man, people need to grow a back bone. Its a fucking bug.
It is remarkably easy to say "It's a fucking bug."
It's like saying, "Jeez, it's just scrapping a metal spoon against your teeth," or "FFS guys, it's only nails on a chalkboard." It's just the way some people are hardwired.
On the subject of fears: I have a wholly irrational fear that some day, while I'm in the bath, the world will enter a very sudden ice age and I will be frozen in the bathtub, not alive but not quite dead.
man, people need to grow a back bone. Its a fucking bug.
It is remarkably easy to say "It's a fucking bug."
It's like saying, "Jeez, it's just scrapping a metal spoon against your teeth," or "FFS guys, it's only nails on a chalkboard." It's just the way some people are hardwired.
On the subject of fears: I have a wholly irrational fear that some day, while I'm in the bath, the world will enter a very sudden ice age and I will be frozen in the bathtub, not alive but not quite dead.
There was an episode of 3rd watch like that, where I think an old woman had been frozen solid and they had to get her out without breaking off her extremities.
But why would there be a flash freeze while you're in a tub filled with hot water? I'd have to assume the ice would be really weak and easy to shatter.
man, people need to grow a back bone. Its a fucking bug.
It is remarkably easy to say "It's a fucking bug."
It's like saying, "Jeez, it's just scrapping a metal spoon against your teeth," or "FFS guys, it's only nails on a chalkboard." It's just the way some people are hardwired.
On the subject of fears: I have a wholly irrational fear that some day, while I'm in the bath, the world will enter a very sudden ice age and I will be frozen in the bathtub, not alive but not quite dead.
Oh good Jesus. Did you ever have those crappy crayons as a kid that every now and again would have some hard lump of something in them? And you've be happily scribbling away and then SKRRRT and it would go right down your spine and urrrrrggggh
Willeth on
@vgreminders - Don't miss out on timed events in gaming! @gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
There was one time where we had game for dinner and I got the pellet in my mouth. Every now and again while chewing this mouthful there would be something hard and I couldn't find it. Eventually I got it out.
I'm never eating game again. It was bitter as hell.
Willeth on
@vgreminders - Don't miss out on timed events in gaming! @gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
i rode my bike to my job all summer last year. it's only about 2 miles, but my job is in a college town.
one morning i'm riding along at a decent clip as it's downhill towards work.
as i pass over a bridge i hear some hooping and hollering. some college kids go by and try to spray me with silly string, but it just falls and hits the ground.
i keep on pedaling away. later on, they come back, this time coming towards me. only this time instead of throwing silly string, it's open cans of BEER.
one actually connects with my head, which causes me to kick out in surprise, which makes my jeans get caught up in the spokes, which makes my bike grind to a halt, which throws me over the handlebars.
i ended up walking my bike up the hill, with a nice deep cut in my leg.
i show up to work stinking like beer with one pant leg torn to shreds. i then made the mistake of telling my co-workers, who would not let me hear the end of it.
There was one time where we had game for dinner and I got the pellet in my mouth. Every now and again while chewing this mouthful there would be something hard and metallic and I couldn't find it. Eventually I got it out but it took forever of being scared to swallow.
I'm never eating game again. It was bitter as hell.
Willeth on
@vgreminders - Don't miss out on timed events in gaming! @gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
man, people need to grow a back bone. Its a fucking bug.
It is remarkably easy to say "It's a fucking bug."
It's like saying, "Jeez, it's just scrapping a metal spoon against your teeth," or "FFS guys, it's only nails on a chalkboard." It's just the way some people are hardwired.
This. The way I describe it is that everyone has their "thing". Something that bugs you or rubs you the wrong way. My fiancee has the standard bug problem, but they don't bother me much. On the other hand, I cannot stand spoiled food. Even if it's just a bit of moldy bread, my stomach can't take it. God forbid I take a bite before I notice the pure evil growing on my sustenance.
i rode my bike to my job all summer last year. it's only about 2 miles, but my job is in a college town.
one morning i'm riding along at a decent clip as it's downhill towards work.
as i pass over a bridge i hear some hooping and hollering. some college kids go by and try to spray me with silly string, but it just falls and hits the ground.
i keep on pedaling away. later on, they come back, this time coming towards me. only this time instead of throwing silly string, it's open cans of BEER.
one actually connects with my head, which causes me to kick out in surprise, which makes my jeans get caught up in the spokes, which makes my bike grind to a halt, which throws me over the handlebars.
