Tell a story - Page 2 - Antsmarching.org Forums
Old 10-26-2006, 04:58 PM   #31
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Re: Tell a story

Quote:
Originally Posted by thatgirl224 View Post
ahahahah that's awesome!
it's not like i get shot at often or something. i had to laugh at myself because of it
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  • Old 10-26-2006, 04:59 PM   #32
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by smudge1 View Post
    you need to stay away from heavy machinery
    I agree! It wasn't the laborers who lock it down though, it's the greenskeeper. Part of the contract to avoid accidents. Looks like it didn't matter though..hahahah
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:00 PM   #33
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by mp3ray View Post
    so the other day I went into my night job and before clocking in, I went to the restroom to wash my hands. As I turned the faucet off, the next thing I know it broke off and water was hitting the ceiling with full force. I put my hands over the faucet so that the water would be forced back into the sink, but the damage had been done. I was soaked, so much in fact water was dripping off my face and my hair stuck to me. The ceiling got so wet that it started flaking and wet pieces of Styrofoam were clinging to my hair and sweater. My skirt was completely soaked.
    I looked down to turn off the water and of course they have fabric covering it as decor and there was no way for me to get to it unless I took my hands off the water.
    Of course the door is locked and I can't reach it with my leg fully extended so I have to take my hands off the faucet. I was able to call for help and my coworkers just about died when the saw me. I was laughing my ass off thinking this could be an episode of friends, but I was pretty soaked.

    I had to have them bring my car around and heat it up because after taking off my sweater I only had on a tank top in 40 degrees with every part of me wet. It was a fun night lol
    That's pretty funny.
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    You're right about the shift to the right that the board took after it reopened. And it's not even thoughtful righties, it's talk radio righties. Got no patience for them whatsoever. We'll see. Maybe I'll see what I can tolerate.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:00 PM   #34
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by jen1jeff View Post
    Who makes the rules? It' s not the stores change.
    it's an unspoken rule.
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    Quote:
    Originally Posted by dmb9howell View Post
    [URL]
    At the time I didn't think I did.
    I believe now that I do, however... but I don't care.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:04 PM   #35
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by smudge1 View Post
    it's an unspoken rule.
    You can't be serious.

    Is it a rule that you have to leave your pennies?

    I have left thousands of dollars in those cups (a bit exaggerated). Why can't I have eleven cents?
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:06 PM   #36
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by jen1jeff View Post
    You can't be serious.

    Is it a rule that you have to leave your pennies?

    I have left thousands of dollars in those cups (a bit exaggerated). Why can't I have eleven cents?
    because you've gone above a nickle and a dime.
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    Quote:
    Originally Posted by dmb9howell View Post
    [URL]
    At the time I didn't think I did.
    I believe now that I do, however... but I don't care.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:07 PM   #37
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    Re: Tell a story

    it ain't no take a dollar leave a dollar cup.
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    Quote:
    Originally Posted by dmb9howell View Post
    [URL]
    At the time I didn't think I did.
    I believe now that I do, however... but I don't care.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:12 PM   #38
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by smudge1 View Post
    because you've gone above a nickle and a dime.
    Well, not really .






    (10+5....)
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:13 PM   #39
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by Heavy As Stone View Post
    Well, not really .






    (10+5....)
    He wanted more than a nickle and more than a dime.
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    Quote:
    Originally Posted by dmb9howell View Post
    [URL]
    At the time I didn't think I did.
    I believe now that I do, however... but I don't care.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 05:39 PM   #40
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    Re: Tell a story

    Alright everyone! I have to go to class...but I will be back in like 3 hours...tell some more stories so I have something good to read when I get home!
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    Old 10-26-2006, 06:03 PM   #41
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    Re: Tell a story

    This might not be funny to you guys, but it was hilarious at the time(kindof):

    Me and my bud Andrew went with our friend Robbie to his highschool's football game. I was happy to go along bc I knew I'd see some of my new friends from middle school. So we get there and we are on our way to the bleachers when I stop to talk to some old friends I saw. There was a big play to I turned around quickly to see what it was and unfortunately Andrew was right behind me with his hands in his pockets. He tripped over my foot, and since his hands were in his pockets, he fell face first in front of everyone. Everyone started to crack up so Andrew got up quick so he could act like it wasn't a big deal, but it was. Once he got up, blood was coming out of his mouth and his braces were all red. Now, Andrew is a tough dude, so I knew when he said it really hurt, I knew it was bad. Still laughing about what happened, we went to the bathroom to clean him up though blood was still pouring from his face. A cop saw us walking into the bathroom and thinking it was a fight, followed us in. Now Andrew was embarassed enough and didn't want to make a big deal, but the cop said he needed to call first aid. Now we pictured just a little truck with a first aid kit would come. So we waited outside with the cop and after 5 min, asked where the truck was. The cops reply was: "You here them coming?" To Andrew's horror, an ambulance and randomly a firetruck pulled out right in front of us. They wanted to take him to the hospital. With everyone staring at him I started cracking up, but first I had to convince his dad that he was really hurt. When I called his dad, first he thought we were playing a prank, so we put the cop on, and he thought we were imitating a policeman. Finally his dad showed up and took him to their Dentists house. I went home to check on him later that night, but he was drugged out to the max. Apparently, his two front teeth were almost seperated from his gums, but luckily, his braces actually held him together. Now, you guys might not think it's that funny, but it was hilarious to watch Andrew go through all this shit in front of an entire high school

