Your best story

[sno_duc]

Anyone here been to Grand Lake,Colorado on the 4th of July
In the late 80's someone who will remain nameless, may have done the following.
Act 1) late afternoon while on the way to Squeaky Bob's beergarden for some liquid refreshment, may have accidently pulled the pin on a mil-spec purple smoke grenade. Not knowing what to do after mis-placing said pin, disposed of smoke grenade into a nearby BBQ stand in the town square. Then procceded to enjoy  while watching the every growing cloud of purple smoke.

 The town sets up a barge in the lake to shoot of fireworks, halfway thru the is a 10 - 15 minute pause while the tubes are reloaded for the second half. During this pause.

Act 2) during the intermission a mil-spec white parachute flare was set off. (for those not who have not seen one, they put out enough light to read a newspaper by, burn for about 2 minutes, and light up about 4 or 5 football fields) 10 to 15 thousand people all said "What the make the beast with two backs" in unision and the kids that were below us on the hill shooting off pop-bottle rockets all night, turn around looked up and said " We give, yours are much bigger"

[RAT900]

Not the best...that is far too long to post here...but here's a fun one anyway about an employee I had a few years back

Nam Phuong

One of the last holdover restaurants from the pre-trendy era of Tribeca was a Vietnamese affair on 6th Ave. by Walker Street

My office was across the avenue and I became a regular there. The place was dark and indeed the owners had captured the atmosphere of a seedy Saigon Bar or at least the version Hollywood gave to those of us who were fortunate enough to have not been in Saigon in its "heyday"

My favorite dish was "House Special-Chicken w/Pan Fried Noodles"  Pan fried noodles were actually a brick of what looked liked angel hair pasta that had been deep-fried to a crisp. It came in a lidded styrofoam box and was accompanied with a white laminated cardboard quart carton of "house special" awash in a liquid sauce that would set your palate and nose on fire. It was noted on the take-out menu that this dish was "spicy"

I got to know the staff and it took about 4 visits before they understood that to me spicy needed to be "native make-you-break-into-a-sweat" spicy not the usual American "just-to-the-right-of-Swedish-meatball" spicy.

After they understood that I wasn't going to complain about the relative thermal dynamics they finally started giving me what I wanted.

They also gave me a name; "Spicy Boy"...50 years of age at the time..and I am "Spicy Boy"...no matter, call me what you want just get the order right

I would call the order in to Nam Phuong from my desk across the Avenue, they got to recognizing my voice and would confirm the order with the question " Is this Spicy Boy?"

"Yes it is"

"OK we make, 15 minute, you come"

I loved the House Special....they could have called it the Kitchen Sink...it had it all,,,, maybe "The Flaming Kitchen Sink" would have been more accurate....

but this stuff STANK, I mean it smelled like low-tide in Flushing Bay by the No. 7 Subway yards. It had celery, shitake's, carrots and a few veggies I can't name nor did I recognize and then it had the chunks of flattened chicken. The death-sauce was what pulled the entire assemblage together and turned the noodles into a submissive softened spaghetti.

I would make my score two or three times a week and scurry back to my desk to combine the ingredients and begin my bumpy road trip to culinary heaven.

There was only one problem..."House Special" would announce its presence to anyone within 500 yards of it. My office was on a floor in a landmarked building that took up an entire city block...any occupants of that floor knew someone was eating something. They would leave their desks and follow their noses until they homed in on the odor.

They would eventually come upon me, glaze-eyed and slurping away,,soggy Pan fried noodles hanging from my mouth like entrails of some road-kill, more often than not red hot sauce decorating my tie and shirt, partially melted plastic fork in hand. Invariably they would ask: What is that?"

"House Special Nam Phuong" gesturing with a jerk of my head toward the west

"Jeez Harrison that stinks!"

"This shit is great"

"Were you over there during the war?"

"No but I wish I was if this shit is what they cooked"

shaking their heads they would eye the gruel suspiciously and back away from my door

As the months wore on, every now and then I would hear a groan from somewhere on the floor as I dug into the latest batch of House Special; the death aroma would reach out its tentacles and perform a Tet Offensive surprise on unsuspecting nostrils..leading to someone shouting; "Harrison are you eating that shit again?"

Then people would commiserate grumbling among themselves about deterioration of quality of life and working conditions in the office.

