@Kate -- holy shit, thanks for making me cry. All indications are that you are a great person. Also, I have not heard the pee story, and want to.
Years ago, my friends and I used to go down to Pasadena, to the Rose Parade route on New Year's Eve, where thousands of people set up camp on the street at night to get a good view of the parade in the morning. We never stayed for the parade, we just went down for the crazy party at night.
I just realized that this is two stories -- first, a quick one. One year, five of us went down there. This was when we were all punk rockers, all done up with the hair and clothes and everything. We were walking down the parade route, and we ran into a couple that one of us knew. So they joined us in walking down the parade route. As we got to the end of the street, I saw someone across the street who I thought was a friend of mine who was supposed to be around there somewhere -- similar studded up leather jacket, similar huge, spiky hair. We ran across the street to greet him, but it wasn't him -- it was some other guy, in some other group of seven punks. So we started talking to them, and then we all walked back down the street together -- now we were 14. Along the way, we started accumulating random punks that we passed. We were about 20 when we came to a side street where about 20 other punks had set up camp. So we stopped, and met everyone, and they were in the same situation -- a bunch of other small groups who had coalesced here. So now we were about 40, and we spent the whole night there together, sharing food and drinks and blankets, and talking, and blasting music, and generally scaring everyone else away from that street. That was one of the formative experiences of my young life, and a great example of all of the best things about the punk scene. I have other stories about the worst things. These days, I try to look as inconspicuous as possible, and I don't want people to be able to make assumptions about me from the way I look -- but there is something to be said for putting out these sort of tribal markers, to let others of your ilk know who you are.
Actually, I think I'll save the other story for later.
I don't want people to be able to make assumptions about me from the way I look -- but there is something to be said for putting out these sort of tribal markers, to let others of your ilk know who you are.
The good thing is that people will immediately identify what they think you're all about. The bad thing is that people will immediately identify what they think you're all about The former being exemplified in this story and the latter in your previous story.
So anyway, it seemed like a totally normal chemistry lesson in Year 8 (12-13 years old) and were learning about chemical energy and how it is stored in many types of food. We went through all of the normal sorts of things, like sugars and fats. Then my teacher exclaimed, "Now children, it is time for you to see the practical application of this." She gets out a cashew nut (or that is what I remember it being) and set fire to it. A thermometer was held above it, inside a test tube. As any chemist will tell you, there is alot of quick release energy inside a nut and this one was no exception. The quickly heating flame soon reached about 150 degrees Centigrade, the top heat of the thermometer. The mercury thermometer then exploed over the teacher who was rushed to hospital quickly and did NOT die of horrible heavy metal poisoning. However we all got the rest of the day off school while the lab was cleaned. (I would tell more tales of the boring, but them what would I tell you all later)
So I was in a mountain village in Guatemala for a service project a couple of years back. Despite the complete and utter poverty there, the people were hugely friendly and I brought back a lot of funny stories. One of my favorites, though, was sitting around at the mission, eating lunch, when one of my friends puts his fork down and gets this pensive look on his face.
"I'm going to bring baseball to Guatemala," he proclaimed.
The rest of us slowly tried to explain how that was impossible, namely because there were no baseball fields, there was no equipment or money for it, and he did not speak Spanish and none of the kids spoke English. However, he remained resolute, and got up and left to head back to the hotel (more of a communal dorm that charged money in order to get tourist revenues from the volunteers). About an hour later, after some discussions with other volunteers, myself and a few others got up to head back to the dorm as well. I get into the cobblestone street, and almost immediately I hear a sharp "THWACK!" and a green blur floats across my field of vision. I turn to look at the source, and there's a little boy with a hefty stick and a small pile limes at his feet. I assume that he picked the limes from the trees all around the village, and that the stick was probably a smallish piece of firewood or construction scrap from home. He's surrounded at distance by friends, who likewise have limes and large sticks, and are lofting these limes into the air and taking mad swings at the limes. The ones they hit would, if young and still firm, make a nice thwacking sound as they soared into the air, while the older and riper limes would get hit with a tremendous snap and would sometimes just burst, shooting lime juice everywhere. Occasionally one would hit one and the others would notice quickly enough to yell at him to run, at which point the kid would follow some huge imaginary zigzag of bases, since there were no stationary bases to form a diamond. Most of the time, they wouldn't even return to their starting point, they'd just run off to grab a new stick and pull a lime off a tree.
My friends and I laughed our asses off at these little kids having the time of their lives in what was likely the first little league team to ever practice with limes, and we walked back to the dorm. My friend was lying on his bed, taking a nap, and when we entered he just said, "I told you I could do it. I brought baseball to Guatemala."
"I told you I could do it. I brought baseball to Guatemala."
That's pretty awesome. I wonder if those kids ever figured out the rest of the game, or if they just kept on hitting stuff. Reminds me of a quick story of mine: When I was maybe 10, we had a crate of oranges from my friend's grandma's tree that were too sour to eat, so we were batting them across our apartment complex parking lot. I stood too close behind one of my friends, and I got nailed in the forehead on the backswing.
I have many stories where I've had encounters with a wild theist. So I will sum them up with the following.
To the hyper-religious groups on campus, I am known as "That Atheist Guy Trust me you don't wanna mess with him". Every time I encounter a super crazy religious group or person on campus, I end up debating with them. More often than not, a crowd begins to form around us and usually they are on my side by the end. I have four signature moves that have never failed to get the religious guy agitated and yelling while I remain calm:
Head-butt: "So whats makes you think you're in the right religion?" "Because it's the only true religion." "Why? What about islam? Or Hinduism? or Pastafarian-ism. (usually they quickly ask if I really said "Pasta"farianism) "Because it's the oldest." "What about the gods of greek mythology? They were around LONG before Christianity or Judaism." "Yeah, but those were just myths." "And yours isnt?" *verbal fumbling*
Hyper-uppercut: "Are you an open minded induvidual?" They always say "Yes". "Then how is it you won't give evolution a fair shake? " "Because its not true. I did my research. It cant possibly work: Bacterial phagellum/crocaduck." Well, why don't we go to the biology building? I know a few biology and anthropology professors who would be more than happy to help explain it to you. They never accept. "I thought you said you were open minded..."
