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  • edited October 2010
    Well, so is religion.
    No religion states that you can empirically observe that which you have faith in; to do so would override the purpose of faith. Irrationality is not the same as insanity. Furthermore, you acknowledge the irrationality of your religion, which shows that you are somehow possessed of logic; ultimately, your faith is an arbitrary decision to believe in a deity and his ruleset. No more, no less. It is the decision between Rifts and Burning Wheel.
    So either they're both okay or neither is.
    Bullshit. You can shrug at another person's religion. You cannot shrug when someone says you possess a mystic field that they can see and it is purple because you are sad.
    Post edited by WindUpBird on
  • edited October 2010
    I'm just a really cool Catholic. Pro-choice, pro-stem cells, pro-gay marriage, pro-premarital sex, the whole motherfucking lot.
    Just like me!
    Post edited by progSHELL on
  • coolCatholic. Pro-choice, pro-stem cells, pro-gay marriage, pro-premarital sex, the whole motherfucking lot.
    Just like me!
  • Which story to tell, The Threesome Tale, Legend of Shuriken Head or The Wolf Pack of Jesus?

    Shuriken head it is!

    We used to hang at my ex Montae's place a lot and he owned a ton of weapons. For some dumbass reason he decided to throw them at boxes for targets or the wall. For an even more dumbass idea Ces called me. I turned and ended up with a shuriken to the head. "WHY! WHAT THE FUCK!" I yelled. She's like "I aimed for your shoulder!" "WHY DID YOU AIM AT ME AT ALL! FUCK!"

    Yeah, kids, don't play withweaponsdumbasses.
  • Bullshit. You can shrug at another person's religion. You cannot shrug when someone says you possess a mystic field that they can see and it is purple because you are sad.
    I do. I've done it several times. What I think is that these people may just be better at reading others, and they pass it off as psychic powers. Also, most "psychics" I've talked to can't empirically "observe" colors, they just "know" something about someone, or claim to, and the best way they can describe it is through something like a color. The two ideas are extremely similar, and both rely on just believing that something with no evidence is real. Most psychics admit there is no evidence for their powers, but they just know things.
  • So a large group of friends and I, Professor Pangloss among them, were sitting in Columbus Circle, just hangin' out. The majority of people had turned their attention to Pangloss' melodica-playing, so I directed my gaze elsewhere.

    At this point I saw one of two things - a well-known geek celebrity or a man with sufficient facial hair to be mistaken for him, walking across the circle in his full splendor.

    I breathed his name. Jonathan Coulton.

    He turned, not bothering to interrupt his stride.

    It was him.

    Pangloss started playing Still Alive. All were enraptured, and upon his departure all we could talk about was him.

    And that was the closest I've ever come to meeting a celebrity. Although Zeljko Ivanek was allegedly in the same Whole Foods as me.
  • edited October 2010
    Yeah, it was him. Seemed like he was in a bit of a hurry, too. Damn, I still wish that I was quick enough to start playing Still Alive while he was within earshot...
    Post edited by ProfPangloss on
  • edited October 2010
    So I was at work today (IT support in our engineering college), walking down the halls, when my ears honed in on a conversation between two guys walking down the hall, coming towards me.
    "...depends on what kind of zombie. Fast or slow, lurching or sprinting."
    I just pass them as he finishes the sentence and I add, "Don't forget their origin. Supernatural or biological. Voodoo zombies or pathogen zombies."
    Without thinking the guy says "Yeah and-" he stops and turns around. "Wait, what?"
    I turn around to match him. "In either case, you can't go wrong with a head shot."
    I then proceed to whip out my nerf maverick and head shot them both in a span of a couple of seconds. After they recovered from their stunned state, high fives were exchanged and we went on our merry ways.
    Post edited by Victor Frost on
  • ...and why exactly did you have your Nerf gun on you?
  • Because there's a guy in the college who insists that Nerf Swords are better. I was gonna teach him a lesson.
  • ...and why exactly did you have your Nerf gun on you?
    Self defense of course
  • Ah, the ol' "stab you in the chest" crazy. At least she was up front about it.
    Is it wrong that I would have said to her "Yeah, why not. We'll see who dies first." and then followed through on that?
  • Speaking with nine, I remembered a tale from science class.

