Everyone On This Board Has Died, This Means I Get to Be Emperor

You know, before I read that, I was feeling a little depressed. Now I am filled with glee. Thanks proto.

My story has no humor. It is not, however, some mushy crap, as it may first appear to be. So read it all.

In tenth grade, during Biology, I had a quiet emotional breakdown. We had a substitute teacher that week, an old Jewish man with happy wrinkles bent around his eyes and a jolly rhythm to his voice. He came to the back of the classroom where I was silently weeping and asked me if I was alright, if I wanted to go to the bathroom, did I need a tissue, whatever. I don't remember what the breakdown was about, probably something concerning my father. I am ashamed to be vulnerable in front of anyone and so I pulled myself together and said I was fine, and thanks. He smiled and retreated to his desk, and class continued.

The next day I was completely different, vigorous and full of witty comments tossed from my tucked-away corner in the classroom. This substitute had to be enthralled with me and my shapeshifting characteristics, either that or he was just afraid, because he kept his eye on me. I badly wanted to redeem myself with some brave or wild act, and the gods chose to plant an idea in my mind that would eventually change me completely. I stood up and walked to the front of the classroom, to Catherine Neimeyer's desk, then bent over and began to tongue kiss her publicly. Everyone leaned forward in surprise. Catherine herself was relatively surprised but then began to kiss me back...hard. This was my first french kiss.
I went back to my seat and, with a smug grin, sat down. She followed me, sat in my lap, and kept making out with me. In school this is known as PDA or Public Display of Affection, which is prohibited. But the old Jewish guy didn't give a fuck and just chortled heartily while the rest of the class pretended not to care.
Catherine told me that later that day the substitute asked her, "Is that why he was so upset yesterday? You two got in a fight?"
To which she laughed and shook her head, replying, "I barely know that guy."
We went out for awhile after that and the only good thing about our relationship was making out every time we saw each other. A lot of things happened [i]after[/i] we broke up, including an incident in which I...pleasured her with my hands...which was out of revenge, but it's too complicated to dig into.
That one incident, however, set off a chain reaction which completely affected my personality.
Such is life.
So it goes.

Holy shit, Auri. That's bloody brilliant. I am in awe.

But riddle me this:

#2) I used to be a big time cokehead. Well, pretty much anything at all except crack. Anyways, I used to stay up all night with this one girl I worked with, she had an ex who sent her an $8,000 check monthly and a house all at the age of 23. I was 18 at the time. So we'd sit in her sun room, racing lines of coke off the table and drinking cheap whiskey.

The other thing about this girl is she had a prescription for everything. She had god only knows how many different doctors, I'm guessing. She sold to some people, but mostly they were for recreation.

So all night we'd do drugs, drink, throw darts and play cards. We would only listen to The Very Best of Van Morrison and Jesus Christ Superstar (the one with the guy from Deep Purple, Ian Gillian). To cap off the night, and calm down, we'd usually take some percocet and valium. (In retrospect, it's a wonder we didn't die every fucking night) This combination produces some weird brain states.

So this one time, the girl and I drove out of our way to an ARDYKE meeting (don't ask me what it stands for, but it's a lesbian alliance my roommate and friend at the time belonged to). We walked in, pronounced our freakishness by being straight lovers, and started making out.

Later, we'd both confess that neither one of us was attracted to the other.

Then I asked, and I felt it was justified and unoffensive and serious: "Is it true you can pick a lesbian out of a crowd based on the size of her skull?"

Apparently, I'm an amateur phrenologist.

After they appeared less than thrilled and asked us to leave, we drove back to her place and really got to drinking. I'm a small guy, about 130lbs and 6'2", so when I drink I feel it. I did a shot and felt nothing. Eager to prove my masculinity, I did another.

To shorten the story, 15 shots and forty minutes later, I was on the second pipe of opium being passed when I took a turn at darts. I dropped, passed out right there and woke up two days later on her couch.

I panicked because I couldn't assemble all the details, had to ask what day it was, if I'd lost my job, had I wet myself and if so- who changed me?

That's when I found out why she got the check every month- the whole time, months and months, we'd been doing this EVERY FUCKING NIGHT, she had her three kids upstairs. All of them belonged to her and the guy who sent her the cash, and she had never once mentioned them.

I never went back again.

Now [i]that[/i] is a story. I've got more.

