Doom, gloom, Chapter 11, recession, housing crisis, credit crunch, Iranian missile tests, Dodge Journey — how much more bad news can we take? Well, lots. But that's not the issue. The issue is that I thought of a funny story and I'm going to share it with you and then ask you to do the same. Capiche? A few years ago I was dating a girl. One night some friends were in town and the four of us went out for dinner and drinks in their rented PT Cruiser Convertible. My gal had some fish and chips and perhaps one two many beers, though I think something may have been wrong with the fish. She got sick on the way to the car. Messy sick. Then, she demanded we put the top down, because she was still feeling awful. I got roped into driving because my friends also had too much booze. And then, as George Carlin termed it, the poor thing had an involuntary personal protein spill. At about 50 mph. And her spill got picked up by the wind and flung into the back seat. All over our out of town guests. The funny part is that later that night (after lots and lots of soapy scrubbing by yours truly) she asked, "What does PT stand for?" My friend answered, "Puke Tainer." You?
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I worked with someone whose sister in law was pregnant and suffering from morning sickness. She was unable to roll down the window of their brand new car in time and ended up puking down the ac/ heater vent.
I have a million of these
husband drives into write up lane and i go out to greet him and write up the g body regal .. and the story goes like this .. as i approach the car he rolls down the window and this horrible smell is coming from the inside of the car . i take 2 steps back and say what can i help you with and he sez”the wife found an injured baby rabbit in the road and stopped and picked it up and was going to take it to the vet to get it fixed up ,,, but on the way the rabbit crawled up into the dash ad died a few days ago”
we fixed it by removing the dash and found the little dead rascal on the evap core ..
paul
A set of jumper cables walk into a bar.
Bartender says: “Hey pal, get out of here. We don’t serve your kind!”
The jumper cables plead: “Look, I’m here and I’m thirsty. I’ve got money, and I want a drink. Please let me stay.”
Bartender says: “Ok, you can stay. but don’t try to start anything!”
(rimshot)
I was driving on a county road adjacent to the local airport when I came across a bull snake in the road. I love snakes, so I got out to take a look at him (or her. I’m not Steve Irwin and I couldn’t tell). The snake felt threatened by me so it made a mad dash for the nearest available shelter: the undercarriage of my Jeep Wrangler. I shut the engine down and opened the hood. The snake seemed content to hang out on my engine mounts. I got my ice scrapper and tried to persuade the serpent away with the handle, but I could only manage to get him to move from one side of the engine compartment to the other. Finally he made a bunker out of my fan shroud. To hell with it, I said, and left the car in the road and went to chat with some friends of mine at the airport, figuring the snake would be gone when I returned. It wasn’t. Finally, a friend pulled up and asked me if I was having car trouble. He was surprised after I asked him for some advise and then motioned for him to inspect my radiator. We finally persuaded the little devil out, but we both ended up getting bit.
I had a friend in high school whose dad owned a Dodge dealership and got to bring home some of the more ‘interesting’ cars from the used/trade-in lot. One day he brought a white 1967 Cadillac hearse, with solid side panels and 70s chic cemetery scenes painted on them, along with the moniker “Boot Hill Special.” We and another friend decided to go cruising on neighborhood streets late one Saturday night. Had the hearse stopped in the middle of our lane, and whenever anyone came up on those darkened streets, they’d see the back door of the hearse opened and my friend and me trying to stuff friend #3, stiff as a board, back into the cab of the hearse. The looks we got from drivers as we waved them on by….
There was this Asian American dude and his two small girls coming out of a Blockbuster, getting into his orange Challenger SRT-8, when this Mexican American dude who shares a name with a baseball player who is hanging out with Madonna comes out and drools all over his car….
A-Rod is Mexican?
Edit: wikipedia says Dominican
Edit from text below: Sorry, read too fast. never mind.