    We were doing a basic chemistry project about making soap. The final exam was a short paper about how you would go about making soap, were you stranded on a desert island with only an Axe, a hatchet, a knife, a bucket and a flint and steel for starting fires. All other objects were up to you, but must be what would be reasonably found on a medium sized island that had at least one small mountain, and a medium variety of terrain.

    Other students were contented to describe the simple process of chopping down a tree, "Making a fire" at varying levels of detail, killing an animal(Invariably described as either "Kill an animal" or "Find a fresh carcass"), rendering the fat, mixing the tallow and lye, and then forming it into blocks, or using it straight from the bucket. Most students also took note of the extra credit option, and noted that they should test it on an animal - usually a wild pig - to check if it wasn't too caustic. Most papers were hardly two pages, and generally got anything from a D+ to a B-.

    However, I was not contented with such weak grades. And so, I went to work.

    I prepared hard for this one, and my final paper was a thick document that looked more like a small novel than a tenth grade chemistry report. It was a behemoth, with a full index, and described everything in meticulous detail. Everything, you ask? Yes, everything. Not just the process for making the soap, but the island itself, it's terrain, flora and fauna, how I'd use my tools in all of my processes, how I'd make my equipment(which varied from fire-platforms, to water channels and water-wheels to provide mechanical power for various operations such as a stirring vat for the various parts of the process, and so on, with diagrams in an appendix at the back), the process of finding and knapping flint to make razors and other such equipment, traps for catching wild pigs alive and keeping them contained and fed, Traps for catching other smaller animals to feed to the pigs and for various other uses(such as using their parts to make equipment, such as a sieve made of bones), how to kill the animals humanely, and a detailed process for testing the soap on pigs for both usefulness as a cleaning agent and to ensure it wasn't harmful to my own skin, and where one should bathe to ensure maximum cleanliness, as well as minimal pollution of one's drinking water.

    The final extra bit was a modified process to make a slightly slimier soap that didn't form into bars, but instead was more of a very thick, semi-solid goop that would lather thickly and was scented with various island fruits and flowers, to use as a shaving soap, as since one of the premises outlaid in the initial question was that personal hygiene improved morale and thus one's chances of survival, as did performing a task, and my reasoning was that a shaving routine would be a very good companion process to one's bathing ritual, and would improve morale even more, with the additional task helping with one's sanity.

    Be damned if I didn't get an A on that paper, and the teacher requested to Keep a copy and use it in the future, and when I inquired why, his answer was "Doing a complete job, proper scientific process even when trapped in an environment devoid of simple lab tools, how having a mind for detail is important, and exactly how much of an incredible little smart arse bastard one of my students once was, because I'm proud of you." Also, the possiblity of it being submitted as part of a paper he was writing to an Educational journal was discussed.

    This same teacher offered us A's on a selection of projects of our choice, if we learned and sung Tom Leher's elements song in front of the class, which a friend of mine and I did, and also, we created a new school rule thanks to a project he allowed us to assign ourselves - we asked innocently if we could build a trebuchet as a demonstration of physics in action, if we did a full project on it, and he agreed. We tactfully avoided discussion of the SIZE of the trebuchet, and he only specified that it should be a "Small" trebuchet without giving any reference point for what small was. So of course, comparing it in size to the traditional, full size trebuchets of ancient times, we built a six meter tall trebuchet, and took it to school, and used to to fling all sorts of large objects for a great distance until the principal went FUCKING MENTAL.

    The new rule - "No unconcealable weapons of any size are allowed within school grounds, for any purpose, including and beyond any Historical siege weapons."
    Our proposition that we should use it to lay siege to other local high schools, conquer them, and claim them as our own so that we may remove them from the competition for funding was not taken well.
  • Our proposition that we should use it to lay siege to other local high schools, conquer them, and claim them as our own so that we may remove them from the competition for funding was not taken well.
    Try that again these days and they might just take you up on it.
  • edited July 2011
    I wrote about my favorite coffee shop for an Expository Writing class last semester. It was a compare & contrast assignment, and while the teacher was foggy on what I was comparing and contrasting he enjoyed it enough to give me a 95/100. It's called A Couple States of Mind.