Sonic Boom: "Is being a good person important?" "yes, of course it is." "Does god care if people are good or not?" "Yes, god wants all of us to be good people. to be nice to one another." "Do good people go to heaven?" "Yes." "All good people?" "Of course." "Oh, so god shouldn't care that I'm an atheist." "You're an atheist?" (dun dun dun...) "Yeah, but since I'm a good person, that shouldnt matter, right?" "Well, yes it matters." "But, I thought you said-" "As an atheist, you have rejected god from your life. Therefore you cannot go to heaven." "But what about all the good I've done and will do before I die?" "well-" "What if I become rich and famous and use my influence and money to help eradicate all of the worlds worst diseases? Are you saying God STILL wouldn't let me into heaven?" "Yes, thats correct." "Despite all the good I would have done in the world, for everyone, Christians and atheists alike, I would STILL be damned to hell for all of eternity?" "Yes." "That is so cruel and unfair. I save millions of lives and God would still chuck me into eternal pain and anguish?! What kind of all-loving all knowing god does that?! If you were god, wouldn't you let me in?" "(more verbal fumbling ensues)"
Haduuken: This is reserved for the really super-crazies, think of it as my BFG. Typically used if I need to go someplace or if there is a crowd, which is most of the time. The trick is to keep up the pace so they don't have time to think about what they are saying until it's too late. It's sneaky, and more of an attack on the persons character than on the existence of god, but it's mostly to get the crowd excited and on your side (if they aren't already on it). If you exit with this, you will usually leave with applause and "Whoo!"-ing trailing behind you. By the way, the bigger the crowd, the more of an effect this has.:
"Look, I'm a good person." "have you ever sinned: lied, cheated, stolen, murdered or lusted after someone?" "Well, murder, no. But for the rest, sure, I try not to, but I'm not perfect. Who is?" "Well, see, God is perfect, and if you have done any of those things, you are not a good person in god's eyes." "Are you a good person?" "No, no human is, that's why we believe in god. God keeps an eye on us so that we can be good people." *start picking up the pace of your questions* "Wait, so if god didn't exist, you wouldn't be a good person?" "That's right." "Hold on, so if you didn't believe in god, You would do all those horrible things?" "yes." *You now have the crowds undivided attention, Time to start being exagerrated and dramatic to get them ramped up. Never give him time to rebut. You need the last word for this to work* "WOAH! Wait a minute! Are you telling me that if it wasn't for GOD WATCHING YOU, you would rape and murder innocent women and children, and all those other horrible things?! "No, but-" "But that's exactly what you just said! You aren't a good person, you're not even a decent human being! You're just pretending to be good for some some COSMIC SECURITY CAMERA! You are scary dude! Excuse me, but I'm not feeling very comfortable around you right now. I think I'm gonna get away from you in case God blinks. *start walking away, backwards at first then turn around* You are one scary dude."
He Shoots, He scores, and the crowd goes wild.
These people are usually very emotional and not very good debaters. Their arguments are thin and flimsy, and are easy to tear down and when you do, they get angry and loud.
I'm on pretty good terms with the regular religious groups on campus, though. They like me because I discredit the crazies, which is fine by me. I know the leader of the christian fellowship, he knows I'm an atheist and is pretty cool about it. We have lunch every once in a while, he's a nice guy. Actually, we met after a SUPER MEGA CRAZY religious guy refused to keep talking to me. There was a big crowd, he was part of it. He introduced himself to me and thanked me for taking on the crazy guy. Then the school tv crew interviewed us together, and we both basically said that that guy was spreading hate and lies. We also said he needs to work on his people skills, because yelling at people and telling them they'll go to hell isn't really a motivator to have them listen to you.
The thing is, the regular religious groups: they're not being crazy, so I take no issue with them.
Anyway, so that sums that up. Feel free to use my techniques and customize them to fit your style.
When I was maybe 10, we had a crate of oranges from my friend's grandma's tree that were too sour to eat, so we were batting them across our apartment complex parking lot. I stood too close behind one of my friends, and I got nailed in the forehead on the backswing.
Same thing happened to me at about that age, but instead of the forehead, the backswing hit me straight in the mouth.
In the 9th grade, my Social Studies teacher told us that there weren't horses in Rome. Me and my friends, being Latin students, told her she was wrong. We even doubled checked with our Latin teacher. Nevertheless, she wouldn't believe us. Therefore, we determined that the chariots in Rome were pulled by velociraptors.
Not really a story, but my life is pretty boring, and I can't think of much else.
This story begins in my senior year in high school, on a Friday night, with me telling my mom that I'm going to a party with some friends to see some bands play, and her telling me that, no, in fact, I'm not. She was afraid that something bad was going to happen, because you don't know who's going to be at these sorts of things -- are there even going to be any parents there?!? So we argued for a while, and she finally gave in, but it was the kind of angry, "Fine, do whatever you want!" sort of thing.
So we went to the party, and watched the shitty bands play. There were some skinheads there who were really drunk, and obviously looking for a fight. This was obvious because at one point, one of them grabbed the microphone away from one of the bands and said "We're looking for a fight!"
So we decided that this wasn't going to end well, and we started to leave. As we're walking toward the gate, these two skinheads are walking in, and one of them, so drunk he can't walk straight, runs straight into me -- I push him aside, and he falls down. Then he gets up,and the two of them follow us outside. The guy who ran into me gets in my face, saying "Why'd you push me?", and I say something like "You ran into me --" and the next thing I know (and I mean that -- literally the next thing I remember) I'm on the ground being kicked in the head by a bunch of guys. I can hear yelling, and it's obvious that one of my friends is fighting these guys, trying to get them off of me. I felt weirdly calm and lucid, and I just remember thinking "When are they going to stop?" I kept trying to get up, but every time I started, I'd get kicked and fall down again. I couldn't feel anything. Then, the next thing I knew, one of my friends and I were just running down the street (my friend told me later that he'd pulled me up by my hair), and the skinheads were chasing us. But they were all really drunk, and most of them were fat, so we left them behind pretty quickly.
We ran two or three blocks straight until we came to the first thing that was open, which was a McDonalds. We went in, and the guys behind the counter just stared at me slack-jawed. I asked if I could use the bathroom, and the guy just nodded, wide-eyed. So I went in the bathroom to clean up, and I was a fucking mess. Pouring blood all over the place. There was this old cholo in there, probably in his 50s -- I think he was washing his face and stuff. He had these white towels, and he gave me one, and I got blood all over it.