Also in my tenth grade year (I did a lot of things in tenth grade...this was the year I became "rebellious") I was up late with a friend of mine named Travis. He was spending the night on a Sunday, planning to ride the bus with me in the morning. Him on my bed, me on my basketball beanbag, we were in a somber mood, discussing the ethics of modern education. Something had been growing in me...the early stages of rebellion, which infect and fascinate the host, both burning and tickling his mind. This was another time that I wanted desperately to do something edgy.
"What if we just...went to California? Right now?"
Travis grinned a bit, not at all taken aback. "Ok."
"We could take my Dad's car...and I bet he's got a lot of cash on him."
"Ok."
We continued to develop a plan for running away, just fantasizing really. We both knew we couldn't very well leave right there and then, but we had to do something. So we stole my Dad's car, a little Mazda 626, I having just gotten my learner's permit the DAY before, and drove south twenty miles to Jameelah Nuriddin's house, the girl of my dreams.
She was still in her pajamas when we got there, and she snuck out of her house and together the three of us went to a park. We talked or whatever and blah blah and then I kissed her. I like to catch women off guard, I guess. She thanked me afterwards, which was strange, and snuggled next to me on the ride to Waffle House, where we had a bite to eat.
Later that year I stood up in the middle of my American Literature class and walked out, declaring that I was "going to California." (I told that story when I first got to the Cult.)
I didn't actually make it out there until the following summer, when I went with my brother.
L.A. is not that great.

Okay, Auri, game on.

I told this story to Chuck at the 2003 conference and he got a kick out of it.

#3) During the coke days, I used to bring a vial to work with me. I went to the employee bathroom one particularly hectic day.

It helps if you've worked in food service and know what restaurants' employee bathrooms look like. There's generally filth everywhere, debris, an overflowing tampon disposal box, and grease, grease, grease all over the floor. Since no one ever sees them, they never get cleaned. The food particles on the floor mold and ferment creating a lovely fur carpet and enchanting aroma to match the tampon box's boquet.

So I pour what I've got onto the toilet paper dispenser, a little metal thing, and unfortunately for me, that's when a gust of air from someone opening another door blows in under the bathroom door. My cocaine, the last of my cocaine spills onto the floor.

Without missing a beat I drop and start licking.

About forty seconds later I realize what I am doing. I don't gag. I just stop and think "Maybe it's time to quit."

I stand up and look in the mirror. There's an enormous, curled black pubic hair in my mouth, winding out onto my lip.

[i]Post-script: I quit for about two months after that.[/i]

My God. I don't think I can top that.

AHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

I worked at Burger King for a period of two months, the purpose of which was only to raise money to take to California. At one point I was beginning to get fed up -- people of greatness are not meant to work jobs like this, as you may know -- and decided to set up a scam. I pretended to fuck up and called in one of my managers, some helpless white trash mother with red hair and a lip wart named Angie. She, being clumsy, typed her code in right in front of me. I still remember it. 2-2-4-4.
Needless to say, I ended up stealing over $250 from the register.

Nice. I used to manage a restaurant, I think I've mentioned this here. It was a family restaurant, not a fast food joint, so we pulled drawers more often because we had more cash. So everytime the drawer came up over, which was about half the time, I'd pocket it. I called it tipping the manager. It was the lowbrow equivalent of Enron managers giving themselves bonuses.

Either way, it was theft.

To quote: "Sorry mom, sorry god."

I once punched my friend's kid brother in the nose. It bled.

#4) When I was in seventh grade, this kid used to make fun of me. I hated him for it since he was barely a step above me on the social ladder, and I thought he should understand the cruelty of doing such a thing. So I taught him a lesson.

During a social studies test, he left to go to the bathroom. I left a second after that. I came back to the room, a room full of twelve and thirteen year olds and screamed "ANDREW SEXTON IS MASTURBATING IN THE BATHROOM!!!"

By the time he came back in, the class was chaos. He was laughed out of the room. By the end of the day, he had been tripped down a flight of stairs and shoved inside a locker (which didn't close thanks to his girth).

For the next year he was called "Stickyfingers," "Butterfingers," "Jerk Bait," and sometimes just referred to by the universal handjob gesture. At the end of the middle school term, about a year and a half later, it hadn't abated. Not that every other kid wasn't experimenting with jerking off by then, but he had done it in public, in school.

Now the story went someone caught him doing it into the sink, by an open yearbook.

At the end of that year, he transferred to a private school, someone I knew met him and he said "I just had to get out. There were all these dumb rumors going on about me."