    It's a cloudless Tuesday. He steps from the car onto the warm pavement and starts down the sidewalk to the coffee shop. The sun is low in the sky and the porch blinds are pulled down to sheild the eyes of the people who sit behind them. Familiar voices, friendly smiles, casual greetings. Dirty brown floorboards and dilapidated chairs plated with golden light. Smoke lifting lazily from ashtrays full of bummed cigarettes and from the mouths of his friends. Not much to worry about. The sort of scene he'd be nostalgic for.

    Inside and behind the counter stands his favorite barista. She asks how his day had been, he replies that it's been good even though it hasn't. She smiles; he orders a cup of tea, pays the usual price, waits for it to steep, and adds cream and too much sugar. The face he makes upon tasting it quickly shifts to a smile when he steps outside to sit on the porch.

    He drinks the sickly tea in an attempt to justify his investment. The conversation is light and he doesn't talk much because he's not sure what to say. People seem to like him so he doesn't try too hard. During a lull he plays a song on his harmonica. A couple of them seem to apreciate it. He gets some things off his chest. The things don't bother them as much as they bother him and that comforts him. After a final sip he decides that the tea was worth it for the company and abandons it, half-full, next to the nearest ashtray.

    People leave as the sun's shadows lengthen. Narcotics Anonymous members are laughing and cheering upstairs. Somebody said that most of them have relapsed but, he thinks, at least they can laugh together. Eventually it's just him and girl a he doesn't know well but sits with a lot. He likes how their silence isn't awkward. She puts out her last cigarette and picks up her bag. She bids him farewell and says it was nice to see him again. He agrees and plays her a sad song as she walks away.

    There isn't much else to do. He plays some more music. The NA people form a gabbing crowd in front of the shop when their meeting is over and the sun has crossed the horizon to some other day. They like the music and ask him to play some more. He obliges and after another song it's time to go home.

    He sits in the driver's seat with an unshakable sense of melancholy.


    On Saturday clouds like mildewed cotton are draped to each horizon. The air is still and cold. The world feels thin and as he steps from the car his breath is ephemeral clouds of vapour. The blinds are up and only smokers are on the porch. It is dull greys and soaked cigarette butts in the cracks between damp steps. A tangle of broken Christmas lights hang from the ceiling and run to the latticework on the western side. Ugly brown floorboards with remnants of an old paint job like infected scabs. There's a friend there in a beanie and sunglasses. Beside him sits an aggrivating aquaintence. Greetings take the form of silent nods behind glowing tips.

    He pushes through the door and can barely remember the barista. A father, a grandfather, and two children are standing in line. The kids order complicated drinks and climb on the side of the counter. Everyone looks grumpy but them. When it's his turn he orders a cup of coffee, skips the cream and sugar and heads back outside after wishing the barista a good day.

    He sits beside his friend and accross from the acquaintance on a broken rocking chair. From the porch it looks as if the grey painted sky has bled into the walls and the rain has washed it's colors together into a hoary gradient on the abandoned pallete of a dead painter. Philosophy, psycology, engineering, food and coffee; they move lazily from one topic to the next. The acquaintance asks stupid questions and eventually stands up and becomes loud and annoying. The friend tells the acquaintance to sit down. He doesn't. The friend threatens to kill him with a ballpoint pen. The acquaintance sits down. The friends continue talking.

    The acquainetnce sulks for a while and then leaves. Conversation continues until the clouds fade to black. The talk is unfiltered and sober, without long silences or misunderstandings. They disagree but discuss instead of argue. It is refreshing, and by the time the shop is closing and they say farewell he decides during a handshake that it's been a good day.