Little did I know that my thrice-weekly self-indulgence was brewing far a greater disturbance. We'll call him "Willy"

"Willy" was a co-worker who festooned his office space with bright yellow Police Crime scene tape...hung like bunting over a firehouse door when one of the Bravest has fallen...it was meant to be humorous..but it was also a warning of sorts. Willy had pictures of soldiers firing M-16's on his walls, Cruise missiles in-flight, and various printed kill-slogans that usually were tattooed on the skin of soldiers..."kill them all and let God sort them out" sort of stuff

You see, Willy was a former Marine Corp member. He retired from the service as a lieutenant colonel back in the 1980's. He was a few years older than I and was otherwise studious and deliberately pleasant; a polite powder keg sort of a person waiting for someone or something to light his fuse. His behavior was what one would expect from a prison inmate up for parole board review....the smile was never consistant with what was going on behind his eyes...

I knew because I interviewed Willy, saw this and immediately extended an offer to him to come to work for us. I was sold on him because he was bright and judging from his ocular behavior...maybe a little bit nuts...but the selling point was that he had excellent masking skills...Hell everyone is a little bit off, the key is how well they can hide it...

Willy was good, he walked among us but had nothing in common with the rest of humanity. His carcass and mind may have been working with us.... but his soul was still out in some jungle doing awful things to his fellow man and enjoying it.

  I recall asking him about his service record during the interview...the coals in his eyes became small fires as he explained his last assignment as a forward fire-control coordinater in the Bekaa Valley after the Marine barracks were blown up in Beirut. He was in with us, evidently he liked suicide assignments and I needed him to guard my flanks in the corporate minefield of my job. Willy is at the shorter end of the stature spectrum, silver hair cut short but not buzzed; the left side of his upper lip was smashed to pieces at some point in the past and was stitched together fairly well, but Willy chose not to have any cosmetic work done on it. I still haven't asked him about it.

He never told me about his 2 tours in Vietnam, I never asked if he was there...hell, the Bekaa Valley got a spark going in his eyes, I didn't want to get a bonfire going by asking him about any other tours.

Willy was the model employee, indeed just like the model prisoner...people sensed danger but couldn't quite put a finger on it...perfect. Yes his ideas about office decor were somewhat forward, but he was incremental in his interior design approach and slowly over the years added a touch here or a slogan there.

In 2001 I was with Willy having a smoke on the street when the Trade Towers got hit. We were watching the first tower burning and had agreed it was terrorists at work when the second plane came in from the harbor side and slammed into the unscathed tower and confirmed it....the fireball and the black plume were enormous...a half second later the shockwaves from the explosion hit us hard...

Willy smiled....just a little...not a real "ha-ha" smile....there was nothing funny about the moment....I looked at him with a large question mark on my face...he looked right back...bonfires blazing with this weird smile...his eyes and his smile finally matched...they were consistant for the first time...I think it was the smile of the Jolly Roger, but one still covered in flesh

and he said "we're going to war"

Even though we were mere blocks from the Towers and had no idea of what was coming next; we both knew we were in a war-zone and shared that sense of complete uncertainty...were there more planes on the way?....were there more targets downtown?..truck bombs? who knew?...people were in panic or wailing, sobbing and crying all around us while we watched...Willy just mumbled; "pussies" and repeated; "We're going to war".........and he was right

Anyway back to Nam Phuong....my first clue about Willy's prior service experience was his refusal to ever join us when I would occasionally host a team meeting over at Nam Phuong.

But he also was the only one who never complained when I brought the House Special back to the office and gassed out the floor with its steaming contents and he sat less than 30 feet from me.

But not long after the Trade Towers went down he must have turned a corner.

One afternoon while I was feasting away I heard a crash come from Willy's office...we all heard it...like prairie dogs we all poked our heads out of our office doors and over the cubicle walls....Willy's computer screen was in the aisle smouldering and broken...more crashes and a desk top tower came flying out of the cube opening and momentarily embedded itself in the sheetrock wall then fell to the floor....at that moment Willy came out of his cubicle and marched up to my office door...

"Yes Willy, is something the matter?"

"Sir!! please sir, may I make a request?"

"Sure Willy"

"Sir PLEASE no more Vietnamese food. I have been having flashbacks and nightmares every make the beast with two backsing night after I smell that gook shit" (no more model prisoner)

"Willy, were you in Vietnam?"

"Yes sir, two make the beast with two backsing tours, the second one was to even up some scores from the first one sir.