I was a student at Tufts University over three decades ago. My father was chairman of the econ dept. I was driving his semi-beater of a ’68 Falcon wagon on the campus–the second car was very low on the parental priority list–when I bumped into one of my friends. “Is that the Dave-mobile?” he says, looking impressed. No, I said, it’s my father’s. His expression changes to incredulity as he says, “You mean the head of the economics department drives around in THAT THING???!”
The Mexican shared only his name, not ethnicity, with a baseball player.
We came out one morning getting ready to head to work, the ecentric neighbor lady is obviously having some sort of crisis next door. I decide to see if I can help out. Get over there to find she has a hissing possum cornered by her front door, she with a broom. She asked if I knew how to make it leave. I suggested just ignoring it, it would be gone when she got home. She replies, “well, it surprised me and I threw my car keys at it. It’s sitting on them”.
I suggested maybe spraying it with the hose from a safe distance as I quickly made my way back to our car before I started laughing at her.
One night in high school I was on my way home after working late. I decided to take the highway home to save time (longer distance wise but shorter time wise). I went to pass a Ford truck towing a ski boat, and as I pulled even with the truck I noticed his boat was now behind me. The trailer had broke loose and the boat was now rolling free down the highway. Luckily it was pretty late and there wasn’t many people on the road. The trailer hit the median and shot the boat across the other two lanes of highway. When I went to work the next day the boat was sitting on a hill along side the highway and the trailer was still in the median.
I can see calling up the insurance to report that. “Yes, I need to report an accident. Yes, I was hit by a boat on the highway.”
Back in college, I had a ’96 Cavalier convertible. A large group of us went downtown for a New Year’s Eve block party, and we took two cars. After midnight passed, the other driver disappeared and didn’t answer his cell phone. So I was stuck trying to fit 6 or 7 people in my car. Since there wasn’t enough room, one friend agreed to ride inside the trunk, as it was a pretty short drive to our next stop. We’re in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to get out of downtown area, and we had the convertible top down. One of guys in the back seat asks me to pop the trunk open, and I obliged. He reaches back, opens the trunk lid and yells “I thought I told you to keep quiet back there!” and slams the trunk shut. The horrified looks on the faces of the people in the other cars and the pedestrians were priceless.
Yesterday: Gentleman comes in to look at the new Lincoln MKS, asks if it can be had with a bench seat! That, in a nutshell, is the challenge Ford faces with its customers…..
Hooning around in my 1983 Subaru Coupe. Sideways action aplenty, full use of the 76ish horsepower.
Then, the classic ‘trip’ roll doing a Rockford back onto the pavement. As the car rolls over, my buddy braces himself by holding on to the top of the A pillar. Bad idea. The car rolls over and on to its side, and he’s yelling “Ow! My hand!” We get out and roll it back on its wheels, and there’s a perfect spread out hand print in the sheet metal of the roof. I could not believe he didn’t break it, but it was just sore for a couple days.
One time, a long time ago, I was listening to a Rush tape in the truck and “Jacobs Ladder” came on. Just then I came over a hill and there was a ladder in the road. Too late to stop, I drove over a ladder while listening to “Jacobs Ladder”.
John
One day, back when I was carpooling with my in-laws, we were in the usual stall and crawl on Rt3 heading for Boston. I was in the backseat of my SIL’s Saab 9000 when I noticed the driver beside me was reading the Boston Herald. I rolled down the window ,got his attention,and asked him if he was done with the sports section.
At a recent bachelor party, we took a limo from the bar back to the house we were all crashing at. Everyone climbed in with a few facing backwards. About 1/2 way home, one of the guys in the front asked me to scoot down so he could sit in the back and next to the window. Not too long after that, the window goes down and his head goes out depositing his stomach’s contents on the side of the limo, his shoulder, the seat belt, and the car of the guy behind us. Fortunately we got pictures of the whole thing.
My brother attended a wedding of one of his fraternity brothers around 8-9 years ago. He was driving back home on Sunday in his Eclipse when tragedy struck. He couldn’t get the window down fast enough as the nausea came that quick and unleashed all over himself and had to drive the rest of the way home dealing with that smell.
