Kevin is actually pretty fucking awesome are the interestingest.
- Goto:
- Go
the_kevin1 14 years ago
*Dentist Update*
Needless to say, I do not need to give up my day job for a lucrative position as a gold prospector. Although I have had plenty of practice "panning for gold".
We are now one full week into the mystery of the disappearing gold crown with no clues nor any traces of evidence.
The dentist called me Sunday afternoon to check on me. I thought that was very nice, but it's more than likely his way of trying to avoid some sort of malpractice incident. Anyway, I confirm with the dentist that the crown has not reappeared to the best of my knowledge, but I have learned quite a bit about the human digestion process.
So now he tells me that he's 99% certain that the crown has passed. But there's a 1% chance that the crown is lodged in my lungs. He said he didn't want to mention this earlier because he didn't want to freak me out. Well, now I'm freaked out.
He goes into great detail regarding the physiology of the human throat and what happens when we swallow and what a trachea is, etc., etc. Apparently I'm not experiencing any of the symptoms of "goldcrowninthelungitis", but to be on the safe side, he wants to arrange for a chest x-ray to make certain.
Due to the fact that I have spent a week learning more than I ever wanted to know about what happens to food after you eat it, and the dentist is "99%" certain that the crown has been passed, I am abandoning the search. As far as I'm concerned, The Donner Party is long gone and I've run out of batteries for my flashlight.
Needless to say, I do not need to give up my day job for a lucrative position as a gold prospector. Although I have had plenty of practice "panning for gold".
We are now one full week into the mystery of the disappearing gold crown with no clues nor any traces of evidence.
The dentist called me Sunday afternoon to check on me. I thought that was very nice, but it's more than likely his way of trying to avoid some sort of malpractice incident. Anyway, I confirm with the dentist that the crown has not reappeared to the best of my knowledge, but I have learned quite a bit about the human digestion process.
So now he tells me that he's 99% certain that the crown has passed. But there's a 1% chance that the crown is lodged in my lungs. He said he didn't want to mention this earlier because he didn't want to freak me out. Well, now I'm freaked out.
He goes into great detail regarding the physiology of the human throat and what happens when we swallow and what a trachea is, etc., etc. Apparently I'm not experiencing any of the symptoms of "goldcrowninthelungitis", but to be on the safe side, he wants to arrange for a chest x-ray to make certain.
Due to the fact that I have spent a week learning more than I ever wanted to know about what happens to food after you eat it, and the dentist is "99%" certain that the crown has been passed, I am abandoning the search. As far as I'm concerned, The Donner Party is long gone and I've run out of batteries for my flashlight.
the_kevin1 14 years ago
There's a reason my wife tells me that I should not be allowed out "unsupervised".
A number of years ago, while still lodged firmly in the grasp of
Corporate America, a few colleagues and I decided to have a night of
laughs and drinks. It just so happened that on this particular Friday,
my blushing bride was out of town for the entire weekend.
And that was the first mistake I made.
The second mistake I made is as follows:
I jumped feet first onto the "let's get the weekend started early" bandwagon.
The original plan was to leave work, hit happy hour. have a few drinks, and
then move on to the comedy club for a few laughs. A simple evening of
fun and frivolity, and then off to bed.
But of course, one of the geniuses that was leading the group thought it would be a good idea to ditch out early and hit the first bar early. Normally, when faced
with such a dilemma in the movies or on TV, you would see a little devil and a little angel representation of yourself pop up over your shoulder. They would duke it out, make their case, and the better argument would win out.
Well, I never gave either of them an opportunity to materialize, much less say anything. I just nodded my head, grabbed my coat, and out the door I went in search of the evening's first beer.
We headed across the street to the mexican place for beer, shots, and plenty of free chips and salsa. At three o'clock in the afternoon.
After the first basket of chips, I decided it would be a good idea to leave
my car in the parking lot and get a ride home. However, I did not think
far enough in advance to get my car keys out of the car. More on that
later.
Time to get heading to the comedy club. Most of that was
a bit of a blur for me. I'm sure I laughed like a coked-up hyena, but I
really don't remember. I know that I definitely had more drinks though.
After all, it was a 2 drink minimum. And I always go above and beyond
in regards to that.
And just when I thought it I was safe and
would soon be in the warm embrace of my bed, one of the women in the
party decided that it would now be a good time to go dancing.
