I always grab a good hold of the loop at the end of the 15 foot rope leash I use for walking the doggies.
It has been raining here all last night and is still raining.
This morning, I have Buddy on the leash. He is a very strong dog. We are walking down a slope in the field.
He spots a deer. I don't see it. I am just looking at the sky.
I hear a grunt from him, and the next thing I know, I am sliding down the hill, holding the rope while Buddy drags me at least 50 feet through the wet grass.
It was like the wild west when people would get dragged through the dirt while roped to a horse.
Fortunately, it was wet out there, so I slid easily.
It took ten minutes to find my glasses.
I did yell at Buddy, but he is just a dumb animal.
Now, my pants will never be rid of the grass stains.
A whole new meaning to "Slip And Slide".
A Funny Thing Happened.....
Moderator: TMAX
Here is a great prank to play on your fellow campers who are boondocking or dry camping on BLM or Forest Service land.
I wish I had thought this up, but credit must go to a friend of mine named Bill who came up with this joke.
Bill went down to the hardware store and bought a 4x4 inch post about 48 inches long. He bought a water spigot, a length of pipe, an electrical box, and some heavy duty electrical conduit, and some other wire. Since he worked for the phone company at one time, he had a spare phone jack box or two laying around.
He then made up the post so it appeared to have water, electrical, and even phone hookups on it. He also made a neat little campground space plaque that looked like it was a government Forest Service type made wood carved brown painted with yellow number that he attached to the top of the post. Then he would go out on BLM land or some Forest service campground where there were no hookups, and park his trailer and dig a hole and put the post in, then he would put rocks around the base of the post to make it look like it had been there awhile.
He would hook up all the connections to his trailer, he even would occasionally hook up his sewer hose and make it look like it went into a ground sewer connection. Then he would sit there and wait for his victims. Pretty soon someone would walk by, do a double take, and come over and ask him how he got a camp space with full hookups. He would explain that you had to call the BLM or Forest Service office and that the the office would make this service available only to senior citizens, but it was free. Since most folks did not know about this free government they did not know to call and request it! Of course people would call, be told there was no such thing, and get very irrate at the BLM or FS, why they had seen with thier own eyes that there were hook ups available!!
I think this was Bill's way of "getting back at the man", you can imagine what the clerks at the BLM or Forest Service offices must have thought when folks called demanding the full hook up camp space out in the middle of the forest or desert!
I wish I had thought this up, but credit must go to a friend of mine named Bill who came up with this joke.
Bill went down to the hardware store and bought a 4x4 inch post about 48 inches long. He bought a water spigot, a length of pipe, an electrical box, and some heavy duty electrical conduit, and some other wire. Since he worked for the phone company at one time, he had a spare phone jack box or two laying around.
He then made up the post so it appeared to have water, electrical, and even phone hookups on it. He also made a neat little campground space plaque that looked like it was a government Forest Service type made wood carved brown painted with yellow number that he attached to the top of the post. Then he would go out on BLM land or some Forest service campground where there were no hookups, and park his trailer and dig a hole and put the post in, then he would put rocks around the base of the post to make it look like it had been there awhile.
He would hook up all the connections to his trailer, he even would occasionally hook up his sewer hose and make it look like it went into a ground sewer connection. Then he would sit there and wait for his victims. Pretty soon someone would walk by, do a double take, and come over and ask him how he got a camp space with full hookups. He would explain that you had to call the BLM or Forest Service office and that the the office would make this service available only to senior citizens, but it was free. Since most folks did not know about this free government they did not know to call and request it! Of course people would call, be told there was no such thing, and get very irrate at the BLM or FS, why they had seen with thier own eyes that there were hook ups available!!
I think this was Bill's way of "getting back at the man", you can imagine what the clerks at the BLM or Forest Service offices must have thought when folks called demanding the full hook up camp space out in the middle of the forest or desert!
It's time for another story.
So, it is a Halloween night. A bunch of friends and I go out to find what mischief we can get in to.
One of my friends had borrowed his dad's brand new Chevy pickup. This was in 1970. So, we all pile into the pickup truck.