Guy and his dog walk into a bar. Guy says his dog can talk, and he’ll prove it if the bartender will spot him a shot per proof. Okay, the barkeep sez.
Guy sez to the dog, pointing up, “What’s that?” Dog says “ROOF!”
Bartender pours a shot.
Guy puts a piece of sandpaper on the bar and sez, “How’s that feel?” “RUFF” says the dog.
Bartender somewhat unwillingly pours a second shot.
Guy says to the dog, “who makes the best modified Porsches in the world?” (Okay, the obligatory car part.) Dog says “RUF!”
Bartender wearily pours a third shot.
Guy sez to the dog, “Who’s the best ballplayer of all time?” Dog says “RUTH!”
Bartender, tired of it all, throws them out. Sitting on the curb, the dog turns to the guy and sez…
“Dimaggio?”
I bought a clean, gently-used 1988 Chrysler Fifth Avenue in 2001. The day I got it, I was flipping around the radio presets…one rock station was playing “With Or Without You” by U2, another was playing “Paradise City” by Guns n’ Roses, and a top 40 station was playing “Push It” by Salt-N-Pepa. All songs from 1988. I had bought Christine’s daughter!
@jdizzle Says:
All songs from 1988. I had bought Christine’s daughter!
Oh please, let no one from hollywood read that, one sequel I DO NOT want to see.
The last base I was stationed at before I retired from the Air Force, we lived in base housing. One morning I went out and saw a young cat jump down from under my old Ford Ranger. When I approached it, it crawled back up into the engine compartment. Not wanting catburgers the next time I started it, I followed procedure and notified the Security Forces there was a stray animal in the housing area.
Shortly afterwards, a patrol car pulled up in the driveway and two of Sheppard AFB’s finest got out. I told them where the cat was and one of them copped (no pun intended) a “you called me out here for this?” attitude. He smugly walked over to the truck and popped the hood. The cat jumped from under the truck and ran into the monkey grass in my neighbor’s flowerbed. When Macho Cop approached it, the cat shot back up under the truck.
After a few minutes of this, Macho Cop called the other over and between the two of them, they managed to corner the cat and get it by the nape of the neck. As Macho Cop held the spitting, hissing, flailing ball of fur at arm’s length, Other Cop asked if he should call for someone to bring a cage. Macho Cop said “nah” and walked over to their patrol car, opened the back door, tossed the cat inside, slammed the door and walked back over to where Other Cop and I were standing.
The cat immediately went ballistic and began bouncing off of every solid surface in the car. Before Macho Cop could get back over let it out, the cat had disappeared. Neither of them wanted to open the door at that point in fear of becoming the target of three pounds of fur, claws and teeth, but what could they do? They couldn’t just leave the car blocking my driveway. Besides… someone was sure to notice if they returned on foot after leaving in a car.
Finally we looked through the windows at every angle possible to see if we could spot it. Nothing. Other Cop cautiously opened the back door and stuck his nightstick in there. He ran it under the front seat to see if the cat was hiding there. Nope. Nothing.
Then we heard it. A low yowling moan emanating from the dashboard. The cops looked at each other with an “aw shit, what do we do now?” expression on their faces. They debated spraying pepper spray under there but wisely decided against that.
About this time, another SF car pulled up. They had seen the first car in the driveway while making their usual patrol rounds and stopped to see why we were all standing around looking in the car and if they needed to assist with anything.
When they found out what was going on, they could hardly make it back to their car because they were laughing so hard. After their comrades in arms left, Macho Cop and Other Cop realized they had no recourse other than getting back inside there and driving back to their squadron with a feline grenade threatening to take them both out at any moment. They drove away very slowly.
I didn’t follow up to see if they made it unscathed, nor did I request a copy of their incident report. I worked at the hospital there and never heard anything about two SFs coming in with multiple lacerations, so I assumed they got back safely and finally got the cat out of the car somehow. I’d love to know what the other two had told everyone before they got back. Whatever it was, I’ll bet the next time they got a call about a stray cat, they showed up in full body armor.