So long story short, we called my friend's mom, and she came down and picked us up, and I had to go home and tell my mom that she was right, I got beat up. I asked her to take me to the hospital, because I knew my nose was broken, and who knows what else, but she just yelled at me for a while, and I never ended up going to the hospital, but everything was relatively okay anyway. I mean, I literally had boot prints on my head, my nose was "pointing toward Mecca" in the words of my friends, and the whole right side of my face was swollen up -- the next Monday at school, one of my teachers asked me if I'd been in a car crash -- but nothing serious.
As a side note, one of the skinheads who beat me up was one of the guys there at that utopian punk rock new years eve in my previous story. So there's the dark side.
Also, I got off easy compared to one of my friends. He didn't get beat up, but they did steal his jacket -- his L.A. Sheriff's jacket that had belonged to his father, who had recently passed away.
Before I spin this yarn of golden revenge, let me caution those with delicate constitutions to avert their eyes for the accounts herein are quite unseemly.
I interned at a small theatre in Downtown Rochester. As the theatre had a less than bountiful budget, they drew in greater talent than they could usually afford by providing housing for actors and staff in a large house owned and maintained by the theatre. While I never lived in the house, the basement of the house was a frequent site for parties and get-togethers after shows. It is important to note for later reference that one of the actors from a previous show had taken in a stray cat and it became a permanent resident of the house, cared for by all that lived there. During my time at the theatre I befriended a lovely man that worked there. For the purposes of this story I will call him Ian. Ian worked as an office assistant and an Assistant to the Director on some of the productions. He was in a relationship with the Stage Manager (whom I will call Derrick), a man whom I never particularly liked, but they seemed happy together. Unfortunately, my uneasy feelings about Derrick were proven true when it came out that he was not only having unprotected sex with multiple partners while supposedly in an exclusive relationship with my friend, but he also had an incurable (though not deadly in most cases) STD. Derrick was fully aware of his condition long before his relationship with Ian ever began, yet he never disclosed it to any of his partners. Ian, after experiencing some odd symptoms, tested positive for this STD, thus bringing about the revelation of Derrick's extracurricular activities. It was made clear that following the closing of the current show, that Derrick would be forced to move on, but there would have to be an awkward week of working and living together for my friend and the louse. I couldn't stand to be around Derrick at this point and I, along with most of the cast and crew were openly hostile toward him. Despite this, at the cast part in the house, he inserted himself into the mix. He was half in the bag when the party started and he was completely wasted within the hour and passed out on the floor halfway through the night. Being 17 at the time, I was the go-to designated driver, and I waited until everyone was sorted (either crashing in the house or heading off with a safe driver) before I left. This meant that I was the last person awake and sober in the place. This left me for all intents and purposes alone with Derrick who was passed out. I poked him with my foot and he was completely out. I really wanted to kick him in the head or smash my glass in his face, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Looking around for something handy to smear all over him, I realized that I was wearing a skirt. I took advantage of this and squat-walked over his torso and onto his face while I peed on him. He didn't wake up even when the urine hit his face and went a bit into his mouth. Having finished my business, I went up stairs and crashed on one of the love seats. The next morning many people were up fixing huge omelets and joking about the party. Derrick stumbled up the stairs moaning about the cat. One of the actors asked him what he was on about. Derrick pointed to his soiled shirt and exclaimed, "I think the cat pissed on me, but the sheer amount of urine, it couldn't have been the cat!"
Wow, that's not what I was expecting for a pee story. Also, you'd be surprised how much cats can pee. Especially when it soaks through your carpet and rots your floorboards and you have to replace it all. x_x
I also have a pee story, but it is less interesting and awesome, and more embarrassing instead. When I was in middle school, me and my friends went wandering around the neighborhood one day. Everyone had big backyards full of trees, so it was like going through woods. Behind one house (far enough from sight) we found a strange bird coupe thingy. It was filled with some kind of game bird, like ducks or quail or something, I don't remember. Anyway, being dumb kids, we went inside to play with them. Back in the days of being stupid, we thought that these were like pets or something (not for food, income, or something more practical). "Why would someone keep these pretty birds in a cage?" So we opened the door and ran around like crazy to spook them and let them escape. The experience of being right in the middle of a flock of random crazy birds was so hilarious, that I laughed so hard I peed my pants. After the birds were gone and we left the cage, I carefully kept my backside away from my friends. Then, feigning tiredness, I purposefully sat down in a puddle of water. "Whoops! I sat in water!" And that's how I cleverly disguised my pants peeing and escaped eternal embarrassment.
The story of one of my very few encounters with physical violence:
About five or six years ago I was staying at my parents' home for a few days. They live in a town in a rural area in the north of England. The town is on that border between a middle class and working class kind of place, so while there is a "rough" part of town, it's not rough at all, and is only two streets. Anyway, it's not the place you'd expect trouble on a sunny midweek afternoon.
But it only takes one idiot.
I was walking up an empty street, minding my own business, when the idiot showed up. I didn't even take notice of him at first, as he walked out of a side street on the other side of the road, and maybe slightly behind me.
He shouts out the classic line "Where you looking at me?"
As it happens, I really didn't even glance at him, or not that I remember. I found this quite amusing. I looked over, and he was wearing a white baseball cap. This might be common in the US, but in the UK this a clear sign that reads "CHAV".
I said "No, I wasn't looking at you, but I guess I am now."
He didn't take it for the joke I intended it to be, and decided to take issue. With more blustering, stupid effrontery, he followed my up the street, pushing me, trying to grab me, and generally being an annoying twat. I could see he was doing everything he could to make the situation end non-peacefully, so I tried to just get away.
At the top of the street was a supermarket car park, so I turned in there, and he followed me. Once he saw I was going to go into the supermarket, where a security guard would likely be waiting, he took things to the next level, by grabbing my arm and pulling me. I wondered, if he wanted a fight, why didn't he just start it himself.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. First I calmly took off my sunglasses, and put them in my pocket. As I was doing this I was thinking "When I tell this story in the future, no matter how it ends, I'll mention how I took my sunglasses off before getting into a fight."