Did the devil and angel appear over my shoulders for this new twist to the
planned events of the evening? Hell no they didn't. Much louder than
was probably socially acceptable, I'm sure I voiced my opinion that
this was a fan-freakin'-tastic idea!
My enthusiasm for the upcoming dance-a-thon was unmatched. We made our way to American Pie. Just so happens that one of the local radio stations was there that night, playing their version of "Fear Factor".
2 of our party had made their way to the bar, found drinks for everyone, and chilled. I, with a fresh budweiser, made my way to the dance floor, solo. One of the other women entered into the faux "Fear Factor" and was eating crickets. Not really sure what happened to her boyfriend.
This is the point of the story when everything goes downhill.
Never let me near a dance floor when I am obviously severly inebriated.
Apparently, I had watched the movie "Breakin'" one too many times and thought that I could actually breakdance. No pop-lockin', windmillin', or robotin' for me though. No. That would not properly showcase my skill.
In my drunken stupor, I realized that the only way for the public to become truly aware of how skilled I was in the art of breakin', I would have to do "the worm".
And do "the worm" I did. Masterfully I might add. At least for the first few moments. I was wormin' my way across the dancefloor
when my bravado caught up to me. Instead of my arms or chest hitting
the floor and propelling the rest of my body along, my chin hit the
solid wooden floor.
I popped up quick-like, hoping that no one
had witnessed my dancing debacle. Unfortunately for me, I was wearing a
white t-shirt that evening. And as soon as I was back on my feet, the
blood starting pouring out of the gaping hole in my chin.
I was totally oblivious to this fact though, as I turned to face my
friends, dance superiority blinding me to what had just happened.
From the looks my friends were giving me, something had gone terribly awry. I was ushered into the bathroom to assess the damage and get cleaned up. It was the moment
that I looked in the mirror and saw first-hand what that damned dancefloor
had done to my face that I was able to react. Only it wasn't my mind
that reacted, it was my body. And my body did not like what I had done
to it. My body told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was time to stop
acting stupid and get home.
And how did my body tell me this, you might ask? By violently expelling everything that was in my stomach. Once that was done, the realization that I had craked my face open became abundantly clear.
Thankfully, I had big brother Gary there at my side. He got me cleaned up. But not
before the bouncers at the club kicked us out. Apparently they thought
I had been fighting and wanted me out.
First time I've ever been kicked out of a club without throwing a punch.
Although I'm sure I required stitches, I refused an emergency room treatment,
instead opting for the safety of home. (This is a running theme)
Remember how I left my keys in my car? In the parking lot? 40 miles from my house?
Yeah.
So once I was delivered at my front door step, I had no way of getting
inside. We had to break in. Don't remember much of that though.
What I do know is that I've got a nice little scar on my chin to remind me
of the situation. But that's why I grew the goatee, nobody sees the
scar, so nobody asks how I got it. And had I not just written it all
down for you here, it would have never been known.
A number of years ago, while still lodged firmly in the grasp of
Corporate America, a few colleagues and I decided to have a night of
laughs and drinks. It just so happened that on this particular Friday,
my blushing bride was out of town for the entire weekend.
And that was the first mistake I made.
The second mistake I made is as follows:
I jumped feet first onto the "let's get the weekend started early" bandwagon.
The original plan was to leave work, hit happy hour. have a few drinks, and
then move on to the comedy club for a few laughs. A simple evening of
fun and frivolity, and then off to bed.
But of course, one of the geniuses that was leading the group thought it would be a good idea to ditch out early and hit the first bar early. Normally, when faced
with such a dilemma in the movies or on TV, you would see a little devil and a little angel representation of yourself pop up over your shoulder. They would duke it out, make their case, and the better argument would win out.
Well, I never gave either of them an opportunity to materialize, much less say anything. I just nodded my head, grabbed my coat, and out the door I went in search of the evening's first beer.
We headed across the street to the mexican place for beer, shots, and plenty of free chips and salsa. At three o'clock in the afternoon.
After the first basket of chips, I decided it would be a good idea to leave
my car in the parking lot and get a ride home. However, I did not think
far enough in advance to get my car keys out of the car. More on that
later.
Time to get heading to the comedy club. Most of that was
a bit of a blur for me. I'm sure I laughed like a coked-up hyena, but I
really don't remember. I know that I definitely had more drinks though.