So today I need to run errands midday and actually drove to work (usually I drive to work about once a week). I went out to my car in my private parking space on it, and there was a note under my wiper blade. I immediately thought “Argh, someone hit my car AGAIN!” (Twice in the last 11 months or so already, while it was parked!!!).
I pick up my wiper blade and there is a note COMPLETELY in Portuguese. My license plate is in Portuguese (which I thought was cool back when I was single….to get the attention of all the hot Brazilian girls here. I did end up marrying a Brazilian…..The meaning in English is “HUNK”), so the people who left the note figured I was a fluent speaker and left a note saying they noticed my Portuguese plate and would like to know me. There is a small group in my city (apparently) made up of Brazilians who get together to talk.
My wife’s car ALSO has a plate in Portuguese (“Doesn’t really go anywhere” would be the english translation — it has a 0-60 in the double digits) and as I passed her car in it’s parking spot, I also saw a slip of paper under the wiper blade.
HAH.
I remember a friend of mine calling me shortly after he got his learners permit to tell me he wrecked on his first drive. Why? He was driving down the street, with his mother in the passenger seat, and a bird flew into the windshield. She flipped out and began yelling and hitting him for killing the bird, and he hit a guide rail.
Another friend went and took his license test in his mother’s Cougar (she wasn’t one, just for clarification…), and passed. He made a left out of the DMV place, got 150 yards up the road, gunned the engine, and couldn’t brake quick enough to react to traffic, and caused a 3 car pileup. Needless to say, I was driving anytime we went anywhere for the next year…
I was 19 and took a road trip through Colorado, Utah and Arizona with a hot 18 girlfriend. I had a sweet RX-7 at the time; which was perfect for a road trip for two. Well she had never driven a manual before, and I couldn’t drive all the time, as we drove probably 3,000 miles within five days.
So in Moab, Utah, was the first time that she attempted to drive, and kept killing the engine at several stop lights (couldn’t work that clutch!). Moab is a big Jeep town, and so these guys in Jeeps around us kept giving her a bad time (in a joking way) as they knew she couldn’t drive a clutch. Being as hot as she was, she often had guys giving her a lot of attention. ;)
Although we almost got killed on that trip. A following morning she was driving on a two-lane road, and over a hill an 18 wheeler was half in our lane. She swerved to miss him by putting the right tires off the side of the road, and then pulled the car back onto the road.
If it had been any other car but a sports car that was low to the ground, it probably would have rolled. But still, the back end came around and she lost control. There happened to be a red Toyota pickup right behind the 18 wheeler that we were going to hit head on! I had actually been asleep and I saw all this as I was just opening my eyes. So I just reached my left had over and grabbed the steering wheel as she had pretty much frozen. I just pulled the wheel gently to the right just enough to bring the car back in line. Yikes, if I hadn’t have opened my eyes we would have been toast.
I then asked her to stop the car, and I drove for the rest of the day. Ah… Road trips as a youth were always exciting!
My funny story:
I once owned a 1984 Chevy Cavalier. (laughter, applause)
When I was a youngster, I broke the bench seat of my Nissan pickup (boy, I miss that truck) jumping over hills in rolling southern Indiana, where I was visiting some friends. I must have gotten that thing 2-3 feet up in the air.
When I was 16 I was arrested for doing a “lawn job” on the Elementary school football field in a 1978 Malibu Classic. My friends thought it was funny that the car had posi-traction, but had the weakest motor you could get that year. Ninety six fire breathing horsepower.
Well, I was young and dumb and this was ages ago, and I certainly wouldn’t do stupid things like this now, but, that was another life. In my students years, I lived quite a destructive life.