"Gee Willy, I didn't know, you should have spoken up sooner"

"Thank you SIR! I almost came down here last night and torched that place sir!!! I'd rather not have to do that"

"No problem Willy, you really should have said something sooner.."

"I thought I could handle it sir"

"I guess not, call IT Willy, have someone see if they can put your PC back together"

"Yes sir, will there be any repercussions sir?"

"No Willy, the cleaning people are very clumsy here. If your hard disk is trashed then you have to figure out what to do to get your files back"

"Thank you sir my files are backed-up"

I couldn't resist, I said; "carry-on"

Nam Phuong closed not long after that. I don't think it was because I cut back on my orders, must have been the rent squeeze....it is now part of an expanded SoHo Pharmacy.

I miss the House Special probably as much as Willy doesn't miss Saigon

I haven't found anything quite as good since Nam closed, everything culinary down here now is overpriced and the establishments are designed for fabulous people to be noticed in....

Willy is once again the model prisoner, he looks more rested these days.

The hole in the sheet rock has a sales campaign poster covering it, from several years ago.

We leave it there because asking to have the wall repaired would lead to questions that don't need to be asked

besides, Damage Control and trying to keep damage covered is my team's specialty

[Speedbag]

You guys got any openings? 

[DanTheMan]

Probably not the best but it gets told on Christmas every year.

So ther i was 18 or 19 when i first started drinking the fire water and every year we went down to Fresno to spend christmas with the family. Our family always celebrates christmas eve.  My cousins and i who are all 6+ years older than me start to partake in some frstivities. Playing cards and drinking games. This was the first time i really drank with them so we probably got a little carried away. Well it goes on till late in the night and at some point we all pass out.

Being the devoted Catholics we are my mom has to get me up for Christmas day mass. So im up, hungover and forced to go to church. I drink a bottle of water and take some tylenol and get dragged of to church. Were a little late so we sit in the back of this huge church, which happens to be the same church my parents were married in. Half way through, im not feeling too well. I ask my mom, where's the bath room? She points to the far side of the church. I think to myself, Fack, im not going to make it. Whatever it was i had last night is coming and there's not much i can do about it. I stand up take about a half of step and barf. Now i could have caught part of it in my hands, but at the moment of the money shot i said, fack i dont want that shit all over me. So i proceeded to barf on this guy infront of me dressed in his sunday best. Then i made it outside to continue to dry heave on the steps of the church for 10 minutes. Once i was done convulsing i made it to the bathroom to clean myself up and noticed the guy that i barfed on cleaning his jacket. I felt bad but wasnt much i could do.

Finally made it back to my seat and the guy followed shortly after.

My mom has never made us go to church on Christmas day since.

[SacDuc]

My mom has never made us go to church on Christmas day since.

I love a happy ending! 


You could include a link to your current adventure as well. That's a good story!

sac

[SacDuc]

Pan fried noodles were actually a brick of what looked liked angel hair pasta that had been deep-fried to a crisp.

That would have been vermicelli. You can thank the French occupation of Vietnam for that.

And I seriously want to work in your office. I'm good and multi-tasking, have a flexible morality and decent written and verbal communication skills. Any other qualifications needed?   

sac


/my aim is getting better too   

[supraking21]

Rat900 you have a way with words

[badgalbetty]

I spent 4 years at sea........where on earth am I expected to begin?
There could be the time that we got T boned by an Indian Frigate whilst it was turning in port and got their bow stuck in the side of our ship, there could be the tomato plant that the chief officer stole from a crew member only to find out it was pot by customs, then there was loopy who wiped his ass whilst drunk one night in France with a handfull of stinging nettles.........Laugh? OMFG the whole ship gave him a ration for a week! Too funny!
Maybe the one about Loopy and Amore painting the ship pink one day in Bremen because they had had toooooooooooo much herb for breakfast( breakfast usually started for them around 5 am and they start work at 8 am........ that was a pretty funny one.
So many tales, all true and thanks for jogging the memory of this gal.
BGB.

[KnightofNi]

Sac, wonderful thread idea.

I don't really have much to add in the way of stories because i suck at telling them, but i'm loving reading the rest of them.

[SacDuc]

Sac, wonderful thread idea.

I don't really have much to add in the way of stories because i suck at telling them, but i'm loving reading the rest of them.