    -sorry for the long post
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    Old 10-26-2006, 07:00 PM   #42
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by jen1jeff View Post
    Okay, this is a true story.

    I walk into a convenient store. I pick out a 25 cent pack of gum and a can of coke.

    I take it up to the cashier (young punk looking kid). He rings it up and gives me a total of $1.11.

    I go to pay and realize that I left my wallet at home but I have a dollar in my pocket. Now, I always leave my change in give a penny take a penny cups at convenient stores.

    I notice that the give a penny take a penny cup is almost full, probably 30 pennies and a few nickels are available. I start to count out 11 pennies out of the cup and the young punk cashier says " What do you think you doing".
    I reply I'm counting out 11 pennies. He says " You can't take 11 pennies, it says give A penny take A penny". I say "okay what if I needed two pennies, or three pennies would that be ok to take". He replies " sure but not ELEVEN pennies". I then inform him that it's not his money in the cup or the stores, it's actually customers change that they have decided to leave and he is not the keeper of the cup.

    He says " Sir I will not allow you to take the 11 pennies". I say fine I'll get the change out of my car". I start to walk out with the coke and gum in hand. He taps on the counter and says " Leave the merchandise on the counter sir". I'm really getting irritated now. I remember that I have a crap load of pennies in my console so I go to my car and load up one hand with about 150 pennies. I walk back in and ask him how much do I owe you. He says like a dick 11 cents. I say ok here. I throw all of the pennies into the air, they splash against the ceiling and rain down on the snot nose little punk. I say to him " there's the eleven cents, PUT THE EXTRA IN GIVE A PENNY TAKE A PENNY".

    It was really cool to see his face.
    If this isn't a joke, you're kinda freaking crazy dude.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 07:28 PM   #43
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    Re: Tell a story

    The Wrong Holler

    Alright, this is a true story about where I go to school. It's a very rural area in the middle of the mountains, with poverty, drugs, and sickness abound.

    I had just moved into my new apartment for my first year of graduate school. The family had left for New York, so I grew bored rather quickly. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a ride. Fifteen minutes to Kentucky, fifteen to West Virginia, I keep saying to myself. I made a left, and it was one hell of a wrong turn. A few miles up the road, I'm seeing no houses, nothing but trees with surreptitious little shacks dotting the hillside in an extremely precarious fashion, as if they could tumble down the hill at a moment's notice. The road has narrowed to one lane by now and I'm creeping along, taking in the scenery but getting totally weird vibes all the while.

    The road curbs sharply and continues into a gorge, descending sharply with no shoulder. One momentary lapse of concentration and your car is dropping probably 50 feet off the precipice. I put my jalopy in first gear, the lonliest gear. The transmission seems to love the unusual labor conscripted upon it, easily throttling the car back and checking its progress with minimal brakeage necessary on my part. I get to the bottom, and there is what appears to be a country store - with a white, cracking facade, reminiscent of 1950s Americana...complete with the coke logo, and all the trimmings. I pull into the parking lot, which is occupied by a truck apparantly of the same era...beaten and nearly broken, the truck has farm tags and mud covering nearly its entirety. As I step out of my car, I'm greeted from behind by a very massive gentleman.

    Without exaggeration this guy was well over 6 and a half feet tall and probably 350 pounds...and wouldn't you know it, bad dental work (or none at all!) and a tough, mean, bulldog like face. He wore a flannel shirt with a pair of Carhartt suspender overalls and massive combat boots. A massive scar, apparantly from a knife or razor, marked the side of his neck just under his ear. A strange tattoo on his chest hidden behind a forest of matty black hair. "Whatchu doin'?" he inquires, a hint of gruffness in his tone. "Yessir, I was just wonderin' how to get to the nearest large town..." He pauses, spitting out a massive wad of tobacco that splattered onto my brand new Doc Martens. Now normally, I'd be pissed as shit - but with this dude, I decide it's best not to fuck with it. "Well, thar's Charleston, that's 'bout...3 howerys, then you got Ahia, somethin' along thar, five howerys. Where'd u come from, son?" I glance back at him as he eyes my tags and starts to literally lick his lips. "Ummmm....a couple of towns down over the other side of the mountain. I'm a student there, but I'm originally from New York." I'm trying my best to be conversational and hide the fact that I'm getting massively horrible vibes at this point.

