What's the dumbest thing you have done, and will admit to?

junkxj

junkxj

Well poop!!!!!
Joined
Nov 19, 2014
Location
Mexico!!!!!!
I will admit, I have done some stupid shit in the course of my life...
One of the best (I will admit to), is deciding to construct my own "fire logs" to help build a fire in the fireplace when I am too lazy to do it the correct way.
My thinking at the time was that store bought "logs" are just compressed wood scraps with something to hold it together.
Well, considering I work in a wood shop, I decided I have all the makings to my very own diy fire logs.
I placed wood chips, saw dust and some small shredded pieces of cardboard in a square mold I happened to have. I used a liberal amount of vitamin G to hold it all together, and used a press to compact it enough to hold it's shape.
And I thought, damn that was clever.
Well, that night I place my creation in the fire place, get the firewood ready to place on once it was burning...
I light one corner, and the next thing I know I am 5 feet back from the fire place and there are small burning embers all over the room.
It was funny once the the smell of burnt hair faded over the course of a few days, and my eyebrows grew back.....

Am I the only one who does stupid shit?
 
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Sure, I'll play...

It was a nice warm NC Saturday afternoon at the auto hobby shop on base, I was working on my Jeep (like always). I took a swig of the Mountain Dew I had sitting on the work bench...needed to change fuel filters on the Jeep, so I dug through the trash can there at my work bench to find an empty bottle. Eureka, I found an empty soda bottle...just so happened to be Mountain Dew...don't know what it is with Marines and the Dew, but everybody and their brother tends to drink it...until you get promoted to SSgt, then change over to Diet Coke, but I digress...

I slide my asses under the jeep, disconnect the fuel hose and let it drain into the Dew bottle, then drain the remaining fuel from the filter into it as well...cap it off, set it on the floor next to the rear tire. I go back to the work bench, swig from my Dew again. I decided at this point it was time to reward my hard work with a little smoky treat.

So, I perform a textbook about face maneuver from my work bench (not really though, just makes for amusing writing), and step off for the sun-bleached retreats of the AHS parking lot, to the acceptable distance from the bay door to light one up. As I am walking, I reach down for my Dew bottle and make my way out the door. Right before I put a cigarette to my lips, I turn the bottom up on the bottle. I'm one big swallow and another mouthful into my chug when I came to the shocking revelation that it wasn't Mountain Dew coursing it's way to my gut. Immediately I spew what was in my mouth, and consider shoving fingers in my throat...

The first thought that crossed my mind was "well....shit. I think I just might die tonight." Before I try to make myself puke, I have a thought. It burned like fucking hell going down, and think it might be worse coming back up. I'm pretty good at keeping my wits about me under pressure...kinda was beat into me to do that. So, I mosey on over to the tool counter. Perhaps threw a saunter in there for a step or two as well. I coolly ask the gentle-turd behind the counter if he has an MSDS manual.

He says, "yeah, somewhere. Looking for something in particular?"

"Yeah, um...I just swallowed some gas, so I need to see what my best course of action right now should be."

He immediately cleared his chair like someone lit his ass on fire, yelling "oh shit! oh damn, where is that book!?"

"Be cool, bro-heim, I'm the one that swallowed the go-juice...you keep looking for that, I'm gonna go chug some water, mmkay?"

Meanwhile, about 17 gallons of water later, I dosey-do back to the tool counter, and he finally found it...turns out I was right not to puke my toenails up. I was supposed to only drink water to dilute it. As it turns out, drinking the liquid doesn't do any harm (well, I won't say it doesn't, but that's a different conversation altogether). The problem is aspirating the fumes coming up through your esophagus...I honestly was afraid to fall asleep that night. It didn't matter what I drank, what I ate, how many times I brushed my fangs, gargled mouthwash....nothing was getting rid of that nasty flavor. And don't even mention if I belched...

Needless to say, I never got that damn cigarette that day!
 
UTfball68 said:
It’s not doing dumb shit...its just finding ways that don’t accomplish what you were trying to do.

But yeah...for whatever reason, I still reach for the water bottle any time there is carb fire. Every...single...time.
Click to expand...


I have a great story of a carb fire, on my brothers boat in the middle of lake norman. It involved a carb spewing fire, and my brother telling another friend to spray starting fluid on it...
But that's another story....
 
Scooter402 said:
Sure, I'll play...

