I was heading home this past Sunday from Gatlinburg, I am on my bike and loving it. The brief stretches of no traffic give me the freedom to stretch out the legs of its engine. Twisty mountain roads led to ignored caution signs and sharp lean angles.
It was a good ride, despite getting turned into once and escaping between two cars, which after the fact was awesome cause holy shit did I just do that?
But I was heading home though, and had just gotten on 40 when some strange noises and a loss of power acquainted themselves with my bike. I pull in the clutch and release the throttle, and the bike simply dies. I get over the side of the road, try to turn it back on. The starter whines like a puppy and I die a bit inside, it will be a long time before I can her road worthy, again.
Cell phone is dead and Knoxville is 12 miles, time to start hoofing it. Except I don't have to, some people from Dayton, OH stop, offer me a cell phone and a ride. Both much appreciated, as about a minute after I got in the car the rain started coming, and ohh boy was it a wet shower. The kind that I would have pulled over for, practically white wash, and after some hot days might have been deadly.
$20 and some Mcdonalds later I get back to the bike and get it loaded in a truck, my poor baby waiting until summer before I can work on her.
Wishin I had a story so I could contribute to the thread
but at the same time, glad I don't have one, because most of them are about bad stuff happening
I guess St. is coming home from Japan today, that is good. I'll make him post a story
There recently was a thread about awful room-mates, along with pictures. I have my own experience.
Housing complex. The units are basically small cottages, made for two room-mates, with a common area and attached kitchen, a small storage closet in the common area containing water pipes leading to Suite A's bathroom. The two private areas of the suite contained a private bedroom, a sliding glass patio door, and a private bathroom. Sounds idyllic.
My roomie, Jed, liked to throw parties. He liked tarantulas, too, and kept six.
For the sake of saving my effort in recounting this story, here is a basic rundown of the chaos:
This run-through of incidents is going to be kind of terse, because I'm working off of a check list I made a while ago.
During our stay together, my roomie:
He brought his motorcycle into our common room because he was "afraid it would be stolen." This was fine, but then he started it and let it idle for 15 minutes without opening any windows, causing all of our stuff to smell like motor exhaust.
After his girlfriend left him, he went berserk in his private bathroom with a sledgehammer or a geologist's hammer and smashed all of his bathroom fixtures. I'm not sure of this but I believe that just before she left him she fucked some guy with pubic lice in my bed during a party.
His toilet was inoperative at this point, so he used mine for a time, until I refused him access. Later I would find out that he shat in garbage bags and kept them in the common room closet for weeks. More on this later.
He set fire to our carpet with alcohol during a party. He pissed in the fridge. He shat in the fridge. He shat in the crisper drawer. He shat on the oven top, and instead of cleaning it up, turned on the burner, reasoning that carbon is easier to clean than feces.
He left a dead cat he found somewhere in our oven for a week and forgot about it. I discovered it later.
He owned 6 tarantulas, and would let one run around free-range. He assured me he had "tamed it." I assured him he was a stupid fuckhead.
He never showered.
He sold drugs from his room. He smoked pot with his friends in the common area. He spilled bong water on two of my text books. He and his friends did cocaine off of the television set in the common area.
He had a party to which he invited too many people, and they spilled into my room. Strangers had sex in my room at that party. In my bed. One of them had pubic lice. Someone took a dump in my closet. Someone left a used condom in my slipper. I discovered all of these things after it was too late.
Morning after said party, my mother knocked on the front door, and a stranger from that party answered and immediately threw up on her legs.
Crackheads would regularly come by our apartment at all hours of the night trying to buy drugs because of his illicit activities. Whenever I answered the door and indicated that there was no crack to be had, they would sometimes get, desperate, belligerent and violent, and refuse to leave.
He put food products containing milk, meat and cheese on the heating unit and turned it on for three hours to see what would happen. I could've told him what would happen if he asked me.
He got angry at some video game he and his friends were playing in the common area, so he busted into my room while I was sleeping, and punched me in the face and stomach.
A few days later he put a tarantula in my bedsheets while I was sleeping. Thankfully I wasn't bitten, but I was freaked out and still sometimes jump out of bed in the middle of the night for no reason and attack my sheets.
He shat in a lot of our fixtures. He would put his shit in baggies and leave them in strange places. I was thankfull for when he used a baggie. A few words of advice for potential room-mates: A light fixture is not a toilet. A heating vent is not a toilet. The sink is not a toilet. The oven is not a toilet. That is all.