Second, I swept my hand up and knocked the idiot's baseball cap off his head. I wasn't sure if he'd get the historical significance of the action, but I knew it would annoy him.
Third, as he let go in surprise at the hat-doffing, I head-butted him, right in his stupid face, hard. My forehead connected with his nose, and I felt a satisfying crunch. The idiot stumbled back, holding his nose, and looked like he was about to fall down. He didn't though, so I turned and walked, quite quickly, across the remainder of the car park and into the supermarket.
He followed me, but by the time he got to the front of the shop I was standing next to the security guard, smiling out through the glass doors, watching him dab blood off his face with his sleeve. I knew he wouldn't come in; what would he say or do?
As I was there already, I bought some food in the shop, and by the time I left the idiot was nowhere to be seen.
To be honest, I probably could have found a way out of the situation that didn't involve violence, and certainly not with me landing the first blow. But you know what? It had been a long time since I'd hit someone in the nose, and it's not often the situation presents itself so clearly and obviously. It just feels good, no matter how horrific that sounds. I'm usually a complete pacifist, and hate violence, but the crunch of bone on cartilage fulfills some innate human-male urge.
Also, why should I let someone else have the first punch? I've been in that situation before, a story I might share later, and isn't half as fun. As an illustration, maybe I'll post the x-ray of my nose that was taken in a Barcelona hospital in 1997.
Same thing happened to me at about that age, but instead of the forehead, the backswing hit me straight in the mouth.
Oh shit. You win! Were your teeth okay?
Yeah, my teeth are pretty damn tough. Luckily the bat mostly caught me in the top lip and part of my nose. Nose was sore for a while, but I had a ridiculous fat lip for a week or so.
So we went to the party, and watched the shitty bands play. There were some skinheads there who were really drunk, and obviously looking for a fight. This was obvious because at one point, one of them grabbed the microphone away from one of the bands and said "We're looking for a fight!"
"I think the cat pissed on me, butthe sheer amount of urine, it couldn't have been the cat!"
I decided to take matters into my own hands. First I calmly took off my sunglasses, and put them in my pocket. As I was doing this I was thinking "When I tell this story in the future, no matter how it ends, I'll mention how I took my sunglasses off before getting into a fight."
Fuckin lol'd at all of theses.
And that's how I cleverly disguised my pants peeing and escaped eternal embarrassment.
I believe I did a similar thing once, except that I purposefully splashed water from the sink onto myself.
Here's a story I wrote in the heat of the moment, about earlier this evening. It's not as exciting as pissing on some jerk or headbutting them in the face, but whatever.And no, I didn't shoot myself.
I exhale slowly, my breath stinking of death, the alluring scent wafting its way through the otherwise still night. I've underdressed- I shudder in the frigid cold draped only in a t-shirt black as my surroundings, full of regret.
I put my hand to my mouth and draw a lungful of air, the harsh smoke smooth against my tongue and throat, slow and corrosive. Its orange glow reflects off of my glasses- or is it the flashing traffic light off to the right? I don't know- I'm focused and content, feeding the spectre looming over my shoulders. I exhale again, and watch as the shadow of the wooden fence cross-hatches the smoke, bathed in the sterile orange glow of the street lights.
The cold clay nips at my bare feet, and I shudder once more. What the hell am I doing out here? I know there's a loaded gun in my hand but it's as if nothing's wrong. The world hasn't stopped turning, the earth hasn't swallowed me up, there's no fire in the sky, and in about six hours, the sun will rise over this very balcony. Yet I feel as if I am committing a crime against the earth and the heavens themselves.
I stick the barrel of the gun in my mouth, hesitate a split-second, then pull the trigger. I feel every bit of that moment as if examining it under a microscope, scrutinizing and analyzing every detail, nook, and cranny. Hot toxic gas fills my mouth, forces its way into my lungs, and makes me happy- happier that I've been in a long, long time. It doesn't last, though: the gun drops from my hand and clatters onto the clay tiles, and once more the frigid night air is still.
The story about how to solve a bully problem, with no lasting repercussions except people continuing to bully you!
So, in the 5th Grade, I began to be bullied immensely, and for the stupidest, most illogical things. I wouldn't have cared, except for the mass amount of people taking part. Many, many months were spent being called stupid names by virtually everyone minus my few friends. One student, not the initiator of the bullying, gradually rose to be the worst.
One day, I decide to blackmail him with something he told me before he started bullying me. This makes him stop, for all of five minutes, but he just can't stop. So I tell his secret to the person he didn't want to know, and I'm suddenly a bad guy for making up stories.
So, he gets over it in like, an hour or two, and then starts bullying me again. I have my lunch box in hand, and I'm just getting fed up with the bullying. I had, for the past week or so, repeatedly hit him in the side with my lunch box. He made fun of me that it didn't hurt. Angrily, I swung harder than usual, accidentally aiming upwards without realizing it. Pissed off, he shoved me into a locker, and as I got up a teacher grabbed us and took us to the Principal's Office. It was there that I learned I gave him a bloody nose accidentally, and felt really bad.
So, I took my day of in school suspension. For five seconds, people thought what I did was funny and that he deserved it or was a loser, and then went back to mocking me. He apologized for his behavior when he realized the same people he was bullying me to be friends with turned on him. He never bothered me again.
So a separate post made in the last day reminded me of another short story I think is worth mentioning here. It even comes with a photo!
Everyone should know by now, either from experiencing it in person or from hearing Scrym's praises, that PAX is the greatest convention ever. I've been three years, with each one being epic for different reasons. For this story, I'm going back to PAX '08.
I've been listening to and watching podcasts for a long time now. I got into it thanks to an old roommate, who got me started with some tech and gaming podcasts, and I soon took it from there to also include anime. I've probably experienced close to a hundred different podcasts in my day, some I dropped immediately, some I listened to for a year or two before dropping, and the 25 or so that I still subscribe to today. One of the various gaming sites that I really discovered through podcasting was 1UP.com, and it quickly became my favorite source because of its podcasts and other good editorial.
This leads to PAX '08 where the 1UP people decided to have an official get-together, and I was stoked to go. As a bonus, the guys from the Totally Rad Show (been a fan since the beginning there too) also showed up to chat with. I'm mostly giving these details because for people who know game journalists and podcasters, this story will make more sense.
