started feeling like a slut. They would start coming to my barracks and ask if I was there. I was scared that I would "catch" something, to which I did.

Mono sucks. I would be in class using my fingers to hold my eye lids open and my eye balls would still roll back. Superduper tried all the time. They put me in the hospital. I was suppose to stay there for a week in quarantine. If that happened, I would miss too many classes and I would have to be "recycled". If that occurred, a 2 week delay, I would miss getting back to college for the next semester. If I didn't complete the training, my timeline into ROTC would be screwed as well.

In the end it worked out. After 2 days, they let me go as long as I promised not to kiss/share utensils/no bodily fluid exchange with anyone.

This all paved the way for my college degree/Army career and ultimately my current job.

Bottom line: that summer was a wet dream come true

[Bob Dole]

Up until 18 months ago, Bob Dole pooped every morning between 6:20 and 6:40.

[Holladay]

I don't want to get into specific names, but the name of one of the camps is Lone Star, after King Lone Star H.Roe Bartle.

When you stated your name, I was wondering about this. I am Least Crying Crow. My son is Little Least Crying Crow. You have a bunch of heritage. Is it safe to say, from your name that you are the GGson of Bartle? My son didn't want to be Little Least. He didn't realize the importance.

I was on H. Roe camp staff '78 and '79...Saw Mill Pool Staff. I came out as a Keeper. Lots of camp stories, peeing from the water tower, swimming in the water tower, fu fu bow and arrow fights, riding trees at the rifle range (like the coon story but you held on) etc.

My son is going to be on Camp Geigers' Pool Staff this summer. It is the sister Mic-O-Say camp in St Joe.

[Baby Lee]

Originally Posted by Holladay

When you stated your name, I was wondering about this. I am Least Crying Crow. My son is Little Least Crying Crow. You have a bunch of heritage. Is it safe to say, from your name that you are the GGson of Bartle? My son didn't want to be Little Least. He didn't realize the importance.

I was on H. Roe camp staff '78 and '79...Saw Mill Pool Staff. I came out as a Keeper. Lots of camp stories, peeing from the water tower, swimming in the water tower, fu fu bow and arrow fights, riding trees at the rifle range (like the coon story but you held on) etc.

My son is going to be on Camp Geigers' Pool Staff this summer. It is the sister Mic-O-Say camp in St Joe.

No, my name is Shield of Three Panthers [family crest]. LLLS was a troop mate of mine and LLS was my scoutmaster.

[SAUTO]

I couldn't even figure out where to begin, and most would get me in quite a bit of trouble.

[Rain Man]

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:



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:



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.



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.



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:



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:



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.



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."



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.