Most stupid thing you,or I, ever did

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
101

I’ve dug through the memory banks trying to think of a stupid-funny thing instead of a stupid-mushy thing I’ve done. Failing in that, I’ll offer up a stupid-pathetic thing, instead. Warning, it’s a novel.

I’m a country bumpkin who’s led a very sheltered life. So, 5 years ago, at the tender age of 22 or so, when my younger, cooler, sister and her boyfriend asked if I’d like to join them and her friend Joey for a weekend of clubbing in Portland, I said, “Yippee! A chance to get out of the house and be cool!”

Joey lived in The Dalles, about 80 miles east of Portland, and we lived in Willamina, about 60 miles south of Portland, so we had quite a long drive going out to pick him up and then turning around and going back to Portland. My sister drove her '76 Maverick so big sister was relegated to the back seat. The trip got off on a bad foot when Joey joined us and boyfriend Matt was also relegated to the back seat. Boyfriend no like playing second fiddle to 16 year old gay twerp (my sister was, at the time, a raging f** hag). Especially when twerp thought it was the height of cool to blast songs from the “Brady Bunch” at top volume. So he sulked the 80 miles back to Portland. (My sister was 20 and her boyfriend was 17, so maturity levels weren’t real high, either.)

We had fun bumming around Portland that afternoon, though, shopping at Django Records, The O-Zone, Route 66, Magpie’s, Powell’s World of Books, I forget where-else, and eating at The Roxy. That was the fun part of the weekend, except for the sulking boyfriend who hated that my sister was lavishing all her attention on Joey. Finally, sun set and we headed to The City, Portland’s only (so far as I know, anyway, but I’m a sheltered bumpkin) all ages gay night club. That would have been fun, too, except Joey hooked up with some guy in a dress named Scotty who was hanging with his friends , a goth chick named Anita and her boyfriend “Tweaker.” Sometime after midnight, Joey, Scotty, Anita, and Tweaker (these names are burned into my memory) decided it would be fun to visit “Witches’ Castle” and “tell ghost stories” until sunrise. We’d never heard of Witches’ Castle, but we were assured it was a “real” haunted house in some park downtown. Or maybe it was a cave. I remember names better than details. Bonnie and Matt protested, but peer pressure got the better of them. Me? I didn’t dare protest, I couldn’t let them think I wasn’t “cool”.

So we all piled into my sister’s Mav. She and Matt sat up front and the rest of us were squished into the back. We were squeezed in so tight that Tweaker could repeatedly “accidentally” cop a feel and, again, I couldn’t let them think I was cool so my lip was zipped.

The only way to access the park was by walking down about 100 wooden steps set into a hillside. Did I mention I’m extremely acrophobic and it was pitch black? Bonnie and Matt refused to participate, but … sigh… you know the drill. So Joey, Scotty, et all, get me down the steps and we set off on a cement path to “Witches’ Castle.” By this time, a light rain was falling and none of us were wearing coats. Well, maybe Tweaker was. I don’t know how far we walked, but the whole way Anita kept saying things like, “I’m really sensitive spirits and they’re all around us, I can feel them, I can see them!” trying to freak everyone out. We walked up hills and down hills, we walked and walked and walked… did I mention I’m disabled and walked with a pronounced limp? But I couldn’t tell them how tired and sore (not to mention wet) I was getting because etc., etc.

Suddenly Matt came up out of nowhere and said he and Bonnie were getting worried because we’d been gone so long. Note we still haven’t arrived at any “Castle.” They assure him we’re almost there and will be on our way back shortly. He says OK and heads back to the car. Oh how I wish I’d joined him. But no, I’ve walked an hour in the rain, I’m going to see a g–damned “Witches’ Castle” if it kills me. You have to know what happens next, though, right? I mean, Bonnie and Matt said they’d seen it coming a mile away but poor naive sister was clueless.