This friend had also brought along a bunch of firecrackers and cherry bombs, but those were NOTHING compared to the military smoke bomb he managed to get a hold of. This thing was 1 1/2 inches thick and 8 inches long. You lit it by striking the cap on the top.
We get this idea to go to the square in the center of town and light this thing off and drive around the square with the smoke bomb in the back of the pickup.
It was fantastic. This stick made SO MUCH smoke, you could not see ten feet behind us. It poured out smoke for at least five minutes.
Finally, it died down, so we high tailed it out of there.
When we were driving away, those of us in the back of the truck noticed that the smoke bomb stick was glowing WHITE HOT. We all commented that it must be really hot.
After a few minutes, it became just red hot. We still weren't going to touch it.
Now the strangest thing happens. All of a sudden, the smoke bomb disappears. Dumbfounded, we approach the area where it was laying and notice that the reason it was gone was because it had burned a hole in the pickup truck bed and had fallen through.
It was at the next stop light that all of us jumped out of the truck and walked (ran) home.
Now, try explaining to your dad why there is a hole in the bed of his brand new pickup truck!!!!!
So, it is a Halloween night. A bunch of friends and I go out to find what mischief we can get in to.
One of my friends had borrowed his dad's brand new Chevy pickup. This was in 1970. So, we all pile into the pickup truck.
This friend had also brought along a bunch of firecrackers and cherry bombs, but those were NOTHING compared to the military smoke bomb he managed to get a hold of. This thing was 1 1/2 inches thick and 8 inches long. You lit it by striking the cap on the top.
We get this idea to go to the square in the center of town and light this thing off and drive around the square with the smoke bomb in the back of the pickup.
It was fantastic. This stick made SO MUCH smoke, you could not see ten feet behind us. It poured out smoke for at least five minutes.
Finally, it died down, so we high tailed it out of there.
When we were driving away, those of us in the back of the truck noticed that the smoke bomb stick was glowing WHITE HOT. We all commented that it must be really hot.
After a few minutes, it became just red hot. We still weren't going to touch it.
Now the strangest thing happens. All of a sudden, the smoke bomb disappears. Dumbfounded, we approach the area where it was laying and notice that the reason it was gone was because it had burned a hole in the pickup truck bed and had fallen through.
It was at the next stop light that all of us jumped out of the truck and walked (ran) home.
Now, try explaining to your dad why there is a hole in the bed of his brand new pickup truck!!!!!
Got love? Give love.
I was sitting in a nice, upscale coffee shop, enjoying the music and my cup of hot coffee. Out of nowhere, I got a gas bubble from hell that built up in my stomach. I didn't want to give up my table, so I decided to time my fart for when the already loud music would hit it's peak. I did this about three times, reeking the place up something terrible, yet smug in knowing I had pulled this off with nobody the wiser. Shortly after the third one, I was waiting for the right moment to loose a fourth when I noticed everybody was staring at me. It was then it occured to me I was listening to my i-pod.
Mark
Mark
Little Red '59 Bug-eyed Sprite
The Beautiful Red '59 Bug-eyed Sprite
The summer before my junior year of high school the town split the school districts and pulled half of us inner city kids and half of the north end rich kids into a brand new 3rd district middle class school, so I started the next year with a whole new mix of people ..
The year before the neighborhood kids all road the city bus to school. That summer, 1965, I got my first car, a 1940 Plymouth 4 door sedan I bought for $35, a real sweetheart of a car.
I drove six other kids and myself to school every morning ... what a blast. I'd pull into the school parking lot and kids at the school would jump on the running boards while I did a few laps before finding a parking space. That car has several more stories coming, but now ... the beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite ...
One morning I found a parking spot right next to the Sprite and instantly fell in love with it. The other kids ran off to school but I was transfixed. The top was stowed ... and realizing no one was around, I opened the door and slid in. Man, I fit like a glove, every control perfectly placed ... low to the ground ... I just had to find out what I could about it. Turns out it was owned by an Airforce Major, father of two kids from the fancy school now mixed with us low-lifers ... and they made it a point of letting us know where we stood ... so the invevitable happened.