i ended up walking my bike up the hill, with a nice deep cut in my leg.
i show up to work stinking like beer with one pant leg torn to shreds. i then made the mistake of telling my co-workers, who would not let me hear the end of it.
i rode my bike to my job all summer last year. it's only about 2 miles, but my job is in a college town.
one morning i'm riding along at a decent clip as it's downhill towards work.
as i pass over a bridge i hear some hooping and hollering. some college kids go by and try to spray me with silly string, but it just falls and hits the ground.
i keep on pedaling away. later on, they come back, this time coming towards me. only this time instead of throwing silly string, it's open cans of BEER.
one actually connects with my head, which causes me to kick out in surprise, which makes my jeans get caught up in the spokes, which makes my bike grind to a halt, which throws me over the handlebars.
i ended up walking my bike up the hill, with a nice deep cut in my leg.
i show up to work stinking like beer with one pant leg torn to shreds. i then made the mistake of telling my co-workers, who would not let me hear the end of it.
Next time, you bring a gun.
Tell me you filed a police report against those beer throwing idiots.
i rode my bike to my job all summer last year. it's only about 2 miles, but my job is in a college town.
one morning i'm riding along at a decent clip as it's downhill towards work.
as i pass over a bridge i hear some hooping and hollering. some college kids go by and try to spray me with silly string, but it just falls and hits the ground.
i keep on pedaling away. later on, they come back, this time coming towards me. only this time instead of throwing silly string, it's open cans of BEER.
one actually connects with my head, which causes me to kick out in surprise, which makes my jeans get caught up in the spokes, which makes my bike grind to a halt, which throws me over the handlebars.
i ended up walking my bike up the hill, with a nice deep cut in my leg.
i show up to work stinking like beer with one pant leg torn to shreds. i then made the mistake of telling my co-workers, who would not let me hear the end of it.
Let you hear the end of it? You were assaulted. Christ.
I read that as Thus began my life long luck with bad women...
Only real wasp stories I have involved my dad at the end of the stinger, not me.
First one I was about 6 years old, and ol' pops was playing catch with me. He opens his mouth to yell something to me and a hornet flies into his mouth, stinging him a couple of times on the inside of his bottom lip. He was in tears with the pain. And he had to work for a week behind the counter of a post office with a HUMONGOUS bottom lip.
The other one I was around 11. He was teaching me to shoot a shotgun, and had placed a few soda cans on poles and brought me out to shoot at them as targets. After I hit a couple, he went over to inspect my accuracy. When he lifted one of the cans off the stick he didn't expect about 5 yellow jackets that were drinking the left over soda in the cans to come flying out of the can pissed to have been shot at.
I got in trouble for it later, but the sight of my dad flailing around while yellow jackets repeatedly attacked him was at the time HILARIOUS to me.
My father and I were removing a bunch of dead, rotting tree stumps last summer using an axe, a sledgehammer, and some metal wedges. It was back breaking work, but great exercise nonetheless. We had just finished off a stump, and my father had elected to take a short break before starting the next, bigger stump. But I, being a spry, strapping, wanna-be lumberjack armed with an axe, decided to get to work while there was still plenty of stump left to be whacked. I hit the rotting stump with the hardest blow I could muster; as the parts flew everywhere, I could see a multitude of small bees attached to some of them. Time slowed down a bit so I could comprehend the sheer magnitude of pissed of bees pouring out of the shattered stump.
An axe is no defense against a swarm of bees, but I wasn't about to abandon it to the swarm. My father, about ten meters away, still taking as break, sees me running like hell, yelling obscenities and mixed warnings about lots 'o bees coming his way. He grabs the sledgehammer and the wedges and joins me in the bee-induced exodus. The neighbors, about 50 meters away, were watching us, laughing.
I made it away mostly unscathed, but several bees landed on me without stinging; I flicked them as I ran for the most part. But I made the mistake of crushing the last bastard hanging on to my leg. With his dying bee-breath, he stung me right in the thick of the calf, giving me a dead leg for the rest of the day. My father and I vowed revenge. We waited until late fall -- the first frost-- to finish our work. Armed with a can of Raid as well as our usual tools, we went to town on the remains of that stump. The much reduced numbers of bees again swarmed out, but my father and I caught them in a Raid crossfire. We left none alive, not even the little younglings.
also, holy shit, are those cicada killers related to those japanese wasps that go on a genocidal rampage against honey bees?
