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

XJsavage said:
Few years ago I took a deaf black girl on a date to Wild wings on Isle of palms to see a bluegrass concert over a bucket of oysters.
All we did was text back and forth to communicate. By the end of the night, I was so drunk that I completely forgot she was deaf and told her over and over again how much I admired a good listener.
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But did you score?
 
My ex wife, 'nuff said. I'm sure there are plenty of folks with one of those.
Such a favor she did me by leaving that I didn't see at the time. She must be north of 240 now. HogZilla.
Bullet dodged.

As to the list of stupid things I did when I was younger, I could sit here all night and remember those.
Let's just say I am lucky to still be alive and leave it at that. Tempted fate way too many times.
 
Pacfanweb said:
But did you score?
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Nah. Probably could've but I did it mainly so she didn't have to sit in a stranger's condo while her friend that worked at Bojangles was on a booty call with my coworker while I went out honky-tonkin all up and down the strip by myself. Our other co-worker was curled up under the bushes all night for unexplained reasons (he's a wierd one). So, I invited her to walk with me from the Sea Cabins to Wild wings two blocks away. It intrigued me that she wrote in proper format. No slang, no BS. She was pretty too. Killer personality that remained uncontaminated by society and it's fuckery. I couldn't bring myself to ruin that with my confusing ass life.
 
XJsavage said:
Nah. Probably could've but I did it mainly so she didn't have to sit in a stranger's condo while her friend that worked at Bojangles was on a booty call with my coworker while I went out honky-tonkin all up and down the strip by myself. Our other co-worker was curled up under the bushes all night for unexplained reasons (he's a wierd one). So, I invited her to walk with me from the Sea Cabins to Wild wings two blocks away. It intrigued me that she wrote in proper format. No slang, no BS. She was pretty too. Killer personality that remained uncontaminated by society and it's fuckery. I couldn't bring myself to ruin that with my confusing ass life.
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You sir are a better man than I.
When I was single there would have been no way i would have passed up a night with a pretty deaf girl for any reason.
Just think of the crazy shit you could have said during "the act"....
 
I was 18/19 yo went to a superbowl party at a bachelor pad about 4pm. I had hoped more chicks would show up, but only a few attended. After enjoying lot's of substances and liquids I was dizzy and about to puke . One roomate was out of town and I crashed on his bed about 2am after locking the door. I Woke up about 4 am, and went to get a drink of water. Dudes were passed out on the couches, chairs and the floor and the house was a disaster. I was still hammered and had a very bad headache. I did not want to be there in the morning w all these drunken assholes and decided to drive home even though I was still very drunk. My reasoning was 5 miles, it was so late and Cary probably had one officer on duty back then and I was good to go. I fired up my loud, 67 Cougar w solid cam,headers,cherry bombs and no pipes, 4 spd etc. and hit the road. I was driving the speed limit and holding my lane just fine though the road looked a little blurry. After a mile on a 45mph main rd. I saw headlights 1/4 mile away in the rearview coming up fast and I knew it was the man. 5 seconds later he was so close to my bumper I could not see his headlights anymore! and I'm waiting for the blue lights. He rode my ass for 1.5 miles and then I turned left, he turned too and still riding my bumper....I'm waiting for the blue lights. I made up my mind we did'nt need to waste time with questions or tests of my sobriety and If he pulled me over I was just gonna stick my arms out the window so he could cuff me and take me to jail. 2 more miles he tailgated the shit out of me as I drove just under the speed limit. I turned right on the street I lived on and he went straight. I could not believe it. I got home and kneeled down on the ground and thanked Jesus for letting me sleep in my own bed that night.
 
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Another one for good measure.