It was a nice warm NC Saturday afternoon at the auto hobby shop on base, I was working on my Jeep (like always). I took a swig of the Mountain Dew I had sitting on the work bench...needed to change fuel filters on the Jeep, so I dug through the trash can there at my work bench to find an empty bottle. Eureka, I found an empty soda bottle...just so happened to be Mountain Dew...don't know what it is with Marines and the Dew, but everybody and their brother tends to drink it...until you get promoted to SSgt, then change over to Diet Coke, but I digress...

I slide my asses under the jeep, disconnect the fuel hose and let it drain into the Dew bottle, then drain the remaining fuel from the filter into it as well...cap it off, set it on the floor next to the rear tire. I go back to the work bench, swig from my Dew again. I decided at this point it was time to reward my hard work with a little smoky treat.

So, I perform a textbook about face maneuver from my work bench (not really though, just makes for amusing writing), and step off for the sun-bleached retreats of the AHS parking lot, to the acceptable distance from the bay door to light one up. As I am walking, I reach down for my Dew bottle and make my way out the door. Right before I put a cigarette to my lips, I turn the bottom up on the bottle. I'm one big swallow and another mouthful into my chug when I came to the shocking revelation that it wasn't Mountain Dew coursing it's way to my gut. Immediately I spew what was in my mouth, and consider shoving fingers in my throat...

The first thought that crossed my mind was "well....shit. I think I just might die tonight." Before I try to make myself puke, I have a thought. It burned like fucking hell going down, and think it might be worse coming back up. I'm pretty good at keeping my wits about me under pressure...kinda was beat into me to do that. So, I mosey on over to the tool counter. Perhaps threw a saunter in there for a step or two as well. I coolly ask the gentle-turd behind the counter if he has an MSDS manual.

He says, "yeah, somewhere. Looking for something in particular?"

"Yeah, um...I just swallowed some gas, so I need to see what my best course of action right now should be."

He immediately cleared his chair like someone lit his ass on fire, yelling "oh shit! oh damn, where is that book!?"

"Be cool, bro-heim, I'm the one that swallowed the go-juice...you keep looking for that, I'm gonna go chug some water, mmkay?"

Meanwhile, about 17 gallons of water later, I dosey-do back to the tool counter, and he finally found it...turns out I was right not to puke my toenails up. I was supposed to only drink water to dilute it. As it turns out, drinking the liquid doesn't do any harm (well, I won't say it doesn't, but that's a different conversation altogether). The problem is aspirating the fumes coming up through your esophagus...I honestly was afraid to fall asleep that night. It didn't matter what I drank, what I ate, how many times I brushed my fangs, gargled mouthwash....nothing was getting rid of that nasty flavor. And don't even mention if I belched...

Needless to say, I never got that damn cigarette that day!
Click to expand...

about 1978 friends and I were riding BMX bikes where the I-40 overpass was being built @ US 1 /South Hills in Cary on a hot summer day. An older "friend" went to get gas for a dirt bike and used a 16 oz Mt. Dew bottle as a gas tank. I was parched and unaware he was holding a bottle full of gas when he came back from the store. I asked if I could have a sip and he handed me the bottle. I turned it up before he could stop me, choked, spewed it out and swallowed some too. I tried to make myself puke w my fingers in my throat, but it didn't work. Knowing his ass was in a sling he drove me the store and bought a quart of milk I drank and spit for an hour, along w a few gallons of water from a spigot @ the south hills mall where he worked.

a quart of milk between the gallons of water will sooth the plumbing, but the burps are something I'll never forget o_O
 
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I think I’ve told this story before...but a few years ago, there was that Jerky outlet beside the Harley Dealership (not sure if either are still there) across from concord mills. The jerky outlet had some ghost pepper jerky...bought, started eating it...walked next door to check out the Harley showroom. Had to take a piss...guess what’s still on my hands...oily ghost pepper/jerky residue. Didn’t take long to realize the mistake I made. I’m making all kinds of noises in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles trying to hump the water faucet basically. Felt like hours, but probably only about 3 minutes before some people come in to check on me...tell them to get my girlfriend (now wife). I tell her to get milk. So she runs up to the gas station and grabs some. She gets back I cut the top 1/3 off the half gallon of milk. And that’s the story of how I wound up half naked on the floor with my junk submerged in a half gallon of milk at a Harley showroom bathroom. Had a thumb print and two finger prints on my little Ben for a few days.
 