Those are Japanese Hornets. If you've ever run into a hornet, you'll know they're constantly just really pissed off at everything around them. I won't fuck with hornets...I don't care what kind of chemicals I have access to, the hornets get left alone. I don't get paid enough for that shit.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asian_giant_hornet <--- that's what you saw in the video. Incidentally, they're also known, in that region, as the Yak-Killer Hornet. Think about that for a minute.
The wasps are actually harmless unless you're a cicada. Sure, they're gigantic and seem to swarm all over the place, but they're really just checking shit out.
Now, Tarantula Hawks...well..
ENOUGH GIANT INSECTS.
The hair on my body is so vertical, it can practically be used as a weapon.
Also, the first pic on that wiki article looks funny. Kind of like the wasp doesn't believe you.
Ugh. I'm very, very allergic to bees so I guess my fear isn't so irrational. I'm afraid I'll be out hiking alone some day, get stung and not make it back to somewhere with cell phone reception before I stop breathing. Meep!
mystikspyral on
"When life gives you lemons, just say 'Fuck the lemons,' and bail" :rotate:
I guess that would be the ultimate embarrassing moment. Person allergic to bees goes out hiking and forgets to bring along the emergency medication that would potentially save their life along the way.
Strange and embarrassing... should never have gone to work...
When I was nineteen my best friend decided to cook weed brownies, none of us had ever tried them before. When the weekend arrived we gathered about ten friends at her place and commenced to get messed up. My friend was a great cook/baker so the brownies were delicious. All of us were poor at that point so there was no food in the house, just massive amounts of booze.
I ate a few brownies; we passed around four or five pipes. What’s the first thing that happens when you get baked? You get the munchies! Well, there was no food in the house so I just kept eating the delicious brownies! I must have eaten at least six.
Eventually I stumbled my way home in the pitch black. I lived about a block away from my friend’s place and I always managed to make it home. I was glad I didn’t run into any bears that night.
I got home, passed out with my clothes on. The next morning I woke up to go to work. I stood up, my vision tunneled and I immediately fell over on the floor.
Everything in my experience had taught me I would be sober the next day… except my experience had never included weed brownies. I was still so messed up I could hardly function.
I don’t remember taking a shower, I don’t remember getting dressed and I have absolutely no recollection of going to work. I didn’t have black outs when I used to drink but I apparently do when I eat brownies.
The next thing I knew I was at work. I was the assistant manager of a retail store in the mall which served little girls and soccer moms and I was out of my freakin’ gourd. I kept blacking out, after what felt like hours of tripping out (less than thirty minutes, I’m sure) I essentially mumbled I was sick, avoided eye contact and RAN out of there. I don’t remember how I made it home. The next thing I knew it was mid afternoon.
About a week before the evening in question I had stepped on a piece of glass. It seems someone had broken something in my bathroom and had not entirely cleaned it up. I pulled out the glass and didn’t think another thing of it, except as the week progressed my foot started to ache.
Well, now my foot was REALLY starting to hurt. I was living with my parents at the time. I really, really, did not want to face my mother in that condition but I needed Dr. Mom to take a look at the wound. My mother, who didn’t know I drank or smoked weed. My mother, who would shame me with a disapproving look and then maybe cry and push every guilt button I had.
I swallowed my intense fear and paranoia and ventured out of my bedroom. My mother examined my foot, gasped in horror and announced she was taking me to the ER immediately. It turns out I had a red streak running up my leg from the wound in my foot. I had blood poisoning!
Oh my holy sweet jesus. I was totally gone and I was about to go to the hospital with the bright lights and the prodding needles. Holy Christ.
We sit in the ER waiting room forever. Finally, around six at night I see a doctor. While he’s asking the standard questions he asked if I ever drink. With a sideways glance at my mom I said “Sometimes”, which was a gross understatement at the time. My mother, meanwhile, is giving me a murderous look. Thank god he didn’t ask about anything other than booze. I was terrified he was going to take one look at my eyes and he’d know but he never said anything.
He took one look at my foot and sent me for an X-Ray. I had shards of glass in the wound. He injected my foot with a giant amount of anesthesia, so much so that a ball formed next to the wound. Then he proceeded to slice and dice my foot while my mother held my hand and I bled everywhere. I was still high as a kite.