We were on a scouting trip (anyone notice a trend here? :rolleyes:) to see the Blue Angels out at Cherry Point. We were camping on base for a few days and our military guide said "yall can run around the area all you want, just dont jump any fences and you should be fine." So, off we go gallivanting through the base for a few ours, being typical pre teen/teenage boys. We soon start hearing some pretty big thuds, and theyre gettin bigger. So what do we do? Why we take off running towards the big thuds of course!!! Shortly thereafter we see dudes coming up the road in a truck, and in a hurry. They all jump out looking pretty upset to come across 8 boys wandering around. After a bunch of yelling from them and "I dunno, sir. We was ust out wandering around and then yall found us" from us, we got a free ride back to our camp and some poor chump was assigned to baby sit us for the rest of our stay. Surprisingly enough, we went back several more times. but they always gave us a babysitter... Wonder why?
 
In reference to the thread title, I've noticed there are a lot of people not speaking up :lol:
 
When I was in high school some buddies and I thought it would be a good idea to make a flame thrower out of a super soaker. Filled it with gas and taped a surveying flag to the end that we melted with gas and lit. It was awesome the first time we used it. Not so much the second time. The gas quickly degraded the o rings and it caught on fire and nearly burned my buddy. He managed to pitch it before it blew up.
 
I can't overstate how awesome it was for the first hour. 40ft of fire coming out of a $15 super soaker was something to behold. I've got some pictures of it in action at my parents house I'll try to find and post.
 
awheelterd said:
When I was in high school some buddies and I thought it would be a good idea to make a flame thrower out of a super soaker. Filled it with gas and taped a surveying flag to the end that we melted with gas and lit. It was awesome the first time we used it. Not so much the second time. The gas quickly degraded the o rings and it caught on fire and nearly burned my buddy. He managed to pitch it before it blew up.
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I wasnt directly involved, but a couple friends thought a pressure washer would make a good flame thrower. They thought theyd be smart. Diesel burns better. Needless to say, that pressure washer pump didnt last but a few seconds.
 
When I first got into industrial construction, we had a job in Bonlee installing some steel on a train receiving area.

We were using a 45’ JLG manlift but needed to get to the back side of the building. That involved driving across the rail road tracks in a manlift with the boom that is cantilevered 25’. Let’s just say each track caused the basket I was in to bounce at least 6’ nearly slung shotting me out. It was a hell of a ride to say the least.

Kind of like this:
 
My turn for the weekly meeting of "dumb things I've done..." I seriously should write a book. It'd be a best seller comedy novel.

So there I was...hanging out in the garage on a brisk December Saturday morning, working on my chopped up Dana 44, trying to redneck-engineer a solution to get it back in under my CJ. Since it was nice and cool, I figured I'd put some of my handy-dandy Harbor Freight work gloves on. I was working on cutting a piece of 1/4" plate with my cutoff wheel, not really paying too much mind to the blade as my mind was wandering off into the wild blue yonder, when suddenly....

I felt a "thump" against my left index finger. I yank my hand back and see a fresh cut in the finger of my glove. My first thought was "well, damn! I just cut a hole in a brand new pair of gloves..." But then my glove started to leak. "Well, that's new..."

I pulled the glove off to reveal that I tried (and luckily failed) to remove the end of my index finger from right at the rearmost end of my fingernail, below the first knuckle. The cut went from the side of my finger to fully across and through my fingernail. It was leaking pretty well, so I couldn't see exactly what the damage was. Since it was still relatively early, and my wife was still in bed, I (quietly) walked into the house and used the downstairs powder room sink to rinse it out...while trying to contain the puddle coming from my finger.

The sink basin was instantly red, and the leak just wouldn't stop unless I was squeezing my finger pretty hard. I was actually able to squeeze it off to see down into the cut with my thumb and middle finger of my left hand, while using my right to spread the cut open to see how deep it was. Sure enough, there was that pinkish, whitish glare coming out of there...yep - straight down to the bone. I can see it under the groove through my fingernail too. Awesome. But the wife was still upstairs. Maybe she won't notice?

"Eh, what the hell...maybe I can get it to stop bleeding enough to go back to work on the axle," I reason with myself. So, I'm amusing myself with other of my life's follies while pacing back and forth in the kitchen, holding my hand up in front of my face with several paper towels squeezed around my finger for 10 minutes or so. Hm...is it done leaking yet? I hold my hand over the sink and pull back the towel. It starts flowing freshly again...well damn.