I was sitting in my apartment about 9 pm an ordinary day and played my computer, a Commodore 64. (Yes, this was that long ago.) when a couple of friends knocked on my door. I opened, and they came in, suggested that we should go to my friends parents place in the country, to have a party. Fine, I said. What people is it going to be there? Well, it is you, and us, they said. We where quite heavily into binge drinking in those days, so it sounded lika a good idea.
Said and done, we got into my old station wagon, a 1968 Volvo 210, and drove away. A sidenote is that at the time, I didn’t have a driving license, but that didn’t stop me from driving a lot, since I at least had a car in my possession. Well, half an hour later we stopped at the house, a big flat bungalow, sort of near luxury in the early eightes, early ninteties only somewhat tacky. White marble floors and a big badass tv-set. We drank away, and some time later my friend got the idea that we should have a drive in the countryside, apparently he was going to a storage facility somewhere out there in the country to fetch a crossbow he had stored away.
We got into his parents car, another station wagon, a Ford Granada, late 70’s. The first thing he said was, “I have never driven this car really fast!” And that should have been a tell-tale of sorts, if we hadn’t been so severly drunk. We drove away, really fast, made som joyriding in the countryside, fetched the crossbow, and drove the wrong way home. He backed the car up an exit, but missed by several meters, and drove right into the ditch. That was another warning sign, hadn’t we been so stupid. Ten minutes later, we was up and away.
In a really long straight with trees on both sides we got the car up in some 180 km/h. The road stopped being paved, the straight ended in a righthand turn, the car went the other way. The car went into the field, sideways, and pointing down, crached a tree two times, first with the front, then slided and hit the tree again with the left hand side, the side where no one was sitting at. Had someone been sitting there, that person would have been no more, as the space was now occupied by a giant tree. The car had landed, the horn sounded for a while, and then there was silence.
Like a stroke of luck, or a sign from god, no one was hurt. The driver showed signs of being in chock, my friend in the backseat broke two ribs, I managed without being hurt in any way. The driver, whose parents car it was, immediately started fiddling with the locks, so it would seem that the car had been stolen. He was a minor criminal of sorts, so he had some experience. The hydraulic jack that was stored away loose in the back of the station wagon was found 50 metres out in the field. The car had been totally totalled.
We managed to get ourselfs back together and started walking back to my friends house. An hour later we got back there, it was now sometimes 3 a.m. in the morning. We woke up my friends kid brother, who had been sleeping in the house, and took my car back to my place. The plan was to make it look like we hadn’t been there at all that night.
Some 4.30 a.m. we where safely back home again. I had had some serious partying going on the last several weeks, so my place was somewhat untidy. Winebottles everywhere, glasses full with cigarette buns, cd-records everywhere. It was a mess. I lay myself down in my bed, clothes and all. My friends occupied every sofa and mattress available. We turned in quietly for the night.
At 8 o’clock in the morning, the door bell rang. I got up, severly hung over, and opened. “This is the police!” they said. Oh, I said. “Are you Mr so-and-so?” Yes… “We have orders to drive you to X-town, apparently, you have not done your military service exam, and as you have failed to turn up for five times in a row, we will escort you there”. Ok, I said. Just let me put my contact lenses on, and I will be ready…
They waited in the hall, doorway open, while I fetched my things. I guess everybody in the room got sober very very fast, but they were all hiding under their sheets and blankets. In the car, the policeman asked “Who was that, in your apartment?” I said “Oh, that was Mr Y and Mr Z.” “Oh, I thought I recognized them…” he said. “Yeah, we had a party last night…” I said. “Yes, we could see that. Must have been some party, eh?” So, I got the police to provide us all with an alibi…
An hour later we arrived in X-town. I got to talk to a pschyiatrist, who looked at me, looked at my papers, and looked at me again. She said “I can see that you don’t want to do your military service, but… What reason should we come up with?” I got the hint, and said “oooh, it started early, I had a really terrible upbringing” and so on. Another hour later of severe bullshit she dismissed me with the sentence written in my report that I “was too much of an individual to fit in the context of the military collegiate”.