Every time I got to the school I'd be looking for that Sprite, and one particular day, always when no one was there, I slid behind the seat ... and the thought struck me to pull my keys out and, just see ... my key fit! Oh lord, I turned it and the little red bug-eyed Sprite jumped to life ... Lordy lordy lordy, it was Kismet! I turned it off and hurridly ran to school, my mind now churning with visions of road trips ... rallies ... who knows?
It so happened that I started Industrial Arts that year and, along with wood and metal shop I started mechanical drawing and architectural drafting. The next two years the drafting classes were my forte ... I became a teacher's assistant. Along with tutoring other students I was sent to get supplies from the local drafting supply store, which meant a Teacher's pass to leave the school grounds ... Then it began ...
I'd find that red '59 bug-eyed sprite, drive to the parking lot guard hut, flash my pass and head out ... for most of the two hours of my last period drafting class. I was blessed with at least one day a week, maybe two if I could convince the instructor we needed more supplies ... and off I'd go ...
The Interstate south to Pueblo ... 65 miles one way ... Denver, 75 the other ... Highway 24 west up Ute pass, 60 miles to Wikerson Pass and a beautiful view of the Continental Divide ... that became my favorite ... and every time I'd stop at last, fill the gas tank, check the oil, sometimes even wash it before pulling back into school, always with the supplies ... I was in heaven. It seemed as long as I took care of the car they never figure it out.
What a sweet little car ... 90 mph top speed, but corner like a Sharp-Hall Chaparell on a road course ... still one of my all time favorite sports cars.
This went on for all my junior year, and part of my Senior ... until one fateful Saturday ...
Several of my friends and I were into rock scrambling and nearby Cheyenne Canyon offered the best in the area. On that day a few of us started a particular climb when I looked back to the parking lot ... and there she sat, that beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite, the two brothers headed up a parallel trail ... Down I ran, as fast as I could go. Cheyenne Canyon offered the best stretch of two lane winding canyon road in the area ... Honest ... I couldn't stop myself ... the key was in my hand when I reached the car ... I didn't even open the door, I'd practiced the leap several times ... and up the canyon I roared.
A drifting left curve, downshift, a quick right, I was headed up the canyon ... ahead loomed a rock outcrop just off the trail the brother's had taken, and, no, it couldn't be ... one brother was at the edge, cursing and flailing his arms .. at ME ... a hard right ahead, just under the outcrop, he hung about 8 feet above me ... he wouldn't ... I had to downshift and drop to about 15 mph to make the sharp curve, and damned if he didn't jump and land head first into the passenger's seat, cursing and swinging, demanding I stop!
I got maybe a quarter mile and three hard curves further till he could right himself, grab my keys and throw them out the car ... I wasn't there ... I had just had the most fun driving a car I'd ever had in my life, my head spinning with the idea that the car and I and the road were one ... He was so pissed ... he just hollered "GET THE F OUT OF THE F-ING CAR .. !!!!!!" and out I lept, listening to him cursing, the car reving and schreeching, echoing down the canyon ...
I really didn't walk home, it was more like floating ... I was really having an out-of-body experience ... but that wasn't the end of it. The car never reappeared at the school parking lot. I never saw it in town, seems it was gone for good.
Then one weekend night I went to a woodsie with some friends, about five miles northeast of town, at a place we called The Tanks. Several old abandoned concrete water storage tanks that had become the local party and swim spot ... keggers, you know.
We pulled into the parking area and, damnation ... in the dark, there she sat, that little old Sprite.
When I got back after about an hour there they stood, the two brothers. I pulled up right next to them. Nothing was said. I got out and stood there, preparing for the worst. They looked at me, then one brother said, "Your father's an Army officer, isn't he?"
I said, "Yes, a Lieutenant Colonel, missles, NORAD, the hole in the mountain ..." Strangely, an inner city low lifer kid outranked them ... my father outranked theirs ... It was over. The beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite disappeared forever ... their father was transferred out of state, nothing to do with me, just the military.
I did walk home from the woodsie ... but after two miles a car pulled over and offered me a ride. Two young ladies, kind of the school low lifes ... were leaving the party. I jumped at the opportunity. One of them was in my German class, a lovely lady who wore the shortest dresses, chewed gum, swung her legs beguilingly through the class period driving the teacher and all the boys in the class crazy ...