After all, it was a 2 drink minimum. And I always go above and beyond
in regards to that.
And just when I thought it I was safe and
would soon be in the warm embrace of my bed, one of the women in the
party decided that it would now be a good time to go dancing.
Did the devil and angel appear over my shoulders for this new twist to the
planned events of the evening? Hell no they didn't. Much louder than
was probably socially acceptable, I'm sure I voiced my opinion that
this was a fan-freakin'-tastic idea!
My enthusiasm for the upcoming dance-a-thon was unmatched. We made our way to American Pie. Just so happens that one of the local radio stations was there that night, playing their version of "Fear Factor".
2 of our party had made their way to the bar, found drinks for everyone, and chilled. I, with a fresh budweiser, made my way to the dance floor, solo. One of the other women entered into the faux "Fear Factor" and was eating crickets. Not really sure what happened to her boyfriend.
This is the point of the story when everything goes downhill.
Never let me near a dance floor when I am obviously severly inebriated.
Apparently, I had watched the movie "Breakin'" one too many times and thought that I could actually breakdance. No pop-lockin', windmillin', or robotin' for me though. No. That would not properly showcase my skill.
In my drunken stupor, I realized that the only way for the public to become truly aware of how skilled I was in the art of breakin', I would have to do "the worm".
And do "the worm" I did. Masterfully I might add. At least for the first few moments. I was wormin' my way across the dancefloor
when my bravado caught up to me. Instead of my arms or chest hitting
the floor and propelling the rest of my body along, my chin hit the
solid wooden floor.
I popped up quick-like, hoping that no one
had witnessed my dancing debacle. Unfortunately for me, I was wearing a
white t-shirt that evening. And as soon as I was back on my feet, the
blood starting pouring out of the gaping hole in my chin.
I was totally oblivious to this fact though, as I turned to face my
friends, dance superiority blinding me to what had just happened.
From the looks my friends were giving me, something had gone terribly awry. I was ushered into the bathroom to assess the damage and get cleaned up. It was the moment
that I looked in the mirror and saw first-hand what that damned dancefloor
had done to my face that I was able to react. Only it wasn't my mind
that reacted, it was my body. And my body did not like what I had done
to it. My body told me, in no uncertain terms, that it was time to stop
acting stupid and get home.
And how did my body tell me this, you might ask? By violently expelling everything that was in my stomach. Once that was done, the realization that I had craked my face open became abundantly clear.
Thankfully, I had big brother Gary there at my side. He got me cleaned up. But not
before the bouncers at the club kicked us out. Apparently they thought
I had been fighting and wanted me out.
First time I've ever been kicked out of a club without throwing a punch.
Although I'm sure I required stitches, I refused an emergency room treatment,
instead opting for the safety of home. (This is a running theme)
Remember how I left my keys in my car? In the parking lot? 40 miles from my house?
Yeah.
So once I was delivered at my front door step, I had no way of getting
inside. We had to break in. Don't remember much of that though.
What I do know is that I've got a nice little scar on my chin to remind me
of the situation. But that's why I grew the goatee, nobody sees the
scar, so nobody asks how I got it. And had I not just written it all
down for you here, it would have never been known.
EricLindros 14 years ago
You want a story?
Here's a story: [youtube]Q_lniN4L1-w[/youtube]
Here's a story: [youtube]Q_lniN4L1-w[/youtube]
the_kevin1 14 years ago
Due the fact that I was not chosen on Monday to be on the jury for the case of the rowdy redneck bar fight, I was instructed to return on Wednesday for a second round of selection.
I arrived at the courthouse about 8:50 A.M., walked through the metal detector (setting it off, but explained to the old bailiff that I was there for jury duty and he waved me through), signed in at the reception area and was directed to wait in the hallway. From there we were shuttled into a conference room down one of the back hallways of the courthouse. There were about 24 other folks in this conference room with me, which was only about an 8' x 25' box with one long table in the middle and the surrounding walls lined with very uncomfortable chairs. Had it been a 10 minute wait they would not have been that bead, but due to the fact that we had been sitting there like a can full of sardines for an hour, they weren't what you would call plush.
Justice is anything but swift.