I was sent to an orderly to fecth my one and only daily payment from the military service, which was 38 swedish crowns, or roughly five dollars. As I had forgot my wallet, I was lucky, as the bus fair home was 35 crowns. The orderly called me “a malingering son-of-a-bitch” while I actually had bruises all over my body. The irony of it all was quite astounding. On the bus home all I was thinking was, “What a fucked up day. What a fucked up life.” When I came home, the house was empty, but in the kitchen there was a brand new bottle of Gordons Dry Gin, a present from the drivers girlfriend. The note said she was thankful that I had insisted that everybody should wear seatbelts in the car.
Well, that’s it folks. Funny or not, good or bad, that was one of the strangest days in my life. And don’t drink and drive, kids…
One time I went to visit my older brother at Amherst college where he was a student. I drove the older brother of a friend of his back to Boston in my father’s semi-beater Falcon wagon (mentioned in an earlier post on this thread), which had a six but usually ran on five of those cylinders, because one was constantly getting fouled. The car had the kind of power where you floor it and it feels like another person started pushing. I woiuld randomly floor the car, and go, “this car has pep in its engine!” At length, the older brother of my brother’s friend asks me, “I don’t know much about cars, but does this car really have pep in its engine or are you being sarcastic?”
Ingvar,
Amazing story. Well done insisting on the seat belts! David
In high school I played music with some friends. We had jammed all night and I passed out like a rock. A couple of other friends had driven by the house that night and noticed my car in the street (an old beater dodge shadow with one window that wouldn’t go up.)
These two intrepid friends thought it would be funny to mess with me by filling my car with inflated balloons.
They made a quick run to the store and filled the car completely with about 70 balloons. I came out the next morning to my car and had the obligatory, “WTF?!” moment.
I was due to be at work and I didn’t have time to pop all of the balloons. So I started down the road, but with my open window, the balloons started shooting around like mad! I swatted away at the balloons and made it to work about 2 miles down the road.
I didn’t even know who had done it until I was ranting about it days later. My friends couldn’t keep a straight face.
Three of us left at 2 am to go to a conference at a far-away town. We were driving a Mitsubishi Galant 2000. As the sun rose the driver and I decided that we would swop places at the next town, about 15 minutes away. I dozed off in the front passenger’s seat.
The next thing I remembered was the sound of gravel hitting the underside of the car. I woke up and saw we were heading off the road. I looked over at the driver. He was driving with his eyes closed. He was fast asleep! I grabbed the steering wheel to turn us gently back onto the road, and shouted “Hey!” to wake the driver. He woke with a fright and swung the wheel hard over. We were doing 120 km/hr at the time.
He turned too hard. The car went into the opposite lane. He turned back. The car turned sideways and rolled over onto its roof. Upside-down we skidded off the road, through the fence, into a farmer’s field. I still remember watching the grass hitting the top of the windshield and being pushed down by the motion of the car. At the last moment the car flipped over on its wheels again.
The guy who was sleeping on the back seat and the driver were unhurt. I was held upside down by my seatbelt and my neck got damaged as the roof crumpled in, but at least I’m alive.
It’s the only case I know where ALL THREE people in the car were fast asleep.
Oh, and don’t wake someone suddenly. They panic. Wake them gently.
True story:
Sophomore year of college, and 3 girls from my high school come to visit my school. I promise to take them out and show them a good time. On a Friday night in Abilene Texas for 4 underaged kids, this entails a 25 minute drive to Anson, TX to see the world famous “Anson Lights” (Google it).
I happened to drive a short cab dodge dakota (2 seats only), so I borrowed my roommates CJ-5. 1/2 way there, the U-joint connecting the front drive shaft to the transfer case gives out. The drive shaft beats on the underside of the floor like you wouldn’t believe at 75 mph. I slowed to a stop and called my roommate, who brought his tools and my truck, disconnected the front drive shaft, and drove it home.