I was pissed at this point. He refused to clean or take care of all of the messes listed above, so I ended up cleaning them, but keeping an hourly log and catalogue of what work I did and worked out a bill, which I sent to him. I was tired of cleaning feces out of our refridgerator, finding turds in our crisper drawer, shit on the stovetop, vomit on the carpet, vomit in our potted plants, vomit on the grille of our television set, urine on the carpet, urine on the kitchen floor seeping behind the refridgerator, dead animals in our oven and freezer units, and bags of feces hidden in our light fixtures.
Have you ever had to move your refridgerator out of its little nook to get behind it to clean urine mixed with whatever the fuck lurks behind a refridgerator in the first place?
After sending him the cleaning bill and getting a refusal of payment, I took some of his stuff, dumped it in a storage unit across town, and held it until he paid me back. He stole some of my stuff in retaliation, but I called the cops and repossessed my belongings. He was unable to articulate to the cops that I had some of his shit in this exchange, so I ended up basically getting my shit back while he had to be put in their car to cool off.
Upon retrospect, I think maybe he became mentally ill after losing his girlfriend, and not being able to part with his feces was part of his illness. This is purely speculative.
He wasn't poor. He was from a wealthy family. They don't come into the picture, though.
This is where the sealing begins. Put a datemark right here, because this is where shit gets crazy.
The person who wrote this is a pushover. "I could've told him what would happen if he asked me." yeah, that's where he went wrong...
There recently was a thread about awful room-mates, along with pictures. I have my own experience.
Housing complex. The units are basically small cottages, made for two room-mates, with a common area and attached kitchen, a small storage closet in the common area containing water pipes leading to Suite A's bathroom. The two private areas of the suite contained a private bedroom, a sliding glass patio door, and a private bathroom. Sounds idyllic.
My roomie, Jed, liked to throw parties. He liked tarantulas, too, and kept six.
For the sake of saving my effort in recounting this story, here is a basic rundown of the chaos:
This run-through of incidents is going to be kind of terse, because I'm working off of a check list I made a while ago.
During our stay together, my roomie:
He brought his motorcycle into our common room because he was "afraid it would be stolen." This was fine, but then he started it and let it idle for 15 minutes without opening any windows, causing all of our stuff to smell like motor exhaust.
After his girlfriend left him, he went berserk in his private bathroom with a sledgehammer or a geologist's hammer and smashed all of his bathroom fixtures. I'm not sure of this but I believe that just before she left him she fucked some guy with pubic lice in my bed during a party.
His toilet was inoperative at this point, so he used mine for a time, until I refused him access. Later I would find out that he shat in garbage bags and kept them in the common room closet for weeks. More on this later.
He set fire to our carpet with alcohol during a party. He pissed in the fridge. He shat in the fridge. He shat in the crisper drawer. He shat on the oven top, and instead of cleaning it up, turned on the burner, reasoning that carbon is easier to clean than feces.
He left a dead cat he found somewhere in our oven for a week and forgot about it. I discovered it later.
He owned 6 tarantulas, and would let one run around free-range. He assured me he had "tamed it." I assured him he was a stupid fuckhead.
He never showered.
He sold drugs from his room. He smoked pot with his friends in the common area. He spilled bong water on two of my text books. He and his friends did cocaine off of the television set in the common area.
He had a party to which he invited too many people, and they spilled into my room. Strangers had sex in my room at that party. In my bed. One of them had pubic lice. Someone took a dump in my closet. Someone left a used condom in my slipper. I discovered all of these things after it was too late.
Morning after said party, my mother knocked on the front door, and a stranger from that party answered and immediately threw up on her legs.
Crackheads would regularly come by our apartment at all hours of the night trying to buy drugs because of his illicit activities. Whenever I answered the door and indicated that there was no crack to be had, they would sometimes get, desperate, belligerent and violent, and refuse to leave.
He put food products containing milk, meat and cheese on the heating unit and turned it on for three hours to see what would happen. I could've told him what would happen if he asked me.
He got angry at some video game he and his friends were playing in the common area, so he busted into my room while I was sleeping, and punched me in the face and stomach.
A few days later he put a tarantula in my bedsheets while I was sleeping. Thankfully I wasn't bitten, but I was freaked out and still sometimes jump out of bed in the middle of the night for no reason and attack my sheets.
He shat in a lot of our fixtures. He would put his shit in baggies and leave them in strange places. I was thankfull for when he used a baggie. A few words of advice for potential room-mates: A light fixture is not a toilet. A heating vent is not a toilet. The sink is not a toilet. The oven is not a toilet. That is all.