So I essentially cost him years of emotional turmoil during a fragile time of his life and for that matter, cost his parents the bill for private school.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Aurelius Caulfield [/i]
[B]Ha. Drinking is [i]cooooooooool[/i].

Donkey fucknut will suffice, proto. [/B][/QUOTE]

Donkey fucknut it is.

And for the record, I once used Ray Walston as a celebrity in some sort of guessing game I was playing one night and no one knew who the fuck he was.

God bless your avatar.

I don't think that was harsh enough.

There was a kid named Andrew Miltiotties (I can't spell that shit, it's Mill-tee-ah-tease) who everyone hated. Mostly because he was just stupid and crass.

Well, Travis, Jerome, Andrew and I were roomed together on a trip to NYC our school takes annually. We had harassed Andrew pretty bad at this time, but nothing serious. That is, until he called Jerome a nigger.
I filled a sock with coins and bashed him with it. I think Travis choked him with the phone cord, but that was after Andrew had hit him with the phone. We did a lot of other physical abuse as well.
You just don't call my nigga a nigger. Understand?

The cure for any embarassing rumor is to be proud of it. Or say something like,
"Yeah dude, and I splurged on the wall right below where your Mom wrote "call 555-0147 for a quick blow job""

Jorb.

JAEEERRRB

Auri, I hear you nigga. Uh, oops.

This one's kind of long, I hope someone will bear with it as I think it's funny.

#5) I only took ecstacy once. I was king of the speed people, and had run everything but hallucinogens down to boredom. I took acid more than anyone I know, mushrooms like Flinstones chewable vitamins and mescaline the way Chinese men munch on the after dinner mints at the counter in their restaurants. I even took PCP once. But never E.

So this one time, my roommate and my ex-roommate (the lesbian from before) and her new girlfriens all get some E and drop. They start feeling the vibe almost immediately, maybe thirty minutes later and we go to a lesbian bar. This is not the fun you think it is. The two girls go off to a corner to get frisky and my roommate ends up rolling his face off, dry humping a senior citizen dyke against the wall of the club. They both seem to be having a genuinely good time. I haven't felt a thing yet.

So I decide that getting my blood pressure up might help things out. I don't dance, so I tell my friends I'm going home for cigarettes. I sprint the three blocks, and up three flights of stairs to my apartment. I get there, grab smokes and think for a minute about the way LSD tends to react to Vitamin C. Maybe it's just an urban legend, but it always seemed to work for me, and since E was of the same ilk, I decided what the hell. I drank a half gallon of OJ, ate a bunch of Vitamin C caps we had on hand. I sprinted back to the club. Still nothing.

The friends decide almost immediately to leave and go to another club. I get in the car and they ask if I want to smoke some weed. I'm still not high so I say sure. We pull up to the next club smoking. We park.

Anyone who has ever been in space, or on a roller coaster where you get G-force will understand the feeling I had where my stomach free floats and I drop to the bottom of the earth without my head. I couldn't speak.

My friends start laughing and drag me to the front door. This is where the outfit comes into play. I'm wearing a bright orange pair of polyester bell bottoms, a yellow knit top and a stovepipe hat. I tip the hat and start speaking in a broken Cockney accent saying things like "good day sir" and "blimey."

Inside the club, to the best of my recollection, looks like the cantina from Star Wars. I start spinning and screaming loudly "I'm hooome!!!" I proceed to drink two liters of water in two gulps. I then lie down on my back in the middle of the dance floor.

BOUNCER: "Are you okay?"
[i]shining flashlight[/i]
PROTO: "Yes, peace be with you."
BOUNCER: "Uh, you're going to have to get up."
PROTO: "The center of time is here. God's eyes are open on me."
BOUNCER: "What???"
[i]more confused than irritated, people keep dancing around this scene[/i]
PROTO: "I [i]said[/i] [b]PEACE BE WITH YOU.[/b]"
[i]enter roommate[/i]
PHIL: "He's drunk. Oh, fuck, oh fuck, he's drunk. "
BOUNCER: "Well, get his ass up then."

I go to a table and wait for the roommate to leave. He warns me about being arrested and tells me we're in a really bad neighborhood. When he leaves, I stand up and feel God rising up in my throat, I scream "Liquid words!!!" and vomit all over myself the water I just drank. I hold a hand up to my mouth to be subtle but only succeed in spraying it around like when you put a thumb over the garden hose mouth.