So the meet-up was winding down, and since I was one of the few fans still around, the 1UP and TRS guys invited me to continue bar hopping with them. Of course I jumped on that, didn't have much else to do after midnight. As we started heading towards the middle of downtown Seattle, the group kind of splintered off. Garnett Lee in his infinite wisdom, managed to convince half of us that he knew an amazing place. I was in a conversation with Alex Albrecht and Jeff Cannata of TRS, and they followed him, so I went along. And today, I'm very glad I did for this one reason:
That, my friends, is a completely smashed Adam Sessler standing with yours truly. All you need to do is look at the mark on his hand to tell what kind of a night he had. It was by some bizarre coincidence that he just happened to be passing behind us, and I really thank whoever it was that turned around and spotted him so that I could get this photo. He was with some others, perhaps his bodyguards or something, so he did not come with us.
That really was the highlight of the night, and perhaps the whole convention. Not because I'm surprised that journalists, even TV pseudo-celebrities, get drunk like everyone else, but just because it was totally unexpected, and he was so epically shit-faced. As it turned out, Garnett's bar was pretty lame (no surprise there either), so I managed to find the other place that the others had gone off to and hung out there instead. Ironically, it was the same place where I met Rym, Scott, Alex, and Emily this year at PAX '09.
Now I just need one more story to catch up to Funfetus...
One day, I decide to blackmail him with something he told me before he started bullying me.
You gotta at least tell us what it is!
It's pretty boring. He had a wet dream about some girl (supposedly), so I told her when he didn't stop bullying me. I felt bad, but he deserved it at that point. Note that this girl was the one who started bullying me first, so I deduced that he was bullying me because he liked her and wanted to fit in. When he realized she didn't like him at all, he stopped. Works for me.
I don't have anything good stories that don't have to do with sex, drinking, me being evil, being embarrassed and isn't downright depressing. So how about a lighthearted kids story.
It was the blizzard of '96 and I was living in MD at the time. After it was over we had almost two weeks off from school. The bulldozers came to clear the amount of snow from the parking lot. It made a huge pile of snow as big as the houses. My friends were a trio of boys and we played all sorts of games with that pile. We started sledding down it,. We made a fort to defend from other kids. We tried to dig a tunnel through it, but ended up with a little hole to jump in. It lasted from January until April, getting smaller each week. Eventually it turned into a little slab of ice. We wanted to preserve it, but our parents wouldn't let us. It's my favorite childhood memory.
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Years ago, my friends and I used to go down to Pasadena, to the Rose Parade route on New Year's Eve, where thousands of people set up camp on the street at night to get a good view of the parade in the morning. We never stayed for the parade, we just went down for the crazy party at night.
I just realized that this is two stories -- first, a quick one. One year, five of us went down there. This was when we were all punk rockers, all done up with the hair and clothes and everything. We were walking down the parade route, and we ran into a couple that one of us knew. So they joined us in walking down the parade route. As we got to the end of the street, I saw someone across the street who I thought was a friend of mine who was supposed to be around there somewhere -- similar studded up leather jacket, similar huge, spiky hair. We ran across the street to greet him, but it wasn't him -- it was some other guy, in some other group of seven punks. So we started talking to them, and then we all walked back down the street together -- now we were 14. Along the way, we started accumulating random punks that we passed. We were about 20 when we came to a side street where about 20 other punks had set up camp. So we stopped, and met everyone, and they were in the same situation -- a bunch of other small groups who had coalesced here. So now we were about 40, and we spent the whole night there together, sharing food and drinks and blankets, and talking, and blasting music, and generally scaring everyone else away from that street. That was one of the formative experiences of my young life, and a great example of all of the best things about the punk scene. I have other stories about the worst things.
Actually, I think I'll save the other story for later.
"I'm going to bring baseball to Guatemala," he proclaimed.
The rest of us slowly tried to explain how that was impossible, namely because there were no baseball fields, there was no equipment or money for it, and he did not speak Spanish and none of the kids spoke English. However, he remained resolute, and got up and left to head back to the hotel (more of a communal dorm that charged money in order to get tourist revenues from the volunteers). About an hour later, after some discussions with other volunteers, myself and a few others got up to head back to the dorm as well. I get into the cobblestone street, and almost immediately I hear a sharp "THWACK!" and a green blur floats across my field of vision. I turn to look at the source, and there's a little boy with a hefty stick and a small pile limes at his feet. I assume that he picked the limes from the trees all around the village, and that the stick was probably a smallish piece of firewood or construction scrap from home. He's surrounded at distance by friends, who likewise have limes and large sticks, and are lofting these limes into the air and taking mad swings at the limes. The ones they hit would, if young and still firm, make a nice thwacking sound as they soared into the air, while the older and riper limes would get hit with a tremendous snap and would sometimes just burst, shooting lime juice everywhere. Occasionally one would hit one and the others would notice quickly enough to yell at him to run, at which point the kid would follow some huge imaginary zigzag of bases, since there were no stationary bases to form a diamond. Most of the time, they wouldn't even return to their starting point, they'd just run off to grab a new stick and pull a lime off a tree.
My friends and I laughed our asses off at these little kids having the time of their lives in what was likely the first little league team to ever practice with limes, and we walked back to the dorm. My friend was lying on his bed, taking a nap, and when we entered he just said, "I told you I could do it. I brought baseball to Guatemala."
To the hyper-religious groups on campus, I am known as "That Atheist Guy Trust me you don't wanna mess with him".
Every time I encounter a super crazy religious group or person on campus, I end up debating with them. More often than not, a crowd begins to form around us and usually they are on my side by the end. I have four signature moves that have never failed to get the religious guy agitated and yelling while I remain calm:
Head-butt:
"So whats makes you think you're in the right religion?"
"Because it's the only true religion."
"Why? What about islam? Or Hinduism? or Pastafarian-ism. (usually they quickly ask if I really said "Pasta"farianism)
"Because it's the oldest."
"What about the gods of greek mythology? They were around LONG before Christianity or Judaism."
"Yeah, but those were just myths."
"And yours isnt?"
*verbal fumbling*
Hyper-uppercut:
"Are you an open minded induvidual?"
They always say "Yes".
"Then how is it you won't give evolution a fair shake? "
"Because its not true. I did my research. It cant possibly work: Bacterial phagellum/crocaduck."