Scooter402 said:
Sure, I'll play...

It was a nice warm NC Saturday afternoon at the auto hobby shop on base, I was working on my Jeep (like always). I took a swig of the Mountain Dew I had sitting on the work bench...needed to change fuel filters on the Jeep, so I dug through the trash can there at my work bench to find an empty bottle. Eureka, I found an empty soda bottle...just so happened to be Mountain Dew...don't know what it is with Marines and the Dew, but everybody and their brother tends to drink it...until you get promoted to SSgt, then change over to Diet Coke, but I digress...

I slide my asses under the jeep, disconnect the fuel hose and let it drain into the Dew bottle, then drain the remaining fuel from the filter into it as well...cap it off, set it on the floor next to the rear tire. I go back to the work bench, swig from my Dew again. I decided at this point it was time to reward my hard work with a little smoky treat.

So, I perform a textbook about face maneuver from my work bench (not really though, just makes for amusing writing), and step off for the sun-bleached retreats of the AHS parking lot, to the acceptable distance from the bay door to light one up. As I am walking, I reach down for my Dew bottle and make my way out the door. Right before I put a cigarette to my lips, I turn the bottom up on the bottle. I'm one big swallow and another mouthful into my chug when I came to the shocking revelation that it wasn't Mountain Dew coursing it's way to my gut. Immediately I spew what was in my mouth, and consider shoving fingers in my throat...

The first thought that crossed my mind was "well....shit. I think I just might die tonight." Before I try to make myself puke, I have a thought. It burned like fucking hell going down, and think it might be worse coming back up. I'm pretty good at keeping my wits about me under pressure...kinda was beat into me to do that. So, I mosey on over to the tool counter. Perhaps threw a saunter in there for a step or two as well. I coolly ask the gentle-turd behind the counter if he has an MSDS manual.

He says, "yeah, somewhere. Looking for something in particular?"

"Yeah, um...I just swallowed some gas, so I need to see what my best course of action right now should be."

He immediately cleared his chair like someone lit his ass on fire, yelling "oh shit! oh damn, where is that book!?"

"Be cool, bro-heim, I'm the one that swallowed the go-juice...you keep looking for that, I'm gonna go chug some water, mmkay?"

Meanwhile, about 17 gallons of water later, I dosey-do back to the tool counter, and he finally found it...turns out I was right not to puke my toenails up. I was supposed to only drink water to dilute it. As it turns out, drinking the liquid doesn't do any harm (well, I won't say it doesn't, but that's a different conversation altogether). The problem is aspirating the fumes coming up through your esophagus...I honestly was afraid to fall asleep that night. It didn't matter what I drank, what I ate, how many times I brushed my fangs, gargled mouthwash....nothing was getting rid of that nasty flavor. And don't even mention if I belched...

Needless to say, I never got that damn cigarette that day!
Click to expand...

You weren't at a work bench...you were sitting under your Jeep, on the floor of flat bay G. I was there!
 
mommucked said:
...but the burps are something I'll never forget o_O
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Quoted fo troof!
Croatan_Kid said:
You weren't at a work bench...you were sitting under your Jeep, on the floor of flat bay G. I was there!
Click to expand...

Hahaha true story! I had a lot of "come to Jeebus" moments on that flat bay under the Jeep...such as that other time I spilled the majority of the contents of my fuel cell on my pants... then felt like I was on fire for the rest of the afternoon. I seem to remember something about you laughing, then saying "dumbass! Seriously though, you okay? You dumbass!" Hahaha good times
 
UTfball68 said:
I think I’ve told this story before...but a few years ago, there was that Jerky outlet beside the Harley Dealership (not sure if either are still there) across from concord mills. The jerky outlet had some ghost pepper jerky...bought, started eating it...walked next door to check out the Harley showroom. Had to take a piss...guess what’s still on my hands...oily ghost pepper/jerky residue. Didn’t take long to realize the mistake I made. I’m making all kinds of noises in the bathroom with my pants around my ankles trying to hump the water faucet basically. Felt like hours, but probably only about 3 minutes before some people come in to check on me...tell them to get my girlfriend (now wife). I tell her to get milk. So she runs up to the gas station and grabs some. She gets back I cut the top 1/3 off the half gallon of milk. And that’s the story of how I wound up half naked on the floor with my junk submerged in a half gallon of milk at a Harley showroom bathroom. Had a thumb print and two finger prints on my little Ben for a few days.
Click to expand...

