Treehugr11,
No sweat. Sometimes it is hard to pick up on the tone of a post because it is just word on a screen. And as to the male child, I suggest large cans of whoop ass. Its the only thing we understand under age 30. After 30 the previous beating have actually penetrated our brain and we then start to consider things like consequences.
And as to Steve, Sorry, Ring. He just had a big test so I offer the same wed site I did him for some comedy relief. http://stupidvideos.com/
AntiM,
"Put your puppies up on a shelf and showed them off, not something you could or would wear a bra under" just cracks me up! I love hearing these women technique terms.
"One time when we were really, really drunk" stories...... wow I did some dumb stuff". Lets hear about it!
Love
Youthful Indescretions
-
Treehugr11
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Thu Apr 15, 2004 2:14 pm
- Location: Chattanooga, TN
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RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
Dougal,dougaldutch wrote:...Guinness does terrible things to your poo, its like giving birth to a big black tadpole. Hopefully t I will be able to treat you to some proper Scottish beer, thats right Tennets :!: Its an acquired taste.
I've drunk many a Guinness in my life and never remembered having anything like having giant black tadpoles coming out of my ass afterwards, although I must admit this may be because I just never made the mental connection. I think that may have changed today though. I got a little "pissed" last night, several of my beers were Guinness too. Today, oh dude, lets just say...turds of lead ain't no fun.
As for Tennant's...it must be an acquired taste. I've tried a couple and "bleeeaacckk" didn't care for them too much. One Scottish ale that I absolutely love though is Caledonian Breweries' "Golden Promise" organic Scottish ale! It's got a big golden sheath of wheat (I guess) on the front of the bottle. Man, that stuff is smooth as silk. It's heavenly. I think I'll bring a couple or six along with me to Bman.
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
-
RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
Thanks for your patience everybody, the last week has been completely nuts for me. Well, here it is.
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART IX - "YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING WHAT UP YOUR NOSE?"
When we last left our band of intrepid kidnappers in their journey to the west, they were trundling along down I-10 in an overcrowded sweltering VW van, with one very whiney, sugar-addicted abductee in their midst. Next stop…San Diego, California (the promised land)!
We drove straight through New Mexico, Arizona and southern California, right through all the pleasantries of three deserts in mid-June (the Chihuahuan, the Sonoran, and the Mojave, respectively). Due to the fact that our forward progress depended upon a little four-cylinder air cooled engine laboring away in the brutal desert heat, we had to nurse our little van along, carefully monitoring our speed and especially the temperature gauge.
At one of our stops, David called his mom. Jim and I stood guard beside him while he was on the phone, to make sure he didn’t call the cops or otherwise try to run away.
Remember, it was David’s father, Mr. K., who had generously offered us 500 bucks back in Houston to kidnap his son, take him to California with us, and then take him back to Tennessee with us to "make a man out of him." If we had had any idea at the time what a living hell of non-stop whining bitchiness we would have to endure to fulfill our end of the deal, we would have asked for much much more that a measly 500 bucks. (Wasn’t this one of the levels of purgatory in Milton’s Paradise Lost?; "the Level of Eternal Whining Complaining Drama Queens?" Just the thought that there even might be such a place is enough to make me wanna change my ways and "get right with God").
David’s mom, Mrs. K., had gone along with the kidnapping deal, but had not been nearly as enthusiastic about getting rid of her wayward son as her husband had been. Mrs. K had been David’s protector. After all he was her baby.
So David called his mom and told her how much he hated traveling with us, it was too hot, we had hit him, blah blah blah; he whined his way through the whole litany of complaints that we had endured in the van. Of course, we couldn’t hear Mrs. K’s end of the conversation, but Carmen got on the line with her after David was finished. Carmen assured her aunt that we weren’t abusing David or slapping him around, but that we had only hit him the one time when he had nearly killed us all by grabbing the steering wheel of the van while we were blazing down the road. Carmen further tried to comfort her aunt by telling her that we had tried to treat David as well as we could under the circumstances. Carmen also informed Mrs. K. that her darling baby son David wouldn’t eat any real food, but just kept on shoveling in the sugar. The conversation concluded with Carmen vowing to keep her aunt informed of the progress of our trip and the condition of her dear son.