After Matt left, Joey took me aside and says, condescendingly (how humiliating), “We’re about to do something very bad.” It was crank. No, I didn’t touch the stuff, I just stood off to the side weeping while they snorted it up. The walk back to the car seemed much quicker. We didn’t have to go back up the wooden steps because Bonnie had found another place to park at the foot of the hill. Cold and wet, we piled back into the Maverick and headed back to The City where Scotty, et al, were dropped off, leaving just the original 4 musketeers. It was 3:00 AM and the club was going to close in an hour. They tried to convince us to stay, but we were too tired, too angry, too disappointed. We started to head back to The Dalles to spend the night with Joey’s family, but my sister was too distraught by the whole experience; she was tired, crying, driving erratically (hey, what was she so upset about? She just had to sit in a car for two hours, I was the one dragged over hill and dale in the rain by druggies!), so I convinced her to pull off and find a motel. I had my mom’s credit card for emergencies, so we got a room with two beds; of course Bonnie and Matt in one, me and Joey in the other. I was freezing cold at this point and couldn’t get warm; I probably had hypothermia. It was about 5:00 AM when we got to bed, and I just laid there for at least an hour shivering, watching the sun rise and listening to trains go by. I considered snuggling up to Joey for warmth, but it probly woulda freaked him out.

Management called at 11:00 AM and kicked us out. Exhausted and bedraggled, we took Joey home where his sweet mom fixed us French toast. I came down with a raging case of the flu and missed about a week of work. Joey said he’d call, he said he wanted to come hang out in the sticks and see how the other half lives, but we never heard from him again. All in all, lessons were learned and life went on.

“I hope life isn’t a big joke, because I don’t get it,” Jack Handy

Are we kin? Visit me at The Kat House and find out!
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102

When I was a sophomore in college, I spent a semester interning as a writer/producer at CNN’s Detroit Bureau. It was awesome, and everybody there seemed to like me and the job I did.

But, because I then had to go back to college and finish three more years (as it turned out), and because I didn’t know any better, I let all of my ties with those folks kind of fade out. If I’d have cultivated the relationships I’d started there, I probably could have gotten a real nice job with CNN out of it upon my graduation. As it went, everybody in that bureau has moved on to much bigger and much better things with CNN (this was 11 years ago now).

A little lighter one involving Mrs. Milo: I was in the living room one night; she was in the kitchen doing dishes. I hear a loud, odd noise, hear her yell, and come out and she’s on the floor, looking dazed. Fortunately, she was OK.

During the course of doing the dishes, she’d somehow managed to conk herself on the head with a pot she was washing, and almost knocked herself out. Years later, I still haven’t figured out how she managed that.

Give me immortality, or give me death!

103

Thank you for the welcome. This is a great thread and I’m glad I’ve joined.

I called one of the friends to find out what the theory was on letting me drive.

Jen was the owner of the car. She tells me that at the time I looked completely in control and I assured her that I would be safe to drive such a small distance (we were only about 1/4 mile from our destination). I guess I proved her wrong :wink:

I don’t remember this part of the story at all. I just remember being handed the keys and getting in to drive.

Knowledge is not wisdom

104

Ah, I remember my very first college chemistry class…

We were using hoods (sort of like fireplaces, used to vent dangerous gasses or flames) to cook up some hydrogen in test tubes. You were supposed to hold the bottom of the test tube over the bunsen burner. We were told not to set the contents of the tubes on fire. I had no problem with that, as I was a little nervous about doing this. Well, my lab partner at the time was very hot, and I sort of got distracted by her, and the next thing I know, there’s a very loud whoosh and a big flare up. In my distracted state, it startled me, so I dropped the test tube, knocked over the bunsen burner, and fell back into the next table. Needless to say, I later switched lab partners (or perhaps it was the other way around) and I never found the courage to speak to her again (again, perhaps the other way around).