Well, why don't we go to the biology building? I know a few biology and anthropology professors who would be more than happy to help explain it to you.
They never accept.
"I thought you said you were open minded..."
Sonic Boom:
"Is being a good person important?"
"yes, of course it is."
"Does god care if people are good or not?"
"Yes, god wants all of us to be good people. to be nice to one another."
"Do good people go to heaven?"
"Yes."
"All good people?"
"Of course."
"Oh, so god shouldn't care that I'm an atheist."
"You're an atheist?" (dun dun dun...)
"Yeah, but since I'm a good person, that shouldnt matter, right?"
"Well, yes it matters."
"But, I thought you said-"
"As an atheist, you have rejected god from your life. Therefore you cannot go to heaven."
"But what about all the good I've done and will do before I die?"
"well-"
"What if I become rich and famous and use my influence and money to help eradicate all of the worlds worst diseases? Are you saying God STILL wouldn't let me into heaven?"
"Yes, thats correct."
"Despite all the good I would have done in the world, for everyone, Christians and atheists alike, I would STILL be damned to hell for all of eternity?"
"Yes."
"That is so cruel and unfair. I save millions of lives and God would still chuck me into eternal pain and anguish?! What kind of all-loving all knowing god does that?! If you were god, wouldn't you let me in?"
"(more verbal fumbling ensues)"
Haduuken:
This is reserved for the really super-crazies, think of it as my BFG. Typically used if I need to go someplace or if there is a crowd, which is most of the time. The trick is to keep up the pace so they don't have time to think about what they are saying until it's too late. It's sneaky, and more of an attack on the persons character than on the existence of god, but it's mostly to get the crowd excited and on your side (if they aren't already on it). If you exit with this, you will usually leave with applause and "Whoo!"-ing trailing behind you. By the way, the bigger the crowd, the more of an effect this has.:
"Look, I'm a good person."
"have you ever sinned: lied, cheated, stolen, murdered or lusted after someone?"
"Well, murder, no. But for the rest, sure, I try not to, but I'm not perfect. Who is?"
"Well, see, God is perfect, and if you have done any of those things, you are not a good person in god's eyes."
"Are you a good person?"
"No, no human is, that's why we believe in god. God keeps an eye on us so that we can be good people."
*start picking up the pace of your questions*
"Wait, so if god didn't exist, you wouldn't be a good person?"
"That's right."
"Hold on, so if you didn't believe in god, You would do all those horrible things?"
"yes."
*You now have the crowds undivided attention, Time to start being exagerrated and dramatic to get them ramped up. Never give him time to rebut. You need the last word for this to work*
"WOAH! Wait a minute! Are you telling me that if it wasn't for GOD WATCHING YOU, you would rape and murder innocent women and children, and all those other horrible things?!
"No, but-"
"But that's exactly what you just said! You aren't a good person, you're not even a decent human being! You're just pretending to be good for some some COSMIC SECURITY CAMERA! You are scary dude! Excuse me, but I'm not feeling very comfortable around you right now. I think I'm gonna get away from you in case God blinks. *start walking away, backwards at first then turn around* You are one scary dude."
He Shoots, He scores, and the crowd goes wild.
These people are usually very emotional and not very good debaters. Their arguments are thin and flimsy, and are easy to tear down and when you do, they get angry and loud.
I'm on pretty good terms with the regular religious groups on campus, though. They like me because I discredit the crazies, which is fine by me. I know the leader of the christian fellowship, he knows I'm an atheist and is pretty cool about it. We have lunch every once in a while, he's a nice guy. Actually, we met after a SUPER MEGA CRAZY religious guy refused to keep talking to me. There was a big crowd, he was part of it. He introduced himself to me and thanked me for taking on the crazy guy. Then the school tv crew interviewed us together, and we both basically said that that guy was spreading hate and lies. We also said he needs to work on his people skills, because yelling at people and telling them they'll go to hell isn't really a motivator to have them listen to you.
The thing is, the regular religious groups: they're not being crazy, so I take no issue with them.
Anyway, so that sums that up. Feel free to use my techniques and customize them to fit your style.
Not really a story, but my life is pretty boring, and I can't think of much else.
This story begins in my senior year in high school, on a Friday night, with me telling my mom that I'm going to a party with some friends to see some bands play, and her telling me that, no, in fact, I'm not. She was afraid that something bad was going to happen, because you don't know who's going to be at these sorts of things -- are there even going to be any parents there?!? So we argued for a while, and she finally gave in, but it was the kind of angry, "Fine, do whatever you want!" sort of thing.
So we went to the party, and watched the shitty bands play. There were some skinheads there who were really drunk, and obviously looking for a fight. This was obvious because at one point, one of them grabbed the microphone away from one of the bands and said "We're looking for a fight!"
So we decided that this wasn't going to end well, and we started to leave. As we're walking toward the gate, these two skinheads are walking in, and one of them, so drunk he can't walk straight, runs straight into me -- I push him aside, and he falls down. Then he gets up,and the two of them follow us outside. The guy who ran into me gets in my face, saying "Why'd you push me?", and I say something like "You ran into me --" and the next thing I know (and I mean that -- literally the next thing I remember) I'm on the ground being kicked in the head by a bunch of guys. I can hear yelling, and it's obvious that one of my friends is fighting these guys, trying to get them off of me. I felt weirdly calm and lucid, and I just remember thinking "When are they going to stop?" I kept trying to get up, but every time I started, I'd get kicked and fall down again. I couldn't feel anything. Then, the next thing I knew, one of my friends and I were just running down the street (my friend told me later that he'd pulled me up by my hair), and the skinheads were chasing us. But they were all really drunk, and most of them were fat, so we left them behind pretty quickly.
We ran two or three blocks straight until we came to the first thing that was open, which was a McDonalds. We went in, and the guys behind the counter just stared at me slack-jawed. I asked if I could use the bathroom, and the guy just nodded, wide-eyed. So I went in the bathroom to clean up, and I was a fucking mess. Pouring blood all over the place. There was this old cholo in there, probably in his 50s -- I think he was washing his face and stuff. He had these white towels, and he gave me one, and I got blood all over it.