    "Shiiiiit, boy, you done come down the wrong holler," he states with conviction, letting his words sink in. Thinking much quicker than he is remotely capable of doing, I ask, "I'm sorry, sir, is this private property? I'll leave immediately." He shakes his head, and then stops, as if pondering the meaning of life, his eyes far agaze, affixed on a distant point. "No, don't reckon it is. Used to be the post office right chur...but they done closed that down round about the time the last mine closed down..." He starts to ramble, and for the first time I'm feeling friendly vibes from him. I decide to get it out on the table, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why did I come down the wrong holler?"

    He says, "Ain't nothing left here boy but cancer, death, de-presion, pov'ty, and the devil. Now you hear me, son....you turn around and go back where you came...head back Virginia way...and don't you go telling nobody what you seen down here." I get back in my car, start the engine, and say my farewells, not daring to shake his hand or make further eye contact with him. I let out a very loud Joey Lawrence from Blossom, "Woah!" as I back the car up and head back to the road. I want to ask, I want to ask...I really do. What in the hell was it that I've seen other than an apparantly eccentric man and a hillbilly haven? I stop my car, and step out, a full twenty feet seperating us now makes me braver. "What was it that I wasn't supposed to see, sir?" He cocks his head up in the air, and I follow his gaze. I turn around, and on the rock outcrop behind me about a quarter mile in the distance there's a flag of yesteryear and a strange logo...I put two and two together and reach the conclusion - I'm deep in ku klux klan territory, or at least what used to be.

    I have never simultaneously hopped into my car and accelerated from 0 to 60 incredibly quickly, with the door still half opened, but I did it this time. After I had put some distance between what I had just seen, I slowed my speed, constantly checking my rear view. I made it back to the top of the gorge, pulled my car over, and lit a cigarette, gazing down into the abyss from which I had emerged. I sat on my hood and looked out into the expanse. That's when I heard it. At first it sounded like fireworks, and then a gunfight. Yet, the shots had a cadence to them, with pauses in between for a few seconds - from my experience in the woods I knew it was target practice. I'm hearing these shots, and thinking, this is some heavily artillery - machine guns and other crap. I decide that it would be best to continue getting my ass the hell out of this place.

    I cross back over the state line a few minutes later and stop at the first gas station I see for an ice cold bottled water. All that had made my throat totally dry. I had an affinity with one of the clerks and started to shoot the shit with him. I told him about my foray. He smirked, and proceeded to tell me the history of the area. Evidently, some confederate civil war vets and their families settled in the area and weren't willing to give up on the whole war thing. Some of them even joined the Klan. They lived there for several generations, and throughout the years four or five people had mysteriously disappeared on excursions into the gorge, including rock climbers from New Hampshire, never to be seen again. The last incident was back in the early 70s. Since then, the later generations of the families had largely moved on, renounced the ways of their ancestors, and left the area. But Cyrus the Biggun, the monaker given to the big hillbilly as I would later learn, was the last rebel, and I had just driven into the last vestige of the confederacy (in his mind).

    In summation, it was just an awkward event - I felt like I had went back into a time machine. I will always tell my kids this story - and I hope there aren't that many of these type of places left. I don't think Cyrus would have harmed me, but I wasn't ready to stick around and find out for myself.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 07:34 PM   #44
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    Re: Tell a story

    My friend and I smoked a fat blunt in the woods. After that, he wandered into a stream in the woods (it's winter) until he was knee deep in icey water. Then his eyes got wide and he whispered to me "Hey! Hey! I think someone's turned on the air conditioning!"

    What a kid
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    Old 10-26-2006, 07:48 PM   #45
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by Tomriddle View Post
    My friend and I smoked a fat blunt in the woods. After that, he wandered into a stream in the woods (it's winter) until he was knee deep in icey water. Then his eyes got wide and he whispered to me "Hey! Hey! I think someone's turned on the air conditioning!"

    What a kid
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    Old 10-26-2006, 08:22 PM   #46
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    Re: Tell a story