And that became another true story ...
GoodClue
The summer before my junior year of high school the town split the school districts and pulled half of us inner city kids and half of the north end rich kids into a brand new 3rd district middle class school, so I started the next year with a whole new mix of people ..
The year before the neighborhood kids all road the city bus to school. That summer, 1965, I got my first car, a 1940 Plymouth 4 door sedan I bought for $35, a real sweetheart of a car.
I drove six other kids and myself to school every morning ... what a blast. I'd pull into the school parking lot and kids at the school would jump on the running boards while I did a few laps before finding a parking space. That car has several more stories coming, but now ... the beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite ...
One morning I found a parking spot right next to the Sprite and instantly fell in love with it. The other kids ran off to school but I was transfixed. The top was stowed ... and realizing no one was around, I opened the door and slid in. Man, I fit like a glove, every control perfectly placed ... low to the ground ... I just had to find out what I could about it. Turns out it was owned by an Airforce Major, father of two kids from the fancy school now mixed with us low-lifers ... and they made it a point of letting us know where we stood ... so the invevitable happened.
Every time I got to the school I'd be looking for that Sprite, and one particular day, always when no one was there, I slid behind the seat ... and the thought struck me to pull my keys out and, just see ... my key fit! Oh lord, I turned it and the little red bug-eyed Sprite jumped to life ... Lordy lordy lordy, it was Kismet! I turned it off and hurridly ran to school, my mind now churning with visions of road trips ... rallies ... who knows?
It so happened that I started Industrial Arts that year and, along with wood and metal shop I started mechanical drawing and architectural drafting. The next two years the drafting classes were my forte ... I became a teacher's assistant. Along with tutoring other students I was sent to get supplies from the local drafting supply store, which meant a Teacher's pass to leave the school grounds ... Then it began ...
I'd find that red '59 bug-eyed sprite, drive to the parking lot guard hut, flash my pass and head out ... for most of the two hours of my last period drafting class. I was blessed with at least one day a week, maybe two if I could convince the instructor we needed more supplies ... and off I'd go ...
The Interstate south to Pueblo ... 65 miles one way ... Denver, 75 the other ... Highway 24 west up Ute pass, 60 miles to Wikerson Pass and a beautiful view of the Continental Divide ... that became my favorite ... and every time I'd stop at last, fill the gas tank, check the oil, sometimes even wash it before pulling back into school, always with the supplies ... I was in heaven. It seemed as long as I took care of the car they never figure it out.
What a sweet little car ... 90 mph top speed, but corner like a Sharp-Hall Chaparell on a road course ... still one of my all time favorite sports cars.
This went on for all my junior year, and part of my Senior ... until one fateful Saturday ...
Several of my friends and I were into rock scrambling and nearby Cheyenne Canyon offered the best in the area. On that day a few of us started a particular climb when I looked back to the parking lot ... and there she sat, that beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite, the two brothers headed up a parallel trail ... Down I ran, as fast as I could go. Cheyenne Canyon offered the best stretch of two lane winding canyon road in the area ... Honest ... I couldn't stop myself ... the key was in my hand when I reached the car ... I didn't even open the door, I'd practiced the leap several times ... and up the canyon I roared.
A drifting left curve, downshift, a quick right, I was headed up the canyon ... ahead loomed a rock outcrop just off the trail the brother's had taken, and, no, it couldn't be ... one brother was at the edge, cursing and flailing his arms .. at ME ... a hard right ahead, just under the outcrop, he hung about 8 feet above me ... he wouldn't ... I had to downshift and drop to about 15 mph to make the sharp curve, and damned if he didn't jump and land head first into the passenger's seat, cursing and swinging, demanding I stop!
I got maybe a quarter mile and three hard curves further till he could right himself, grab my keys and throw them out the car ... I wasn't there ... I had just had the most fun driving a car I'd ever had in my life, my head spinning with the idea that the car and I and the road were one ... He was so pissed ... he just hollered "GET THE F OUT OF THE F-ING CAR .. !!!!!!" and out I lept, listening to him cursing, the car reving and schreeching, echoing down the canyon ...
