Your best story

Everybody has that one story they tell about themselves to people. Whether it was a great accomplishment, something controversial, a funny thing that happened, or something just plain cool. Everybody has atleast one of those.

Here's mine: I am the only kid to ever fail the D.A.R.E program.

Not sure how widespread DARE was around the world, so I'll explain it for those who don't know. DARE stands for Drug Abuce Resistance Education. It was taught right before or during junior high school by a police officer who would come in and tell us about the dangers of drug and substance abuse. It was an absolute joke, and I knew it from the start. This was 6th grade, by the way. 6th grade was my on-and-off semi-goth rebellious phase. But I digress.

So basically, I bullshitted my way through the "class" all the time. We had these DARE workbooks, and I would doodle syringes, knives, guns, and all sorts of fun things on the kids in the book. I also went to Newbury Comics and bought a syringe pen, especially for DARE class. I would only use it during DARE and it would drive the officer crazy. The officer, by the way, was a complete chucklehead. I was as tall as him when I was in 6th grade.

So, end of the year comes, and we're given our final assignment - Write an essay on what you thought about DARE, and read it out loud to the class. Easy.

On the day we had to read the papers, everyone wrote these BS essays about how great Officer Winchell was, and how much they learned, and blah blah bullshit. Then came my turn. I really really wish we didn't have to hand these in, because otherwise I would have had mine framed. I touched upon these topics -

- DARE was an absolute joke
- I learned nothing I didn't know before
- Any knowledge of drugs I didn't have would only pursuade me to maybe give them a shot, since they don't sound too bad.
- DARE would not stop me from trying drugs and alcohol in the future.

The entire class sat there, FROZEN, jaws to the ground. Officer Winchell looked around and said "Okay, good job Dave" and everybody gave the "what do we do now?" clap. It was fucking great.

That night, my mom gets a call from Officer Winchell. The conversation went something like this-

"I'm sorry to inform you but I can't pass your son in the DARE program."
"...And?"
"Well, I'm really worried about him. Did you read what he wrote in his essay?"
"Yes, he wrote his opinion, which is exactly what the assignment was."
"Well still, I'm worried about him... Have you seen his handwriting?"
"What?"
"His handwriting, he writes very cryptically."
"Okay, that's enough. Thank you"
*click*

So I failed DARE. I was unable to go to the graduation and get a free DARE t-shirt or bumper sticker, to the dismay of nobody except for the soccer moms who are convinced that their angels are drug free.

Interesting Postscript #1:

2 years later, the DARE program was shut down. Why? An ASTRONOMICAL increase in drug use was found in places where kids were exposed to DARE over places where DARE wasn't. God, it hurts being right sometimes.

Interesting Postscript #2:

In 9th grade, my friend's sister was driving my friend and I to my place, and I told this story. She goes "Holy fuck, that was YOU?? You're the DARE kid? You rock dude, you're my fuckin hero!"

So that was cool.

But, the most interesting of interesting postscripts is this - I didn't touch alcohol till I was 21 (except for one time on my friends birthday a few months prior), and I've only smoked pot 3 times.

DARE = Owned.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

That DARE story is great... it's sad because it's true, telling kids not to do something actually causes the opposite. That's why there are so many teenage smokers, they all think it makes them cool because they're not supposed to be doing it.

I don't have any particularly epic stories to tell people. Most my best stories just involve stupid things other people did. Like when I was playing Mortal Kombat Deadly Alliance and one of my friends looked up, saw the word "Leopard" and said "What the hell is a Leo Pard?"

There's nowhere I can't reach.

Originally Posted by DarkMageOzzie

Like when I was playing Mortal Kombat Deadly Alliance and one of my friends looked up, saw the word "Leopard" and said "What the hell is a Leo Pard?"

I have a few stories, now that I think of it... The DARE one is the definite best by a wide margin, though.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Awesome shit, sprout. I honestly passed it just so I could go to the picnic and get myself some free pajama shirts, burgers and hot dogs...

Nothing particularly wonderful on my part either, but I'll post up one if any come to mind.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Oh, Jesus. I have to narrow this down to one?

All right, I'll go back to high school for one, since I love this story.


Deni and Friend Take On the Establishment: Establishment Here Being an Art Show

Setting High School

Dramatis Personae

Deni - Our intrepid hero
MS - A long time partner in crime and one of my best friends.
Mr. Mitchel - A brand new teacher to the school.
Mr. Coleman - A teacher who got a kick out of Deni and MS' antics.
Vice Principal Henderson - A VP who gets a kick out of Deni and MS' antics, but has to be disciplinarian anyway.


Ok, so, to set the stage. Deni and MS have been friends since they were about 4, with spaces left out due to one or the other moving. It's grade 11, and neither of them are especially dedicated students. Above petty vandalism, but big into drinking and smoking pot instead of going to class and generally fucking with people. Have a reputation for being trouble makers of a high caliber. Antics ranging from instigating an inter school fight just to see if they could make it happen to rigging a student council election to convincing a local news station that someone we didn't like was staging a gay pride rally in support for those who chose the same lifestyle as him (he was, of course, straight... and quite livid when the camera crew showed up asking him about how it felt to be gay in high school) etc... etc...