I unfortunately share your pain! I've had to go relieve myself after downing a few 22's after knocking out a double dose of the Blazin Wing Challenge at Buffalo Wild Wings (what was back then called the Suicide Challenge). Why double? Because I'm stupid. And a guy. And somebody dared me to. What, was I supposed to puss out? Hell nah.

Anyway, there I was, in the stall at B-Dubs after proving I'm such a man... suddenly, I'm thinking of a familiar Rodney Carrington song.

"I've got this burning...sensation...when I pee..."

Then realize I was on flipping fire. Well, bits and pieces of me were, anyway. But I didn't have the forethought to go shove my junk into a half gallon of milk. I'm sure that would have been much better than just pretending it didn't happen! :lol: All I said to the other guys that had some Suicide wings was to make sure they washed up good BEFORE watering the hole... :rolleyes:
 
After a scout trip me and some buddies decided to go to a friends house tat was just a couple miles up the road and hang out in the pool for a few hours since it was 100 degrees. He went and got his old ton truck to haul our gear in. he came barreling up the hill and pulled into our scout masters drive way. I was 16 and the other guys were 15, I had my license, so I offered to drive. He decided it was his truck, so he was driving. We pile our gear in the bed and hit the road. Dude is flying (for an old truck) down this little back road adn we come up on this one lane bridge. About halfway across, here comes a car. We are doing 60, cant stop. What does he do? dives off into his grandmas yard and plows us into a bradford pear tree. Hit hard enough it ripped the seat belts out of the floor and sent two of us through the windshield. Driver dude walked around with FORD imprinted on his chest for weeks. We rebuilt that truck and still use it.

Also, my 14 year old self thought it would be a good idea to ride my dirt bike through the mcdonalds drive through in jonesville. 12 miles away from home.
 
technologyteacher said:
Marrying my Ex Wife
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WERD.....listen up kids...NEVER listen to your Willy! The most glorious set of tits you've ever seen (would put a playboy model to shame)



will turn into a hand fulla sand in a tube sock after 2 kids....then you're left with that screaching noise you couldn't hear back when your ears were ringing from so much heavy breathing and testosterone
 
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passed a deputy going the same direction at 124 mph.

and no his old square body ford could not catch my police caprice.

its a really long story and looking back it's kinda funny but at the time
it was dead serious.
 
I got a good hot sauce challenge story, Ill share.

I was in college. I have always like extremely spicy stuff and I was never one to back down from a dare. Friends from back then have descried me as a quasi real life Bluto...Do anything.
There was this bar in town known for their wings and cheap cold drafts. Their wings came in like 4 flavors (hot, terriyaki, barbeque, and ranch) and then you picked a heat level from 1-20. Then they had the challenge wings. They were labeled as a 41 on the above scale (double plus 1). If you could eat a mere 6 of these devils tails, and keep them down for 15 minutes, then you got you picture on the wall, a free tshirt, AND the mega kicker. The tab for everyone at your table that night was on the house. But you were cut off at that point, to prevent abuses, of course. I mean hell, who can resist that notoriety? Muslim students were renouncing the 72 virgins for a shot.

Anyway I regularly ate 20 level 20 - 5 each flavor and a pitcher of special. (Whatever beer keg hadnt been changed in a few days...college fare Busch, Natty, if Bud Lite made it on special the angels had smiled upon ye)
It was a Thursday night ritual. 3 or 4 of us would meet up eat wings, drink beer, then go downtown for Thirsty Thursdays.
Well this one night, I was late arriving. Cant remember why, but everyone else had already eaten and was well into pitcher number "Only 2 drinks officer I swear" when I joined the party. I'll just have a beer, no wings tonight since everyone else is done and I dont want to be a hold up.

Somehow (Oh my God they killed) Kenny has the idea "Iron Gut over here needs to eat the challenge wings so all our drink will be free"...Nah I aint hungry and not tonight.
But peer pressure is a bitch, aint it?

Anyway a few minutes later 6 wings are placed in front of me in a sauce that smelled like wet cardboard and scorched tire rubber. The cook there who was in my Signals, Systems and Transforms class despite being a Comp Sci major -because it was an interesting class - clearly a masochists - came out to watch my challenge. "I made these extra right for you since you dont break a sweat with a 20"

Thanks, bro.