Blessed are the Fundamentalists, for they shall inhibit the earth.
*

105

well, unlike many of the fun stories posted here, mine happened only a little while ago. In the throws of celebrating me (EEEEK) 26th birthday at the back to college bash i was having, i decided to try to cram the 5 years of college into one night of party. i did not take into account that my liver, constitution and tolerance had all decreased significantly since college. so needless to say starting the funnel at 4:00 following it with the booze luge (combining mandarine vodka, fire water, and something bright green, maybe apple scnapps) and chasing it with a couple of swigs from the keg, running around, eating cake and some kind of pasta creation, only to start the whole process again, none of this was a good idea. but i was having fun. some of it gets a little blurry, and at one point, i remember sitting at the bottom of the stairs, puking into a bowl (i think) then the next thing i remember is puking in the toilet bowl. at one point i brushed my head against the rim of the bowl, and realized that my forehaed was sore. next thing i know it was the morning…i dragged my self into the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and realized that i had rug burn all over my face…from what i have been told…i was mid sentance halfway down the stairs when i stopped talking, looked up, and passed out, landing on my face and sliding down on the burber carpet…OUCH, i was the point of humiliation for at least a week at work, and of course, the reference for any story of drunken debauchery to come.
point being…college happens when you are young for a reason :eek:

106

My brother and I had a kiddy bow and arrow set, the kind with suction cup arrows. One evening we got bored with that, and had the bright idea of pulling the suction cups off and replacing it with a foam rubber ball.

We took turns shooting each other with it until on the last shot I nailed him right between the eyes.
He started hollering and clutching his head while I ridiculed him for being a baby, until I saw the blood. After wiping the blood away we found a neat semi-circular cut in his forehead. It turns out that with each successive impact, the arrow shaft drove a little bit further through the ball…

VB
I’ve performed a complete diagnosis of your car. It’s broken.

  • A Wally original!
107

My brain torments me endlessly with reruns of all the stupid things I’ve done. Here’s one.

Sophomore year in college, during fraternity rush. I was in a fraternity, and we were trying to impress freshmen by taking them on a road trip to a local girls-only school and getting them hammered. Three cars left our frat house that night, in a sort of caravan, with plenty of beer under the cover of darkness.

I’m driving my 1981 Pontiac Grand Prix and my car is second in line in the caravan. We’re on a two-lane interstate and the lead car in the group pulls into the left lane to pass a slow-moving truck. I do the same.

Just as I do, two headlights come up behind me at high speed and disappear under my bumper. I figure that this is car #3 in the caravan, my friend Scott, and he wants to race or something. I floor it.

Our car passes the slow-moving truck at 80 MPH, well on its way to 115 MPH. (Top speed is estimated, as the needle buries at 85.) I pull ahead of car #1 and shift into the right lane with the pedal still to the metal. Right at around 115 I decide to look over and notice that I’m not racing car #3, but a Virginia State Trooper.

The trooper’s light revolved once or twice, to warn me to slow down, and then he took off . I slowed down to 55 and tried as best I could to stop repeating “Oh my God…Oh my God” over and over again.

After arriving at the girls-only school party, we tried to figure out how badly I would have been screwed if that trooper hadn’t had somewhere else to be:

  1. Several guns and several boxes of ammo (left over from our fraternity shooting event) were stashed in the trunk.

  2. Three cases of beer in the passenger compartment. Several open containers. No one in the car was even CLOSE to 21 (all 18- and 19-year-olds).

  3. Radar detector on the dash ($500 fine).

  4. Several car occupants had full bat boxes in their pockets. (Bat box = 1-hit marijuana pipe and reservoir)

All this, plus the 115 MPH in a 55 zone would have probably gotten me on COPS: Stupidest Lawbreakers #4 or something like that. Luckily for me, I was spared.

“Hand me my wallet…It’s the one that says ‘Bad Motherf**ker’ on it.”

108

Wow! This thread has really brought out the newbies! Welcome aboard, Y’all!

VB
I’ve performed a complete diagnosis of your car. It’s broken.

  • A Wally original!
109

Most stupid things I do involve me injuring myself.

Incident#1 - Age 12. A pencil fight with my friend. You now where you pretend there swords and you poke each other. Well we didn’t want to hurt each other so we pointed the eraser end towards one another. Well when I poked my friend the lead pointy end went right through my hand. I still have scars on both sides of my hand to prove it.