Aw c'mon, tell one anyway.

sac




/no moose allowed

[KnightofNi]

Aw c'mon, tell one anyway.

sac




/no moose allowed

ummmm....i spoke for my group of friends as we were all trashed in a state park as the park rangers were going to kick us out for drinking.

My group of friends will randomly decide to throw a get together with different themes just for the heck of it. This time we were all dressed up as boy scouts and girl scouts. I think the median age of the group was around 26 at this point. We had 6 coolers packed with beer and liquor, and 1 that had food in it (god I love camping)

We had been at the park all day, gone swimming, biking, hiking, gotten firewood, ect all in out scout outfits. It was the middle of summer and dark so that means it was after quiet hours began. Our site was chosen specifically because it was away from other ppl and was hidden further back into the woods.

we are sitting there having a grand time drinking, throwing things in the fire, singing, making fun of each other and basically acting like any group of mid to late 20somethings who finally have money and realize that we are getting older and will start having kids of our own act. I’m sure it will come as a surprise, but in my group I am known as the one who should not talk to authority figures. I speak my mind and am "the crazy one." I happened to be sitting right at the bottom of the trail that lead to our site and I looked up to see 2 lights bouncing towards us. At first I didn't realize what was going on and then I heard a sound that you can't describe but you would know what it is if you heard it. The jingling and clunking around of stuff on a heavy leather belt. The kind that hold a lot of things like radios, flashlights, possibly a multitool or knife, handcuffs and a gun.

I tried in vain to warn the rest of my group of the approaching danger (alcohol is illegal in PA state parks) but we were in no state to understand subtleties. So I slipped my beer behind the cooler under some underbrush and stood up to meet our guests. That’s when everyone else figured it out. I was asked to sit back down as they came into the campsite and my buddy slinked off to hide the copious amount of liquor bottles on the table that were in plain view. The rangers started asking us questions and knowing my proclivity to say the right thing at exactly the wrong time I kept quiet. Until there was a very uncomfortable pause and the guy with the gun started to look agitated that is. I looked at everyone else, they looked at me slack jawed, I looked at the rangers, the rangers looked at me and their posture stiffened. The opening went something like this:

Ranger: “Are you aware of the laws governing alcohol in Pennsylvania state parks?”

Crickets: “chirp chir...”

Nature: “Dude, it’s the police, shut up!”

Me: “Well officer, I’m guessing that since you brought it up there’s a problem.”

Ranger#2: “Yeah! It’s illegal!”

At this point my buddy had started throwing bottles into the woods.

Me: “Ohh, sorry. Do we need to dump our beers then?”

Ranger: “Yes. And we need to check your coolers.”


We all inhaled sharply and tried to get a few last swigs in. The latter part of that was not looked upon well and we were told to stop drinking immediately. They searched my cooler and only ice water was left in it. *sigh of relief* they searched another that was full the last time I went for a beer and miraculously there were only 3 or 4 bottles left. Meanwhile my bottle hiding friend returned and while the rangers were looking one way we grabbed blankets and towels to cover up the other coolers in hopes that they wouldn’t be seen. That only worked for 1 cooler. The other 2 were searched and one was all food.  The other in a matter of divine intervention was opened, but he never looked in, or if he did, he just didn’t say anything. It was right at that point that my brain both failed me and saved the mother lode of our beer. I say failed because I had already chided myself for speaking up when nobody else would, and I had gotten the stare down from the ones who can actually deal with situations like this and not say something incredibly inappropriate.

Me: “Out of curiosity, what’s the penalty for drinking in the park?”

Friends: *facepalm*

Ranger: “We don’t’ want to be dicks, but you have to follow the rules. If you guys don’t have anymore then we’ll go, but we’ll check back up on you. If you are still drinking then we have to kick you out of the park and ban you from coming back.”

Me: “So we would have to pack up and go home tonight?

Ranger: “Yes.”

Me: “That doesn’t sound smart. Why would you put a bunch of people who are obviously drunk on the road?”

Ranger: kinda chuckling but only because I’m stupid “We could call the state troopers to come pick you up.”

Me: “Yeah, that doesn’t sound fun, but the ride home would be nice of them…”

Random friend in the crowd: “So we dumped all the beer…”

Ranger: “So you should all go to bed. We’ll be back by in a few hours to check up on you so if you do have more don’t drink it.”

Ranger#2: “Can I ask, what’s with the scout uniforms?”