I really didn't walk home, it was more like floating ... I was really having an out-of-body experience ... but that wasn't the end of it. The car never reappeared at the school parking lot. I never saw it in town, seems it was gone for good.
Then one weekend night I went to a woodsie with some friends, about five miles northeast of town, at a place we called The Tanks. Several old abandoned concrete water storage tanks that had become the local party and swim spot ... keggers, you know.
We pulled into the parking area and, damnation ... in the dark, there she sat, that little old Sprite.
When I got back after about an hour there they stood, the two brothers. I pulled up right next to them. Nothing was said. I got out and stood there, preparing for the worst. They looked at me, then one brother said, "Your father's an Army officer, isn't he?"
I said, "Yes, a Lieutenant Colonel, missles, NORAD, the hole in the mountain ..." Strangely, an inner city low lifer kid outranked them ... my father outranked theirs ... It was over. The beautiful red '59 bug-eyed Sprite disappeared forever ... their father was transferred out of state, nothing to do with me, just the military.
I did walk home from the woodsie ... but after two miles a car pulled over and offered me a ride. Two young ladies, kind of the school low lifes ... were leaving the party. I jumped at the opportunity. One of them was in my German class, a lovely lady who wore the shortest dresses, chewed gum, swung her legs beguilingly through the class period driving the teacher and all the boys in the class crazy ...
And that became another true story ...
GoodClue
"ya gotta have art ..."
Okay, I have been prodded. The stories of the mice bring back memories of my own.
In my high school years, I lived with an Aunt and Uncle. I was absolutely terrified of spiders. One morning while getting ready for school, I had just brushed my teeth, and turned to exit the restroom. Right in the very center of the door frame, at eye level, was the hugest spider I had ever seen (not really, but then, everyone of them was "the hugest spider"). I let out a blood curdling scream. My uncle was home because everyone where he worked had been layed off for a couple weeks. My uncle is a big strong man, and very protective of his family. At the sound of my blood curdling scream, he jumps out of bed and comes running. By the time he gets to the bathroom where I am, I am standing on the side of the tub crying hysterically. I yell at him (while pointing at the spider), get it uncle ******, get it (balling my eyes out). He sees what I am pointing at. By this time, the spider has reached the floor and is crawling my direction. He starts yelling "sick her, sick her". This continue back and forth with me yelling at him to "quit it, and "get it", all the while sobbing and shaking like a leaf, while he's laughing uncontrollably and yelling at the spider to sick me - for well over a minute. Finally my aunt gets up and comes to see what the commotion is all about. Thank God she made him kill the dang spider so I could get out of the bathroom and go to school. Heck, I might still be on that tub if she hadn't come to my rescue.
My fear of spiders has long past, just so everyone knows. However, my uncle and I can neither one tell that story without laughing till we cry.
In my high school years, I lived with an Aunt and Uncle. I was absolutely terrified of spiders. One morning while getting ready for school, I had just brushed my teeth, and turned to exit the restroom. Right in the very center of the door frame, at eye level, was the hugest spider I had ever seen (not really, but then, everyone of them was "the hugest spider"). I let out a blood curdling scream. My uncle was home because everyone where he worked had been layed off for a couple weeks. My uncle is a big strong man, and very protective of his family. At the sound of my blood curdling scream, he jumps out of bed and comes running. By the time he gets to the bathroom where I am, I am standing on the side of the tub crying hysterically. I yell at him (while pointing at the spider), get it uncle ******, get it (balling my eyes out). He sees what I am pointing at. By this time, the spider has reached the floor and is crawling my direction. He starts yelling "sick her, sick her". This continue back and forth with me yelling at him to "quit it, and "get it", all the while sobbing and shaking like a leaf, while he's laughing uncontrollably and yelling at the spider to sick me - for well over a minute. Finally my aunt gets up and comes to see what the commotion is all about. Thank God she made him kill the dang spider so I could get out of the bathroom and go to school. Heck, I might still be on that tub if she hadn't come to my rescue.
My fear of spiders has long past, just so everyone knows. However, my uncle and I can neither one tell that story without laughing till we cry.
Last edited by Granny on Wed Mar 17, 2010 2:32 am, edited 1 time in total.
Here's another one from my uncle and I, again back in high school.