    On the way home he smiles; reveling in the weather with his head in the clouds.
    Post edited by Walker on
  • Holy shit is this thread epic.

    On my recent 3 month trip to Israel, one of our activities was spending a week living on an army base, experiencing what it is like to be drafted to the IDF. The program is called Gadnah, and it is designed to get high school kids (usually Israelis about to be drafted) used to the idea of the army. Honestly, it was pretty fun. We spoke Hebrew, learned about guns, wore uniforms, the whole deal. We were there for just a few days as just Americans (with Israeli officers), then, the Israeli kids arrived.

    My friend Josh, who spoke Hebrew extremely well had been chatting with one of the guys who worked in the mess hall. From what he heard, we were going to encounter so kids from a really bad neighborhood. Whatever, I think to myself. We are on a fucking army base, there are commanders carrying guns in every direction. Oh god how wrong I was.

    The first night, the Israelis are already bothering everyone. The girls are yelling at the American girls to be faster in the shower and grabbing at them until they get out. They are spitting on people, throwing food at people, and trying to lock people in rooms. One of them even goes up to one of our commanders and says he is going to put a bullet in her head. That night was the first fight. This kid, Keith from my group was brushing his teeth and four Israeli kids surround him and start blowing smoke in his face. He tells them to back off and they keep going "don't speak english". He reaches for one of them and they start beating the shit out of him. Suddenly, everyone in the bunk area is running toward this one tree (we still don't know why) and Israelis are jumping out of the windows holding belts. A fraction of a minute later, a bunch of officers run in and start breaking up the fights. They send us back to our bunks and the head of the base comes in to each bunk one at a time interviewing us on what happened.

    The next morning, I'm sitting at breakfast when I hear a commotion right behind me. The table has flipped over and two kids are scrambling over chairs, grappling with each other. I decided that I'm done with breakfast and get up to bus my plate. In the time it takes me to walk across the room, another fight has already broken out.

    So the day goes by. We are calming down and hoping that the Samal (the enforcer of discipline) has gotten these kids to relax a bit. My sub-group of about a dozen kids is sitting on the edge of the base when we hear a commotion. Our commander tells us to stay quiet. Then we hear a louder commotion. She radios the the head of the base and tells us we are moving out meeting to the meeting hall. About an hour later, we are done with our meeting and she says we can go. At this point, I have to piss really badly, but I say nothing. As we are about to leave, another commander runs over, shouts at us to get inside, and hands our commander an M16. The remainder of the Americans filter in slowly. We are still stuck the meeting hall. The head of the base comes in and puts on an obviously pirated copy of Toy Story 3. We are finally allowed to leave around when the movie ended. We get to the area with the bunks. There are pools of blood on the ground and blood spattered on the outer walls, along with a broken bottle. The police have come to the base and are arresting kids. From what we gather, there was a giant fight between the two of the schools that started with two guys arguing over a girl. One smashed a bottle on the other and the fight that had gotten stopped the night before ran to completion.

    All of the Israelis have left, it is our last day and we are cleaning our bunks. Before leaving, they utterly destroyed the bathroom. They didn't just break the bulbs, they broke the light fixtures, the sinks, the toilets and the drains. Here is the kicker. They shit everywhere. The guys got lucky that shit was the only thing in our showers. The girls had to deal with that in addition to used tampons.

    And that is the story about the time I lived on an Israeli amry base for a week.
  • jmerm wins the thread.

    Holy shit.
  • Sheeeeeeeet. Wow.
  • Seems like you guys liked that one, so I guess I'll share another of the stories of crazy shit that happened in Israel.