    Here's mine-
    My boyfriend lives in Louisiana, I live in MA (a story for another day). I decided to fly him up here in January so we could "celebrate" our 1st christmas together a little late. He kept telling me he got me a little present. We both said we didnt want to buy each other gifts (he flew me down there a few months earlier, and I flew him up so we decided we were even).
    We both love sushi, so after he landed we went to dinner at this swanky sushi/steak restaurant. I had my hair perfect. Its usually curly and frizzy and I had spent an hour making it beautifully straight (how he likes it). We get to the restaurant and were both gazing into each others eyes. The restaurant was dark and we had a single candle at our table. He was sitting across from me. We both ordered martinis and we start to chat. He pulls out a little wrapped box from his pocket and hands it to me, "I love you, Merry x-mas".
    So I have this sort of confused/worried look on my face. I opened the box and it is the most beautiful ring. A big pink sapphaire surrounded by 10 diamonds, so sparkly. No he didnt ask me to marry him (thank god!!) I was soo amazed, was not the "little" gift I thought it would be. People took notice of the gift giving and started to stare and say "awwww". So I leaned over the table for a romantic kiss. I gave him the most romatic kiss possible. I pulled away to see the fear in his eyes. Then I heard it, the crackling of my hair on fire!!! When I had leaned over for the kiss, my hair ignited in flames from the candle in the middle of the table. He just stared and pointed. I freaked out, stood up, started to pat my head viciously. 3 waitresses and a manager ran over, people at the tables got up and came over to me. All you could smell was burnt hair. There was burnt hair all over our table...stuck to our linen napkins and table cloth. Everyone could smell my hair. Luckily, my hair was OK, it just really lit up in flames. I was so mortified I told my bf I wanted to leave, but the waitress said that they would comp a drink each and we could choose an appitizer of our choice. After about 20 mins, people stopped staring and pointing, and the scent of burnt hair was almost gone.

    Everytime I show someone my ring, I have to bring up that story.
    Everytime I go to dinner with him, we always make sure that if theres a candle, we blow it out.
    The end
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    Last edited by NewEnglandCutie; 10-26-2006 at 08:24 PM.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 08:24 PM   #47
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by mikedevoss6 View Post
    If this isn't a joke, you're kinda freaking crazy dude.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 08:24 PM   #48
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by defcon View Post
    The Wrong Holler

    Alright, this is a true story about where I go to school. It's a very rural area in the middle of the mountains, with poverty, drugs, and sickness abound.

    I had just moved into my new apartment for my first year of graduate school. The family had left for New York, so I grew bored rather quickly. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a ride. Fifteen minutes to Kentucky, fifteen to West Virginia, I keep saying to myself. I made a left, and it was one hell of a wrong turn. A few miles up the road, I'm seeing no houses, nothing but trees with surreptitious little shacks dotting the hillside in an extremely precarious fashion, as if they could tumble down the hill at a moment's notice. The road has narrowed to one lane by now and I'm creeping along, taking in the scenery but getting totally weird vibes all the while.

    The road curbs sharply and continues into a gorge, descending sharply with no shoulder. One momentary lapse of concentration and your car is dropping probably 50 feet off the precipice. I put my jalopy in first gear, the lonliest gear. The transmission seems to love the unusual labor conscripted upon it, easily throttling the car back and checking its progress with minimal brakeage necessary on my part. I get to the bottom, and there is what appears to be a country store - with a white, cracking facade, reminiscent of 1950s Americana...complete with the coke logo, and all the trimmings. I pull into the parking lot, which is occupied by a truck apparantly of the same era...beaten and nearly broken, the truck has farm tags and mud covering nearly its entirety. As I step out of my car, I'm greeted from behind by a very massive gentleman.

    Without exaggeration this guy was well over 6 and a half feet tall and probably 350 pounds...and wouldn't you know it, bad dental work (or none at all!) and a tough, mean, bulldog like face. He wore a flannel shirt with a pair of Carhartt suspender overalls and massive combat boots. A massive scar, apparantly from a knife or razor, marked the side of his neck just under his ear. A strange tattoo on his chest hidden behind a forest of matty black hair. "Whatchu doin'?" he inquires, a hint of gruffness in his tone. "Yessir, I was just wonderin' how to get to the nearest large town..." He pauses, spitting out a massive wad of tobacco that splattered onto my brand new Doc Martens. Now normally, I'd be pissed as shit - but with this dude, I decide it's best not to fuck with it. "Well, thar's Charleston, that's 'bout...3 howerys, then you got Ahia, somethin' along thar, five howerys. Where'd u come from, son?" I glance back at him as he eyes my tags and starts to literally lick his lips. "Ummmm....a couple of towns down over the other side of the mountain. I'm a student there, but I'm originally from New York." I'm trying my best to be conversational and hide the fact that I'm getting massively horrible vibes at this point.

    "Shiiiiit, boy, you done come down the wrong holler," he states with conviction, letting his words sink in. Thinking much quicker than he is remotely capable of doing, I ask, "I'm sorry, sir, is this private property? I'll leave immediately." He shakes his head, and then stops, as if pondering the meaning of life, his eyes far agaze, affixed on a distant point. "No, don't reckon it is. Used to be the post office right chur...but they done closed that down round about the time the last mine closed down..." He starts to ramble, and for the first time I'm feeling friendly vibes from him. I decide to get it out on the table, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why did I come down the wrong holler?"