My uncle had a little honda ? 60 I think it was. He used to ride it to work years before, but it had sat for at least 6 or 7 years. I begged him to let me ride it out in the field. He got it fired up after much work, took it for a spin, then decided to let me try it out as long as he was on the back to "help me". He didn't realize that I had grown up riding dirt bikes and was actually pretty good on one. So, we head out into the field to do a couple laps. On the second lap, I head to the little "roller coaster" area in the field, with plans of popping a little wheelie. He is also thinking "heh, I'm going to make the bike pop a wheelie". We both put this into action at the same time, flipped that little bike right over backwards on top of both of us. Unfortunately, I was the one wearing shorts, and got the tail pipe on my leg.
A few days later, he lets me take the bike for a spin down the road in front of the house - but once again insisted that he come along. (I was his little girl and he was -and still is - absolutely sure I was incapable of handling anything on my own. Soooooooo, we get down the road aways and he tells me it is time to turn around and head back. I slow down, put my foot down for the corner to help balance with his weight on there. He doesn't notice my foot, thinks I can't handle his added weight, puts his foot down to balance, kicks my foot out, and causes the bike to lay over. Guess what, another burn to the leg. My uncle never let me ride the bike again.
My uncle had a little honda ? 60 I think it was. He used to ride it to work years before, but it had sat for at least 6 or 7 years. I begged him to let me ride it out in the field. He got it fired up after much work, took it for a spin, then decided to let me try it out as long as he was on the back to "help me". He didn't realize that I had grown up riding dirt bikes and was actually pretty good on one. So, we head out into the field to do a couple laps. On the second lap, I head to the little "roller coaster" area in the field, with plans of popping a little wheelie. He is also thinking "heh, I'm going to make the bike pop a wheelie". We both put this into action at the same time, flipped that little bike right over backwards on top of both of us. Unfortunately, I was the one wearing shorts, and got the tail pipe on my leg.
A few days later, he lets me take the bike for a spin down the road in front of the house - but once again insisted that he come along. (I was his little girl and he was -and still is - absolutely sure I was incapable of handling anything on my own. Soooooooo, we get down the road aways and he tells me it is time to turn around and head back. I slow down, put my foot down for the corner to help balance with his weight on there. He doesn't notice my foot, thinks I can't handle his added weight, puts his foot down to balance, kicks my foot out, and causes the bike to lay over. Guess what, another burn to the leg. My uncle never let me ride the bike again.
A friend of mine does air conditioning work. One morning, he was at Reba's house. Yes, the famous country singer.
He was in her kitchen, which had a side door. He was doing some ductwork when a woman in curlers knocks on that door.
He looks at the woman through the glass in the locked door for 30 seconds and does nothing to open the door.
Finally, he opens the door and asks, may I help you? The woman says, don't you know who I am?
He says, Well, you're a pretty lady, but you're sure no Reba Mcentire!
It was, indeed, Reba though. Being a kind person with a sense of humour, she laughed about the whole thing.
He was in her kitchen, which had a side door. He was doing some ductwork when a woman in curlers knocks on that door.
He looks at the woman through the glass in the locked door for 30 seconds and does nothing to open the door.
Finally, he opens the door and asks, may I help you? The woman says, don't you know who I am?
He says, Well, you're a pretty lady, but you're sure no Reba Mcentire!
It was, indeed, Reba though. Being a kind person with a sense of humour, she laughed about the whole thing.
Got love? Give love.
Back right out of high school, I went to bible college for two years, and lived in the dorms.
Part of the campus property would develop a "pond" almost every winter. One night a bunch of us girls got together and jacked up one of the guy's cars, took off his tires, and set the car down on blocks of wood. Remember, this was winter, the pond had 1/2 thick ice on top. There was a little island out in the middle of the pond. We floated the tires out to the island, using them to break the ice for us (no we didn't have hip waders, and the water came mid thigh). It's a wonder none of us got frost bite, but we weren't even thinking about that. The next morning, I woke up to find my little Datsun F-10 out on the island. I had to personally fetch each of the tires one by one before the guys would carry my car back from the island.
Nothing was ever done to the other gals that helped with the tire escapade. Seems the guys blamed me for the whole thing. (I guess they knew I was the primary instigator of any of the pranks that got done).