    It is the day before Purim. Like Halloween, dressing up on Purim is done by little kids, and teenagers going to Parties. For some unknown reason, the program decided to take us to one of these parties. It is taking place at a local high school. Not just within the high school, but as an official school event. To get a sense of the scale, this picture (sorry for the shitty res, I could only find one on facebook) shows about a third of the number of people there. Since this is a school party, not one organized by the kids, there is some sense of order. Every grade (also the teachers) had a group dress up in themed costumes, and do a performance in character. We walked in during a Men in Tights performance. The following are some performances which happened:

    Blackface (started out doing a gospel choir, then threw off their robes revealing stuffed butts and did a rap video recreation.)
    Gay Little Mermaid (I say gay not a pejorative, but to reference the amount of man-man makeouts that occurred.)
    Gay Jungle Book (same as above)
    Some Sailor thing we didn't recognize

    During these skits, people on balconies all around the edges of the room would be spraying confetti, shooting silly string, or lowering banners over the banners of the group that came before them. The level of choreography was surprisingly impressive. Other notable things included:
    Many guys whose costume seemed to be "no shirt"
    A guy in a baby costume drinking vodka out of his baby bottle
    A guy with a giant stuffed penis (4, maybe 6 feet long and about a foot in diameter) attached to his costume which was carried around in a wheelbarrow that he pushed around.
  • edited July 2011
    See, now you've got my emotions all conflicted. Your first story made me want to say as far away from Israel as possible... but now....
    Post edited by P_TOG on
  • Alright then, he is another related collection of stories to help you make up your mind:

    So Yom Ha'Zikaron, Israeli Veteran's Day (huge national day of mourning) directly precedes Yom Ha'atzmaut, Israeli Independence Day (huge national day of celebration. The way Israeli holidays work is based on the Jewish holiday system meaning they start at night and end at night. So the beginning of Yom Ha'Zikaron is a siren, for which every car stops, everyone gets out of their cars, and people just stand there for a minute. We watched it from a bridge over the highway.

    Then, we get back on our buses and drive to Rabin Square, where famous Israeli Prime Minister was assassinated. There was an incredibly chill concert there, at which major Israeli artists performed to a silent, still crowd in between slideshows and video clips about soldiers who died in battle or are currently missing. A lot of people were moved by the video of from the family of Gilad Shalit.

    We spend the day doing very little, but that night, we watch a ceremony on TV including a bunch of boring speeches that most of us couldn't understand because of the high level Hebrew. Now it is time for a massive party. It is Israeli Independence Day!

    Imagine a park, not as big as central park but big enough to hold a few thousand teenagers. There are flashing lights everywhere, tons of food for sale, live bands and DJs, dance performances, and TONs of people. At one point, my friend Emily gets on my shoulders and is dancing above the crowd. It was pretty awesome. We saw the band, Monica Sex who are pretty big, but they didn't play their biggest song (which the school choir sings so our whole grade knows it) so after the concert we all start singing it while they clean up and a bunch of cool israelis start singing and dancing with us. We go on some trampolines, climb on a fantastic jungle gym that was roped off, so we have to find cool ways up it, and get some drinks. [side note, the drinking age in Israel is 18, which is the age most of us are. I don't drink, but a lot of people drank quite a bit]. We get home at like 4A.M. smelling of smoke and insanely tired.

    The next day, we wake up and have a picnic in the park. We met some of the families of our counselors who had been with us for about 2 months at that point. And then we just chilled for the rest of the day. It was awesome.
  • edited July 2011
    So let me tell you a story about Anime Expo 2011.

    Saturday was a day of buying. Of my $40 budget, I had spent none of it on useless things like food and water, opting to, instead, carry those on my back. No. My money was to be put towards the dealers room!

    Roaming the aisles of the exposition hall, my ears perked up as I heard an announcement over the P.A. system of the convention center.

    "Attention convention attendees: If you have left a package in the Compass Cafe', please report to *mumble mumble* to pick it up. Again, If you have left a package in the Compass Cafe', please report to *mumble mumble* to pick it up."

    I felt a slight tingle run down my spine, but shrugged it off, and continued in browsing the wares in the artists alley.

    A little while later, I felt the buzz of my cell phone telling me that it's almost time for the Settlers of Catan Tournament and started heading towards the exit of the dealers room. But as I got closer, I noticed that most of the foot traffic was walking parallel to the doors, rather than through them. Getting closer still, I found out why; every door, except for two sets on the far end of that wall, was closed and blocked by two convention center employees each. Not Anime Expo Staff. Convention Center Employees.