I was pissed at this point. He refused to clean or take care of all of the messes listed above, so I ended up cleaning them, but keeping an hourly log and catalogue of what work I did and worked out a bill, which I sent to him. I was tired of cleaning feces out of our refridgerator, finding turds in our crisper drawer, shit on the stovetop, vomit on the carpet, vomit in our potted plants, vomit on the grille of our television set, urine on the carpet, urine on the kitchen floor seeping behind the refridgerator, dead animals in our oven and freezer units, and bags of feces hidden in our light fixtures.
Have you ever had to move your refridgerator out of its little nook to get behind it to clean urine mixed with whatever the fuck lurks behind a refridgerator in the first place?
After sending him the cleaning bill and getting a refusal of payment, I took some of his stuff, dumped it in a storage unit across town, and held it until he paid me back. He stole some of my stuff in retaliation, but I called the cops and repossessed my belongings. He was unable to articulate to the cops that I had some of his shit in this exchange, so I ended up basically getting my shit back while he had to be put in their car to cool off.
Upon retrospect, I think maybe he became mentally ill after losing his girlfriend, and not being able to part with his feces was part of his illness. This is purely speculative.
He wasn't poor. He was from a wealthy family. They don't come into the picture, though.
This is where the sealing begins. Put a datemark right here, because this is where shit gets crazy.
The person who wrote this is a pushover. "I could've told him what would happen if he asked me." yeah, that's where he went wrong...
Every time I read one of these stories I immediately blame the person who wrote it.
There recently was a thread about awful room-mates, along with pictures. I have my own experience.
Housing complex. The units are basically small cottages, made for two room-mates, with a common area and attached kitchen, a small storage closet in the common area containing water pipes leading to Suite A's bathroom. The two private areas of the suite contained a private bedroom, a sliding glass patio door, and a private bathroom. Sounds idyllic.
My roomie, Jed, liked to throw parties. He liked tarantulas, too, and kept six.
For the sake of saving my effort in recounting this story, here is a basic rundown of the chaos:
This run-through of incidents is going to be kind of terse, because I'm working off of a check list I made a while ago.
During our stay together, my roomie:
He brought his motorcycle into our common room because he was "afraid it would be stolen." This was fine, but then he started it and let it idle for 15 minutes without opening any windows, causing all of our stuff to smell like motor exhaust.
After his girlfriend left him, he went berserk in his private bathroom with a sledgehammer or a geologist's hammer and smashed all of his bathroom fixtures. I'm not sure of this but I believe that just before she left him she fucked some guy with pubic lice in my bed during a party.
His toilet was inoperative at this point, so he used mine for a time, until I refused him access. Later I would find out that he shat in garbage bags and kept them in the common room closet for weeks. More on this later.
He set fire to our carpet with alcohol during a party. He pissed in the fridge. He shat in the fridge. He shat in the crisper drawer. He shat on the oven top, and instead of cleaning it up, turned on the burner, reasoning that carbon is easier to clean than feces.
He left a dead cat he found somewhere in our oven for a week and forgot about it. I discovered it later.
He owned 6 tarantulas, and would let one run around free-range. He assured me he had "tamed it." I assured him he was a stupid fuckhead.
He never showered.
He sold drugs from his room. He smoked pot with his friends in the common area. He spilled bong water on two of my text books. He and his friends did cocaine off of the television set in the common area.
He had a party to which he invited too many people, and they spilled into my room. Strangers had sex in my room at that party. In my bed. One of them had pubic lice. Someone took a dump in my closet. Someone left a used condom in my slipper. I discovered all of these things after it was too late.
Morning after said party, my mother knocked on the front door, and a stranger from that party answered and immediately threw up on her legs.
Crackheads would regularly come by our apartment at all hours of the night trying to buy drugs because of his illicit activities. Whenever I answered the door and indicated that there was no crack to be had, they would sometimes get, desperate, belligerent and violent, and refuse to leave.
He put food products containing milk, meat and cheese on the heating unit and turned it on for three hours to see what would happen. I could've told him what would happen if he asked me.
He got angry at some video game he and his friends were playing in the common area, so he busted into my room while I was sleeping, and punched me in the face and stomach.
A few days later he put a tarantula in my bedsheets while I was sleeping. Thankfully I wasn't bitten, but I was freaked out and still sometimes jump out of bed in the middle of the night for no reason and attack my sheets.
