Your best Story

[rico]

Originally Posted by Baby Lee

It's about a boring wrestling who drones on forever, so I guess Foxcatcher?

Ahhh, so I'm a long-winded, boring wrestler then.... Whatever, I can deal with that.

[TribalElder]

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

[rico]

Originally Posted by TribalElder

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

Calls like the ones I receive from student loan debt collectors make me pissed off that I ever went to college.

Stories like this make me miss it. Good stuff, dude.

[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.

Hadn't thought of that in years.

Originally Posted by TribalElder

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

[Baby Lee]

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.

Hadn't thought of that in years.

Ever 'penny' someone into their room?

[rico]

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?

[ThaVirus]

Originally Posted by rico

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?

You didn't **** her? Slacking...

[rico]

Originally Posted by ThaVirus

You didn't **** her? Slacking...

Honestly, I probably could have, but I had a gf at the time.

[mdchiefsfan]

Tl;dr

[rico]

Originally Posted by mdchiefsfan

Tl;dr

Prepare to not read a lot of longness in the future, mi hermano!

[Demonpenz]

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.

[Demonpenz]

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.

[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

[Rain Man]

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.

[Baby Lee]

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!!