Did I mention that I had to sign a damn release waiver to get this plate placed in front of me?

I picked up the first wing and the sauce had the consistency of used non watery gear oil. Thick and clumpp and it tasted like Satan's armpit. Surprisingly it wasn't that hot. But the taste. Oh my it was horrid.
1 Wing down. Quick assess of the situation, no real burn. Honestly 20s are probably a tad hotter. But damn these taste nasy.
2,3,4 and 5 go down without incident. People are stunned at the fat dude who isnt breaking a sweat. But I am making quite the mess with this nasty sauce. My papertowel napkin is saturated. A quick sip of beer and then number six. As I bite into number 6 something hard and crunchy crushes in my teeth. Dammit a pepper seed.
Whew. That brought the heat.
Another sip of beer, now lets finish #6.
Damn that seed has my eyes watering, I dont want to look like a puss sitting here crying, I will just use this clean corner of this napkin and wipe my eye...
HOLY SHIT - Satan's Jizz fire sauce is in my eyeball. Its in my fawking eyeball. Dear Heavenly sweet Mother Mary please put this fire out or take me away I dont care.

Fuck the challenge I sprint to the bathroom and stick my head under the sink. 10 minutes later I emerge.

Still in pain, I pay my tab and head back to the apartment. I dont feel like going out that night I go home and drown the burning with a bottle of cheap bourbon. So much Bourbon that Friday class doesnt seem like a good idea.
My GF (now wife) comes down the next afternoon to visit and spend the weekend. When she walks in about 2:30 Im still in the bed. She says "Who beat the fawk out of you". A quick trip to the bathroom and half my face is not swollen but bruised. My entire right sinus cavity in my cheek is a bruise. My hands feel raw and burnt. Surprisingly my mouth and stomach feel fine.

The next week in class this cook dude comes up and apologizes. "We have this clear sauce that we add 1 tsp to the Habenero wing sauce for challenge wings. We knew you'd eat them so I added a little extra to your. Think I added too much....Once he learned of the eye, he cringed. Dude we wear goggles when we brush those wings because if it splashes on your face it leaves a bruise.
Thanks asswipe.
 
Ron said:
I got a good hot sauce challenge story, Ill share.

I was in college. I have always like extremely spicy stuff and I was never one to back down from a dare. Friends from back then have descried me as a quasi real life Bluto...Do anything.
There was this bar in town known for their wings and cheap cold drafts. Their wings came in like 4 flavors (hot, terriyaki, barbeque, and ranch) and then you picked a heat level from 1-20. Then they had the challenge wings. They were labeled as a 41 on the above scale (double plus 1). If you could eat a mere 6 of these devils tails, and keep them down for 15 minutes, then you got you picture on the wall, a free tshirt, AND the mega kicker. The tab for everyone at your table that night was on the house. But you were cut off at that point, to prevent abuses, of course. I mean hell, who can resist that notoriety? Muslim students were renouncing the 72 virgins for a shot.

Anyway I regularly ate 20 level 20 - 5 each flavor and a pitcher of special. (Whatever beer keg hadnt been changed in a few days...college fare Busch, Natty, if Bud Lite made it on special the angels had smiled upon ye)
It was a Thursday night ritual. 3 or 4 of us would meet up eat wings, drink beer, then go downtown for Thirsty Thursdays.
Well this one night, I was late arriving. Cant remember why, but everyone else had already eaten and was well into pitcher number "Only 2 drinks officer I swear" when I joined the party. I'll just have a beer, no wings tonight since everyone else is done and I dont want to be a hold up.

Somehow (Oh my God they killed) Kenny has the idea "Iron Gut over here needs to eat the challenge wings so all our drink will be free"...Nah I aint hungry and not tonight.
But peer pressure is a bitch, aint it?

Anyway a few minutes later 6 wings are placed in front of me in a sauce that smelled like wet cardboard and scorched tire rubber. The cook there who was in my Signals, Systems and Transforms class despite being a Comp Sci major -because it was an interesting class - clearly a masochists - came out to watch my challenge. "I made these extra right for you since you dont break a sweat with a 20"

Thanks, bro.

Did I mention that I had to sign a damn release waiver to get this plate placed in front of me?