He shat in a lot of our fixtures. He would put his shit in baggies and leave them in strange places. I was thankfull for when he used a baggie. A few words of advice for potential room-mates: A light fixture is not a toilet. A heating vent is not a toilet. The sink is not a toilet. The oven is not a toilet. That is all.
I was pissed at this point. He refused to clean or take care of all of the messes listed above, so I ended up cleaning them, but keeping an hourly log and catalogue of what work I did and worked out a bill, which I sent to him. I was tired of cleaning feces out of our refridgerator, finding turds in our crisper drawer, shit on the stovetop, vomit on the carpet, vomit in our potted plants, vomit on the grille of our television set, urine on the carpet, urine on the kitchen floor seeping behind the refridgerator, dead animals in our oven and freezer units, and bags of feces hidden in our light fixtures.
Have you ever had to move your refridgerator out of its little nook to get behind it to clean urine mixed with whatever the fuck lurks behind a refridgerator in the first place?
After sending him the cleaning bill and getting a refusal of payment, I took some of his stuff, dumped it in a storage unit across town, and held it until he paid me back. He stole some of my stuff in retaliation, but I called the cops and repossessed my belongings. He was unable to articulate to the cops that I had some of his shit in this exchange, so I ended up basically getting my shit back while he had to be put in their car to cool off.
Upon retrospect, I think maybe he became mentally ill after losing his girlfriend, and not being able to part with his feces was part of his illness. This is purely speculative.
He wasn't poor. He was from a wealthy family. They don't come into the picture, though.
This is where the sealing begins. Put a datemark right here, because this is where shit gets crazy.
The person who wrote this is a pushover. "I could've told him what would happen if he asked me." yeah, that's where he went wrong...
Every time I read one of these stories I immediately blame the person who wrote it.
I know sometimes you can be stuck in bad situations, but surely he could've gotten another roommate or lived somewhere else or told the landlord or police or something.
i'm playing apollo justice: ace attorney for the first time right now and the first case revolves entirely around the panties of your junior high-aged assistant
phoenix wright series, i love you, but this is just awful
I thought it was funny
Apollo's awkwardness was hilarious, as was Phoenix's reaction
plus you don't just get your junior assistant's panties (and it's not as if she wears them)
So, where I grew up was a lot of corn/bean fields, and a lot of empty barns and old farm houses. Come Fall, it can get quite creepy at night. One night a group of us were at a party, at the time it was common-place to find a pasture a good ways back from the main roads, get a keg of cheap beer, and have 40 or 50 high school kids party.
So after a while the beer runs out, the girls are well lubricated with Natural Light, and the guys are all ready to do some serious fucking. Unfortunately, I had no such female to fuck, and I was ready to head home. I set out to try and find my truck in the dark and I come across this falling down barn at the bottom of a gully back in this pasture. I knew my truck was parked at the top of the rise, but I wasn't sure which side, so hoping I could find something to light on fire to get some light and find my bearings, I went in this barn.
I'm looking for a fence post, some rags, anything to fashion a crude torch or something. Keep in mind, I'm mostly drunk, so this made perfect sense at the time. I'm stumbling through this barn full of broken beams, and garbage, and rusty farm implements when I cut a good sized gash into my arm on something. I drop down to my knee and I'm cursing and grunting and I suddenly realize that I am not alone. There is someone or something else in here.
Pitch black. No light. But I KNOW I can sense something else about 5 feet from me. I start sliding back and I ask who is there. once, twice, three times, and no response. I still KNOW something is there. I reach over and grab hold of some kind of old tool or part or something, and fling it over where I think it is. It clatters, I hear breaking glass, and nothing. I'm honestly getting freaked out at this point, I'm demanding that the darkness answer me.
Outside I can hear an engine approaching so I start making my way to where I'm pretty sure the nearest door is. I can't see the starlight because of all the shit blocking me, and it was pretty cloudy to begin with. I can't really say for certain if this is all in my head, or if something really is in there with me, but I know that I NEED TO LEAVE. I'm frantic now, bashing through bales of hay and garbage, I cut myself again and I swear to God I can hear someone in there with me now. I drop down to crawl under a beam and I can see light from a doorway.
Then something MOVES in front of me. Something big. Not a rat, not a dog. BIG. Big and silent, and I am not at all comfortable. I scramble back and try to find the door I came in, only to see blackness and nothing else. Unnaturally black. Not cool. I need to leave. Not cool at all. I can hear the engine even closer now, and the headlights are starting t shine through the cracks at the ground level of the wall I'm next to. I start to wonder if I could bust through the siding. The only door I can see has the big thing in front of it. And I'm against a wall, bleeding, and at this point, scared out of my mind.
