On Stressful days I want to get an old fashioned mace and go postal.
Sometimes I daydream of being a bank robbery. not one of those stocking over theface jobs, but really well planned…
No comment (except that I’m free saturday night ;))
I’ve driven over 100 mph (speedo only goes to 85, but I timed a mile in 35 seconds and still accelerating) in my 360 cid V8-powered '84 Jeep Grand Wagoneer (scary–it has the aerodynamics of a sailboat, if you know what I mean)
Denied urges:
murder (self-explanatory)
suicide (more of an “I wonder what’d happen if I…”)
pulling fire alarms
I’ll think of more later…
Sometimes I want to shoot people with paintballs while sitting in my room on the third floor. If for anything, just for the look on their face.
I think I might try to realize Cranky’s fantasy when I go out to dinner this weekend…
My fantasy is somewhat similiar to Cranky’s, only mine would be revenge on customers.
See, I would take my Kmart vest and a fake nametag to another Kmart. When any customer asks me for help, I’d be like, “Fuck off!” Or something like that!
I just REALLY want to do that. Is that so wrong?
Man we did this all the time in my High School. I have a feeling the urge the librarian always had was smashing one of us preppified punks over the head with the Webster’s New World Dictionary. Then quietly going back to her work.
Q: Fastest in a car?
A: 132 mph. in a Toyota MR-2. I was young and coming back from Chicago. Had to blow off grid-lock induced steam.
I don’t know why, but I’ve always wanted to do bad things at the gas station. Fill up my tank. Gaze at the person behind the counter, and then just drive off like nothings wrong.
When I do go in to pay I have an overwhelming fealing of saying, “This is a stick-up! On the floor and knowone gets hurt. You hear me!?! Empty the register and don’t forget about the safe either!”
Finally, when you get your car fixed and the mechanic is motioning you into the work bay, I’ve always wanted to just floor it right into him. 'Closer, closer, that’s it." Screech… vrooommmmm! “Take that with your silly butt hand gestures!”
You know, I always assumed that bank robberies are like, 98% solved, but I was reading an article in the KC Star the other day that claimed that only 47-53% of all robbers are ever caught. So go for it! 
J/K
Gnut: I may have to do that after I quit Best Buy.
Grendel: I’ve had friends that did that, it would have been funny if it was at a college campus or something, but they went through an ‘old growth’ neighborhood and shot unsuspecting old people. That’s just wrong.
Xizor: In my thrice wrecked old beast of an Escort, I did that all the freaking time. It was GREAT, seeing the look on the road crew’s faces as this juggernaut car careening down the road, slamming into barrels and cones and sticks (the white ones, plastic, with reflectors on the top that are permenantly set into the road in places)
Sua: The first day of ever class, I try to get a feel if I should get a front seat, or a door seat.
Zoing: Same urge. Usually a very attractive young lady.
–Tim
I don’t really care for fire alarms or jumping, but I do wonder how it would feel if I was on a bridge, and it suddenly collapses, and me falling onto a truck. I always think about the different levels of pain if it collapsed as I reach the other end.
My other urges though are mainly of course the head-on thing, red-lining the car on the freeway and watching the faces of the other drivers as I go 120km/h past them as if they were standing still, and going from a dime to 200km/h next to a police car at a intersection.
While waiting in a room, I hate those people with those cell phones that have a extra-loud ring, and having it ring once a minute. I want to take the phone, throw it in the garbage, walk away, and not say a word. Same with pagers.
I hate people who state the obvious. I just want to tell them they’re a fucking idiot or shut the fuck up, and walk away.
As for the top speed, I only have my learners also, but I had to go 160km/h a week ago on the highway to pass some ass who accelerated just to not let me exit. I had the urge to just go beside him and push him off the road.
I think I know you well enough to venture a guess: You’re such an honest person that you realize you couldn’t possibly Dine & Dash, but you want the feeling of being bad, so this is how you deal with it…fantasizing about being bad.
Damn…forgot to add my own 2 cents. I frequently want to shoot people. Not random people, but in a vigilante-ish kinda way, I want to blow away people that need to be blown away.
Our head librarian probably had the same urge.
This doesn’t qualify as an urge per se, but I was one of the few people in my school to be banned from the library for a semester. Not for the hidden book trick, but for playing chess.