I wander outside, stovepipe hate and bellbottoms and all and crawl under a car since I'm cold. I realize that I got all muddy doing this and I was stinky from vomit anyways, so I take off my shirt. Now I'm half naked in mid-30s temperatures, half under a car, half on the curb.

People keep asking me if I'm okay but all I can say is from a multiple choice list in my head:

A) Peace be with you
Wipe them out, all of them (in scary Emperor voice from Episode I of Star Wars)
C) You and me, we're in this together now
D) Somebody put shit in my pants

Needless to say, people run from me.

I lie there and see across the street a giant videocasette. It occurs to me in a few minutes, that there are no such things and I look back quickly, like I've just solved a mystery. It turns out it was just a giant baby carriage. Oh. Then it occurs to me that there are no such things, so I look back quickly and it turns out to be a giant leather couch under a light casting a weird shadow. Oh. Then it occurs to me...

Three and a half hours later, my friends find me, panicked. They slap me and tell me they've been calling everywhere, looking everywhere. My ex-roommate is even crying. They tell me I ruined their trip.

All I can ask is whether or not the warehouse across the street I've been staring at for the past few hours really has paisley curtains on the outside. They just wouldn't go away and it really upset me since I didn't think industrial buildings usually had curtains much less such stylish ones on the outside.

The next day, all day, I watched carts at work play themselves like accordians.

So I never too ecstacy again, needless to say.

Now, maybe it's just because it's 6:30 am and I haven't slept properyl all week, but I've never laughed so hard at anything I've read here at the Cult.
Holy shiot.

Yeah, well, I know that [i][b]now[/i][/b].

Shit Proto.

Shit.

Donkey Fucknut.

A bit of a delayed reply but for what it's worth prototype Forrest Gump has AIDS at the end of the movie (Jenny gets AIDS, she marries Forrest, you do the math). So feel free to cry about that you little pansy.

Man. Alex is SO not my favorite member anymore.

I lack any good stories due to my lack of emotions and that I stay away from drugs, alcohol, etc. to keep in pristine condition.

I fought off a giant husky that was attacking my dog in the park once. Its not that much of a story though. I was walking him and this huge white husky comes charging out of the woods. It spears my dog in the neck and starts biting at his jugular as it is instinct for dogs to do. Well, I ran over grabbed the husky by it's neck two handed and tossed the dog skidding across the paved pathway. It jumped up charged me and I stood my ground. The dog suddenly stopped glanced behind it and the looked up at me again and then made the good decision and ran for it.

Later that week it went after my dog again when my sisters were walking him and they had to run and hide behind cars from it.

I don't believe anyone that says they don't have a good story of stupid humanity. Not for a second.

I was once thrown out of a little get together, a dinner and drinks type thing between good friends, during a game of Balderdash.

The word to make up a definition for was, in fact, "baldersnatch." My definition was "chemotherapy cunnilingus." (Think about it, if it didn't hit you right away) It didn't go over well.

Everyone has a story like this.

i have plenty of these kind of stories, but sadly no time today to write them all out. suffice it to say, however, i had convinced my eighth grade class that i had won the pepsi challenge - the prize was $5,000 and this was a real contest. i had simply lied. classmates believed. i was stunned, so i exaggerated the story still further. i told them i had bought a surplus army jeep that was waiting to be picked up on my 16th birthday. people believed that whopper, too. the best part of the story is that throughout high school fellow student would sometimes ask me if i won the pepsi challenge. years after college i bumped into an old classmates and he brought it up again. i blushed with pride. the lie had survived all these years. again, lies are the onlytruths out there! cheers.

proto, dude, i hope you're off the drugs. that's some heavy shit and although i have never used illicit drugs of any kind my drinking has gotten me into some decidedly sticky situations. i'll write about them later.

my god. this thread is fucking brilliant.

*pondering wether this can just win Best Thread by default*

I don't have any good drinking stories, besides skiing into a tree I barely have any good stories to tell, which is why tonight at my friends birthday party I'm going to get sloshed like I've never been sloshed before, when I wake up in 2005 I'll tell you how it went.

However, I do know people who do embarrasing things and will gladly post those in the future, for now though, it's lunchtime.

p.s. prototype, just kidding about the big pansy thing, so quit crying over the name calling you nancy-boy.

I am more in awe of Prototype and Aurelius than I ever have been of anyone in my entire life.

I'm just stunned.

Any story I might want to tell pales in comparison.

Damn Proto, I thought I was a druggie.

Lets see, story story story, I got one.