I start throwing my shoulder against the siding and I can feel it give. I can also sense, that whatever the fuck that thing is by the door, is now moving towards me. I throw myself against the wall again and it pushes out further. That fucking thing is almost on top of me and I'm fucking frantic. I hit that wall one more time, as hard as I fucking can and I bust through to the outside.
I'm crazy scared and I bust out running at a dead go. I'm flying through brush and undergrowth and I pass the truck thats heading towards me. I hook an arm on the roll bar and haul myself up into the bed in one jump and I'm slamming my fist on the cab telling them to not stop and keep going.
We go about a half mile and they stop and try to get me to explain myself. Everyone starts laughing at me and they turn around to head back.
Fuck You Guys. I jump out and start making my way back up the hill to where I hope my truck is.
About an hour later they show up at my truck, hysterically laughing.
My ghost? An old canvas tarp on a clothesline. My frantic motions were making it slide along the line because it was tied to the wall I was against. Every time I hit the wall, it slid a little closer. Eventually it blocked my vision of the door, and started sliding on it's own due to gravity.
Fucking ghost tarps.
Stale on
0
Options
RankenphilePassersby were amazedby the unusually large amounts of blood.Registered User, Moderatormod
I was really sick and am still recovering from it. What was fucking me up that much you ask? I had a virus literally eating my eyes.
NO!
That sounds like the world's most disturbing thing to find out, and I hope your eyes remain uneaten because godDAMN.
How does one get a virus like that? I need to know what to avoid. I am really freaked out by the idea of that
Apparently if you had chicken pox before you can still get it or have it reactivated because the virus stays in your body but your immune system keeps it in check. I found that out because I got so sick that my immune system was just fucked, so chicken pox was like "fuck yeah let's do this" and got in my central nervous system, into my brain and then saw my retinas and was like "aww shit yeah"
1 in 1.6 million chance of it happening so I'm sure you'll be fine
e: We managed to catch it in time so my eyes will be fine, more or less. I lost a little bit of peripheral vision and I'll have a 60% chance of my retinas popping off for the rest of my life
Another time I was sitting at a red light and the guy two cars in front of us got out and waved a bat at the guy in front of us cause he was following too close or something, so I called the cops. I felt bad ass for calling the cops and I even gave them his plate number.
I was going to say something about your awful stories but that third one is amazing!
Crashmo on
0
Options
BugBoyboy.EXE has stopped functioning.only bugs remainRegistered Userregular
edited April 2010
One time someone pushed me and I fell on top of a girl.
The next day, she put a note in my locker.
Since I was in third grade and couldn't understand it, I had to ask the principal what it said.
It said "You have sex with pigs"
BugBoy on
0
Options
Munkus BeaverYou don't have to attend every argument you are invited to.Philosophy: Stoicism. Politics: Democratic SocialistRegistered User, ClubPAregular
edited April 2010
Stale, you tell the best stories.
You and Captain K, may he one day return.
Munkus Beaver on
Humor can be dissected as a frog can, but dies in the process.
I was really sick and am still recovering from it. What was fucking me up that much you ask? I had a virus literally eating my eyes.
NO!
That sounds like the world's most disturbing thing to find out, and I hope your eyes remain uneaten because godDAMN.
How does one get a virus like that? I need to know what to avoid. I am really freaked out by the idea of that
Apparently if you had chicken pox before you can still get it or have it reactivated because the virus stays in your body but your immune system keeps it in check. I found that out because I got so sick that my immune system was just fucked, so chicken pox was like "fuck yeah let's do this" and got in my central nervous system, into my brain and then saw my retinas and was like "aww shit yeah"
1 in 1.6 million chance of it happening so I'm sure you'll be fine
e: We managed to catch it in time so my eyes will be fine, more or less. I lost a little bit of peripheral vision and I'll have a 60% chance of my retinas popping off for the rest of my life
Man, viruses are a nasty business all round
Good work on getting better though, and who needs peripheral vision anyway?
When I was in the third grade, our teacher decided to make a fun project by showing us all how to make s'mores without a microwave or campfire. She instructed us to go home, find a magnifying glass, and bring it back the next day.
My grandpa had recently given me this beautiful little foldout portable dealie, with a lacquer-finished piece of wood that had a hinge, in which the substantially heavy iron frame that held the crystal slid into. It was a piece of art, and I loved it. I was excited to take it to school and show it off (and to make s'mores).