1 hour and 5 minutes into my new life as a sardine, a clerk pokes her head into the room to see how many people would like coffee. 1 hour and 5 minutes of waiting before we were even asked if we wanted coffee, let alone told anything about the day's proceedings.
Before the coffee has even arrived, another clerk pokes into the room and starts calling out numbers. The people to which the numbers correspond are shuttled out into the hall for round one of today's selection process. This leaves 9 of us in the conference room.
unfortunately, out of the remaining 9, one woman felt the need to speak for the next hour. Not anything of any significance, but rather to hear the sound of her own voice. I can only imagine that this woman has an issue dealing with silence. I mean, how bad do you need attention that you are willing to read aloud from the newspaper inserts the price of paint at the local Home Depot?
Due to her constant blabbering I did learn a few things about my fellow juror. She was a former professional painter. She does not use any tape, drop cloth, or rollers. She sticks to a simple brush and a damp paper towel. She also confessed to not being able to lift a five gallon bucket of paint.
Well good, now I can die happy with this newfound knowledge.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
I wanted to take the very pen that I was writing with and stab her in the eye. Unfortunately, I know this would only convince her to make more noise, and that's something I'm trying to avoid. On the upside, due to the extremely close proximity of the courthouse, maybe they can try my case in less than a week and I can enjoy the silence of solitary confinement.
Her phone rings. She states, out loud, that she does not know who it is that is calling her. A wave of concern washes over me until I realize that I don't care! And neither does anyone else in the room, as is evident by the cumulative rolling of the eyes.
At 11:30, those of us remaining are finally cattle prodded into the court room and into the jury box. It is finally our turn to be asked questions to try and get out of jury duty. My standard response of "death penalty" is ready and waiting.
This is the case of the woman caught with Mary Jane.
We are asked questions about negative experiences with police officers, to which I raise my hand, stating that up to this point in my life I have yet to have a positive experience, and give them an example of one of the many times I have been pulled over and searched while waiting on the drug dog to sniff my car. We are asked if we have ever indulged in the smoking of cannabis. The painter lady states that she has puffed previously, as do I. We are the only 2 out of 14 that make this claim. Somehow, I think that some of my fellow jurors were lying. Especially dreadlocks one row down from me.
For whatever reason, neither the defense nor the prosecution liked my answers well enough to keep me for the trial.
And so I return home, 50 dollars of my tax money back in my pocket, and the equivalent of bed sores on my ass from sitting in those uncomfortable office chairs for 4 hours.
I now consider myself a patriot.
I arrived at the courthouse about 8:50 A.M., walked through the metal detector (setting it off, but explained to the old bailiff that I was there for jury duty and he waved me through), signed in at the reception area and was directed to wait in the hallway. From there we were shuttled into a conference room down one of the back hallways of the courthouse. There were about 24 other folks in this conference room with me, which was only about an 8' x 25' box with one long table in the middle and the surrounding walls lined with very uncomfortable chairs. Had it been a 10 minute wait they would not have been that bead, but due to the fact that we had been sitting there like a can full of sardines for an hour, they weren't what you would call plush.
Justice is anything but swift.
1 hour and 5 minutes into my new life as a sardine, a clerk pokes her head into the room to see how many people would like coffee. 1 hour and 5 minutes of waiting before we were even asked if we wanted coffee, let alone told anything about the day's proceedings.
Before the coffee has even arrived, another clerk pokes into the room and starts calling out numbers. The people to which the numbers correspond are shuttled out into the hall for round one of today's selection process. This leaves 9 of us in the conference room.
unfortunately, out of the remaining 9, one woman felt the need to speak for the next hour. Not anything of any significance, but rather to hear the sound of her own voice. I can only imagine that this woman has an issue dealing with silence. I mean, how bad do you need attention that you are willing to read aloud from the newspaper inserts the price of paint at the local Home Depot?
Due to her constant blabbering I did learn a few things about my fellow juror. She was a former professional painter. She does not use any tape, drop cloth, or rollers. She sticks to a simple brush and a damp paper towel. She also confessed to not being able to lift a five gallon bucket of paint.
Well good, now I can die happy with this newfound knowledge.
Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!
I wanted to take the very pen that I was writing with and stab her in the eye. Unfortunately, I know this would only convince her to make more noise, and that's something I'm trying to avoid. On the upside, due to the extremely close proximity of the courthouse, maybe they can try my case in less than a week and I can enjoy the silence of solitary confinement.