Since my roommate had driven my truck there, and we didn’t want the night to be a bust, we decided to pile into the truck and head on out to Anson.
I had sleeping bags in the back, so 2 of the ladies shielded themselves from the West Texas winter winds by crawling in.
We went, saw the lights (the are real) and headed back. One of Anson’s finest decided that I should slow down, and pulled me over to tell me so.
Roscoe P Whatever walks up to the cab of the truck and begins to give me the “…boy, do you know how fast you were going…” speech when he notices a rustling in the bed of the truck. A lovely teenage girl pokes her little nose and eyes out at him, blinking coyly.
“Boy, did you know there were 2 girls in the back of your truck?”
Wish I had the guts to give him one of the 20 possible punchlines, but I didn’t. The Anson po-lice weren’t known for their sense of humor back then, and I didn’t want to test them.
so how did the car drive ? ?
I was in high school. This was about 1988 or so. I was dating this girl. I think it was our first date, actually. She was horny. I was, too. Who wasn’t? We were in high school. I just said that — remember?
Anyway…we went to go park my mother’s Plymouth Sundance somewhere for a little bit of “extracurricular activities,” and in the course of engaging in said activities in the backseat, I rested my head against the left rear quarter’s window. The window, one that was designed never to open but nevertheless was held closed with just one bolt at its corner, suddenly popped open, and the screw (no pun intended…) assembly flew out of the vehicle and onto the ground. …somewhere.
OMFG!!!!!!!!!!!
It was dark. I freaked. We didn’t finish our “activities.” But I put a quick, “unsatisfactory” end to them, “got decent” as quickly as I can remember ever doing so, hopped out of the vehicle, felt around on the ground for the missing bits (man…so many unintended puns in this story…), found them, and placed them in a receptacle inside the vehicle.
I proceeded to drive my date home. She was perplexed as to why I was so freaked out. I guess she didn’t understand that my mother was very much against me enjoying “extracurricular activity” with females — and there really wasn’t any way I could think of to explain why the rear side window had popped OUT (that is, without somehow trying to explain why the hell I was in the backseat…my mother was no idiot).
I was already out past my curfew. No matter — I HAD TO FIX THE DAMN WINDOW.
I sped home. About two miles from the house, I pulled onto a road that led to a yet-to-be-inhabited new housing development area. The cul desac (sp?) was well out of sight from the main road, surrounded by trees. It was midnight — very dark and scary outside. Luckily, my favorite radio station was playing a block of Led Zeppelin. I blasted the stereo, opened the doors, turned the high beams on and fixed that friggin’ window by about 12:30am.
I then drove home.
About 500 feet from the house, I began the oft-employed, elaborate process of “getting home after my curfew without my parents figuring it out.” I placed the vehicle in neutral (fewer revs equaled quieter, I used to argue to myself). I turned off the headlights and coasted into the driveway with just the parking lights lighting my way.
After the car came to a rest, I shut it off and entered the house via the basement door. I removed my shoes at the bottom of the stairs and ascended to the main level of the house. I then removed the rest of my clothes, down to but not including my underwear, before ascending the final set of stairs to the floor of the house with the bedrooms. There, I went to bed and, if I recall, probably “took care of business” before falling asleep.
Needless to say…ah, WTF? There’s no moral to this story we haven’t already heard — at least I don’t think there is. To this day, neither of my parents knows this happened. I intend to keep it this way.
I was dating this girl back in high school so it had to be like 90 or 91 that had a 90 camaro. We was making out on this back road. Well in the 90 camaro the power window buttons are in the middle of the console. Well we was doing are thing and it was getting pretty hot Well her leg moved and hit the power window switch. She start to really yell i was thinking oh yeah im really doing something. But what was really going on was her hair was caught in the window so the yelling and ahhh’s wasnt from me but her hair getting pulled by the window ha ha funny right. I ran into her and her new husband we talked i noticed she had short hair so i made the comment did you go and get your hair cut like that or did you get another camaro we laughed but her husband was in the dark