10 more minutes with another fresh paper towel wad, pacing back and forth in the kitchen (didn't want to ruin the woman's good kitchen towels now!)...I pull the paper towel back again, and it's still going, but slower. Ah, there's hope! Think Wolverine thoughts....happy Wolverine thoughts...

Since it's slowing down, I figure I can put some gauze and tape around it, tight enough that it'll not bleed. Then I'll get my ass back to work on the axle. I open the lower cabinet under one of the counter tops going for the first aid kit. I pull it out thinking I'm in the home stretch. The damn thing still has the zip ties around the handle! WTF...seriously? I can't cut these off without making a bloody mess everywhere, because I can't let go of my hand. Well damn.

I ease up the stairs, and slide into the bedroom. "Hey, babe? Uh...can you come help me for a minute?"

She rolls over from her slumber and sees me holding a nearly soaked paper towel around my finger, then instantly freaks. "WTF did you do? Cut your finger off?!"

"Nah, it's still there. Just leaking pretty good."

So, we go downstairs, and I ask her to help me with the first aid kit. She looks at my finger, and says "oh, gross... I think you should go to the ER. I'm pretty sure you should have that stitched up."

"It ain't that bad...it'll stop bleeding after while. I've cut myself worse."

"How deep is that?" she asks....

"Not that bad, it's just a flesh wound. Ha!"

"Very funny..." She loves my jokes (I'm being sarcastic, in case you couldn't tell).

So, she gets the FAK open, goes for the gauze and bandage, and applies a liberal amount of Neosporin. I'm squeezing the damn thing as much as I can with the thumb-and-finger method outlined before, so she doesn't really see that it's leaking that bad. Does she see it? Hmmm...I might get away with it. She goes to put gauze on it, then starts wrapping tape. "Oh, you gonna have to get it much tighter than that," I tell her.

Fresh blood starts soaking through the gauze. "Go to the f*ing ER!" she orders me. "Nah, I'm good. I'll take care of it. I just want to go clean up out in the garage."

"Fine, suit yourself, but if that gets infected, don't say I didn't tell you to go!"

"Whatever..." Guys, we all know that's our go-to when we know we're wrong. Am I right, or am I right?

I wrap some tape around my finger, get a nitrile glove and put it on my hand, then strut back into the garage like a champ. "Yeah, I'll show her...yeah."

Ah, fawk it. I still have work to do. Couple more hours of cutting, I pick back up the piece that almost made me claim the end of my finger. I get all the pieces cut and tacked together, then realize my hand feels oddly wet inside my glove. "Damn, the nitrile glove must have my hand sweaty or something." I pull back the wrist of the nitrile glove, and see that my palm is red. I hold my fingers up, and red starts running down my forearm. "Well...damn. That sucks."

Okay, cleaning up for reals this time. Drop the garage door, then back into the powder room to start scrubbing my hand again.

"Did your finger fall off yet?" I hear come from the living room.

"Naw, woman, I'm good as new." She comes up behind me while I'm trying to rinse all the blood off my arm. "Seriously?!" She storms off. She gets mad when I don't listen. Who knew?

Anyway, she kept insisting that I needed stitches each and every day I changed the bandages. The thing bled for days. She was right, I should have gone to the ER. But I got lucky, because it never got infected, and the nail grew out and looks pretty much normal. The only way you can tell now is the actually relatively clean scar halfway around my finger. It healed up great, except for the lack of feeling in the fingertip now. The cuticle is squared off at that corner, since the cutting disk hit it there. But having had cellulitis in my other hand (another automotive related cut that did get badly infected), and that Doc telling me that if I had waited any longer I could have lost a couple fingers, if not my hand, and worse yet could have had that infection go blood-borne and spread who knows where else....it was incredibly dumb of me not to go see the professionals again.