Years later when my mother had relaxed considerably I finally confessed how messed up I was in the hospital. She laughed, and commented that she finally understood why I was so calm when they were cutting me open.
They pumped some anti-biotics into me through an IV. By the time it was finally done it was 9PM and I finally, over twenty four hours later, had sobered up. That experience convinced me that maybe I needed to stay away from anything but smoking a little pot. It also taught me to have something to eat in the house besides more weed brownies.
mystikspyral on
"When life gives you lemons, just say 'Fuck the lemons,' and bail" :rotate:
My friend Max has a terrible terrible lisp. You know how you have two friends with the same name, and one of the is black, so he becomes black Steve? Well, this is lisp Max. He has been in my circle of friends for years, so we normally call him Max. When we need to get his attention though, thats when we get really specific.
He was visiting me in up-state New York and we decided to go mountain biking. Max is a pretty athletic guy but has never mountain biked before. Sure, he thinks he can do it, but that's lisp Max for ya.
Every been mountain biking? Its pretty easy, gravity does all of the work for you. Its the work that all of that vibration does on your body thats the real trick. First couple runs were doing pretty well, I keep giving him pointers to keep his feet in the right position, get his ass off the seat, basic stuff like that. Max gets all full of himself and asks if we can try some other trails.
"I think its best to stay over here Max, its much rockier over there."
"Oh come oooooooon."
"Alright, fine, we'll go."
We get off the chair lift and he doesn't look as worried as he should. He edges over the lip in the dirt and just dive-bombs the trail. He is clearly loosing control so I shout to him from the top of the trail, "lift Max, lift!" to get him to keep his ass from bouncing off the seat.
He thought I was calling "lisp max, lisp!", so he turned to look at me and inevitably wedges his tire inbetween two rocks, flips head over handlebars landing on his back in front of a tree. I got down there as quick as I could.
For the next week he couldn't stop talking about his "thore-ax"
Improvolone on
Voice actor for hire. My time is free if your project is!
The "lisp" story reminded me of a tale where I almost died in the car of my boss.
My boss at the time was this Turkish guy. So, we go to lunch, all piling in his car. We have our food, we all pile back in his car and hit the road. We reach this intersection that is a two-way stop with the main thoroughfare not having to stop. We need to turn left. Unfortunately, this intersection has some really old and overgrown shrubbery, so it's hard to see right. I'm in the front passenger seat and, as chance would have it, have a clearer view of the traffic coming from the right than the driver. So, he asks if I see any cars coming and I look and I see a bus coming, so I say, "Bus."
Well, apparently, in Turkish, "bus" means "go". So I was basically saying (not that I would know it), "Go ahead." So he starts to drive forward, which greatly confuses me. So, I start saying "Bus" more urgently and louder, which to him only sounds like "GO GO GO!" So, he speeds up. I continue shouting and he finally realises that I'm not Turkish and then slams on the break as the bus flies past the front of our car.
My family decided to move when I was 8. To get us out of their hair, my parents tasked my brother and I with destroying the old, rotten doghouse in the backyard while they packed up dishes. This was summer, so I was searing shorts and sandals.
He and I were excited to use hammers and break things so we went at it. I started hitting the side wall, but it wouldnt come completely out because there was an old stump in the way. I just kept hitting it, figuring that the boards would break eventually.
Turns out the old stump was a yellow-jacket nest. A big nest. Suddenly yellow-jackets started pouring out of the stump. They surrounded me completely and starting stinging me everywhere. My legs, my face, my hands. I started fucking running around and screaming. My brother didnt even realize what was happening, (he was 6) but he immediately dropped his hammer and ran for the door. I decided going inside was a good idea, dropped my hammer, and bolted, screaming all the way. I felt go one in my mouth and I just bit down like crazy. Once we were in we shut the sliding glass door as fast as we could. My parents thought we were just being dumb, so they didnt even look up.
I started to tell them "BEES!", but there was something in my mouth. Another yellow-jacket. Once they saw my face they freaked out as well. A few of the yellow-jackets got in, so they killed them and put ice on me. We watched the rest of the swarm from inside as they stung the hammers over and over. That scared me, because I thought that the bees knew about hammers and were fucking pissed that we had used them on their nest. They were THAT SMART.
I had 2 stings in my mouth and 10 or 15 more on my body. My brother had a couple too. My grandmother came and took me to her house. I remember riding in her pickup truck in my underwear and just being miserable.