So in my high school, we had this day that was fondly referred to as "Club Day." On club day, people could create a table for their school groups or clubs and have people sign up to participate. There was also the IB (International Baccalaureate... advanced classes) art show up on display. A lot of parents there to see different aspects of the school etc. Anyway, in the students section of the university, MS and I have set up our own little table and are currently hosting Pyramid Club. To join pyramid club, you pay ten dollars. For that ten dollars, we give you a pin. Now, anyone you get to join up in Pyramid club, you get one dollar for that. You get the idea. This was a follow up to our previous year's club, the United School Socialists Review, or U.S.S.R., a club that focused on musical theatre with socialist themes.

So we're running Pyramid Club, completely unhindered because the teachers and the students were distracted by the art program's little show in the auditorium. So, after a few hours of making money off first years who thought this was a good money making scheme, we get bored at no authority figures taking notice of our misbehaviour and decide to go make trouble elsewhere. So we stick some little grade 9 behind our table, tell him how the scam works, and let him make money while we go out to check out the art show.

So, the two of us are sitting outside the auditorium, watching people sort of move in and out. And we notice that there are a lot of people making really blowhard statements about the shitty pieces of art sitting on pedestals in front of us. One of them was just a bunch of melted crayons, titled "my soul" and people are milling around it, talking about the ephemeral quality of using wax, the way the melting colours are indicative of the flow from life to death, blah blah blah...

So we decide to run a little social experiment. When the hallway clears for a moment, we chuck the melty crayon soul and replace it with my buddy's leather two-tone wingtip shoe, quickly rename said entry on the appropriate card to "Vagabond shoe" and sit back to observe.

Sure enough, in a matter of minutes, we've heard "the transience of wealth to poverty" all the way to "the inherent tragedy of the world of inherited wealth." So we think this is pretty funny, and we decide it's time to put on a series of works. So, when the opportunities present themselves, we begin going down the hall replacing things. Vagabond Watch, Vagabond Rock, Vagabond Sock, Vagabond Hat, Vagabond Action Figures etc... and sure, some people got that someone was fucking with them, but the HUGE majority of people were taking it very, very seriously. My personal favourite was the "loss of innocence" portrayed by Vagabond Action Figure. As we'd positioned Skeletor to be dry-humping He-Man. Classic.

Anyway, this goes on for a while, and we decide we want to fuck with our favourite target, Mr. Mitchel. Now, Ian is a good guy. He looks like he's 12, he's 20-something, it's his first teaching gig, and he landed MS and I in a class together. It's just... bad luck is what it is. It's also unfortunate that he had a picture of his smoking hot wife on his desk, as it gave us extra ammunition to torture the poor boy whenever we wanted to.

Now, Mr. Coleman was a second year teacher who'd come to appreciate what MS and I brought in terms of entertainment, and he agreed to open Mr. Mitchel's class for us so long as we didn't tell him why we needed him to do it. Which we were happy to do, or not do, as was the case.

So, five minutes later, sitting in the hallway, is a picture of a beautiful blonde woman, titled "Vagabond Wife." So for a good twenty minutes, my cohort and I get a solid chuckle out of people talking about the significance of loss and beauty, blah blah blah. And then I hear MS mutter: "This just got awesome." And sure enough, coming down the hall is Mr. Mitchel. He walks up the row, talking out of his ass about the "vagabond" series of art, about the meaning of the shoe, the watch, even skeletor trying to bone (get it?) He Man.

Then he stopped.

And then he looked pissed.

And then he took the picture and stormed off to his class while asking everyone if they'd seen us. If he'd had the presence of mind to look in the enclaves in the side of the hallway, he could have yelled at us right then and there. But, alas, he had to wait.

So, cut to the next day. There's an assembly called for all the grade 11's and 12's, and MS and I are sitting up in the top right of the room, near the top of the bleachers. And VP Henderson launches into it. A full explanation of the pyramid scheme, and that it was not, in fact, a club. The necessity for the differentiation between a teacher's professional life and their private life. The inappropriate nature of hijacking other people's art for your own amusement, and he tops it off by saying they are unable to prove who did it, so there will be no repercussions, but the entire class had been put on "notice." The entire time he's saying this, he's glaring right at MS and I.

On your way out of the assembly, Henderson pulled me aside and said: "Funny. Very funny. But give Mitchel a break. I think he almost had a heart attack."

And that was that. I never heard about it again, except from Coleman, who brought it up at a bar a few years later when I ran into him.



Not my best personal story, but one I don't think I've told to anyone here before. All for you, Sprout.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Propped nonetheless... I get a raging boner when blowhard art twats get fucked with. Awesome shit, good sir.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

This is far from my best story but it's been a while since it happened and we had fun so I may as well relate it to you guys here.

Some years ago we were in Isla Vista drinking as is par for the course. We had just been on a pub crawl and went back to my buddy Javier's house and we were just chilling out in the living room with a few other people. Javier was very proud of one particular object in his living room: The Moose.

Quick story on The Moose. His dorm mate left an inflatable moose head behind when they moved out after their first year there. Eventually Javi took it upon himself to take back the moose and make a home for it in the living room of his new house with his housemates. Everyone loved the moose. It just hung there and looked like what he was, a visual gag. But eventually the moose took on its own personality and when people would come over there would always be a toast to the moose. Shit... The Moose still has his own fucking MySpace, OK?