After a brief explanation of why we were dressed as scouts they walked off laughing. We never got their names, but they were dubbed Officers Al Coholic and Craven Morehead. We did thank them for being cool and not making us drive home drunk. We then opened the coolers to check our stash. We were saved, plenty of beer for the next night. So we did the logical thing and opened a beer to celebrate. As they were getting in their car I’m sure the last thing they heard was me saying “Dude, at least wait until they are gone before you open that!”


And yes, we found the rest of the liquor.

[cyrus buelton]

When I was probably 13-15.............


I made an amazing 500 yard shot with a Daisy Pump action BB Gun into a huge bay window, cracking and breaking it.


That has got to be some sort of record in the likes of BB Gun Antics.

or

<edited so one threadjack doesn't turn into me being anti-animal. God help me. Not sure what I'd do next to my two doberman's and a red eared slider............>

[SacDuc]

Everyone please send ducpainter multiple PMs until he posts the story of how he convinced the Missus to go out on a date with him. I love that story.

sac

[SacDuc]

Best DMF related story:

At Spidey's B-day party (a few years back) watching random girls do shots from my wife's cleavage. She had just been changed out of her fairy outfit and squeezed into a corset that was a couple of cup sizes too small.  

I'm pretty sure I put my balls on tigre's forehead at that party too. There are pictures somewhere.


Runner Up:

motogpfan and SnakeGirl fly in to Santa Barbara from Florida.

This was before the engagement, marriage and divorce. SG's friend was getting married in SB and she was in the wedding. So she was off doing wedding things when we met motogp and went to the bar. It was motogp, me, Polpetta and bobspapa (who had fairly recently become very serious over some chick or whatever   ). We had an outdoor table and a nice view of the harbor. The beer starts to flow. More beers. More beers. We pretty much ran through the entire DML/DMF deciding who was a douchebag and who wasn't. I don't know who got the idea, but someone looked at the menu and said "Look, Oyster Shooters!" So we ordered a round. Upon close inspection after they arrived it was determined that there was no vodka in the oyster shooters. What kind of place serves oyster shooters without vodka? So I asked the waitress, "What kind of place serves oyster shooters without vodka?" She suggests that we could order shots of vodka on the side. BRILLIANT! So doubles of Absolute Citron it was.

Now Joel was being a pretty good boy, just a couple of beers and I think we were only able to talk him into one oyster shooter at this point. But still, he had a couple of drinks and we really wanted him to stay so we convinced him that it would be very very unsafe to ride home. So he called that girl he was digging on to let her know. She was . . . not happy. Had cooked him a special meal, etc. So the alcohol in me decides that it would be a good idea to take the phone from Joel and smooth this whole thing out. I think I actually remember the exact moment when she decided to hate me. Oh well. I figure I took one for the team. Better have her hating me than him, right? And he stayed. So now Joel started drinking in earnest. More beers. More Oyster Shooters.

To be honest I don't remember if SnakeGirl arrived before or after this, but we got kicked out of the bar unexpectedly. A waitress (who clearly just drew the short straw) mumbled that she couldn't serve us anymore and that they had just gone through some alcohol training of some sort or another blah blah blah. Luckily, the build next door was, guessed it. Another bar! Yay!

At the new bar alcohol decided for me that big chocolate desserts and bottles of red dessert wine was a good idea. My motor skills were well impaired at this point and I promptly spilled a full bottle of wine into my lap. Shrug.

After a couple of drinks SnakeGirl told motogp that it was time for them to go get ready for the rehearsal dinner. I'm paraphrasing here but motogp responded, "I don't wanna go to that shit. I'm staying here and drinking." Ha ha. Very funny. Let's go. But Nick was very serious. make the beast with two backs that wedding stuff. And of course the argument began to escalate. But my lovely wife talked him down and he acquiesced. That's when I spilled the second bottle of wine in my lap. It was just the punctuation mark that was needed to let everyone know that this night is either over or there will be police involved. We all got up and left. I was later informed that SnakeGirl wished she would have left his drunk ass there as motogp was unanimously voted biggest asshole at the rehearsal dinner.

So the way I figure it, being an obnoxious ass and a sloppy drunk made two relationships better that night. I'm like Dr. Phil.


sac



/oh yeah, I met my wife on the board after she PM'd me to see if I was okay after my crash
//definitely my favorite DML story

[trenner]

Here's one of mine.

http://trenner.blogspot.com/2009/01/raccoon-city.html