Her phone rings. She states, out loud, that she does not know who it is that is calling her. A wave of concern washes over me until I realize that I don't care! And neither does anyone else in the room, as is evident by the cumulative rolling of the eyes.
At 11:30, those of us remaining are finally cattle prodded into the court room and into the jury box. It is finally our turn to be asked questions to try and get out of jury duty. My standard response of "death penalty" is ready and waiting.
This is the case of the woman caught with Mary Jane.
We are asked questions about negative experiences with police officers, to which I raise my hand, stating that up to this point in my life I have yet to have a positive experience, and give them an example of one of the many times I have been pulled over and searched while waiting on the drug dog to sniff my car. We are asked if we have ever indulged in the smoking of cannabis. The painter lady states that she has puffed previously, as do I. We are the only 2 out of 14 that make this claim. Somehow, I think that some of my fellow jurors were lying. Especially dreadlocks one row down from me.
For whatever reason, neither the defense nor the prosecution liked my answers well enough to keep me for the trial.
And so I return home, 50 dollars of my tax money back in my pocket, and the equivalent of bed sores on my ass from sitting in those uncomfortable office chairs for 4 hours.
I now consider myself a patriot.
DEMO 14 years ago
I can't believe from that story, that people aren't lining up in droves for jury duty 
mrdorkbutt 14 years ago
Speaking of, one day the family was in the ol' family truckster As we waiting to pick up my second oldest son after the town's Ye Olde Christmas parade. It was about 10:00 - but being December quite dark -- and as we sat there basking in the green glow from dashboard, the silence was finally broken by our 6 year old (at the time. 8 now).
He was sitting in his car seat behind me and he turned to his older brother, Sam, and says, "Sam, can I please call you Kevin."
"Kevin?" Sam says.
"Yes, Sam. Can I call you Kevin" my littlest continues.
"I guess so" says Sam.
There is about two minutes of silence and finally the little boy says, "Kevin is the kid at school that eats paste."
That is where nicknames come from right there.
He was sitting in his car seat behind me and he turned to his older brother, Sam, and says, "Sam, can I please call you Kevin."
"Kevin?" Sam says.
"Yes, Sam. Can I call you Kevin" my littlest continues.
"I guess so" says Sam.
There is about two minutes of silence and finally the little boy says, "Kevin is the kid at school that eats paste."
That is where nicknames come from right there.
mrdorkbutt 14 years ago
Ok, my turn for a real story:
Back in...2006 I was at a conference in Cork, Ireland -- technically at a golf resort in Blarney outside of Cork. Its an international conference I go to and there are representative from about 25 different countries on a given year. Nicest people in the world.
Anywho, it was the 2nd to the last night of the conference and I happened to be seated next to one of the Swedish delegates. As you can imagine, beautiful girl. Young, thin, blonde and gorgeous. Small boobs -- irrelevant -- but everything else was perfect.
We happened to be among the youngest at the conference which had an average age of 50+. I was just shy of 31 and she was probably 27ish. We started to bond over that. You know, you kind of seek out people in your own age group. So we begin talking about what its like to be young at our various organizations, you know? How hard it is to be taken seriously when ever one else is 20 years your senior. How hard it is motivate them to do what you tell them to do.
Then we talked about what its like going from the private sector to the public sector. About how the level of urgency isn't the same in the public sector and how hard it is to bring about change.
I'm not going to lie to you, I was doing well with this girl. I was funny. I was insightful. She had a big smile on her face -- probably really desperate to have someone around her age to talk to, really -- and before long it was just the two of us there. Our chairs were point together, we were enjoy our meals, a little wine and a nice evening.
I love my wife. I do. (12 years married this past Saturday) She is pretty and fun and makes more than I do. It was never my intention to cheat on her -- though she'd have given me a high five if I'd banged this chick. It was just one of those moments where you try and see if you've still got it. Its a case where I just to hold a young woman's attention for a bit. I wanted to feel interesting and capable and to know that if I was single, that night I could have gone balls deep into this Swedish babe.
So after maybe 30 minutes we get to a bit of lull in the conversation. I look up from my plate and I turn my head towards her toward her and I innocently ask, "so, do you live in Helsinki?"
"I'm sorry, what?" she responds.