Part of the campus property would develop a "pond" almost every winter. One night a bunch of us girls got together and jacked up one of the guy's cars, took off his tires, and set the car down on blocks of wood. Remember, this was winter, the pond had 1/2 thick ice on top. There was a little island out in the middle of the pond. We floated the tires out to the island, using them to break the ice for us (no we didn't have hip waders, and the water came mid thigh). It's a wonder none of us got frost bite, but we weren't even thinking about that. The next morning, I woke up to find my little Datsun F-10 out on the island. I had to personally fetch each of the tires one by one before the guys would carry my car back from the island.
Nothing was ever done to the other gals that helped with the tire escapade. Seems the guys blamed me for the whole thing. (I guess they knew I was the primary instigator of any of the pranks that got done).
Another one from my bible college days:
After Christmas one year, one of the Churches dumped the branches from their "singing Christmas tree", about a block from the dorms. This was still on the bible college property. So.........
One Sunday after several of us got home from Church, I had a bright idea to pick the lock on the dorm monitor's car (they took his wife's car out of town for the day). Without the key, we couldn't turn the steering wheel, but it was a small car. We popped it into nuetral and pushed it to the pile of brush. Several people helped me with this because we would have to lift the front and move it around to change the direction the car was moving (our way to steer it). We covered the car with the branches from the singing Christmas tree. Nobody would tell the dorm monitor where his car was. After a week, my car got paddle locked to a tree with a big heavy chain. Guess who got his car back?
After Christmas one year, one of the Churches dumped the branches from their "singing Christmas tree", about a block from the dorms. This was still on the bible college property. So.........
One Sunday after several of us got home from Church, I had a bright idea to pick the lock on the dorm monitor's car (they took his wife's car out of town for the day). Without the key, we couldn't turn the steering wheel, but it was a small car. We popped it into nuetral and pushed it to the pile of brush. Several people helped me with this because we would have to lift the front and move it around to change the direction the car was moving (our way to steer it). We covered the car with the branches from the singing Christmas tree. Nobody would tell the dorm monitor where his car was. After a week, my car got paddle locked to a tree with a big heavy chain. Guess who got his car back?
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Jones'n4chrome
- Posts: 778
- Joined: Mon Dec 31, 2007 3:10 pm
Ok, Rudy has been bugging me on SharkChat to contribute to this thread. I have bounced around this thread, but never read the whole thing. Well one day I read this story and laughed my ass off, so I never forgot it.
Chuck
Rudy and I met on this forum, as we became better friends we exchanged phone numbers in an email. So a day or so later I gave him a call, but all I got was his voice mail, so I left a message. Later that day he returned the call, but he got my voice mail, so he left a funny message. we did this back and forth a few times, but we still never actually spoke to one another, but his messages kept getting funnier. So I wanted get him good. So the next time he called, I answered with a real professional voice "Shiloh Music" There was the same dead silence for quite some time, that Jamey experienced. Then I started laughing so Rudy joined in laughing, we both laughed pretty hard, then Rudy said "Man, you really freaked me out!" We had A good time with it.PapaBrewsky wrote:I've got a Rudy story, too. Rudy used to frequent a local music store called 'Shiloh Music'. We were both good friends with the owner, George, who runs the place. Rudy was calling me a lot at that time, and I would always answer with the name of a business, like "Willy's Water Works","Mike's Furniture" or "Stool's R Us, come by & get your free sample"...you get the idea. Well I was in the Shiloh Music store one Saturday morning, and Rudy called me. I answered "Shiloh Music", and he proceeded to go into some spiel about his accordion. I handed my phone to George, who immediately knew who it was & caught on to the prank. He said "Rudy..Rudy...slow down & start from the beginning.", and handed the phone back to me. There was dead silence for quite some time. Then Rudy said "George??? Did I really call Shiloh Music? I thought I called Jamey." and I said "You did call me, but why did you just call me George?" This went on for awhile. We had him so confused! I had him almost convinced he was having an 'acid flashback'! When I finally 'fessed up to the prank, I've never heard him laugh so hard.
Chuck
nothing funny happens here , oh wellWho is online
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