    He says, "Ain't nothing left here boy but cancer, death, de-presion, pov'ty, and the devil. Now you hear me, son....you turn around and go back where you came...head back Virginia way...and don't you go telling nobody what you seen down here." I get back in my car, start the engine, and say my farewells, not daring to shake his hand or make further eye contact with him. I let out a very loud Joey Lawrence from Blossom, "Woah!" as I back the car up and head back to the road. I want to ask, I want to ask...I really do. What in the hell was it that I've seen other than an apparantly eccentric man and a hillbilly haven? I stop my car, and step out, a full twenty feet seperating us now makes me braver. "What was it that I wasn't supposed to see, sir?" He cocks his head up in the air, and I follow his gaze. I turn around, and on the rock outcrop behind me about a quarter mile in the distance there's a flag of yesteryear and a strange logo...I put two and two together and reach the conclusion - I'm deep in ku klux klan territory, or at least what used to be.

    I have never simultaneously hopped into my car and accelerated from 0 to 60 incredibly quickly, with the door still half opened, but I did it this time. After I had put some distance between what I had just seen, I slowed my speed, constantly checking my rear view. I made it back to the top of the gorge, pulled my car over, and lit a cigarette, gazing down into the abyss from which I had emerged. I sat on my hood and looked out into the expanse. That's when I heard it. At first it sounded like fireworks, and then a gunfight. Yet, the shots had a cadence to them, with pauses in between for a few seconds - from my experience in the woods I knew it was target practice. I'm hearing these shots, and thinking, this is some heavily artillery - machine guns and other crap. I decide that it would be best to continue getting my ass the hell out of this place.

    I cross back over the state line a few minutes later and stop at the first gas station I see for an ice cold bottled water. All that had made my throat totally dry. I had an affinity with one of the clerks and started to shoot the shit with him. I told him about my foray. He smirked, and proceeded to tell me the history of the area. Evidently, some confederate civil war vets and their families settled in the area and weren't willing to give up on the whole war thing. Some of them even joined the Klan. They lived there for several generations, and throughout the years four or five people had mysteriously disappeared on excursions into the gorge, including rock climbers from New Hampshire, never to be seen again. The last incident was back in the early 70s. Since then, the later generations of the families had largely moved on, renounced the ways of their ancestors, and left the area. But Cyrus the Biggun, the monaker given to the big hillbilly as I would later learn, was the last rebel, and I had just driven into the last vestige of the confederacy (in his mind).

    In summation, it was just an awkward event - I felt like I had went back into a time machine. I will always tell my kids this story - and I hope there aren't that many of these type of places left. I don't think Cyrus would have harmed me, but I wasn't ready to stick around and find out for myself.
    This is a really well written story, not to mention interesting. Nice work.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 08:36 PM   #49
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by mikedevoss6 View Post
    This is a really well written story, not to mention interesting. Nice work.
    It is well written, looks like one of those random stories I'd read in my english textbook
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    Old 10-26-2006, 09:03 PM   #50
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    Re: Tell a story

    I used to belong to the school newspaper. our editor was hot, it was 10:30 at night. (ill leave the rest up to your imagination)
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    Old 10-26-2006, 09:05 PM   #51
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by VanHorneDog View Post
    I used to belong to the school newspaper. our editor was hot, it was 10:30 at night. (ill leave the rest up to your imagination)
    You went home and wrote an article about her?
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    Old 10-26-2006, 09:08 PM   #52
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by mikedevoss6 View Post
    You went home and wrote an article about her?
    no no, she was hot, i said. hey i think its time go get going and walked her to her car. then i went home.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 10:13 PM   #53
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by defcon View Post
    The Wrong Holler

    Alright, this is a true story about where I go to school. It's a very rural area in the middle of the mountains, with poverty, drugs, and sickness abound.

    I had just moved into my new apartment for my first year of graduate school. The family had left for New York, so I grew bored rather quickly. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a ride. Fifteen minutes to Kentucky, fifteen to West Virginia, I keep saying to myself. I made a left, and it was one hell of a wrong turn. A few miles up the road, I'm seeing no houses, nothing but trees with surreptitious little shacks dotting the hillside in an extremely precarious fashion, as if they could tumble down the hill at a moment's notice. The road has narrowed to one lane by now and I'm creeping along, taking in the scenery but getting totally weird vibes all the while.

    The road curbs sharply and continues into a gorge, descending sharply with no shoulder. One momentary lapse of concentration and your car is dropping probably 50 feet off the precipice. I put my jalopy in first gear, the lonliest gear. The transmission seems to love the unusual labor conscripted upon it, easily throttling the car back and checking its progress with minimal brakeage necessary on my part. I get to the bottom, and there is what appears to be a country store - with a white, cracking facade, reminiscent of 1950s Americana...complete with the coke logo, and all the trimmings. I pull into the parking lot, which is occupied by a truck apparantly of the same era...beaten and nearly broken, the truck has farm tags and mud covering nearly its entirety. As I step out of my car, I'm greeted from behind by a very massive gentleman.