I picked up the first wing and the sauce had the consistency of used non watery gear oil. Thick and clumpp and it tasted like Satan's armpit. Surprisingly it wasn't that hot. But the taste. Oh my it was horrid.
1 Wing down. Quick assess of the situation, no real burn. Honestly 20s are probably a tad hotter. But damn these taste nasy.
2,3,4 and 5 go down without incident. People are stunned at the fat dude who isnt breaking a sweat. But I am making quite the mess with this nasty sauce. My papertowel napkin is saturated. A quick sip of beer and then number six. As I bite into number 6 something hard and crunchy crushes in my teeth. Dammit a pepper seed.
Whew. That brought the heat.
Another sip of beer, now lets finish #6.
Damn that seed has my eyes watering, I dont want to look like a puss sitting here crying, I will just use this clean corner of this napkin and wipe my eye...
HOLY SHIT - Satan's Jizz fire sauce is in my eyeball. Its in my fawking eyeball. Dear Heavenly sweet Mother Mary please put this fire out or take me away I dont care.

Fuck the challenge I sprint to the bathroom and stick my head under the sink. 10 minutes later I emerge.

Still in pain, I pay my tab and head back to the apartment. I dont feel like going out that night I go home and drown the burning with a bottle of cheap bourbon. So much Bourbon that Friday class doesnt seem like a good idea.
My GF (now wife) comes down the next afternoon to visit and spend the weekend. When she walks in about 2:30 Im still in the bed. She says "Who beat the fawk out of you". A quick trip to the bathroom and half my face is not swollen but bruised. My entire right sinus cavity in my cheek is a bruise. My hands feel raw and burnt. Surprisingly my mouth and stomach feel fine.

The next week in class this cook dude comes up and apologizes. "We have this clear sauce that we add 1 tsp to the Habenero wing sauce for challenge wings. We knew you'd eat them so I added a little extra to your. Think I added too much....Once he learned of the eye, he cringed. Dude we wear goggles when we brush those wings because if it splashes on your face it leaves a bruise.
Thanks asswipe.
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:lol: My morning wouldn't be complete without spraying my coffee all over. Well... my morning is now complete! :beer:
 
Since we're sharing......MANY years ago, when I was in college, I made one of the WORST choices of my adult life.

It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting.

No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling. Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold.

I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey! This is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occassionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know.

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.

Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad. Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!
 
I'm no cowboy..... I was probably 13 when an older girl who lived beside my grandparents asked me to to come ride horses w her. The horses belonged to another neighbor down the road a ways. I was curious why we snuck through the woods to the pasture, she/we did not have permission to ride them but she told me she rides them all the time when the owners were away. We approached the herd and patted the horses and then she climbed on one bareback and told me to get on one. I grabbed the mane and hopped up on another horse. She made the TK,TK sound and kicked w her heels and her horse started walking. I kicked mine and it took off like it was the kentucky derby and it was gonna win, in a moment it was way to fast for me to jump off. I yelled WHOA and pulled on the the mane but it just ran faster. I almost fell off a few times while it raced across the pasture and into the woods where it ran under a low/horse high tree branch beside the barbwire fence and the branch shucked me right off the the horse. I did a backflip and landed on the fence. A barb caught my neck almost @ my jugular and cut a 4" long, deep scratch down my neck. It was bleeding bad so I wrapped my t shirt around my neck and we went back to the house. On the way we made up a story how we were running through the woods and I didn't see the fence. I still have a big scar on my neck and tell the story when someone asks about it.
 
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Too many things to mention. I was hell on wheels as a teenager, and as I continue into my late 20's I remain a moron every once in a while.

I've played some horrible pranks, stole some things for laughs I shouldn't have, jumped a few vehicles, did donuts in peoples yards...

The worst things are the ones I got caught for... and considering my criminal record is a few pages long from those years... I did too many dumb things.

I jumped a Nissan Murano dukes of hazzard style... Took out a street sign. Fled the scene... Went back an hour later with a shovel and dug up the sign, kept it in my room for a while. Trophy...
I was running about 140 on a backroad with a lady friend and hit a slick spot. Ass end slid out a little. I corrected and it worked out but I almost filled my pants with doo doo.
 
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CasterTroy said:
Since we're sharing......MANY years ago...

Friends, DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!
Click to expand...

So there are times in life when a good story is all in the details, and the details are what keeps a listener intrigued... this was not one of those times :D
 
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