My teacher brought in the graham crackers, marshmallows, and Hershey bars, and she showed us how to put the three together in a shoebox lined with tin foil, and then to position the magnifying glass so that the focused light would hit the chocolate and marshmallows.
After a delicious day, I was waiting around with my friend to get picked up to go home. Considering I had just learned how to burn things with my awesome magnifying glass, I set about trying to burn some things. First a leaf, then a twig, then a bit of grass. Another teacher spotted me, yelled, and took the glass away from me. He said I could get it back at the end of the year.
At the end of the year, I found out that the teacher had moved away, and to this day I still haven't told my grandpa what happened (which makes me even sadder because he's permanently hospitalized now).
i'm playing apollo justice: ace attorney for the first time right now and the first case revolves entirely around the panties of your junior high-aged assistant
phoenix wright series, i love you, but this is just awful
I thought it was funny
Apollo's awkwardness was hilarious, as was Phoenix's reaction
plus you don't just get your junior assistant's panties (and it's not as if she wears them)
i would have an easier time finding it funny if i weren't pretty sure the player is supposed to find it vaguely sexually enticing as well
this would be a ridiculous thought except for the fact that you have a jailbait assistant at literally every moment in every game (when one disappears, another takes her place!) and, let's face it, this is totally the kind of thing you tend to find in japanese video games
if the whole panties thing were the only part i'd be like "ha ha panties," but the fact that the series literally always pairs your surrogate with a teenage girl makes me wonder
redhead on
0
Options
Raneadospolice apologistyou shouldn't have been there, obviouslyRegistered Userregular
my only purpose in life is to stare at my screen, clicking endlessly on all the messageboards known to man, waiting to find the gem that will release me from this task
one of you guys should write a good post some time, that would be swell
i'm playing apollo justice: ace attorney for the first time right now and the first case revolves entirely around the panties of your junior high-aged assistant
phoenix wright series, i love you, but this is just awful
I thought it was funny
Apollo's awkwardness was hilarious, as was Phoenix's reaction
plus you don't just get your junior assistant's panties (and it's not as if she wears them)
i would have an easier time finding it funny if i weren't pretty sure the player is supposed to find it vaguely sexually enticing as well
this would be a ridiculous thought except for the fact that you have a jailbait assistant at literally every moment in every game (when one disappears, another takes her place!) and, let's face it, this is totally the kind of thing you tend to find in japanese video games
if the whole panties thing were the only part i'd be like "ha ha panties," but the fact that the series literally always pairs your surrogate with a teenage girl makes me wonder
Man
man the revelation at the end of the game may destroy you then
here is my best story. I'll try to skip needless details and make it as short as possible:
I was 19 and had just met a very pretty 17 year old girl. I was really horny one night(school night for her) and called her up and convinced her to let me sneak into her room. so I go in the front door and up the stairs to her room. you guys can use your imagination for the next sequence yadda yadda.
anyway, at around 4 am we both decide it is about time for me to make my escape. so I bid her ado and make my way down the stairs and out what I think is the same door I came in. well after I exit I think to myself "it sure is dark out tonight. actually its pitch fucking black what is going on? well I bust out the cell phone and see that no I did not exit through the correct door and I am now inside her garage.
fuck
well I turn around and slowly crack the door back open and what do I see? her dad searching around their living room because apparently I made too much noise. I shut the door quickly but as it turns out not quick enough. I hear his footsteps coming toward the door then the handle starts to turn. In my desperation I grab the handle and push against the door with all my weight.he pushes back and is now struggling to open the door and probably wondering who the fuck is inside his garage. well I finally realize the futility of this and let him open the door.
the door swings open and there he is stark naked staring at me. he says "oh not cool" and slams the door shut.
this man whose house I just broke into and whose underage daughter I just schlepped now has me trapped in his garage. I hear muffled deliberation and after what seems like an eternity I hear the wife say oh just let him go and we'll talk about it in the morning. so the door opens and there the dad is (still naked) holding his junk and standing next to his wife. there is the girl in her bath robe holding the front door open. as I walk past her she whispers "yeah, this is the front door moron"
Posts
It was a good ride, despite getting turned into once and escaping between two cars, which after the fact was awesome cause holy shit did I just do that?
But I was heading home though, and had just gotten on 40 when some strange noises and a loss of power acquainted themselves with my bike. I pull in the clutch and release the throttle, and the bike simply dies. I get over the side of the road, try to turn it back on. The starter whines like a puppy and I die a bit inside, it will be a long time before I can her road worthy, again.