This happened in the second year of my (unwise) computing degree.
First of all I have to explain what life was like at this particular computing uni. Almost everyone there was completely socially stunted, the ratio of girls to guys was about 1 in 6 and even if it was higher most of the guys wouldn't know where to hide a wang.
Anyway I hung around with the same 3 guys for all of the first and most of the second year. At this time I had my own flat and was living with my (now ex) girlfriend so I couldn't live with them in their new house share.
What they did was replace me with an unknown entity. This new kid lived right opposite the uni with his parents in a small housing estate before he started studying there, his interest was in networking computers together in his house. He had about 6 hooked up in his room for no reason that I can comprehend (something uncomfortable about all that effort for no quantifiable reward).
Anyway this guy was skinny as a rake, short and had the looks of a typical, stereotypical nerd. He kept himself to himself but I thought he was a perfectly normal guy, skip forward a few months when they are all settled in and decide to throw a house party:
All is going well, the house is packed full of people and this guy is getting the kind of social and alcoholic exposure that he's never experienced before, people kept giving him drinks as a kind of novelty I guess (lets get the non-drinker drunk).
It's about 1am and everyone is having a good time and getting pretty buzzed when we hear shouting and banging going on upstairs behind this kid's (now closed) room door. We walk up there (me and the 3 friends, one of which is the landlords son) we try the door and ask what's going on but the door won't budge, we just think a bunch of people are fucking around inside as it sounded like there were quite a few of them in there.
The shouting inside the room gets louder and we can see the handle being tried from the inside with no effect. This very odd stand-off lasts for about 5 minutes before the landlord's son is getting worried and decides to rectify the situation.
He kicks the door over and over again until it buckles and splinters where his foot goes through, the door gets immediately pulled inwards and about 10 guys looking like this o_O come pouring out.
Turns out the guy completely off his face invited a whole bunch of people in to his room, retrieved a shoe box from under his bed and then wedged himself between the door and the bed frame. The box contained various cutouts of some of the most graphic, gothic porn you have ever seen, carefully organised and presented. He apparently was in a totally crazed state and wanted to share is collection, very passionately, with the rest of the guys in the room. He would NOT let them leave.
After a total what the fuck? moment we are left completely confused and the guy doesn't come out of his room (now with only half a door) for the rest of the night. In the morning he is totally normal again and offers to pay of the door having no recollection of what happened.
I never treated him quite the same again
Social virgin shares passion with unwilling strangers at party.
Posts
It's like saying, "Jeez, it's just scrapping a metal spoon against your teeth," or "FFS guys, it's only nails on a chalkboard." It's just the way some people are hardwired.
On the subject of fears: I have a wholly irrational fear that some day, while I'm in the bath, the world will enter a very sudden ice age and I will be frozen in the bathtub, not alive but not quite dead.
There was an episode of 3rd watch like that, where I think an old woman had been frozen solid and they had to get her out without breaking off her extremities.
But why would there be a flash freeze while you're in a tub filled with hot water? I'd have to assume the ice would be really weak and easy to shatter.
3DS Friend Code: 2165-6448-8348 www.Twitch.TV/cooljammer00
Battle.Net: JohnDarc#1203 Origin/UPlay: CoolJammer00
Oh good Jesus. Did you ever have those crappy crayons as a kid that every now and again would have some hard lump of something in them? And you've be happily scribbling away and then SKRRRT and it would go right down your spine and urrrrrggggh
@gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
I'm never eating game again. It was bitter as hell.
@gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
i rode my bike to my job all summer last year. it's only about 2 miles, but my job is in a college town.
one morning i'm riding along at a decent clip as it's downhill towards work.
as i pass over a bridge i hear some hooping and hollering. some college kids go by and try to spray me with silly string, but it just falls and hits the ground.
i keep on pedaling away. later on, they come back, this time coming towards me. only this time instead of throwing silly string, it's open cans of BEER.
one actually connects with my head, which causes me to kick out in surprise, which makes my jeans get caught up in the spokes, which makes my bike grind to a halt, which throws me over the handlebars.
i ended up walking my bike up the hill, with a nice deep cut in my leg.
i show up to work stinking like beer with one pant leg torn to shreds. i then made the mistake of telling my co-workers, who would not let me hear the end of it.
@gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
Everyone ignore that. That didn't happen.