    Without exaggeration this guy was well over 6 and a half feet tall and probably 350 pounds...and wouldn't you know it, bad dental work (or none at all!) and a tough, mean, bulldog like face. He wore a flannel shirt with a pair of Carhartt suspender overalls and massive combat boots. A massive scar, apparantly from a knife or razor, marked the side of his neck just under his ear. A strange tattoo on his chest hidden behind a forest of matty black hair. "Whatchu doin'?" he inquires, a hint of gruffness in his tone. "Yessir, I was just wonderin' how to get to the nearest large town..." He pauses, spitting out a massive wad of tobacco that splattered onto my brand new Doc Martens. Now normally, I'd be pissed as shit - but with this dude, I decide it's best not to fuck with it. "Well, thar's Charleston, that's 'bout...3 howerys, then you got Ahia, somethin' along thar, five howerys. Where'd u come from, son?" I glance back at him as he eyes my tags and starts to literally lick his lips. "Ummmm....a couple of towns down over the other side of the mountain. I'm a student there, but I'm originally from New York." I'm trying my best to be conversational and hide the fact that I'm getting massively horrible vibes at this point.

    "Shiiiiit, boy, you done come down the wrong holler," he states with conviction, letting his words sink in. Thinking much quicker than he is remotely capable of doing, I ask, "I'm sorry, sir, is this private property? I'll leave immediately." He shakes his head, and then stops, as if pondering the meaning of life, his eyes far agaze, affixed on a distant point. "No, don't reckon it is. Used to be the post office right chur...but they done closed that down round about the time the last mine closed down..." He starts to ramble, and for the first time I'm feeling friendly vibes from him. I decide to get it out on the table, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why did I come down the wrong holler?"

    He says, "Ain't nothing left here boy but cancer, death, de-presion, pov'ty, and the devil. Now you hear me, son....you turn around and go back where you came...head back Virginia way...and don't you go telling nobody what you seen down here." I get back in my car, start the engine, and say my farewells, not daring to shake his hand or make further eye contact with him. I let out a very loud Joey Lawrence from Blossom, "Woah!" as I back the car up and head back to the road. I want to ask, I want to ask...I really do. What in the hell was it that I've seen other than an apparantly eccentric man and a hillbilly haven? I stop my car, and step out, a full twenty feet seperating us now makes me braver. "What was it that I wasn't supposed to see, sir?" He cocks his head up in the air, and I follow his gaze. I turn around, and on the rock outcrop behind me about a quarter mile in the distance there's a flag of yesteryear and a strange logo...I put two and two together and reach the conclusion - I'm deep in ku klux klan territory, or at least what used to be.

    I have never simultaneously hopped into my car and accelerated from 0 to 60 incredibly quickly, with the door still half opened, but I did it this time. After I had put some distance between what I had just seen, I slowed my speed, constantly checking my rear view. I made it back to the top of the gorge, pulled my car over, and lit a cigarette, gazing down into the abyss from which I had emerged. I sat on my hood and looked out into the expanse. That's when I heard it. At first it sounded like fireworks, and then a gunfight. Yet, the shots had a cadence to them, with pauses in between for a few seconds - from my experience in the woods I knew it was target practice. I'm hearing these shots, and thinking, this is some heavily artillery - machine guns and other crap. I decide that it would be best to continue getting my ass the hell out of this place.

    I cross back over the state line a few minutes later and stop at the first gas station I see for an ice cold bottled water. All that had made my throat totally dry. I had an affinity with one of the clerks and started to shoot the shit with him. I told him about my foray. He smirked, and proceeded to tell me the history of the area. Evidently, some confederate civil war vets and their families settled in the area and weren't willing to give up on the whole war thing. Some of them even joined the Klan. They lived there for several generations, and throughout the years four or five people had mysteriously disappeared on excursions into the gorge, including rock climbers from New Hampshire, never to be seen again. The last incident was back in the early 70s. Since then, the later generations of the families had largely moved on, renounced the ways of their ancestors, and left the area. But Cyrus the Biggun, the monaker given to the big hillbilly as I would later learn, was the last rebel, and I had just driven into the last vestige of the confederacy (in his mind).

    In summation, it was just an awkward event - I felt like I had went back into a time machine. I will always tell my kids this story - and I hope there aren't that many of these type of places left. I don't think Cyrus would have harmed me, but I wasn't ready to stick around and find out for myself.
    Very interesting... a real good read.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 10:36 PM   #54
    dmbigeyedphish
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by defcon View Post
    The Wrong Holler

    Alright, this is a true story about where I go to school. It's a very rural area in the middle of the mountains, with poverty, drugs, and sickness abound.