Oh, all right. We were playing chess but had smuggled in some drinks from Pup 'N Taco. The chess game was pretty contentious, and it degenerated into a mini food fight.
Do you work at MicroHellhouse? When I did I wanted to do that with my phone almost non-stop.
This weekend I was mistaken for an employee 3 times in different stores. This happens quite often. I’m dying to have some cranky person go off on me. It would be fun… the person goes nuts, we walk over to the service desk, the manager listens to the complaint, and then “well, he does not work here…”
Then the gigglefest.
Someone did this to me last week. When they got next to me I rolled my window down (only about 30mph or so) and yelled MY CAR WEIGHS FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS!!!
He looked at me, paused and said “what?!?!?”
I mentioned that I wanted to change lanes and my car weighed five thousand pounds. (big ugly and old- and '86 chevy caprice station wagon registered weight 5185 lbs.)
He slowed down.
I moved over.
I exited.
I smiled quietly to myself.
Dry,
A food fight over chess. Cute.
Urges I was proud of myself for not following: I want to shove the staff of the Warrenty Center into the Phos coat tanks at work. The next ten people who expect my lab to discover what was originally wrong with a part after they have messed with it can join them.
“Can you tell what made these scratches?”
“What scratches?”
“Well, it was scratched, but I sanded it to see how far down they went, can you test it for contamination or something?”
“Hey guys, we got another one, chem’s good on the tanks? Sir, I have place for you to swim.”
I’d really love to kick a sanctimonious neighbor’s ass right up amongst his ears and have to stay away from him 'cause I might get a little crazy some day and try it.
Sometimes have to resist the urge to write scatological / ridiculing / threatening letters to various leaders. And sign my real name! (Lust for dubious fame).
How 'bout walking into City Hall smoking a joint and offering the Mayor a toke (more of a fantasy than an urge).
I’ve got some others that are even more preposterous.
Top speed: 158.781 mph, clocked on the flying mile at a land speed trials. Vehicle was a stroked, Harley Davidson Sportster, which I still own. May ride it again, someday.
luck,
filthy
Hey, chess is a really competitive game! Yes, the food fight was more over being wild spirits (and immaturity) than it was the chess game, per se. And no, I don’t condone poor sportsmanship (though food fights certainly used to be fun). But yeah, we’ve gotten into (mostly not super heated) disputes over far more frivilous things.
[QUOTE]
*Originally posted by Wonko The Sane *
**
I used to get mistaken for an employee EVERY TIME I shopped at a Brentano’s during my lunch hour (no suit, just regular dress clothes and a tie). I was always tempted to send a customer on a wild goose chase, but I never did. I simply told whoever asked that no, I wasn’t an employee.
Lame, I know. Mea culpa.
I can never pass a public fountain without the urge to jump in. In fact that DID almost get me arrested, many years ago…
My friends and I, after playing quarters for a couple hours (that was my first mistake) on a hot, hot night, decided to find some relief from the heat. I had a great idea.
Gist of the story is that I came that close to being hauled off to the station by an irate cop who caught me in the midst of the big Norwest Bank fountain. It was bar time on a Saturday night, d’oh! and I was actually wearing a SWIMMING suit, double d’oh! It was a BANK fountain, not that there’d be any SECURITY GUARDS around, you moron, d’oh d’oh D’OH!
I think the only thing that saved me was the answer to the cop’s “How old are you anyway?”
Twenty seven. Oh, to be young and foolish again…
For the women who posted that one of their urges was to take their shirt off in public, there was a report in the Chicago Sun-Times today that one of the delegates to the Republican National Convention in Philly, a woman from North Dakota, took off her shirt upon the request of security personnel because they told her that all the campaign buttons on the shirt were confusing the metal detector. The problem was, the woman had nothing on under the shirt. (Well, whether that was a problem or not depends on who you ask.) The thing that, umm, attracted my attention was that the woman took off the shirt immediately, without any argument and knowing she didn’t have a bra on.
Fastest for me was 128 mph in my 1992 Plymouth laser RS 2.0 litre. I think I would have gotten 130 but I ran out of road!
One time my dad and his future brother-in-law (sister’s BF) were on I-20 (in '68 or so, before it was finished and there was very little traffic). My dad was the passenger. They passed a police car. 5 minutes later, they passed the cop again, after turning around…going 135 miles an hour.