@gamefacts - Totally and utterly true gaming facts on the regular!
This. The way I describe it is that everyone has their "thing". Something that bugs you or rubs you the wrong way. My fiancee has the standard bug problem, but they don't bother me much. On the other hand, I cannot stand spoiled food. Even if it's just a bit of moldy bread, my stomach can't take it. God forbid I take a bite before I notice the pure evil growing on my sustenance.
Next time, you bring a gun.
3DS Friend Code: 2165-6448-8348 www.Twitch.TV/cooljammer00
Battle.Net: JohnDarc#1203 Origin/UPlay: CoolJammer00
Tell me you filed a police report against those beer throwing idiots.
Let you hear the end of it? You were assaulted. Christ.
Was that a concidence?
It might bee.
Uh oh. The inevitable swarm of puns has found its way in here.
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Me on Twitch!
Aren't the forums already infested with enough puns?
That made me laugh.
The addition of hivemind was too much. Shoulda left it at "Oh, honey, quit it."
I read that as Thus began my life long luck with bad women...
Only real wasp stories I have involved my dad at the end of the stinger, not me.
First one I was about 6 years old, and ol' pops was playing catch with me. He opens his mouth to yell something to me and a hornet flies into his mouth, stinging him a couple of times on the inside of his bottom lip. He was in tears with the pain. And he had to work for a week behind the counter of a post office with a HUMONGOUS bottom lip.
The other one I was around 11. He was teaching me to shoot a shotgun, and had placed a few soda cans on poles and brought me out to shoot at them as targets. After I hit a couple, he went over to inspect my accuracy. When he lifted one of the cans off the stick he didn't expect about 5 yellow jackets that were drinking the left over soda in the cans to come flying out of the can pissed to have been shot at.
I got in trouble for it later, but the sight of my dad flailing around while yellow jackets repeatedly attacked him was at the time HILARIOUS to me.
Yeah. That superfluous "hivemind" really stung at my pun sensibilities.
/palmface
My father and I were removing a bunch of dead, rotting tree stumps last summer using an axe, a sledgehammer, and some metal wedges. It was back breaking work, but great exercise nonetheless. We had just finished off a stump, and my father had elected to take a short break before starting the next, bigger stump. But I, being a spry, strapping, wanna-be lumberjack armed with an axe, decided to get to work while there was still plenty of stump left to be whacked. I hit the rotting stump with the hardest blow I could muster; as the parts flew everywhere, I could see a multitude of small bees attached to some of them. Time slowed down a bit so I could comprehend the sheer magnitude of pissed of bees pouring out of the shattered stump.
An axe is no defense against a swarm of bees, but I wasn't about to abandon it to the swarm. My father, about ten meters away, still taking as break, sees me running like hell, yelling obscenities and mixed warnings about lots 'o bees coming his way. He grabs the sledgehammer and the wedges and joins me in the bee-induced exodus. The neighbors, about 50 meters away, were watching us, laughing.
I made it away mostly unscathed, but several bees landed on me without stinging; I flicked them as I ran for the most part. But I made the mistake of crushing the last bastard hanging on to my leg. With his dying bee-breath, he stung me right in the thick of the calf, giving me a dead leg for the rest of the day. My father and I vowed revenge. We waited until late fall -- the first frost-- to finish our work. Armed with a can of Raid as well as our usual tools, we went to town on the remains of that stump. The much reduced numbers of bees again swarmed out, but my father and I caught them in a Raid crossfire. We left none alive, not even the little younglings.
It has no effect!
Gaffero attacks Swarm of Bees with RAID...
It's super effective!
Ugh. I'm very, very allergic to bees so I guess my fear isn't so irrational. I'm afraid I'll be out hiking alone some day, get stung and not make it back to somewhere with cell phone reception before I stop breathing. Meep!
Or are you allergic to the treatment as well?
Oh, I'm sorry. Can we still be fronds?
I think you're just bugging him now.
*hugs*
Spoilered for length.
Strange and embarrassing... should never have gone to work...
When I was nineteen my best friend decided to cook weed brownies, none of us had ever tried them before. When the weekend arrived we gathered about ten friends at her place and commenced to get messed up. My friend was a great cook/baker so the brownies were delicious. All of us were poor at that point so there was no food in the house, just massive amounts of booze.
I ate a few brownies; we passed around four or five pipes. What’s the first thing that happens when you get baked? You get the munchies! Well, there was no food in the house so I just kept eating the delicious brownies! I must have eaten at least six.