A few months ago I went to Vegas with a three of my buddies. We were going to stay three days so we had secured about an eightball for each person, a few valiums, and a pinch of weed.

Anyway, we party hard for the first two nights and all throughout the day. I think I got about 6 hours sleep total during all three days. So our last day there, we're all a little tired but we all want to go to a strip club. But we're thinking about the costs of actually going to one since we're all starting to run low on cash. So we figure, cab fare there and back, cover charge, drinks, and lap dances, its all going to add up. So we figure that since we have our own drinks at our hotel, as well as our drugs, we should get a stripper into our hotel room and save some cash. Seemed like a great at the time.

So what do we do, we call one of those cards that they pass out on the strip. For those of you unfamiliar with them, they're these cards with half naked girls named Candy or Ginger on them with a phone number you can call to "order in". Well, on the back of the card we have it says that they also do strip shows, so we're stoked and sure that we've out smarted Vegas.

So I get stuck with the duty to call in and order this stripper, and on the card it says she'll come over for $60, and upon calling I was able to get two girls for $99. Splitting the cost between the four of us, it doesn't come out to too much. Giddy as all hell with ourselves, we rack up the lines and down some rum, then go down to the casino to get some one dollar bills to tip the girls with.

After waiting for about half an hour like four little boys waiting for Christmas to arrive, the girls finally show up. Even though we had asked for a blond and a brunette, two blonds show up instead. One of which is a tad bit thick, the other of which is a knock out. So they tell us before they can do anything, they need the $99, so we shuffle it over to them. Then they go on to say that the $99 we just gave them was just to get them over here, and that they're going rate was $600 and hour, each.

We looked at each other, stupified at what we had just heard. Obviously these girls were more than just strippers, so one of my buddies goes, obviously there's been a misunderstanding. So we haggle with these girls and explain to them that we weren't looking for sex, just a strip show. These girls are obviously annoyed and decide that if we throw in $60 each, they'll put on a memorable show that we'll never forget.

Reluctantly and feeling stupid, we agreed and paid up. What we got was the lamest 10 minute show I'd ever seen. Before we knew it, the girls were gone, and we were each $90 in the hole.

Needless to say, we finished all our drugs and alcohol in that next hour.

K, I know it can't touch giant inanimate objects, but when I was 16 there was this girl I was dating. Her name was kate, and about 2 weeks before valentine's day I started asking her stuff like what was her locker number, and where was it situated in the school. Then two weeks later a certain dark clad villian broke into her school with a glasscutter and zippo lighter, at 3am on valentine's day. Nothing was reported stolen, but kate found a valentines card in her locker that morning, with a message at the bottom telling her to put the combination that was written in the postcode squares on the envelope into the combination lock attached to the locker to the right of her's. ...where she found, *drum roll* a dozen red and white roses! Needless to say she was quite impressed..
We're best of friends at the moment, though we stopped dating last year

Ahh, you're so sweet. I still have some of those flowers, loki, baby.

Fram- I've been clean for two years, thanks. I'm much better off. I still drink though.

Loki- awesome story. Ingenuity.

#7) Somebody mentioned skiing. I've skiied once.

When I was fifteen, I had to stop playing baseball. I had been a pitcher and was damn good, my coaches all fed me the "with patience and grooming" you could make the draft BS. But I threw sidearm and eventually blew out my elbow. So that was that.

Trying to find something else to do that was up and active, this kid I used to play baseball with suggested skiing and said he'd even take me. I was psyched since that sort of thing tends to be expensive and you need skis and all that associated shit, none of which I had the cash for or knew anything about. So I went.

I figured "So let's go skiing. I'll even take you," meant to a slope. We went to his grandfather's cottage, by a relatively big hill type thing. The skis were made in the thirties. He said this would be better for me to learn, no one to embarrass myself in front of. I couldn't argue with that logic. So I got on the quasi-skis and we went to the top of the slope.

On the way down, the way too fast way down for my first time liking, I was impressed that I had maintained balance. Of course, as soon as I had that thought, I saw a large bush and had to get all swervy and off balance to avoid it.

I was about to miss it, though I was probably going to fall too, when from out behind the goddamn bush runs a goat.

Yes, a goat.

And I hit the goat, smack in the side, tumbling end over end into the snow down the slope.

The poor goat just looked a bit stunned and annoyed.

I'm 22 now and I don't ski.

Yeah, well, Gregory Peck is dead.

::weeps::

"These clothes smell like grandmas."