We were headed to San Diego, where we would be staying with another one of Carmen’s relatives, an aunt on her Dad’s side. [Update: Remember Carmen’s dad, Eric the crazy-ass physicist? I ran into my friend Julia, an "older" adult student like me, on Friday afternoon (04/23) at UT-Chattanooga after we had both just walked out of our respective physics finals. Guess who her professor was? Yep, you guessed it, crazy-ass Eric!
As Julia and I were talking about our physics classes and professors, I mentioned that I had dated Eric’s daughter, Carmen, when we were in high school, though I failed to mention that we had also been professional kidnappers together too. Julia then went off on this blistering tirade about how Eric was a complete nut-job and a lousy teacher. She said, "Steve, he made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space! He told us about how the Skylab astronauts orbiting the Earth noticed at one point how this gray matter that hadn’t been there at first began passing outside their spacecraft periodically. Then they figured out that is was their frozen shit that they had ejected! Eric made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space passing by outside the spacecraft!"
Turns out too that Eric was an Einstein-like natural physics prodigy. Before going off to college, he had read a physics book on his own, one chapter a night, before going to bed. When he got to college at Mississippi State, he took a physics placement exam, but then realized at the end of the test that he hadn’t paid for the test and shouldn’t even be taking it at all, so he just signed the test with an "X." The next day, the physics department had posted signs all over campus looking for the student who had signed the physics placement exam with an "X." Turns our that he got the highest score ever on the placement exam! He accomplished that just by casually reading the one physics book on his own! End of Update] Anyway, now back to our story.
When we arrived in San Diego that morning, Aunt Diane and her daughter Jill announced that they had a special surprise for us! They had made reservations for us and we were going to go…camping! ("What?! Camping?! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! We’ve been camping in the desert for the last three days! This sucks!). As I think about it now, she probably just wanted to keep the five of us and the two dogs out of her house, so camping out on the beach was a perfect solution.
I have to tell you too, that San Diego, California has about the most perfect weather of any place that I’ve ever been in my life. In contrast to the blazing 105+ degree heat of the desert, the temperature in San Diego was something like 75 degrees (23.9 degrees Celsius), about 30 degrees cooler than the desert. We were loving the mild breezy weather of the southern California coast.
Before our camping trip that evening, Carmen’s cousin Jill, who was quite a little hottie, offered to take us on a tour of La Jolla ("la HOI-ya"). For those of you not familiar with southern California, La Jolla is an upscale community a few miles north of San Diego with a relatively high concentration of millionaires, million-dollar houses and upscale boutiques. We went on a window-shopping tour of the shops in downtown La Jolla, looking at three hundred-dollar sculpted etched-glass figurines of dolphins and such. Since we were a poor band of itinerant kidnappers, naturally we couldn’t afford to buy a damned thing in La Jolla, but we had a pretty mellow leisurely afternoon walking around and window shopping.
While we were walking around and talking, I noticed that David spent a lot of time talking with my brother. We had first noticed that David had seemed to trust Michael while we were traveling through the desert. We had encouraged my brother to befriend David and try to win his trust. Apparently, it was working.
When we got back to Aunt Diane’s house, we had an hour or so to kill before Diane got home and we headed out to the beach for our camping trip. Jim, Carmen, Michael and I were hanging out in Aunt Diane’s den. David was doing something else; he may have been taking a nap. That’s when Michael revealed DAVID’s SECRET VICE to us!
Michael told us that David had entrusted him with the knowledge of David’s secret hidden vice, a vice in which David had been indulging the whole time he had been with us! This secret vice was the real reason why David wouldn’t eat any real food.