Cell phone is dead and Knoxville is 12 miles, time to start hoofing it. Except I don't have to, some people from Dayton, OH stop, offer me a cell phone and a ride. Both much appreciated, as about a minute after I got in the car the rain started coming, and ohh boy was it a wet shower. The kind that I would have pulled over for, practically white wash, and after some hot days might have been deadly.
$20 and some Mcdonalds later I get back to the bike and get it loaded in a truck, my poor baby waiting until summer before I can work on her.
Dat posterior
but at the same time, glad I don't have one, because most of them are about bad stuff happening
I guess St. is coming home from Japan today, that is good. I'll make him post a story
The person who wrote this is a pushover. "I could've told him what would happen if he asked me." yeah, that's where he went wrong...
Every time I read one of these stories I immediately blame the person who wrote it.
I know sometimes you can be stuck in bad situations, but surely he could've gotten another roommate or lived somewhere else or told the landlord or police or something.
I thought it was funny
Apollo's awkwardness was hilarious, as was Phoenix's reaction
plus you don't just get your junior assistant's panties (and it's not as if she wears them)
I was just thinking the other day that I should re-read them
AND I'M ALL LIKE, "DANGER POINT?"
So after a while the beer runs out, the girls are well lubricated with Natural Light, and the guys are all ready to do some serious fucking. Unfortunately, I had no such female to fuck, and I was ready to head home. I set out to try and find my truck in the dark and I come across this falling down barn at the bottom of a gully back in this pasture. I knew my truck was parked at the top of the rise, but I wasn't sure which side, so hoping I could find something to light on fire to get some light and find my bearings, I went in this barn.
I'm looking for a fence post, some rags, anything to fashion a crude torch or something. Keep in mind, I'm mostly drunk, so this made perfect sense at the time. I'm stumbling through this barn full of broken beams, and garbage, and rusty farm implements when I cut a good sized gash into my arm on something. I drop down to my knee and I'm cursing and grunting and I suddenly realize that I am not alone. There is someone or something else in here.
Pitch black. No light. But I KNOW I can sense something else about 5 feet from me. I start sliding back and I ask who is there. once, twice, three times, and no response. I still KNOW something is there. I reach over and grab hold of some kind of old tool or part or something, and fling it over where I think it is. It clatters, I hear breaking glass, and nothing. I'm honestly getting freaked out at this point, I'm demanding that the darkness answer me.
Outside I can hear an engine approaching so I start making my way to where I'm pretty sure the nearest door is. I can't see the starlight because of all the shit blocking me, and it was pretty cloudy to begin with. I can't really say for certain if this is all in my head, or if something really is in there with me, but I know that I NEED TO LEAVE. I'm frantic now, bashing through bales of hay and garbage, I cut myself again and I swear to God I can hear someone in there with me now. I drop down to crawl under a beam and I can see light from a doorway.
Then something MOVES in front of me. Something big. Not a rat, not a dog. BIG. Big and silent, and I am not at all comfortable. I scramble back and try to find the door I came in, only to see blackness and nothing else. Unnaturally black. Not cool. I need to leave. Not cool at all. I can hear the engine even closer now, and the headlights are starting t shine through the cracks at the ground level of the wall I'm next to. I start to wonder if I could bust through the siding. The only door I can see has the big thing in front of it. And I'm against a wall, bleeding, and at this point, scared out of my mind.
I start throwing my shoulder against the siding and I can feel it give. I can also sense, that whatever the fuck that thing is by the door, is now moving towards me. I throw myself against the wall again and it pushes out further. That fucking thing is almost on top of me and I'm fucking frantic. I hit that wall one more time, as hard as I fucking can and I bust through to the outside.
I'm crazy scared and I bust out running at a dead go. I'm flying through brush and undergrowth and I pass the truck thats heading towards me. I hook an arm on the roll bar and haul myself up into the bed in one jump and I'm slamming my fist on the cab telling them to not stop and keep going.
We go about a half mile and they stop and try to get me to explain myself. Everyone starts laughing at me and they turn around to head back.
Fuck You Guys. I jump out and start making my way back up the hill to where I hope my truck is.
About an hour later they show up at my truck, hysterically laughing.
My ghost? An old canvas tarp on a clothesline. My frantic motions were making it slide along the line because it was tied to the wall I was against. Every time I hit the wall, it slid a little closer. Eventually it blocked my vision of the door, and started sliding on it's own due to gravity.
Fucking ghost tarps.
I was really sick and am still recovering from it. What was fucking me up that much you ask? I had a virus literally eating my eyes.