So, as I said, one night we went out to a pub crawl and came back to find a party in the house. Javi's old college dorm mate was there and we proceeded to get pretty hammered. Eventually Javi and his buddy start arguing about the Moose. Apparently this prick now wants the moose back and since he's drunk he won't take no for an answer. Eventually this gets out of hand and we decide to throw the dude out of the house. We keep drinking and the next morning we wake up to find that the moose was missing. We immediately know who's behind it but decide to just let it go as petty childish behavior and proceeded to go out to eat to kill our hangovers.

A few months later we're in the living room again with a much smaller party and we're pretty drunk by 3 am. Then someone says out of the blue, "You know who I miss? I MISS THE MOOSE, MAN!!!" So out of nowhere we all get amped up to go take back the moose. Each of us downs two shots of Captain Morgans and jet out and down the street to Javi's buddy's new house determined to steal back OUR moose. We get to the house looking like a fucking lynch mob. We all huddle in front of the house and we nominate Jose in our group goes up to the door to ask for the moose back only, instead of the dude we kicked out a few months before, we are met by the girl who is house-sitting for the guy because he's out of town. My friend Jose tells her that we're not leaving without the moose and she fucking refuses. (and rightfully so; I wouldn't let random drunks into a house that didn't belong to me either) Jose comes back down and relates his failed negotiation to us at which point we decide to take drastic measures...

We all simply agree to storm the house not unlike "The Runts" in City of God when they're robbing local stores in the favela. Javi runs up, grabs the moose off the wall while the rest of us are running around the halls screaming to distract the girl. Naturally she panics and grabs a knife to chase us out of the house so we sprint out the door with Javi at the head of the pack with the moose over his head and we're running down the dimly lit street yelling at the top of our lungs. I imagine we looked like a pack of rabit cavemen with the prize kill on a pike and shouting victory grunts high off the hunt.

The cops were even called and came after us on foot and we ended up splitting up and syphoning back to the house through the alleys, parks and apartment complexes. The Moose currently resides in his housemates' new house in Goleta, CA and is still a celebrity to those who visit. We still toast to The Moose even when I'm here in Visalia.

FELIPE NO

Originally Posted by Encephalon

Shit... The Moose still has his own fucking MySpace, OK?

... That Moose has more friends then me...

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

Paco, we have a similar trophy. We did a karaoke run about four years back, and my buddy won the award for worst performance (He butchered Highway to the Danger Zone. It was epic.) and the award was this joke seven foot wooden spoon. God knows why. Now, you're supposed to carry it around as a badge of shame, I guess, and give it back. But Andrew decided if they were going to give him a fucking spoon, he won the fucking spoon (he was, as he describes it: Turbo Drunk at the time) and he was keeping it. So he bolts for the door, stumbling because he's drunk, dragging a heavy wooden spoon behind him and screaming "CALL ME MINT JELLY, BITCHES! I'M ON THE LAMB!"

So, as good friends we take off after him, toss him and the spoon in the back of my buddy's truck and peel out. Meanwhile, Andrew is in the back, middle finger in the air, nigger, grip on his balls screaming: "SUCK IT, JOHNNY LAW!" at the bouncer.

So, long story short, that spoon now sits over the door at my cabin up north and we salute it as part of the family every Summer.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

When I was a freshman living in the dorms, we'd have floor meetings once a week and we'd reminisce over the most classic failures with asking girls out. The worst story would get "The Shaft" for the week. I don't think I ever won it, though. It was pretty lame, considering my cross country team in high school had a similar trophy that was a 40-pound piece of pipe with a cap on the end that we found in the woods and spray painted different colors and chanted around at virtually every race.

I don't really have a story that I typically share about myself. I'll have to see if I can think of anything.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

I remembered this mainly because Drex mentioned asking girls out. This is actually kind of the opposite but...

There was this girl I liked in Jr. High. I think it was Freshman year of High School she just randomly came up to me and asked me if I wanted to go with her to the homecoming dance. This is where I have a complete brainfart moment. My brain goes "You don't know how to dance, say no". So stupidly the word no comes out of my mouth for some reason and she punches me in the stomach. She punched me really hard, harder then I've ever been hit and way harder then I thought a girl could ever hit me. Next thing I know she says "Jerk" and walks away as I hold my stomach and can't say anything because she knocked the wind out of me. So I'm basicly standing there thinking "What the hell just happened?". I was only like 14 or 15 at the time, but man that made me feel stupid.

Most amazing jew boots

I'm sure there are far more exciting and "talk to the table" type stories, but this is one I have somehow remembered after a while:

This was back while I was still in college, and living in the dorms. The dining hall near that end of campus also has a mini-mart type of establishment where you can purchase various food-items and household goods. I sometimes go there once in a while to buy supplies to make sandwiches (because sometimes, going to lunch in a dining hall is just not an attractive option). So one day, I was getting the usual ingredients: bread, meat, cheese, and a jar of mayonnaise and went up to the checkout counter. I was watching the price total as each item is scanned in: $1.79, $4.08, $8675035.47 . . .

Wait, what was that again?

I thought it was some sort of fluke and it would correct itself, even the cashier didn't take note of it, so I foolishly took out my meal card and decided to pay for it right then and there. The card was swiped . . . and there was a problem. Now the cashier notices. It appears that I am over 8,000,000 dollars short of paying the total. Clearly that wasn't how much I was supposed to pay, but now it has essentially cleared my card of any funds leaving me with a rather steep debt. By then I was holding up the line with this issue and the other register had to open to make sure business could still operate. They had to call in one of the higher-level managers of the Department of Housing and Food Services to come over and reverse the problem, which apparently required a lot of communications with the financial database manager so they can restore the card back to what it should contain and erase the transaction.