Eventually I stumbled my way home in the pitch black. I lived about a block away from my friend’s place and I always managed to make it home. I was glad I didn’t run into any bears that night.
I got home, passed out with my clothes on. The next morning I woke up to go to work. I stood up, my vision tunneled and I immediately fell over on the floor.
Everything in my experience had taught me I would be sober the next day… except my experience had never included weed brownies. I was still so messed up I could hardly function.
I don’t remember taking a shower, I don’t remember getting dressed and I have absolutely no recollection of going to work. I didn’t have black outs when I used to drink but I apparently do when I eat brownies.
The next thing I knew I was at work. I was the assistant manager of a retail store in the mall which served little girls and soccer moms and I was out of my freakin’ gourd. I kept blacking out, after what felt like hours of tripping out (less than thirty minutes, I’m sure) I essentially mumbled I was sick, avoided eye contact and RAN out of there. I don’t remember how I made it home. The next thing I knew it was mid afternoon.
About a week before the evening in question I had stepped on a piece of glass. It seems someone had broken something in my bathroom and had not entirely cleaned it up. I pulled out the glass and didn’t think another thing of it, except as the week progressed my foot started to ache.
Well, now my foot was REALLY starting to hurt. I was living with my parents at the time. I really, really, did not want to face my mother in that condition but I needed Dr. Mom to take a look at the wound. My mother, who didn’t know I drank or smoked weed. My mother, who would shame me with a disapproving look and then maybe cry and push every guilt button I had.
I swallowed my intense fear and paranoia and ventured out of my bedroom. My mother examined my foot, gasped in horror and announced she was taking me to the ER immediately. It turns out I had a red streak running up my leg from the wound in my foot. I had blood poisoning!
Oh my holy sweet jesus. I was totally gone and I was about to go to the hospital with the bright lights and the prodding needles. Holy Christ.
We sit in the ER waiting room forever. Finally, around six at night I see a doctor. While he’s asking the standard questions he asked if I ever drink. With a sideways glance at my mom I said “Sometimes”, which was a gross understatement at the time. My mother, meanwhile, is giving me a murderous look. Thank god he didn’t ask about anything other than booze. I was terrified he was going to take one look at my eyes and he’d know but he never said anything.
He took one look at my foot and sent me for an X-Ray. I had shards of glass in the wound. He injected my foot with a giant amount of anesthesia, so much so that a ball formed next to the wound. Then he proceeded to slice and dice my foot while my mother held my hand and I bled everywhere. I was still high as a kite.
Years later when my mother had relaxed considerably I finally confessed how messed up I was in the hospital. She laughed, and commented that she finally understood why I was so calm when they were cutting me open.
They pumped some anti-biotics into me through an IV. By the time it was finally done it was 9PM and I finally, over twenty four hours later, had sobered up. That experience convinced me that maybe I needed to stay away from anything but smoking a little pot. It also taught me to have something to eat in the house besides more weed brownies.
He was visiting me in up-state New York and we decided to go mountain biking. Max is a pretty athletic guy but has never mountain biked before. Sure, he thinks he can do it, but that's lisp Max for ya.
Every been mountain biking? Its pretty easy, gravity does all of the work for you. Its the work that all of that vibration does on your body thats the real trick. First couple runs were doing pretty well, I keep giving him pointers to keep his feet in the right position, get his ass off the seat, basic stuff like that. Max gets all full of himself and asks if we can try some other trails.
"I think its best to stay over here Max, its much rockier over there."
"Oh come oooooooon."
"Alright, fine, we'll go."
We get off the chair lift and he doesn't look as worried as he should. He edges over the lip in the dirt and just dive-bombs the trail. He is clearly loosing control so I shout to him from the top of the trail, "lift Max, lift!" to get him to keep his ass from bouncing off the seat.
He thought I was calling "lisp max, lisp!", so he turned to look at me and inevitably wedges his tire inbetween two rocks, flips head over handlebars landing on his back in front of a tree. I got down there as quick as I could.
For the next week he couldn't stop talking about his "thore-ax"
My boss at the time was this Turkish guy. So, we go to lunch, all piling in his car. We have our food, we all pile back in his car and hit the road. We reach this intersection that is a two-way stop with the main thoroughfare not having to stop. We need to turn left. Unfortunately, this intersection has some really old and overgrown shrubbery, so it's hard to see right. I'm in the front passenger seat and, as chance would have it, have a clearer view of the traffic coming from the right than the driver. So, he asks if I see any cars coming and I look and I see a bus coming, so I say, "Bus."