    I had just moved into my new apartment for my first year of graduate school. The family had left for New York, so I grew bored rather quickly. I grabbed my keys and headed out for a ride. Fifteen minutes to Kentucky, fifteen to West Virginia, I keep saying to myself. I made a left, and it was one hell of a wrong turn. A few miles up the road, I'm seeing no houses, nothing but trees with surreptitious little shacks dotting the hillside in an extremely precarious fashion, as if they could tumble down the hill at a moment's notice. The road has narrowed to one lane by now and I'm creeping along, taking in the scenery but getting totally weird vibes all the while.

    The road curbs sharply and continues into a gorge, descending sharply with no shoulder. One momentary lapse of concentration and your car is dropping probably 50 feet off the precipice. I put my jalopy in first gear, the lonliest gear. The transmission seems to love the unusual labor conscripted upon it, easily throttling the car back and checking its progress with minimal brakeage necessary on my part. I get to the bottom, and there is what appears to be a country store - with a white, cracking facade, reminiscent of 1950s Americana...complete with the coke logo, and all the trimmings. I pull into the parking lot, which is occupied by a truck apparantly of the same era...beaten and nearly broken, the truck has farm tags and mud covering nearly its entirety. As I step out of my car, I'm greeted from behind by a very massive gentleman.

    Without exaggeration this guy was well over 6 and a half feet tall and probably 350 pounds...and wouldn't you know it, bad dental work (or none at all!) and a tough, mean, bulldog like face. He wore a flannel shirt with a pair of Carhartt suspender overalls and massive combat boots. A massive scar, apparantly from a knife or razor, marked the side of his neck just under his ear. A strange tattoo on his chest hidden behind a forest of matty black hair. "Whatchu doin'?" he inquires, a hint of gruffness in his tone. "Yessir, I was just wonderin' how to get to the nearest large town..." He pauses, spitting out a massive wad of tobacco that splattered onto my brand new Doc Martens. Now normally, I'd be pissed as shit - but with this dude, I decide it's best not to fuck with it. "Well, thar's Charleston, that's 'bout...3 howerys, then you got Ahia, somethin' along thar, five howerys. Where'd u come from, son?" I glance back at him as he eyes my tags and starts to literally lick his lips. "Ummmm....a couple of towns down over the other side of the mountain. I'm a student there, but I'm originally from New York." I'm trying my best to be conversational and hide the fact that I'm getting massively horrible vibes at this point.

    "Shiiiiit, boy, you done come down the wrong holler," he states with conviction, letting his words sink in. Thinking much quicker than he is remotely capable of doing, I ask, "I'm sorry, sir, is this private property? I'll leave immediately." He shakes his head, and then stops, as if pondering the meaning of life, his eyes far agaze, affixed on a distant point. "No, don't reckon it is. Used to be the post office right chur...but they done closed that down round about the time the last mine closed down..." He starts to ramble, and for the first time I'm feeling friendly vibes from him. I decide to get it out on the table, "Sir, if you don't mind my asking, why did I come down the wrong holler?"

    He says, "Ain't nothing left here boy but cancer, death, de-presion, pov'ty, and the devil. Now you hear me, son....you turn around and go back where you came...head back Virginia way...and don't you go telling nobody what you seen down here." I get back in my car, start the engine, and say my farewells, not daring to shake his hand or make further eye contact with him. I let out a very loud Joey Lawrence from Blossom, "Woah!" as I back the car up and head back to the road. I want to ask, I want to ask...I really do. What in the hell was it that I've seen other than an apparantly eccentric man and a hillbilly haven? I stop my car, and step out, a full twenty feet seperating us now makes me braver. "What was it that I wasn't supposed to see, sir?" He cocks his head up in the air, and I follow his gaze. I turn around, and on the rock outcrop behind me about a quarter mile in the distance there's a flag of yesteryear and a strange logo...I put two and two together and reach the conclusion - I'm deep in ku klux klan territory, or at least what used to be.

    I have never simultaneously hopped into my car and accelerated from 0 to 60 incredibly quickly, with the door still half opened, but I did it this time. After I had put some distance between what I had just seen, I slowed my speed, constantly checking my rear view. I made it back to the top of the gorge, pulled my car over, and lit a cigarette, gazing down into the abyss from which I had emerged. I sat on my hood and looked out into the expanse. That's when I heard it. At first it sounded like fireworks, and then a gunfight. Yet, the shots had a cadence to them, with pauses in between for a few seconds - from my experience in the woods I knew it was target practice. I'm hearing these shots, and thinking, this is some heavily artillery - machine guns and other crap. I decide that it would be best to continue getting my ass the hell out of this place.