It took nearly 20 minutes, but the problem was resolved and I was able to buy my sandwich ingredients normally. I should be grateful the problem was resolved, but man, I should have had some sort of compensation for the trouble caused by an electronic error! maybe 99 cents off or something as a token.

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

I have one more tale of grade school notoriety that I'd like to share... Mods, maybe you can change the name of this thread to "stories" instead of "story," since it's clear that some of us have some great shit to share.

This particular tale took place over the course of 2 weeks of my junior year, starting on September 12th 2001.

After 9/11 came in and barreled over the nation, I felt like I really wanted to do something to raise spirits and just basically do my part to bring people together. I was a big Photoshop nerd at the time, so I thought of something design related. My answer hit me like a mack truck. Stickers! But not just any stickers... They had to be simple and to the point. Luckily, it came to me in an instant. A picture of Bin Laden with a big red nullset over him.

I printed off about 20 of these and handed them out to friends and family on September 12th. People loved them, and asked for more. So I went home and printed out 40.

The 13th comes, and people are SWARMING me for stickers. Literally swarming me. People who I didn't even know came up to me and said "dude are you the sticker guy?" and after confirmation, I'd hand them a sticker, feeling good and patriotic. I ran out of my 40 sticker supply before first period even started.

Friday the 14th would have to be my biggest load, since I had a feeling this fad would die down. I printed out 400 stickers. I made them a touch smaller so I could fit more per sheet, and just ran the printer until I ran out of ink. The end result was ~400.

Instead of giving people 1, I'd give them 5. I was shoveling them out by the handful, and people were fucking loving it. I too, was loving it, since I was doing my country a bit of service by rallying patriotic spirit.

By the time Monday the 17th rolled around, people were still itching for some stickers. After giving a bunch out to the guys at work, I handed out the few remaining ones I had left in my backpack from the Friday before, and that was it. But I wasn't done.

I went home and made shirts. One of them was the picture of the sticker with the words JUST SAY NO TO BIN LADEN on it in big text. I made the first one for my sister to wear and show off, and maybe get people interested the next day at school (Tuesday the 18th).

Tuesday the 18th I come home from school to find out she'd been SENT HOME. WHAT?! The principal felt that her shirt was RACIST, and therefore she needed to be sent home for sending racist messages via clothing.

People found out about it, and word eventually spread back to me that not only was the principal looking for "the kid who started the sticker craze," but so was the SUPERINTENDENT OF SCHOOLS. I was basically on the school's fucking hit list for creating stickers that they felt were racist towards Arabic people.

I'd come to find out later the reason why was because some of the cunt-punchers I handed my stickers out to were sticking them places they shouldn't have, and the school was calling it a gigantic vandalism operation that I was somehow the head of. It was obviously retarded, and if I were to ever get caught, I'd fight it tooth and nail.

Luckily, and this is where the story fizzles out, I was never caught... The stickers became outlawed and that was that. I don't know how in hell and damnation I wasn't caught considering I would pretty much yell "BIN LADEN STICKERS RIGHT HERE!" every morning for a full week. It's shocking no teacher saw me.

One thing that's always been cool, though, is that in the Market Basket dairy cooler, there is still one of my Bin Laden stickers hanging up on the cooler door for all to see. It serves as a constant reminder of one of the cooler things I ever did to rally my people together.

I was speaking idiomatically.

Nice work sprout. The only thing I did was give blood.

So I was a freshman in college back in 2002, spring semester, and I had just thrown a little shindig at my family's condo down at the beach. Good times, plenty of liquor, etc. You know how that goes. Anyway, there was a fair bit left over so I brought it back to the dorms and stored it away for another time.

I got together with a couple buddies a couple weekends later and we were just gonna hang out and (hopefully) finish off what was left. Before we get into that, I suggested that we make Hunch Punch with the remainder, since the alcoholic ingredients for Hunch Punch were mostly present.

If you don't know, Hunch Punch, at least as I know it, is made up of clear alcohol like vodka and rum, fruit juice, and a lot of fruit. You get two things out of it -- girly, fruity alcoholic beverages and fruit that's been soaked in alcohol. So we did ourselves up a batch, let it chill for a while and ate and drank to our liver's content, and then some.

Mardi Gras was nearing and Chuck, Brittney and I decided we should throw a big effin' Hunch Punch party before the main parade. Now, the freshman dorms at my school are set up in three buildings (there are more, but these three are almost exclusively freshman dorms), Delta 6, Epsilon 1 & 2. The three of us walked around and asked all the students if they wanted to donate some cash for this party so we could make it all happen. Between the three residence halls, we scrounged up a good $400.

So then we had to call "the guy." That guy who's 19, but for some reason can easily get into any liquor store and buy any amount of alcohol completely uninhibited and no one would suspect him and did just that -- bought an obscene amount of vodka and rum (obscene for us anyway. I'm sure Ence's seen more in a day) and didn't have to pull an ID out. The majority of our cash dried up there, but we still had enough. We went to the grocery store next and stocked up on well-mixing fruit juices -- apple juice, grape juice, cranberry, white grape, orange, etc. Bought some fruit as well -- oranges, apples, pears, peaches, grapes and bananas.