Incident#2 - Age 16. Jumping on a trampoline and tried to do a backflip which I did not land. The result was my knee smashing into my face breaking my nose. Here’s the stupid part…tried the same thing one month later with the exact same result. I haven’t tried since then.

Incident#3 - Age 18. Started drinking early in the day. My friends didn’t think I could break a beer bottle over my head. Well I proved them wrong but I sliced my right index finger to the bone. That didn’t slow me down though. We later went to the bar, 20 some tequila later I took some endo’s (speed). This was my demise. As we were walking outside the bar I see a shopping cart. I start running with the shopping cart. I fall still clenching the handle of the shopping cart grinding my knuckles across the pavement. Result = ripping off 5 of my figure nails and a whole lotta pain. I’m still not done for the night though. I get home and strap on the roller blades. Now we all know this is going to lead to more pain. So me and my friend start truckin it down the street and I wipeout hard. Tearing off a good portion of the skin that was left on my hands. I wake up in the morning covered in my own blood on my floor.

110

Last month at work, talented attorney decides it’s silly to call for help to move a bunch of boxes of documents and books, so overeducated attorney takes first heavy box of books, turns round to put it on one of those standing box-carts (you know - the ones on which you can stack up about five boxes, then you have to tip it slightly so it goes up on its wheels and you can pull it?) and as gifted attorney leans forward and plunks it on the cart, the handle is set in motion, and whacks her head with extraordinary force, knocking her out in front of many amused people on her hall.

Ooh, I love your magazine. My favorite section is `How to increase your word power’. That thing is really, really… really… good. – Homer, ``Mr. Lisa Goes to Washington’’

111

Well, the stupidest thing in recent memory involves taking the Metro home from a night of solo drinking. I used to do that a lot.
I got off the Metro and came up to the bus depot and my bladder started setting off alarms. It’s a good 45 minutes to home, including waiting for the bus, so I hie off behind some bushes and let go against the building. After that I didn’t stick around for the bus - I took off for the nearest pedestrian exit, hoping none of the cops took notice. And there were plenty of them.
Oooh, really stupid, peeing on a building when you’re drunk.
Yeah, but it was the Pentagon.

All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don’t know who you are…

112

Well, the stupidest thing in recent memory involves taking the Metro home from a night of solo drinking. I used to do that a lot.
I got off the Metro and came up to the bus depot and my bladder started setting off alarms. It’s a good 45 minutes to home, including waiting for the bus, so I hie off behind some bushes and let go against the building. After that I didn’t stick around for the bus - I took off for the nearest pedestrian exit, hoping none of the cops took notice. And there were plenty of them.
Oooh, really stupid, peeing on a building when you’re drunk.
Yeah, but it was the Pentagon.

All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don’t know who you are…

113

  1. When I was a junior, I went on a college trip to China for a month (supposedly to learn.) My father had given me an Ativan to take on the plane in order to sleep on the eleven hour flight across the Pacific. I thought I needed more for the ride home so I helped myself to about eight which I placed in a baggie. So, here I am travelling in Communist China with a controlled substance in a little plastic bag distributing them to my friends. Could have ended up in an “Midnight Express” type flick.

  2. As a kid, 13 or so, filled up a tennis ball with gasoline (easier than you may think), lit it, and rolled it down the neighborhood hill. Three yards were lit on fire, one uncontrollably requiring the fire dept. Somehow escaped getting caught.

  3. Sober, fried an ice cube. Biggest mess ever.

114

Think cold day and flagpole. I was eight years old and I had done it a couple of years earlier and I thought " I wonder if my tongue will still stick to the flag pole. I tried it , it stuck untill I ripped it off. When I felt the blood in my mouth and saw the skin on the pole I thought " I won’t do that again."
This trait must be genetic. My sister once locked her car and put her car and apartment keys in her mouth. In December. In Saskatchewan. It must have looked funny to see her reach into her mouth, pull out her keys and scream.

I just keep looking at the metal ice cube tray in the freezer and go hmm…
Keith

I cant tak my mouth is rozen to the tay. Hep me peeze.