    I cross back over the state line a few minutes later and stop at the first gas station I see for an ice cold bottled water. All that had made my throat totally dry. I had an affinity with one of the clerks and started to shoot the shit with him. I told him about my foray. He smirked, and proceeded to tell me the history of the area. Evidently, some confederate civil war vets and their families settled in the area and weren't willing to give up on the whole war thing. Some of them even joined the Klan. They lived there for several generations, and throughout the years four or five people had mysteriously disappeared on excursions into the gorge, including rock climbers from New Hampshire, never to be seen again. The last incident was back in the early 70s. Since then, the later generations of the families had largely moved on, renounced the ways of their ancestors, and left the area. But Cyrus the Biggun, the monaker given to the big hillbilly as I would later learn, was the last rebel, and I had just driven into the last vestige of the confederacy (in his mind).

    In summation, it was just an awkward event - I felt like I had went back into a time machine. I will always tell my kids this story - and I hope there aren't that many of these type of places left. I don't think Cyrus would have harmed me, but I wasn't ready to stick around and find out for myself.
    Incredibly well-written.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 10:44 PM   #55
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by mikedevoss6 View Post
    If this isn't a joke, you're kinda freaking crazy dude.

    Completly true. I couldn't make that story up.

    He deserved it, I promise.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 10:50 PM   #56
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by jen1jeff View Post
    Completly true. I couldn't make that story up.

    He deserved it, I promise.
    It really doesn't sound like it. It just sounds like he was being sort of an ass and then you lost your cool and flipped out.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 11:09 PM   #57
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by jen1jeff View Post
    Okay, this is a true story.

    I walk into a convenient store. I pick out a 25 cent pack of gum and a can of coke.

    I take it up to the cashier (young punk looking kid). He rings it up and gives me a total of $1.11.

    I go to pay and realize that I left my wallet at home but I have a dollar in my pocket. Now, I always leave my change in give a penny take a penny cups at convenient stores.

    I notice that the give a penny take a penny cup is almost full, probably 30 pennies and a few nickels are available. I start to count out 11 pennies out of the cup and the young punk cashier says " What do you think you doing".
    I reply I'm counting out 11 pennies. He says " You can't take 11 pennies, it says give A penny take A penny". I say "okay what if I needed two pennies, or three pennies would that be ok to take". He replies " sure but not ELEVEN pennies". I then inform him that it's not his money in the cup or the stores, it's actually customers change that they have decided to leave and he is not the keeper of the cup.

    He says " Sir I will not allow you to take the 11 pennies". I say fine I'll get the change out of my car". I start to walk out with the coke and gum in hand. He taps on the counter and says " Leave the merchandise on the counter sir". I'm really getting irritated now. I remember that I have a crap load of pennies in my console so I go to my car and load up one hand with about 150 pennies. I walk back in and ask him how much do I owe you. He says like a dick 11 cents. I say ok here. I throw all of the pennies into the air, they splash against the ceiling and rain down on the snot nose little punk. I say to him " there's the eleven cents, PUT THE EXTRA IN GIVE A PENNY TAKE A PENNY".

    It was really cool to see his face.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 11:10 PM   #58
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    Re: Tell a story

    my story:

    imagine, cabins on a lake. there is a large dog who is on the ground moaning like its going to die. some a-hole who trys to "do the right thing" all the time decides to put it out of it's misery. he felt like a saint.

    well. turns out the dog was pregnant and not going to die so the guy killed my neighbors dog and it's puppies. i wasnt there. and the guys little kid who was like 4 was with him. so he watched his dad murder a dog and it's puppies and i just made this entire thing up. thanks

    Last edited by RexGrossman; 10-26-2006 at 11:15 PM.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 11:20 PM   #59
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by RexGrossman View Post
    my story:

    imagine, cabins on a lake. there is a large dog who is on the ground moaning like its going to die. some a-hole who trys to "do the right thing" all the time decides to put it out of it's misery. he felt like a saint.

    well. turns out the dog was pregnant and not going to die so the guy killed my neighbors dog and it's puppies. i wasnt there. and the guys little kid who was like 4 was with him. so he watched his dad murder a dog and it's puppies and i just made this entire thing up. thanks
    Oh. Thank God. Oh, damn. Geez, dude.
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    Old 10-26-2006, 11:20 PM   #60
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    Re: Tell a story

    Quote:
    Originally Posted by RexGrossman View Post
    my story:

    imagine, cabins on a lake. there is a large dog who is on the ground moaning like its going to die. some a-hole who trys to "do the right thing" all the time decides to put it out of it's misery. he felt like a saint.

    well. turns out the dog was pregnant and not going to die so the guy killed my neighbors dog and it's puppies. i wasnt there. and the guys little kid who was like 4 was with him. so he watched his dad murder a dog and it's puppies and i just made this entire thing up. thanks
    Perfect ending.
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