We get back to Brittney's dorm room and clean out her bathtub, filling it with ice and three mid-size coolers. We split up the alcohol and fruit juice equally among the coolers and let it sit for a while, getting real nice and mixed together. After that, we kept one of the coolers halfway full and set some fruit slices in there to soak up some of that mixture. Banana segments, grapes, apple slices, stc.

After everything sat for a brief period, we gathered all the fruit and put it in bowls, and all the alcohol poured into cups. We made a small chart of what everyone had donated and what that would get them on their first serving -- seconds were completely open. So we had a line of people going from Brittney's second-floor dorm room, downstairs and outside. Students were leaving her room with fruit bowls and red plastic cups in their hands, eagerly awaiting this new concoction most of them hadn't even heard of, the poor kids.

We got most of it out of her room, and after a couple of hours there were a lot of hungover students hanging out around the residence halls. The cops came by once to see what the deal was, but didn't bother to investigate the fruit bowls or cups, since all they could really smell was fruit juice. It was great, no one went to Mardi Gras that year.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

I was somewhat of a teacher's pet in highschool. I never got in trouble and so teachers never suspected me for things. But I got up to some antics. Me and my buddy Kris for the most part.

One snowy day in February, I was skipping class and my buddy kris was on spare. We were wandering around the school with nothing at all to do. It was blizzarding outside somewhat so wandering around the small town of Oakbank was out of the question. So this left the inside of the school as our playground.

The band room at our highschool had a little bit of a student lounge attached to it, and as kris and I passed by, it was empty. Save for a lone chair just sitting in the middle of the room. It was beckoning us to do something with it. So we took it. I ran in, grabbed it, and ran out of the room. We booked it to a door leading outside and took it out there.

We quickly decided to just set it in the middle of the street to see what would happen. We went back inside to watch from a window in the school lobby. A bus pulls up to the chair. (The school bus depot is right beside the highschool). It sits there for awhile. And then someone comes running out from the bus depot to move the chair. The bus driver didn't do it. He radioed in for someone else to come move it. The chair itself wasn't the funny part really. It was the fact that the bus driver was so lazy that they had to call in for someone else to move the chair.

FELIPE NO

This story happened just a few months ago. The guy's and girl's dorms at my university take it in turns to prank each other. After the first prank of the year, a lame attempt to fuck up our morning waste disposal by coating our bathroom floor in honey and tampons we decided it was time to throw a dance party in their hallway. We went and got the bass amp out of the Concert Auditorium, a handful of garbage bags, Streamers, strobe lights, one of those imitation disco balls, and my friend's iPod. We set our alarms for 3:50 AM and go to bed early.

Come 4:00 AM we sneak up to the second floor lounge in our boxers and get our gear ready. Our earlier reconnaissance work led us straight to the outlets and we got to work. Covering the all night lights with the garbage bags, setting up the lights, and blasting Daft Punk through the amp at full volume.

It took a few seconds for stuff to sink in, cause we were dancing for about a minute before any of the girls showed their faces. Many of them were clearly ticked off, but nobody knew what to do. One girl decided to join in, and that was the second best part of the night. The best was when the first floor girls started showing up.

One of them was livid. This girl ran right into the fray, shouting at the top of her lungs "Ok, this party's over." and "Go to bed" among other hysterical orders. She wound up right in my face, literally centimeters away from my nose, screaming into my face. I can tell you her breath didn't smell all that great. This girl then proceeded to unplug the amp and all the lights, even after the music had died, screaming at us all to get out of their dorm.

Upon returning to our hallway, one of our buddies, who didn't participate in the prank in favor of sleeping for his 8:00 AM class, was up and about regardless, wondering what the hell had just happened.

The next morning we realized the gravity of our prank, which made it all the better. People from the basement apartments were reporting being woken up and not too happy. My sister on the first floor gave me the break down of the girls she knows in her dorm. Some of them honestly thought the building was being attacked, locked their doors, and feared for their lives. One girl, who apparently is fiercely religious, thought it was the end of the world, and thought it was the rapture.

Just goes to show what your brain comes up with when it's not ready for the unexpected.

It's our turn for a prank next, so i'll have another story to post hopefully in a few weeks time.

What, you don't want my bikini-clad body?

When I was thirteen, the other ten guys in my year in my boarding house used to do some pretty fun (and unabashedly childish) shit after our ten PM lights-out. We'd all get shuffled around between dorms at the end of each term - there were two dorms, one for five people, one for six. One of these dorms had a layout with elephant beds (think a bunk bed with a desk in place of the bottom bunk) all around the room's edges. There was a game we'd play in which participants had to walk along the beds and make a full circuit of the room. There were a few notoriously difficult stages here, including a leap of about a yard and a half between two beds, and nothing to walk on but a very thin mantlepiece atop a disused fireplace between another two. This led to a few fun occasions: The five of us being caught tiptoeing atop one another's beds by a hardass teacher and being forced to polish shoes in the morning, one guy falling at the aforementioned leap and impaling his foot on an errant electrical plug, everybody ducking down onto the bed we were currently walking on as soon as the room's door opened.

By far the best, though, were the pillowfights. Holy shit they were amazing. There's no end of great stories from these. These things always occurred more at the end of term than any other time. They'd always wind up with them being interrupted by a fun-hating teacher and detention. There was only been one occasion on which we were caught with no repercussions, though.