115

Two stories: one old, one recent. Shows how little I’ve learned in life.

One.

I’m 16. I’ve got a stepsister who’s maybe 12; naturally, I torture her incessantly.

We’re in the kitchen, and I get another bright idea on how to torment her. I grab her, put her in a headlock, and drag her over to the stove. It’s a gas stove; to turn on a burner, you twist the control all the way, then just a little bit more, and you get the click-click-click of the igniter before the foom of the flame being lit. Here’s my bright idea: I hold my sister’s head above the front left burner. Then I twist the control for the back right burner, figuring the click-click will scare her, and then the flames come on somewhere else, and it’s a harmless prank.

Right? Wrong.

Me, the moron, I grabbed the control FOR THE ONE SHE’S OVER by mistake. When it comes on, the flames engulf her head, catching her copious hairspray. “Oh shit!” sez I, turn off the burner, and put out her head with my hands.

She is uninjured, but she stinks like, well, burned hair, and her head is a frizzy mass. I spent the next hour trimming off all of the twizzled ends and made her promise not to tell. A true moron moment, indeed.

Now, to prove I’m just as stupid as I used to be, this next one happened just last year.

Two.

My wife and I decide to have a barbeque out in the back yard. I pour the briquettes into the lighting chimney (I don’t know the official name; it’s a fat tube you light the coals in, so they burn more efficiently when you’re getting started).

I look around for some lighter fluid, but the one we had out there is now empty; I forgot to buy a refill. My wife says, “You want me to go to the store?” Me, the moron, I say, “No, I’ll just look around the house.” I’m figuring maybe the landlord has a can of lighter fluid sitting around in the basement; we’ve found all sorts of other odds and ends.

So I wander for ten minutes. I find the gasoline for the lawn mower, but hey, I know better than that, right? Because I find something that looks cleaner and safer.

Two words: CAMP FUEL. Yes, that clear stuff, part white gas, part who knows what all, you put into Coleman stoves and lanterns and such.

I say, hey, this has to be better than gas. I pour a big paper cup of it and take it up to the grill. I dribble it slowly over the coals in the chimney. I know it’ll burn different than the regular lighter fluid, but I’m not quite sure how, so I let the fuel soak into the briquettes for a while before I light it, figuring that’s safer. I explain this to my wife, who’s sitting fifteen feet away, reading. She gives me the raised eyebrows, but doesn’t otherwise object, assuming I know what I’m doing.

Then, to be extra safe, instead of using a lighter or a match like usual, I twist up a roll of newspaper, to make a slightly longer tool, so my hand isn’t right next to the chimney when I light the coals, just in case something goes wrong. I light the newspaper, and reach for the base of the chimney.

WHAP

That’s the only way I can describe the sound. I don’t really remember it clearly, because at the same time, it’s like I got hit in the chest with a truck.

I go flying back seven or eight feet and bounce off the porch. My wife is immediately up, worried; she felt warm air. I can see her mouth moving, asking if I’m okay, except my ears are ringing. All of this clears up in a few seconds, and I’m relatively uninjured (scrapes from hitting the porch and crashing to the cement), but… damn.

Then I notice: The coals are burning, nice and normal, as if nothing untoward had happened.

That’s when my wife goes into hysterical laughter, and I know I’ve done something really, really stupid.

Those are probably my top two. Lord knows I’ve been responsible for much other mayhem, though…

Movie Geek Central – Reviews, news, analysis, and more! http://moviegeek.homestead.com

116

Ok ryan i got one for ya. Still not as bad as yours but its still bad.

My friend Jeff opened his new store yaaa, the guy worked note: worked on computers for a living. Now this is way way way back when i didnt know what a modem was.
My other friend told me that if you were to lick the end of a power cable for the monoter one of those that plugs in to the CPU, not the wall then the salt on the end would make the power flow better ensuring that the monoter could drain what ever power it needed to always look better.

So the next time i am down there he sets up some computers with Doom and hooks us up with some god awfle contraption that lets us play like we were over a LAN.

