I was in Madison,WI for a rugby match and after the game myself and 3 team-mates tracked down a mutual friend of ours who was tending bar in Madison. As the night wore on, I realized my friends and I had nowhere to sleep. Our bartender friend invites us to sleep at his house, gives me the address, and says " there’s beer in the fridge, I’ll be there when I’m finished closing the bar."
So, we go to our friend’s house, there’s beer in the fridge and we start drinking anew. It’s taking a while for him to show up and we’re getting impatient. We crank the stereo, turn all of the furniture in the living room upside-down, and are generally having a good time when the front door opens and two strange guys walk in, give us dirty looks, and walk down the hall into bedrooms! 5 minutes later some other guy walks in, looks around and checks the fridge. He yells from the kitchen “Did you guys drink my beer?” we answer “yes” and this guy walks down the hall and goes to bed.
Around 15 minutes later, our friend shows up and asks “What the hell are you guys doing?” ,my buddy says “Partying!!”, and our bartending friend says “but I live upstairs!”
We were partying in the wrong apartment! And the best part? We stayed there until the beer ran out.
This one happened when I was about twenty minutes old.
After I was born, my dad called my next door neighbors (who were babysitting my 5 year old brother and my 3 year old brother), and asks to speak to Ben, the elder of the two.
“Guess what, Ben? You have a new baby brother!” my Dad says excitedly. My brother replies,
Yeah, but they had plenty of more conventional weapons (40mm grenade launchers, M-60 machine guns…)
Some poor dumb Gook sniper squeezed off a tracer into the C-team (batallion-size unit) camp. M16s, M60s, 60 & 80mm mortars, a Browning .50-cal MG or two… :eek: Smoking hole in the ground.
More ironic than funny:
Then there was the time Sgt. Vargas bought two silk pillowcases right before they got called out on a job (cover for the extraction of another team that got hit hard). Vargas stuffed the pillowcases down the front of his fatigue shirt and went off to war.
So they’re out in the jungle fighting, and Vargas take a 7.62x59 (about the same load as a .30-06) machine-gun bullet right in the chest. He starts yelling “I’m shot! I’m shot! Medic!”
Dad says “Shut up Vargas, the Lieutenant’s shot, half of his head’s gone! You’re not shot. Quit whining.”
“Yes I am!”
“No you’re not! I’ve never heard anybody shot in the heart bitch about it so much.”
They get back to the camp, and decide to check Vargas out just so he’ll shut up. There’s a hole in his shirt. Now they’re starting to believe him. They cut his shirt off, and find the silk pillowcases spun into a ball. They unwrap them, and the bullet falls out of a pillowcase! It had wrapped up in the silk and stopped. All the damage to Vargas was a bruised sternum.
Okay, funny story coming up, but FIRST things first, sweetie, {{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{Spidey}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}} if you need me to come beat someone up, just give me the time and place, and I’ll be there!!
Okay, Billy is my youngest son, he’s now 16, but he was only 3 when this happened [he’d kill me if he knew I was telling this yet again!!] DJ [oldest son] was playing in a kiddie pool with a good friend of his. We had a screened in porch that I had been watching them from. Both kids were 7 years old. I had Billy inside on the porch playing with toys on the floor, fully clothed at the time.
The phone rings, and while I’m on the phone, Billy runs through the screened porch door jumping into the pool fully clothed. I call out to him through the window, to get out of that pool, ‘you’ve still got your play clothes on!’
He sticks him thumb promptly in his mouth, getting out of the pool slowly. I turn to hang up the phone, and in that short moment of time. I hear DJ and his friend laughing like crazy. I open the door, and there is Billy back in the pool buck nekkid having the time of his life! I gasp, ‘BILLY!’ and DJ still giggling says, ‘Well, mom, you DID say, he still had on his play clothes, well NOW he doesn’t!!’
[sentimental]Felt like resurrecting a good thread…[/sentimental]
Almost a year ago, Mahaloth, two of our friends, and I went to Big Boy for dinner. We drove separately to meet there. After dinner, we were getting ready to leave and one of the friends noticed she didn’t have her keys. She automatically assumed that we had done something to them. My friends, who enjoy teasing her since she is extremely gullible, played along. (NOTE: We have done nothing to her keys.) We would innocently say we didn’t know where they’re at as fake as we could. We were getting a real kick out of her hysterics.
After five to ten minutes of searching for the keys and her accusing us of hiding them, we head out to her car to see if she locked them in her car. They weren’t there. Now we were a little worried about what happened to the keys but still amused by our friend. She goes back inside and comes back out with no results. We’re trying to retrace her steps from the car to inside at the table.
Then she finds the keys. They were lying on the ground, slightly underneath her car. She must have dropped them while getting out of the car. Does she admit to dropping them? Of course not. She thinks we put them there when she went back inside. Quite adamantly she insists that she couldn’t have dropped her keys because she never drops her keys…
And then…
she
drops
her
keys
and
they
fall
back
underneath
her
car.
Her face turns flush red and all she can say is “Shut up! Just shut up!”
Here’s a story that I think is funny, my mom doesn’t for some reason however.
My mom was a truly great cook. she would cook anything that you could mention, from any country on earth, but I was 6 years old, so I didn’t know that they wern’t normal for every American house…
When I was in kindergarden, we had planned a culture day. The teacher asked our mothers if they could cook any unusual ethnic dishes. When they got to me I said no, my mom never cooked any ethnics. The teacher said ethnicity meant thing from other countries, With understanding I happily piped up that my mom could cook English Muffins. Somehow the word eventually got back to my mom(who took alot of pride in her ability to cook) what I had said, and man, was she pissed and embarrased(And I had no idea what was going on at the time). So when ‘culture day’ rolled around my mom cooked at least 15 dishes of curries, and stir fries, and roasts, and sauces, and soups, and deserts, just to preserve her pride in front of the other mothers.
Daughter 1 (8 at the time) convinced Daughter 2 (6 at the time) that Daughter 2 was invisible. This went on for a good 15 minutes, Daughter 2 getting right in #1’s face, dancing around, etc…Daughter 2 just recently learned that it was a joke (she’s 14). All this time she thought she really had become invisible during those 15 min.
That’s pretty good, Lyllyan.
I have a story I only recently remembered:
A woman was phoning a florist for flowers and banners for a relative’s funeral. She said, "I want a white banner with gold lettering. I want it to read ‘Rest In Peace’ on both sides, and, if there is room, ‘We Shall Meet in Heaven.’
The flowers and banners were duly prepared and delivered to the site of the funeral.
The banners read:
REST IN PEACE ON BOTH SIDES
IF THERE IS ROOM WE SHALL MEET IN HEAVEN