What starts as a little pillow scuffle among the first-years escalates when the whole of the second-year invaded. And then the third-year. So, thirty guys, all in one dorm built for six people to dwell in somewhat cramped semi-comfort, beating the shit out of each other with pillows. It's around now that someone starts blaring the LOTR soundtrack through their speakers. And the lower and upper sixth form join the fray. That's 55 people, give or take. There are feathers everywhere. The housemaster storms into the room and gets as far as "WHAT IS GOI-" before somebody smacks him over the head. By this stage there is a full-scale revolt going on. Nobody is acting responsibly. Someone leaps onto a desk and screams "FOR FRODO!". The fight starts spilling out of this room and down the stairs. I mean, hell, why not? We're not trying to not be caught. All I remember feeling is this total feeling of freedom and elation for about an hour, which I seriously fucking needed in that kind of oppressive atmosphere.

The next day, the entire house got hauled in front of the headmaster and put on lockdown for four days. We had to constantly sign in to prove we were in the house, weren't allowed to leave and go see friends, couldn't go to town, nada. Nobody from outside was allowed in, either. Then came the total bullshit move. The last day of the autumn term ends with the carol service, and everybody going home at about 10 PM, or, should they so choose, sometime the next day. Well, the housemaster decided it'd be a fitting thing to make us all remain until 3 in the afternoon the following days, and have us clean the house and perform other mundane tasks until we were dismissed.

Everybody decided this was ridiculous. After the carol service, we organised another house-wide pillowfight, and all wound up going home that night. Nothing was said about it when we returned in the new year.

Jam it back in, in the dark.

I hardly have any real good stories, since I was pretty much homeschooled for junior high, and part of freshman year (and after that I was in a small-ass school). However, I do have a few stories to relate:

The teacher played favorites with the students like you wouldn't believe. There was this one guy, who was about my age, same grade as I was in and everything. We kept a ton of frogs and reptiles in a room off of the main classroom, and this guy used to take care of a fair few, but sorta wound down. Anyway, this guy never got in trouble. Ever. Case in point: One day, before school started we were all just milling around, and I started fucking around with the kid. One thing lead to another, and we wound up doing a sissy-slap fight right in front of the teacher. 3 seconds later we hear this:

"MIKE! THOMAS!" (For reference, I'm Thomas, the other guy's Mike).

And then the teacher does a complete double-take, and turns to me and says "Thomas, what are you doing?" All the while, completely ignoring that Mike was just as involved as me. Meanwhile, another mutual friend is just completely cracking up over this, and I am as well on the inside.

There was another guy, though, who could NOT get a break. In the headmaster's defense, the guy was a bit of a geek, jerk, and brat. He called his mom a bitch (in front of the headmaster), he played Yu-Gi-Oh while in 9th grade, he was loud, and he just... eeeeyagh. Even so, though, he was seriously harped on by the headmaster. He was in detention almost EVERY day.

Let's see... Oh, yeah. Every year during summer vacation, the teacher/headmaster takes everybody that wants to pony up out to Peru for a wildlife expedition. Apparently (I never went on the trip myself), one year everybody was hiking along a rather slippery trail on the top of a hill, when the headmaster slipped, and literally rolled down the hill.

There's nowhere I can't reach.

I figured i'd try and resurrect this thread by posting the latest prank to hit our halls.

So my roommate has never liked this guy on our floor. I can't really blame him, he's a bit dense, never stops talking, and isn't always the most enjoyable person to be around. His roommate is one of my best friends. I've learned to tolerate his existence as i hang out with my buddy alot.

So my roommate recently pulled an allnighter finishing one of his term papers. He still went to his morning classes, which left him ruined. He fell asleep in the student lounge and was there for about an hour until the annoying guy shows up. A bit of background, the annoying guy has this harem of girls who follow him around, and he flirts with them constantly, and vice versa. They usually dominate the first floor lounge, unless someone can beat them to it. I guess they wanted to take over, so he goes to the caf, and gets a pitcher of water. He dumps on my roommate, basically soaking him from head to toe.

My roommate swears revenge. He goes out to the grocery store and buys the biggest container or minced garlic i've ever seen. He takes some tin floil tart shells and fills them with the minced odor creators. He places about four or five of them strategically around the annoying guy's room, back corner of his closet, on top of the book shelf, under the bed, then steals the window handle for opening the window, and the doorstop. That room starts to smell rank. I'm amazing my buddy and the annoying guy were even able to sleep.

My buddy tells me that his room is starting to smell, and that his window handle is gone, as well as his doorstop. I'm unaware of this prank, so i sympathize. One day, i'm looking through my roomy's junk drawer for some duct tape or something, when i find a window handle and a door stop. That's when it all starts to fall into place. i confronted my roommate about it, and he confessed, but then announced that he was going to end it that night. We informed the annoying guy (when i say we, i mean all the guys on the floor bascically at once) and he's not actually angry, but relieved.

Apperantly he was terrified that it was him that was making the smell. He couldn't figure it out, so had resorted to showering three times a day to try and get clean. That part made everyone laugh.

This thing is sticky, and I don't like it. I don't appreciate it.

Well I've told this story before but I think it's worth telling again...

This tale takes place in the early summer of 1999. I was at university in Salford and doing all those things students do so well, drinking, taking drugs and having recently split up with a fairly serious girlfriend, shagging anything with tits. In Manchester, the city to which Salford is attached, there were at the time a number of clubs where during the week they had ridiculous drinks offers, sometimes as little as 50p a drink. Needless to say, we were all smashed most of the time. The routine was to hit the club, drink lots, quickly then scout around for a young lady to go home with, starting with the fittest there and gradually lowering your standards until youfound someone compliant.