    Another shiver traced a line down my back. "There's that damn feeling again," I thought.

    I approached one of the employees, "Can you tell me what's going on here? Why are these doors closed?"
    "I'm sorry, but a portion of the South Hall has been closed temporarily."
    "When did this happen?"
    "Just a few minutes ago."
    "I don't know. If you want to leave this hall, you can go down that way and leave via Hall G."

    I thanked him and headed down Hall G and to the escalators that led to the South Hall. On the ride down, I noticed that more than just "a portion" of it was closed off. Almost three quarters of it, including the compass cafe and every interior entrance from the west hall, was completely cut off by police safety tape. Along the interior of the perimeter were several police officers as well as the convention center security personnel.


    As I stepped off the escalator, I walked along the perimeter, trying to see what I could, but it was absolutely empty. I put two and two together.
    "No one must have picked up the package, so they closed off this area in case it's a bomb or something."

    Taking out my sharpie and a flier I had folder up earlier, I approached one of the police officers.
    "Excuse me, officer, but what's going on here?"
    "This area is closed off for now."
    "But what happened?"
    "We don't have any information at this time."
    "Does this have anything to do with the lost package announcement that was made earlier?"
    "I'm sorry, but I don't have any information to give you. I'm going to have to ask you to move along; you're blocking traffic."

    I moved away and hung back away from the blocked area. I weighed my options: wait and see what happens or go to the settlers tournament.
    I decided to stay and it was a good thing I did. Moving to a different part of the tape line, I waited and listened to the conversations of the people on the other side. My patience paid off; In a few minutes, a scraggly looking approached the line maybe 5-10 feet from me.

    Another tingle shot down my spine and gave me goosebumps, "What the hell is that?"

    When the police approached him, he told them he lost a backpack. When they asked him for me details, by their reactions, it looked like he correctly identified it. They quickly let him through the line and walked him out of another exit. Not being able to push through the mob near the door to follow them from a distance, I retreated to the line and asked one of the police officers the man talked to. Coincidentally, it was the officer I had spoken to before.

    "Excuse me-"
    "Oh, it's you again."
    "Yeah, anyway, that man the other officer took away, was he able to correctly identify the backpack?"
    "I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."
    I cocked an eyebrow, "That man-"
    "Was it his bag?"
    "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything."
    I was getting pretty indignant, "Can I get a statement from you?"
    "A statement?"
    "Yes, a statement," I took out my sharpie and got ready to write, "Was that man the officer just escorted past the police line have anything to do with the lost package announcement that caused the cordoning off of this area? Was he able to correctly identify the backpack as describe by him as being a burgundy and black backpack?"
    "Who the hell are you?"
    "Is that your statement, Officer (something or another)?"
    He sighed, "This is currently the scene of an active investigation. I can give no comment at this time." He prattled off the line monotonously.
    "Thank you. And your badge number is (###)?"
    "Thank you."

    As I walked away, I heard him mutter under his breath, "Damn reporters."

    And then it hit me. That was what the feeling was! Instead of a spidey sense or a kancho sense, that tingling sensation was my journalism sense!

    Long story short, it ended up being that guy's bag and the area was opened back up fairly shortly, just in time for me to get to and place fourth at the Settlers of Catan tournament.

    And that's how I earned my cutie mark.
    Post edited by Victor Frost on
  • Story I realized I've never mentioned here.

    So, I went to visit my buddy Chad in Alaska this summer with my friends Audrey and Melissa. His family insisted that we visit some of the more touristy attractions while we were up there, and one such attraction was a wolf zoo. Except it wasn't so much of a zoo as it was some crazy old guy's house out in the middle of nowhere where he kept wild wolves chained up in his backyard. We arrived slightly late for one of the "tours" so we were told to walk down the path and meet up with the group. We exited the back doors and walked down the path towards the others, quickly finding that the chains that the wolves were attached to were *just* long enough so that they could reach the path. We nervously waddled along, trying not to make any sudden movements as each wolf growled and bared it's teeth at us. We caught up with the old man and the other tourists and moved along with him, listening to him talking about how old each wolf was, which ones were born in there, how he was recently injured by them, etc. They're absolutely beautiful animals, but it was fairly nerve-wracking to be around them, especially the ones that weren't fenced in.