See what happens when you don't listen to your wife? :lol:
 
I guess I will share one of many good stories that came from working as a valet at a local country club.
One of my brother and my favorite pranks to pull on the clientele that frequented the club involved older Cadillacs that still were adorned with hood ornemates.
The vintage of Cadillacs from that era came with a feature that was meant to keep old ass people from killing other people, i.e. they would not start with the gas pedal to the floor.
So, the fun would begin with one of us trying to start the car after the club member dropped it off, of course they were still near enough to witness the trouble .
The valet in the car would hold the pedal to the floor, while cranking the car over and over in a failed attempt to start it.
This would always arouse the owner of the vehicle to inquire as to why their vehicle wouldn't start.
The valet not in the car would by instinct walk over and start "adjusting" the hood ornimate, all the while paying attention to the sounds of the cranking engine as if to hear variations corresponding to the degree of hood ornimate adjustment.
As professionals, we some how always knew the perfect angle of adjustment the ornimate would need, and at precisely that time the driver would dump the car in drive in an attempt to fulfil our duty at a valet.
The ornimate adjuster knew to jump, and roll...
And right before the professional adjuster hit the windshiled , slam on the brakes, roll off the hood, and limp off into the bushes while trying to not die laughing.
The driver of the car had the hard part.
Trying to tell the owner of the car that their hood ornimate needed major calibration before it was responsible for killing someone while not laughing was one of the hardest things I have ever done....
 
:lol::lol:
junkxj said:
I guess I will share one of many good stories that came from working as a valet at a local country club.
One of my brother and my favorite pranks to pull on the clientele that frequented the club involved older Cadillacs that still were adorned with hood ornemates.
The vintage of Cadillacs from that era came with a feature that was meant to keep old ass people from killing other people, i.e. they would not start with the gas pedal to the floor.
So, the fun would begin with one of us trying to start the car after the club member dropped it off, of course they were still near enough to witness the trouble .
The valet in the car would hold the pedal to the floor, while cranking the car over and over in a failed attempt to start it.
This would always arouse the owner of the vehicle to inquire as to why their vehicle wouldn't start.
The valet not in the car would by instinct walk over and start "adjusting" the hood ornimate, all the while paying attention to the sounds of the cranking engine as if to hear variations corresponding to the degree of hood ornimate adjustment.
As professionals, we some how always knew the perfect angle of adjustment the ornimate would need, and at precisely that time the driver would dump the car in drive in an attempt to fulfil our duty at a valet.
The ornimate adjuster knew to jump, and roll...
And right before the professional adjuster hit the windshiled , slam on the brakes, roll off the hood, and limp off into the bushes while trying to not die laughing.
The driver of the car had the hard part.
Trying to tell the owner of the car that their hood ornimate needed major calibration before it was responsible for killing someone while not laughing was one of the hardest things I have ever done....
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:lol::lol::lol:
 
I've done more dumb shit than most people encounter in a lifetime.
Since i'm not sure about the statute of limitations, i'll admit to two.
1-1 The Cat Square Christmas parade fight was real. And i was ground zero. Fuck with the BDB and you get your ass kicked. Period.
1-2 Last night i got drunk as hell and decided to find some chick from "back in the day" since i'm single now.
A "friend" helped me find her. I told him the wrong name so a whore i can't stand has my phone # and email addy.
Way to go Paul...
 
Paul said:
I've done more dumb shit than most people encounter in a lifetime.
Since i'm not sure about the statute of limitations, i'll admit to two.
1-1 The Cat Square Christmas parade fight was real. And i was ground zero. Fuck with the BDB and you get your ass kicked. Period.
1-2 Last night i got drunk as hell and decided to find some chick from "back in the day" since i'm single now.
A "friend" helped me find her. I told him the wrong name so a whore i can't stand has my phone # and email addy.
Way to go Paul...
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Amateur move on the whore hunt there @Paul.
 
Paul said:
My "friend" should have talked me out this.
And i won't mention his name, oh hell yeah i will!
Chip damn Price. AKA @upnover .
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I thought you were gonna say something like “crackhead at midnight” or “Dana 44 knuckle in a creek at 4AM”.
 
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