So long story short, we called my friend's mom, and she came down and picked us up, and I had to go home and tell my mom that she was right, I got beat up. I asked her to take me to the hospital, because I knew my nose was broken, and who knows what else, but she just yelled at me for a while, and I never ended up going to the hospital, but everything was relatively okay anyway. I mean, I literally had boot prints on my head, my nose was "pointing toward Mecca" in the words of my friends, and the whole right side of my face was swollen up -- the next Monday at school, one of my teachers asked me if I'd been in a car crash -- but nothing serious.
As a side note, one of the skinheads who beat me up was one of the guys there at that utopian punk rock new years eve in my previous story. So there's the dark side.
Also, I got off easy compared to one of my friends. He didn't get beat up, but they did steal his jacket -- his L.A. Sheriff's jacket that had belonged to his father, who had recently passed away.
My next story will be more upbeat, I promise.
I interned at a small theatre in Downtown Rochester. As the theatre had a less than bountiful budget, they drew in greater talent than they could usually afford by providing housing for actors and staff in a large house owned and maintained by the theatre. While I never lived in the house, the basement of the house was a frequent site for parties and get-togethers after shows. It is important to note for later reference that one of the actors from a previous show had taken in a stray cat and it became a permanent resident of the house, cared for by all that lived there.
During my time at the theatre I befriended a lovely man that worked there. For the purposes of this story I will call him Ian. Ian worked as an office assistant and an Assistant to the Director on some of the productions. He was in a relationship with the Stage Manager (whom I will call Derrick), a man whom I never particularly liked, but they seemed happy together.
Unfortunately, my uneasy feelings about Derrick were proven true when it came out that he was not only having unprotected sex with multiple partners while supposedly in an exclusive relationship with my friend, but he also had an incurable (though not deadly in most cases) STD. Derrick was fully aware of his condition long before his relationship with Ian ever began, yet he never disclosed it to any of his partners. Ian, after experiencing some odd symptoms, tested positive for this STD, thus bringing about the revelation of Derrick's extracurricular activities.
It was made clear that following the closing of the current show, that Derrick would be forced to move on, but there would have to be an awkward week of working and living together for my friend and the louse. I couldn't stand to be around Derrick at this point and I, along with most of the cast and crew were openly hostile toward him. Despite this, at the cast part in the house, he inserted himself into the mix. He was half in the bag when the party started and he was completely wasted within the hour and passed out on the floor halfway through the night.
Being 17 at the time, I was the go-to designated driver, and I waited until everyone was sorted (either crashing in the house or heading off with a safe driver) before I left. This meant that I was the last person awake and sober in the place. This left me for all intents and purposes alone with Derrick who was passed out. I poked him with my foot and he was completely out. I really wanted to kick him in the head or smash my glass in his face, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Looking around for something handy to smear all over him, I realized that I was wearing a skirt.
I took advantage of this and squat-walked over his torso and onto his face while I peed on him. He didn't wake up even when the urine hit his face and went a bit into his mouth. Having finished my business, I went up stairs and crashed on one of the love seats.
The next morning many people were up fixing huge omelets and joking about the party. Derrick stumbled up the stairs moaning about the cat. One of the actors asked him what he was on about. Derrick pointed to his soiled shirt and exclaimed, "I think the cat pissed on me, but the sheer amount of urine, it couldn't have been the cat!"
And that, my lovelies, is my primary pee story.
I also have a pee story, but it is less interesting and awesome, and more embarrassing instead. When I was in middle school, me and my friends went wandering around the neighborhood one day. Everyone had big backyards full of trees, so it was like going through woods. Behind one house (far enough from sight) we found a strange bird coupe thingy. It was filled with some kind of game bird, like ducks or quail or something, I don't remember. Anyway, being dumb kids, we went inside to play with them. Back in the days of being stupid, we thought that these were like pets or something (not for food, income, or something more practical). "Why would someone keep these pretty birds in a cage?" So we opened the door and ran around like crazy to spook them and let them escape. The experience of being right in the middle of a flock of random crazy birds was so hilarious, that I laughed so hard I peed my pants. After the birds were gone and we left the cage, I carefully kept my backside away from my friends. Then, feigning tiredness, I purposefully sat down in a puddle of water. "Whoops! I sat in water!" And that's how I cleverly disguised my pants peeing and escaped eternal embarrassment.
About five or six years ago I was staying at my parents' home for a few days. They live in a town in a rural area in the north of England. The town is on that border between a middle class and working class kind of place, so while there is a "rough" part of town, it's not rough at all, and is only two streets. Anyway, it's not the place you'd expect trouble on a sunny midweek afternoon.
But it only takes one idiot.
I was walking up an empty street, minding my own business, when the idiot showed up. I didn't even take notice of him at first, as he walked out of a side street on the other side of the road, and maybe slightly behind me.
He shouts out the classic line "Where you looking at me?"
As it happens, I really didn't even glance at him, or not that I remember. I found this quite amusing. I looked over, and he was wearing a white baseball cap. This might be common in the US, but in the UK this a clear sign that reads "CHAV".
I said "No, I wasn't looking at you, but I guess I am now."
He didn't take it for the joke I intended it to be, and decided to take issue. With more blustering, stupid effrontery, he followed my up the street, pushing me, trying to grab me, and generally being an annoying twat. I could see he was doing everything he could to make the situation end non-peacefully, so I tried to just get away.
At the top of the street was a supermarket car park, so I turned in there, and he followed me. Once he saw I was going to go into the supermarket, where a security guard would likely be waiting, he took things to the next level, by grabbing my arm and pulling me. I wondered, if he wanted a fight, why didn't he just start it himself.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. First I calmly took off my sunglasses, and put them in my pocket. As I was doing this I was thinking "When I tell this story in the future, no matter how it ends, I'll mention how I took my sunglasses off before getting into a fight."
Second, I swept my hand up and knocked the idiot's baseball cap off his head. I wasn't sure if he'd get the historical significance of the action, but I knew it would annoy him.
Third, as he let go in surprise at the hat-doffing, I head-butted him, right in his stupid face, hard. My forehead connected with his nose, and I felt a satisfying crunch. The idiot stumbled back, holding his nose, and looked like he was about to fall down. He didn't though, so I turned and walked, quite quickly, across the remainder of the car park and into the supermarket.