Well, apparently, in Turkish, "bus" means "go". So I was basically saying (not that I would know it), "Go ahead." So he starts to drive forward, which greatly confuses me. So, I start saying "Bus" more urgently and louder, which to him only sounds like "GO GO GO!" So, he speeds up. I continue shouting and he finally realises that I'm not Turkish and then slams on the break as the bus flies past the front of our car.
He and I were excited to use hammers and break things so we went at it. I started hitting the side wall, but it wouldnt come completely out because there was an old stump in the way. I just kept hitting it, figuring that the boards would break eventually.
Turns out the old stump was a yellow-jacket nest. A big nest. Suddenly yellow-jackets started pouring out of the stump. They surrounded me completely and starting stinging me everywhere. My legs, my face, my hands. I started fucking running around and screaming. My brother didnt even realize what was happening, (he was 6) but he immediately dropped his hammer and ran for the door. I decided going inside was a good idea, dropped my hammer, and bolted, screaming all the way. I felt go one in my mouth and I just bit down like crazy. Once we were in we shut the sliding glass door as fast as we could. My parents thought we were just being dumb, so they didnt even look up.
I started to tell them "BEES!", but there was something in my mouth. Another yellow-jacket. Once they saw my face they freaked out as well. A few of the yellow-jackets got in, so they killed them and put ice on me. We watched the rest of the swarm from inside as they stung the hammers over and over. That scared me, because I thought that the bees knew about hammers and were fucking pissed that we had used them on their nest. They were THAT SMART.
I had 2 stings in my mouth and 10 or 15 more on my body. My brother had a couple too. My grandmother came and took me to her house. I remember riding in her pickup truck in my underwear and just being miserable.
Is it too early to declare a win of this thread on the part of Pony?
I mean, holy shit.
Can trade TF2 items or whatever else you're interested in. PM me.
I have a third-hand story which consists of the shouting of "BEES!" upon the moment of orgasm.
So... wrong?
Anyway I hung around with the same 3 guys for all of the first and most of the second year. At this time I had my own flat and was living with my (now ex) girlfriend so I couldn't live with them in their new house share.
What they did was replace me with an unknown entity. This new kid lived right opposite the uni with his parents in a small housing estate before he started studying there, his interest was in networking computers together in his house. He had about 6 hooked up in his room for no reason that I can comprehend (something uncomfortable about all that effort for no quantifiable reward).
Anyway this guy was skinny as a rake, short and had the looks of a typical, stereotypical nerd. He kept himself to himself but I thought he was a perfectly normal guy, skip forward a few months when they are all settled in and decide to throw a house party:
All is going well, the house is packed full of people and this guy is getting the kind of social and alcoholic exposure that he's never experienced before, people kept giving him drinks as a kind of novelty I guess (lets get the non-drinker drunk).
It's about 1am and everyone is having a good time and getting pretty buzzed when we hear shouting and banging going on upstairs behind this kid's (now closed) room door. We walk up there (me and the 3 friends, one of which is the landlords son) we try the door and ask what's going on but the door won't budge, we just think a bunch of people are fucking around inside as it sounded like there were quite a few of them in there.
The shouting inside the room gets louder and we can see the handle being tried from the inside with no effect. This very odd stand-off lasts for about 5 minutes before the landlord's son is getting worried and decides to rectify the situation.
He kicks the door over and over again until it buckles and splinters where his foot goes through, the door gets immediately pulled inwards and about 10 guys looking like this o_O come pouring out.
Turns out the guy completely off his face invited a whole bunch of people in to his room, retrieved a shoe box from under his bed and then wedged himself between the door and the bed frame. The box contained various cutouts of some of the most graphic, gothic porn you have ever seen, carefully organised and presented. He apparently was in a totally crazed state and wanted to share is collection, very passionately, with the rest of the guys in the room. He would NOT let them leave.
After a total what the fuck? moment we are left completely confused and the guy doesn't come out of his room (now with only half a door) for the rest of the night. In the morning he is totally normal again and offers to pay of the door having no recollection of what happened.
I never treated him quite the same again
Social virgin shares passion with unwilling strangers at party.