On this particular evening, the drinking had reached previously unfounded levels. I'd bumped into my ex with her new boyfriend, the sleazy guy she had the audacity to cheat on me with (I can't really take the moral high ground here, I'm fairly rubbish at staying faithful in relationships and I did beat the ever living shit out of him at uni in front of all his mates and several campus security who luckily, me and a mate were paying off to turn a blind eye to our weed dealing business and who took very little interest in the whole business. Got me quite a reputation that little skuffle) and it had hit me hard so all thoughts of women was replaced with a fervent need to get completely slaughtered. So I did.

Round after round of beers with double vodka chasers; in three hours I'd drunk enough to kill a normal man and was frankly in no fucking state for anything. The night was drawing to a close and in my drunken state, I decided the time was right to go on the pull. I lurched around the club, upsetting several young women until eventually and some might suggest miraculously, I got chatting to one bird and five minutes later, we were full on sucking face.

If I'm honest, I remember very little of the rest of the evening. I remember leaving the club and getting in a taxi heading east out of the town centre (Salford, where I lived is west of Manchester). We got back to this girl's flat, a pokey dive on the edge of Mosside as it turns out, murder capital of England at the time. One thing led to another rather rapidly and we ended up attempting to have sex. I was truly plastered, absolutely incapable, I remember falling off the bed at one point and when she asked me to take her from behind I stuck my dick right in her arse, she wasn't too impressed. Anyhow, after an hour or so I passed out.

A few hours later I woke up again. I had no idea where I was, no recollection of how I'd got there and only a splitting headache to show for it. I could see a digital clock and it was about 6 in the morning. I groped around for a glass of water and it was at this point my hand encountered flesh. I looked down and saw a sight that damn near struck me blind.

Lying next to me was the fattest, ugliest trog-beast that human kind has ever spawned. She was repulsive in every way, the gold thong round her ankles gave her an air of Jabba the Hutt wearing Princess Leia's bikini. I damn near vomitted there on the spot. I rolled out of the bed and hit the floor with a bang. The she-beast grunted but luckily stayed asleep. Still fuzzy (And probably still pissed) I had only one thought on my mind, escape!

I grabbed my clothes and dressed as quietly as I could and began to sneak towards the door and freedom. At this point though, my natural criminal tendencies kicked in and I looked around the room for stuff to steal. In the end I took a couple of cds, The 1999 Ministry Album and a couple of others I didn't really want but figured I could use for coasters. I also noticed she had a table covered in shot glasses, each marked with a different national flag, clearly a full set. I stole Spain and Canada.

I made it out of the house and when the door slammed behind me I fucking RAN, randomly through the streets until I was sure she'd never find me.

Sadly this left me in the position where I had no fucking idea where I was and with an uneasy feeling that I was in Mosside. I remembered that the taxi had gone east so I did the only sensible thing, put the rising sun behind me and started walking. I found a newsagent that sold me a can of beer long before I found a main road but luckily, after a good hour of walking I found a bus stop with a numebr on I recognised. Jumped on a bus and made my way home.

When I got home my mates were all still in bed so I simply laid out my spoils of war on the kitchen table and went to bed myself. The following evening they all asked me all about it but what else could I do but feign amnesia and deny all knowledge.

I'd love to say I learned a lesson from this and I probably did. Next time, I'll nick her fucking wallet...

I am a dolphin, do you want me on your body?

Originally Posted by Shin

Well I've told this story before but I think it's worth telling again...

This tale takes place in the early summer of 1999. I was at university in Salford and doing all those things students do so well, drinking, taking drugs and having recently split up with a fairly serious girlfriend, shagging anything with tits. In Manchester, the city to which Salford is attached, there were at the time a number of clubs where during the week they had ridiculous drinks offers, sometimes as little as 50p a drink. Needless to say, we were all smashed most of the time. The routine was to hit the club, drink lots, quickly then scout around for a young lady to go home with, starting with the fittest there and gradually lowering your standards until youfound someone compliant.

On this particular evening, the drinking had reached previously unfounded levels. I'd bumped into my ex with her new boyfriend, the sleazy guy she had the audacity to cheat on me with (I can't really take the moral high ground here, I'm fairly rubbish at staying faithful in relationships and I did beat the ever living shit out of him at uni in front of all his mates and several campus security who luckily, me and a mate were paying off to turn a blind eye to our weed dealing business and who took very little interest in the whole business. Got me quite a reputation that little skuffle) and it had hit me hard so all thoughts of women was replaced with a fervent need to get completely slaughtered. So I did.

Round after round of beers with double vodka chasers; in three hours I'd drunk enough to kill a normal man and was frankly in no fucking state for anything. The night was drawing to a close and in my drunken state, I decided the time was right to go on the pull. I lurched around the club, upsetting several young women until eventually and some might suggest miraculously, I got chatting to one bird and five minutes later, we were full on sucking face.

If I'm honest, I remember very little of the rest of the evening. I remember leaving the club and getting in a taxi heading east out of the town centre (Salford, where I lived is west of Manchester). We got back to this girl's flat, a pokey dive on the edge of Mosside as it turns out, murder capital of England at the time. One thing led to another rather rapidly and we ended up attempting to have sex. I was truly plastered, absolutely incapable, I remember falling off the bed at one point and when she asked me to take her from behind I stuck my dick right in her arse, she wasn't too impressed. Anyhow, after an hour or so I passed out.