He followed me, but by the time he got to the front of the shop I was standing next to the security guard, smiling out through the glass doors, watching him dab blood off his face with his sleeve. I knew he wouldn't come in; what would he say or do?
As I was there already, I bought some food in the shop, and by the time I left the idiot was nowhere to be seen.
To be honest, I probably could have found a way out of the situation that didn't involve violence, and certainly not with me landing the first blow. But you know what? It had been a long time since I'd hit someone in the nose, and it's not often the situation presents itself so clearly and obviously. It just feels good, no matter how horrific that sounds. I'm usually a complete pacifist, and hate violence, but the crunch of bone on cartilage fulfills some innate human-male urge.
Also, why should I let someone else have the first punch? I've been in that situation before, a story I might share later, and isn't half as fun. As an illustration, maybe I'll post the x-ray of my nose that was taken in a Barcelona hospital in 1997.
I exhale slowly, my breath stinking of death, the alluring scent wafting its way through the otherwise still night. I've underdressed- I shudder in the frigid cold draped only in a t-shirt black as my surroundings, full of regret.
I put my hand to my mouth and draw a lungful of air, the harsh smoke smooth against my tongue and throat, slow and corrosive. Its orange glow reflects off of my glasses- or is it the flashing traffic light off to the right? I don't know- I'm focused and content, feeding the spectre looming over my shoulders. I exhale again, and watch as the shadow of the wooden fence cross-hatches the smoke, bathed in the sterile orange glow of the street lights.
The cold clay nips at my bare feet, and I shudder once more. What the hell am I doing out here? I know there's a loaded gun in my hand but it's as if nothing's wrong. The world hasn't stopped turning, the earth hasn't swallowed me up, there's no fire in the sky, and in about six hours, the sun will rise over this very balcony. Yet I feel as if I am committing a crime against the earth and the heavens themselves.
I stick the barrel of the gun in my mouth, hesitate a split-second, then pull the trigger. I feel every bit of that moment as if examining it under a microscope, scrutinizing and analyzing every detail, nook, and cranny. Hot toxic gas fills my mouth, forces its way into my lungs, and makes me happy- happier that I've been in a long, long time. It doesn't last, though: the gun drops from my hand and clatters onto the clay tiles, and once more the frigid night air is still.
So, in the 5th Grade, I began to be bullied immensely, and for the stupidest, most illogical things. I wouldn't have cared, except for the mass amount of people taking part. Many, many months were spent being called stupid names by virtually everyone minus my few friends. One student, not the initiator of the bullying, gradually rose to be the worst.
One day, I decide to blackmail him with something he told me before he started bullying me. This makes him stop, for all of five minutes, but he just can't stop. So I tell his secret to the person he didn't want to know, and I'm suddenly a bad guy for making up stories.
So, he gets over it in like, an hour or two, and then starts bullying me again. I have my lunch box in hand, and I'm just getting fed up with the bullying. I had, for the past week or so, repeatedly hit him in the side with my lunch box. He made fun of me that it didn't hurt. Angrily, I swung harder than usual, accidentally aiming upwards without realizing it. Pissed off, he shoved me into a locker, and as I got up a teacher grabbed us and took us to the Principal's Office. It was there that I learned I gave him a bloody nose accidentally, and felt really bad.
So, I took my day of in school suspension. For five seconds, people thought what I did was funny and that he deserved it or was a loser, and then went back to mocking me. He apologized for his behavior when he realized the same people he was bullying me to be friends with turned on him. He never bothered me again.
Everyone should know by now, either from experiencing it in person or from hearing Scrym's praises, that PAX is the greatest convention ever. I've been three years, with each one being epic for different reasons. For this story, I'm going back to PAX '08.
I've been listening to and watching podcasts for a long time now. I got into it thanks to an old roommate, who got me started with some tech and gaming podcasts, and I soon took it from there to also include anime. I've probably experienced close to a hundred different podcasts in my day, some I dropped immediately, some I listened to for a year or two before dropping, and the 25 or so that I still subscribe to today. One of the various gaming sites that I really discovered through podcasting was 1UP.com, and it quickly became my favorite source because of its podcasts and other good editorial.
This leads to PAX '08 where the 1UP people decided to have an official get-together, and I was stoked to go. As a bonus, the guys from the Totally Rad Show (been a fan since the beginning there too) also showed up to chat with. I'm mostly giving these details because for people who know game journalists and podcasters, this story will make more sense.
So the meet-up was winding down, and since I was one of the few fans still around, the 1UP and TRS guys invited me to continue bar hopping with them. Of course I jumped on that, didn't have much else to do after midnight. As we started heading towards the middle of downtown Seattle, the group kind of splintered off. Garnett Lee in his infinite wisdom, managed to convince half of us that he knew an amazing place. I was in a conversation with Alex Albrecht and Jeff Cannata of TRS, and they followed him, so I went along. And today, I'm very glad I did for this one reason:
That, my friends, is a completely smashed Adam Sessler standing with yours truly. All you need to do is look at the mark on his hand to tell what kind of a night he had. It was by some bizarre coincidence that he just happened to be passing behind us, and I really thank whoever it was that turned around and spotted him so that I could get this photo. He was with some others, perhaps his bodyguards or something, so he did not come with us.
That really was the highlight of the night, and perhaps the whole convention. Not because I'm surprised that journalists, even TV pseudo-celebrities, get drunk like everyone else, but just because it was totally unexpected, and he was so epically shit-faced. As it turned out, Garnett's bar was pretty lame (no surprise there either), so I managed to find the other place that the others had gone off to and hung out there instead. Ironically, it was the same place where I met Rym, Scott, Alex, and Emily this year at PAX '09.
Now I just need one more story to catch up to Funfetus...
It was the blizzard of '96 and I was living in MD at the time. After it was over we had almost two weeks off from school. The bulldozers came to clear the amount of snow from the parking lot. It made a huge pile of snow as big as the houses. My friends were a trio of boys and we played all sorts of games with that pile. We started sledding down it,. We made a fort to defend from other kids. We tried to dig a tunnel through it, but ended up with a little hole to jump in. It lasted from January until April, getting smaller each week. Eventually it turned into a little slab of ice. We wanted to preserve it, but our parents wouldn't let us. It's my favorite childhood memory.
@Viga -- that sounds absolutely magical. The other stories you mentioned sound good too, though.