    Eventually, we got to his most "famous" wolf named Harmony. Apparently, she's been used in a lot of movies because she is incredibly tame. She basically behaves exactly like a dog, just a really really huge dog. It's not every day you get to pet and play with an animal that is normally so incredibly dangerous.

    To conclude this story, I would like you to take a good hard look at the photo above before following this link to a video that I took just moments after. I was very lucky to have my camera in my hands and at the ready. You can hear how much I was laughing.
    Follow-up story.
  • edited June 2012
    The new rule - "No unconcealable weapons of any size are allowed within school grounds, for any purpose, including and beyond any Historical siege weapons."
    Well that would interfere with a chunk of my pre-engineering class...
    Post edited by Cramit on
  • The new rule - "No unconcealable weapons of any size are allowed within school grounds, for any purpose, including and beyond any Historical siege weapons."
    Well that would interfere with a chunk of my pre-engineering class...
    To be fair, I think they'd make an exception if it was supervised. I mean, your school probably has a rule against bringing knives and other sharp objects, but they don't shut down the wood shop or biology classes.
  • So the Wednesday after the Avengers was out in theaters me and some friends met up at a movie theater in Manhattan to go see it together. We had intended to catch the 9 pm showing, but by the time everyone arrived it was sold out, but we managed to get tickets for the next showing apparently just before they sold out.

    So the six of us went up to wait in line at the theater since a line was already formed by the time we got there. At this point three of group broke off to get food or hit the bathroom, leaving me behind with my roommate Rachelle and our friend Yuko.

    At this point there is a couple in front of us, and the woman turns around and asks the two girls if their boyfriends dragged them their to see the movie, or if they had come willing. After which they began talking about what they had heard about the movie, with the woman's boyfriend chiming in from time to time.

    There was something about the way he looked and the sound of his voice that seemed really familiar to be, but I couldn't place it until he pulls out a deck of cards. Then says he's going to show us a trick. He asks Yuko to pick a card and then proceeds to do some amazing close up card magic while we stand in line.

    After a couple of tricks, when there was sort of a lull, I asked him, "Are you David Blaine?" I tried to say it loud enough for him and the girls to hear, but not anyone else.

    To which he replied, "Yeah."

    He then proceeded to do a few more tricks before the line finally moved into the theater, and we lost track of him.

    Having seen a number of his specials I figured that I ever actually saw him in person I could figure out what he was doing, but no I couldn't. One or two of the tricks we may have figured out small pieces of, but with some of the more impressive ones I have no idea.
  • edited June 2012
    Kiey, your story is now in comic form:

    Went to the medical clinic to find out what manner of illness I have. On one of the forms, it asked what other languages I was fluent in. For kicks, I put pig latin.
    So they direct me to the room where I'm to wait for the doctor. Well, she walks in with a nurse and the first words out of the doctor's mouth are the following:
    "Osay, atwhay eemssay otay ebay ethay oblempray?"
    I'm surprised, and she give me this look like "Problem?"
    So I'm all, "alright, let's do this".

    And we proceed to have the entire rest of the (albiet short) appointment in pig latin. Walking out of the clinic's back area, I hear the nurse say to her, "What the fuck just happened?"
    Post edited by Victor Frost on
  • Wait wait wait wait the person who does Johnny Wander is on this forum.

    Is that a thing that is true.
  • edited June 2012
    Wait wait wait wait the person who does Johnny Wander is on this forum.

    Is that a thing that is true.
    Kind of? I think I've seen at least one of them here - as in, either Yuko or Ananth - before a few times, but I honestly don't remember. Scrym/emily/the crew know them, at the least, if they're not just outright part of the crew. Kiey clearly knows them, considering he's in the above comic going to the movies with them.

    Post edited by Churba on
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