A few hours later I woke up again. I had no idea where I was, no recollection of how I'd got there and only a splitting headache to show for it. I could see a digital clock and it was about 6 in the morning. I groped around for a glass of water and it was at this point my hand encountered flesh. I looked down and saw a sight that damn near struck me blind.

Lying next to me was the fattest, ugliest trog-beast that human kind has ever spawned. She was repulsive in every way, the gold thong round her ankles gave her an air of Jabba the Hutt wearing Princess Leia's bikini. I damn near vomitted there on the spot. I rolled out of the bed and hit the floor with a bang. The she-beast grunted but luckily stayed asleep. Still fuzzy (And probably still pissed) I had only one thought on my mind, escape!

I grabbed my clothes and dressed as quietly as I could and began to sneak towards the door and freedom. At this point though, my natural criminal tendencies kicked in and I looked around the room for stuff to steal. In the end I took a couple of cds, The 1999 Ministry Album and a couple of others I didn't really want but figured I could use for coasters. I also noticed she had a table covered in shot glasses, each marked with a different national flag, clearly a full set. I stole Spain and Canada.

I made it out of the house and when the door slammed behind me I fucking RAN, randomly through the streets until I was sure she'd never find me.

Sadly this left me in the position where I had no fucking idea where I was and with an uneasy feeling that I was in Mosside. I remembered that the taxi had gone east so I did the only sensible thing, put the rising sun behind me and started walking. I found a newsagent that sold me a can of beer long before I found a main road but luckily, after a good hour of walking I found a bus stop with a numebr on I recognised. Jumped on a bus and made my way home.

When I got home my mates were all still in bed so I simply laid out my spoils of war on the kitchen table and went to bed myself. The following evening they all asked me all about it but what else could I do but feign amnesia and deny all knowledge.

I'd love to say I learned a lesson from this and I probably did. Next time, I'll nick her fucking wallet...

Nobody tops this story. Fucking. NO. ONE. This is the primary reason Deni and Shin get along like a house on fire. The pure genius of the man.

Seriously, mate. Tell this story constantly. It's never too early to see it again. Hell, just post it in graphic detail in every TQP thread we have. Learn them kids some knowledge.

I was speaking idiomatically.

So I had this friend I used to be with a lot about 5-6 years ago. We had a blast together really, doing all sorts of immature stuff and pulling bad jokes on each other as the kids we were. However, his dad I never really got along with, because somehow he ALWAYS had to walk in with us doing some stupid stuff and then he'd misunderstand everything. It's not like he ever got mad at us or something, he just always gave us this weird look and didn't know what to say so being all quiet he just walked away and tried to pretend he didn't see anything. He was a real big homophobe and he always managed to come into the middle of one of our many immature sex jokes. Like once me and my friend were fooling around like usual and we were having a competition on who could make the best and most hilarious sex moans/talk. We were sitting in the middle of the hall upstairs on a big pillow just moaning and doing some dirty talk. Then suddenly, the door opened from his fathers and mothers bedroom. Well, you could probably guess who it was. He just gave us this look as he always did and went down the stairs. The thing is I believe many times he actually thought we were "fooling around" for real. It's hilarious when you think back on some of the misunderstandings like that one (one of many I tell you), but there is one that freaked the shit out of me.

So me and my friend were watching TV at his home all alone and suddenly my friend jumped up from the sofa and went out of the living room and I heard him going down the stairs into the basement. Me still sitting in the living room thought he'd just gone to the toilet or something, so I thought while he was fulfilling his needs I'd come up with a joke or something. Then I saw the the small bust of Mozart that his father absolutely adored standing up on the grand piano. I got an idea, maybe I should trick my friend that I was trying to steal the bust and putting it into my pocket. A weird joke, I know.

So I prepared the act by standing by the grand piano looking towards the closed door to the basement, having the bust in my hand and with the head of the little bust sticking down my pocket so that I could proceed with faking to steal it right away when he came upstairs and opened the door.

I heard him coming up the steps. Slowly he ascended the steps and my adrenaline was running high. I was gonna fool him so bad. So he was getting to the last steps of the stairs and I was ready to start with the act.

Then I heard someone shouting from upstairs.

"Hey dude, what the fuck are you waiting for? Come up already!"

"Hey... Didn't my buddy just go downstairs? If not, then who is walking up the stairs right now?" In the small frame of time this all happened I started to sense something was terribly, terribly wrong.

OH SHI-

So the door was opening and I had the fucking bust half down my pocket, and I realized I had to get it out, and FAST. The stupid bust had gotten partially stuck in my pocket and things weren't looking good. But, I managed to get it out and put it onto the lid of the grand piano.

As you may have guessed, it was his father that had come home and was walking in from the house entrance which goes through garage to the basement. I stood by the grand piano, holding my hand on the bust, looking very damn suspicious. He just looked at me like he always did, said hello and walked away.

Luckily, nothing happened after that, but I still don't know today if he actually saw me trying to steal the thing or not, because it was really in the nick of time that I managed to abort the foolery and I don't know if he just didn't care or if he was just unwilling to go through with framing me for theft. I can't stop thinking about it.

What kind of toxic man-thing is happening now?

However much I try to divert away from it, my "story" always comes back to having cancer. There are far more interesting things to be told but that's always the one.

FELIPE NO