"Do you live in Helsinki or do you have to commute into work?" I repeat.
She frowns. "Helsinki is in Finland", she says.
Stereotypes are ugly things sometimes (other times they are amazing time savers) and they can dismantle a good conversation like a wrecking ball. In that one brief moment I had reinforced every ugly American stereotype ever.....we are ignorant about anything not America....we are dumb as rocks....
Five minutes of awkward later we were done. Our chairs were pointed in opposing directions and we never said another word to each other the rest of the conference.
And that is my story.
Back in...2006 I was at a conference in Cork, Ireland -- technically at a golf resort in Blarney outside of Cork. Its an international conference I go to and there are representative from about 25 different countries on a given year. Nicest people in the world.
Anywho, it was the 2nd to the last night of the conference and I happened to be seated next to one of the Swedish delegates. As you can imagine, beautiful girl. Young, thin, blonde and gorgeous. Small boobs -- irrelevant -- but everything else was perfect.
We happened to be among the youngest at the conference which had an average age of 50+. I was just shy of 31 and she was probably 27ish. We started to bond over that. You know, you kind of seek out people in your own age group. So we begin talking about what its like to be young at our various organizations, you know? How hard it is to be taken seriously when ever one else is 20 years your senior. How hard it is motivate them to do what you tell them to do.
Then we talked about what its like going from the private sector to the public sector. About how the level of urgency isn't the same in the public sector and how hard it is to bring about change.
I'm not going to lie to you, I was doing well with this girl. I was funny. I was insightful. She had a big smile on her face -- probably really desperate to have someone around her age to talk to, really -- and before long it was just the two of us there. Our chairs were point together, we were enjoy our meals, a little wine and a nice evening.
I love my wife. I do. (12 years married this past Saturday) She is pretty and fun and makes more than I do. It was never my intention to cheat on her -- though she'd have given me a high five if I'd banged this chick. It was just one of those moments where you try and see if you've still got it. Its a case where I just to hold a young woman's attention for a bit. I wanted to feel interesting and capable and to know that if I was single, that night I could have gone balls deep into this Swedish babe.
So after maybe 30 minutes we get to a bit of lull in the conversation. I look up from my plate and I turn my head towards her toward her and I innocently ask, "so, do you live in Helsinki?"
"I'm sorry, what?" she responds.
"Do you live in Helsinki or do you have to commute into work?" I repeat.
She frowns. "Helsinki is in Finland", she says.
Stereotypes are ugly things sometimes (other times they are amazing time savers) and they can dismantle a good conversation like a wrecking ball. In that one brief moment I had reinforced every ugly American stereotype ever.....we are ignorant about anything not America....we are dumb as rocks....
Five minutes of awkward later we were done. Our chairs were pointed in opposing directions and we never said another word to each other the rest of the conference.
And that is my story.
mrdorkbutt 14 years ago
Seriously, does anyone kill a thread faster than I do these days? I used to get PM'd "Oh, you are so funny man. I love it when you post". Now I am the conversation ender. I am the Omega.
Crazy.
Crazy.
DEMO 14 years ago
Quote:
Originally posted by mrdorkbutt
Seriously, does anyone kill a thread faster than I do these days? I used to get PM'd "Oh, you are so funny man. I love it when you post". Now I am the conversation ender. I am the Omega.
Crazy.
You've obviously never paid attention to my posting
Honda_X 14 years ago
Quote:
Originally posted by mrdorkbutt
Seriously, does anyone kill a thread faster than I do these days? I used to get PM'd "Oh, you are so funny man. I love it when you post". Now I am the conversation ender. I am the Omega.
Crazy.
I love your posts and think you're hilarious.
Honda_X 14 years ago
I should probably post more epic stories, take some of the epicness of the shoulders of the other guys up in here being awesome.
hydrahead 14 years ago
So, this:
A few years ago I went skydiving. This is my story.
I was at a friendâs house. This friendâs place was the party place of all party places. There were about seven of us hanging around and we started talking about going skydiving. Everyone was all about it. Lotâs of âhell yeahâ going on. When the day we had agreed upon finally came, only me and my friend actually showed up. Bunch of pussies.