NO!
That sounds like the world's most disturbing thing to find out, and I hope your eyes remain uneaten because godDAMN.
How does one get a virus like that? I need to know what to avoid. I am really freaked out by the idea of that
Callipygian
my new favorite word
Apparently if you had chicken pox before you can still get it or have it reactivated because the virus stays in your body but your immune system keeps it in check. I found that out because I got so sick that my immune system was just fucked, so chicken pox was like "fuck yeah let's do this" and got in my central nervous system, into my brain and then saw my retinas and was like "aww shit yeah"
1 in 1.6 million chance of it happening so I'm sure you'll be fine
e: We managed to catch it in time so my eyes will be fine, more or less. I lost a little bit of peripheral vision and I'll have a 60% chance of my retinas popping off for the rest of my life
I am not very good at telling stories.
I got to drive really fast to the animal er. It was valentine's day.
The next day, she put a note in my locker.
Since I was in third grade and couldn't understand it, I had to ask the principal what it said.
You and Captain K, may he one day return.
Man, viruses are a nasty business all round
Good work on getting better though, and who needs peripheral vision anyway?
My grandpa had recently given me this beautiful little foldout portable dealie, with a lacquer-finished piece of wood that had a hinge, in which the substantially heavy iron frame that held the crystal slid into. It was a piece of art, and I loved it. I was excited to take it to school and show it off (and to make s'mores).
My teacher brought in the graham crackers, marshmallows, and Hershey bars, and she showed us how to put the three together in a shoebox lined with tin foil, and then to position the magnifying glass so that the focused light would hit the chocolate and marshmallows.
After a delicious day, I was waiting around with my friend to get picked up to go home. Considering I had just learned how to burn things with my awesome magnifying glass, I set about trying to burn some things. First a leaf, then a twig, then a bit of grass. Another teacher spotted me, yelled, and took the glass away from me. He said I could get it back at the end of the year.
At the end of the year, I found out that the teacher had moved away, and to this day I still haven't told my grandpa what happened (which makes me even sadder because he's permanently hospitalized now).
i would have an easier time finding it funny if i weren't pretty sure the player is supposed to find it vaguely sexually enticing as well
this would be a ridiculous thought except for the fact that you have a jailbait assistant at literally every moment in every game (when one disappears, another takes her place!) and, let's face it, this is totally the kind of thing you tend to find in japanese video games
if the whole panties thing were the only part i'd be like "ha ha panties," but the fact that the series literally always pairs your surrogate with a teenage girl makes me wonder
i'd hate to be blind, i love to see
AWESOME!! more details!
The Apocalypse Has Never Been More Fun
Secret Satan Wishlist!! Thinkgeek Wish List
"a good post" HEH
Man
man the revelation at the end of the game may destroy you then
I was 19 and had just met a very pretty 17 year old girl. I was really horny one night(school night for her) and called her up and convinced her to let me sneak into her room. so I go in the front door and up the stairs to her room. you guys can use your imagination for the next sequence yadda yadda.
anyway, at around 4 am we both decide it is about time for me to make my escape. so I bid her ado and make my way down the stairs and out what I think is the same door I came in. well after I exit I think to myself "it sure is dark out tonight. actually its pitch fucking black what is going on? well I bust out the cell phone and see that no I did not exit through the correct door and I am now inside her garage.
fuck
well I turn around and slowly crack the door back open and what do I see? her dad searching around their living room because apparently I made too much noise. I shut the door quickly but as it turns out not quick enough. I hear his footsteps coming toward the door then the handle starts to turn. In my desperation I grab the handle and push against the door with all my weight.he pushes back and is now struggling to open the door and probably wondering who the fuck is inside his garage. well I finally realize the futility of this and let him open the door.
the door swings open and there he is stark naked staring at me. he says "oh not cool" and slams the door shut.
this man whose house I just broke into and whose underage daughter I just schlepped now has me trapped in his garage. I hear muffled deliberation and after what seems like an eternity I hear the wife say oh just let him go and we'll talk about it in the morning. so the door opens and there the dad is (still naked) holding his junk and standing next to his wife. there is the girl in her bath robe holding the front door open. as I walk past her she whispers "yeah, this is the front door moron"
*fade to black*
merciful god, let me die
doesn't sound like the story is over
RAMROD STRAIGHT
I've got an erection like that
an erection with your name on it, tossrock
edit: well it doesn't have your name on it quite yet I tried to write tossrock but it's smudged so now it looks like fusscock