"They [i]do[/i] smell like Grandma..."

Well to continue with stupid drug stories i got one.

One time my roommate at the time and a good friend went down to the valley to see my uncle who owns a head shop (he sells pipes and "smoking accessories"). We had gotten really high at my house before we went and when we got into the car to drive down my friend gave my roommate and i some kolonopin pills. They are for people who have seziures and things like that. These pills really get you messed up, so we took the pills and decided to drive down there. We had made all the down there and got off the freeway at the exit and proceeded to drive towards his shop. Well it was around four and everyone was getting off work so it was full of traffic. Just as we start to go down the street we started to feel the pill he gave us and we were all really out of it. So as im driving im not paying attention because im trying to focus on keeping the steering wheel straight and i run into someone. We pull over and the guy gets out and says "Ohh its nothing dont worry about it". I was like ok whatever you say. I thought i was going to get arrested but he just let it go. So we continue on the street and it happens again. And we pull over and the guy says the same thing to us. I just thought i was out of my mind cause i really hit these peoples cars but they said dont worry about. So to make a long story short i hit about five different cars with different people in them and they all let it slide. I didnt have to say anything. It was very strange. How we got home i dont remeber at all because the pills make you forget things. I stopped doing drugs now but i cant forget how lucky i was to get away with all that.

Hmm, skiing into a goat is better than skiing into a tree, you didn't snap it in two though, that would have been sticky and gross and fucking hilarious in retrospect.

I have to start doing drugs upon reading all these. Maybe then I can contribute to my idea for a coffee table pop up book based on drug induced hallucinations. I have a friend who tried Absinthe once, he said it was great, on his way home the flowers were singing to him and laughing at all his jokes.

One time this Mexican kid named Daigo pissed off my best friend Emin and Emin so took a shit on their front porch.

Another time Emin and another Russian named Alex set off fireworks in this old abandoned house and burned it down. I had taught them how to make napalm out of styrofoam and gasoline the day before.

Two weeks ago, while they were on vacation, Emin, Alex, and I stole our neighbor's key, broke into their house, stole a pack of $9 steaks and cooked them on their grill. And drank their Gatorade. It was good.

Emin, Daigo, and Alex, for a long time, did what they called EDA, or Dumb Ass, a rip-off of Jack Ass. You can imagine the kind of things they did. They've still got tapes.

The stories go on and on and on.

I saw a boobie once.

Just one?

i once drank a lot of pop and ate a lot of sugar before bed time

I'm thinking that doesn't quite match up with Gucci's "help a friend's father beat him up," but thanks for coming out.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by knoxville [/i]
[B]i once drank a lot of pop and ate a lot of sugar before bed time [/B][/QUOTE]

If by pop, you mean soda then it is an acceptable response.

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Alex [/i]
[B]I saw a boobie once. [/B][/QUOTE]

The blue footed boobie is one of my favorite birds

[IMG]http://www.highonadventure.com/Hoa01dec/Galapagos/boobiesbluefootr3.jpg[/IMG]

Isn't there a bird called the nutsack too? Seriously, there's at least one other bird with a horribly graphic name and I can't remember what it is.

Titmouse?

there is a bird called the titmouse

Okay, so there are two other birds. There's the titmouse, the boobie and something else. I swear it's like the nutsack or something...

BTW I just image searched titmouse in Google and this was the 5th hit:

The image is not showing up: Just type "titmouse" into a Google image search and you'll see what I mean

DNT- tell me a story.

about what?

whoa, that was funny, a tit that looks like a mouse.

DNT- I don't care. Every other story told in this thread has been the most quality entertainment I've seen on the Cult. I want more. Everyone has stupid personal anecdotes.

Tell me a story.

I never read the previous pages in the thread. Let me go back and get a feel for what you are seeking.

I am blanking on my stories right now. My friends would be better tellers of my drunken exploits.

I remember one time when I was a lad, I was setting off fireworks in this guy's backyard. It was obviously trespassing, but we were kids and we did not give a shit. We were setting off M80s and the like as well as making chlorine bombs. We were having a grand old time until we hear a bang that is somewhat out of place. We turn around and the owner of the house is running out of his house shooting his shotgun in the air. I never ran so fast in all of my life. This crazy shithead chased us for what seemed like miles in the woods with his fucking shotgun. He kept yelling "After I shoot you fuckers, I am going to feed your balls to my dog." The strange thing was that we were laughing the entire time (probably out of fear).