We were in the classroom next to the hanger learning all the steps to take if your chute does not fully open. Like that awesome last resort where you pull the red handle that lets your main chute go, leaving you with only the back-up chute between you and the fast approaching earth. Anyway, we were sitting there in the classroom and this hot blonde chick walks in and chats with the instructor for a second and then leaves. I was thinking âawesome, hot chicks skydiveâ âbonusâ âhigh five friendâ
Then, bonesaw.
The owner of the place comes in the classroom and says âdue to what just happened we are closed until further notice. refunds will be handed out shortlyâ We were going âwhat the fuck happenedâ We found out the plane that took the skydivers up to jump had engine trouble and had to attempt to land in field short of the runway. The field was rough and the plane ended up nosing forward bouncing the nose on the ground. Basically our plane had crashed. No one was seriously hurt but we were done for the day.
Me and my friend went to another skydiving place the next weekend and got to finish the class and jump. We went back the following weekend and jumped again. It was awesome.
A few months go by.
Iâm at my office one afternoon deciding where to go for lunch. I decide to go to a nearby strip club and have a burger and watch some girls dance. (I realize having a lunch at a strip club is probably riskier than skydiving) Iâm sitting at a booth eating my burger and fries and this very attractive blonde chick sits down to chat with me. Sheâs topless, so Iâm enjoying my burger and talking to her and looking at her very fine titties. She starts telling me she just got back from the Osh Kosh Airshow. She is a pilot and loves to fly. Iâm thinking âSure you are. Whatever. You just sit there looking pretty. Iâm almost out of here.â I told her of my experience at the skydiving place a few months ago where the plane crashed.
She was like âOH MY GOD, THAT WAS ME!! I WAS PILOTING THAT PLANE WHEN THE ENGINE DIED AND I HAD TO LAND IN THE FIELD AND BOUNCED IT IN ON THE NOSE!!!!
She ran to the back and got her photo album. It had pictures from the airshow in Osh Kosh and sure enough, she had pictures of the crashed plane.
I was going to trust this hot little blonde stripper with my life.
A few years ago I went skydiving. This is my story.
I was at a friendâs house. This friendâs place was the party place of all party places. There were about seven of us hanging around and we started talking about going skydiving. Everyone was all about it. Lotâs of âhell yeahâ going on. When the day we had agreed upon finally came, only me and my friend actually showed up. Bunch of pussies.
We were in the classroom next to the hanger learning all the steps to take if your chute does not fully open. Like that awesome last resort where you pull the red handle that lets your main chute go, leaving you with only the back-up chute between you and the fast approaching earth. Anyway, we were sitting there in the classroom and this hot blonde chick walks in and chats with the instructor for a second and then leaves. I was thinking âawesome, hot chicks skydiveâ âbonusâ âhigh five friendâ
Then, bonesaw.
The owner of the place comes in the classroom and says âdue to what just happened we are closed until further notice. refunds will be handed out shortlyâ We were going âwhat the fuck happenedâ We found out the plane that took the skydivers up to jump had engine trouble and had to attempt to land in field short of the runway. The field was rough and the plane ended up nosing forward bouncing the nose on the ground. Basically our plane had crashed. No one was seriously hurt but we were done for the day.
Me and my friend went to another skydiving place the next weekend and got to finish the class and jump. We went back the following weekend and jumped again. It was awesome.
A few months go by.
Iâm at my office one afternoon deciding where to go for lunch. I decide to go to a nearby strip club and have a burger and watch some girls dance. (I realize having a lunch at a strip club is probably riskier than skydiving) Iâm sitting at a booth eating my burger and fries and this very attractive blonde chick sits down to chat with me. Sheâs topless, so Iâm enjoying my burger and talking to her and looking at her very fine titties. She starts telling me she just got back from the Osh Kosh Airshow. She is a pilot and loves to fly. Iâm thinking âSure you are. Whatever. You just sit there looking pretty. Iâm almost out of here.â I told her of my experience at the skydiving place a few months ago where the plane crashed.
She was like âOH MY GOD, THAT WAS ME!! I WAS PILOTING THAT PLANE WHEN THE ENGINE DIED AND I HAD TO LAND IN THE FIELD AND BOUNCED IT IN ON THE NOSE!!!!
She ran to the back and got her photo album. It had pictures from the airshow in Osh Kosh and sure enough, she had pictures of the crashed plane.
I was going to trust this hot little blonde stripper with my life.
- Goto:
- Go