Now i reach back and unplug the power cable from the computer not the monoter if i did that the power would have still been commign from the computer, i ain THAT dumb lick it then go to plug it back in.

Well Jeff had looked for a store that would be comferting to walk around in bare footed he is a comfort based guy and insisted that the store have thick carpets.

sigh well with a snap crackle and pop the floor cought on fire. Jeff walkign around bare foot comes around the corner to see me holding a wet plug to the back of a sparkign computer and the carpet flamming up.

Well in the long rin the whole place burnt up distroying his shop about 13 ready to e sold computer sand parts for more, a childs clothing store that was next door to him. And a flower shop before the fire people could get it out.

I still thank good that he told them that he was hooking up a system and it must have had a bad power sourse.

The actual events were only known by me and him. And now ya’ll know.

And remember kids Alt+F4 makes your computer run faster. =)

Remember Franklin Osis,
Father of his Clan.
Three Strengths he gave us:
The jaguar’s spring that brings an enemy down,
The jaguar’s claw’s that rend the enemy’s heart,
The jaguar’s taste for the enemy’s hot blood.

-“The Remembrance” (Clan Smoke Jaguar), Passage 104, Verse 18, Lines 5-10

117

Since the maming of family members is a topic as well as of late, let me teel you a li’l story.

I was about seven years old, and my sister must have been five. I had recently gotten one of them trainticket-sets for my birthday (you know, fake tickets, hat, whistle, signalling device, and a pair of them ticket pliers [don’t know if that’s the word, but I’m sure you know what I mean]). The pliers were especially realistic, and I loved playing with them. It started out innocently.

My mother was away for the weekend, so my father had to watch out my sister and I didn’t kill each other. Believe me, this was not a very distant possibility - we were at each others throats most of the times.

Why it happened, I do not know. All I know it my father was lying asleep on the couch in the living room, and we were playing upstairs, relatively unsupervised.
For whatever reason, my sister and I got into a huge fight (it’s not like we needed a reason, mind you). Since I was in full Ticket Clipping mode, I thought it would be a need idea to take my sisters cheek in my hand and threaten to clip it with my nifty plyers. But because I was angry (believe me, this girl could basically get me berserk ) no matter how much I restrained myself), I must have underestimated the force I was excersizing.

Yup, you guessed it. Clipped a neat little hole right through her cheek :smiley:

She still has a tiny scar, at 25 years now. But we get along nicely, contrary to the old days.

Boy, I have NEVER seen my mother so pissed off…

Defect borg:
“Refutile is sistance. Your ass will be simulated”.

WallyM7 on Coldfire:
"Yeah, he knows a little about everything because they have a good prison library."

118

Please excuse my poor spelling and horrible English. My friend “1997 Rioja Faustino VII” also wants to apologize for that :smiley:

119

Used to own a house on lake Erie. Long narrow property, maybe 55 ft wide and 800 ft deep. House was halfway down the length of the property, up on a hill, maybe 70-80 ft above lake level.

A friend of mine from out-of-town used to visit there. We had a sort of hobby of having a few beers, and building model rockets. Got tired of that, and graduated to the build 'em yourself version, using plastic tube, plastic sheet, duct tape, whatever we could find. Made it easier to put in multiple engines and the like. Being safety-conscious, we used to launch these over the lake, figuring the odds of fire would be cut considerably.

I can clearly recall the last launch. A fine piece of work, three engines in it. It was very disappointing when the first engine lit, and the contraption landed in the lake about 30 ft from shore. I still can’t explain how it took off from that point.

We lost sight of it while the second engine was still going, before the third ignited. At that point, it was probably 150 feet above the house, gaining altitude and headed towards town. I always wondered what sort of reaction it created when it landed…
p.s. Coldfire: Faustino… is that the one with the picture of the guy (or really ugly girl) on the front, looks sort of like George Washington? Nice stuff. But hard as hell on the typing, I’ll bet.

120

Ok, if the rocket didn’t sound stupid enough…

I once went to a sushi restaurant in Mexico. And paid the price that is totally predictable to anyone with any sense.