David’s secret was…HE WAS A CRYSTAL METH-HEAD!
David had had a little stash of crystal methamphetamine in his wallet the whole fucking time since we had kidnapped him. Methamphetamine or "crystal meth" is a powerful amphetamine stimulant. Nowadays crystal meth is also known locally as "redneck crack" and is manufactured in hundreds of illegal underground "meth labs" around here.
The little fucker had been going into the bathroom everytime we’d stopped along the way, whiffed himself a snort of meth, and then came out of the bathroom and bought a shitload of sugary snacks and drinks. That’s why he wouldn’t eat any "real food!" Now we understood why the little fucker was never hungry!
That’s when we began hatching our next plan, a plan to use David’s weakness against him, but which, like the kidnapping, would be "for his own good" in the long run.
Next Chapter…….Confrontation on the Beach!
Stay Tuned.....
(Remaining Chapters will come more quickly now that I'm out of school).
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART IX - "YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING WHAT UP YOUR NOSE?"
When we last left our band of intrepid kidnappers in their journey to the west, they were trundling along down I-10 in an overcrowded sweltering VW van, with one very whiney, sugar-addicted abductee in their midst. Next stop…San Diego, California (the promised land)!
We drove straight through New Mexico, Arizona and southern California, right through all the pleasantries of three deserts in mid-June (the Chihuahuan, the Sonoran, and the Mojave, respectively). Due to the fact that our forward progress depended upon a little four-cylinder air cooled engine laboring away in the brutal desert heat, we had to nurse our little van along, carefully monitoring our speed and especially the temperature gauge.
At one of our stops, David called his mom. Jim and I stood guard beside him while he was on the phone, to make sure he didn’t call the cops or otherwise try to run away.
Remember, it was David’s father, Mr. K., who had generously offered us 500 bucks back in Houston to kidnap his son, take him to California with us, and then take him back to Tennessee with us to "make a man out of him." If we had had any idea at the time what a living hell of non-stop whining bitchiness we would have to endure to fulfill our end of the deal, we would have asked for much much more that a measly 500 bucks. (Wasn’t this one of the levels of purgatory in Milton’s Paradise Lost?; "the Level of Eternal Whining Complaining Drama Queens?" Just the thought that there even might be such a place is enough to make me wanna change my ways and "get right with God").
David’s mom, Mrs. K., had gone along with the kidnapping deal, but had not been nearly as enthusiastic about getting rid of her wayward son as her husband had been. Mrs. K had been David’s protector. After all he was her baby.
So David called his mom and told her how much he hated traveling with us, it was too hot, we had hit him, blah blah blah; he whined his way through the whole litany of complaints that we had endured in the van. Of course, we couldn’t hear Mrs. K’s end of the conversation, but Carmen got on the line with her after David was finished. Carmen assured her aunt that we weren’t abusing David or slapping him around, but that we had only hit him the one time when he had nearly killed us all by grabbing the steering wheel of the van while we were blazing down the road. Carmen further tried to comfort her aunt by telling her that we had tried to treat David as well as we could under the circumstances. Carmen also informed Mrs. K. that her darling baby son David wouldn’t eat any real food, but just kept on shoveling in the sugar. The conversation concluded with Carmen vowing to keep her aunt informed of the progress of our trip and the condition of her dear son.
We were headed to San Diego, where we would be staying with another one of Carmen’s relatives, an aunt on her Dad’s side. [Update: Remember Carmen’s dad, Eric the crazy-ass physicist? I ran into my friend Julia, an "older" adult student like me, on Friday afternoon (04/23) at UT-Chattanooga after we had both just walked out of our respective physics finals. Guess who her professor was? Yep, you guessed it, crazy-ass Eric!
As Julia and I were talking about our physics classes and professors, I mentioned that I had dated Eric’s daughter, Carmen, when we were in high school, though I failed to mention that we had also been professional kidnappers together too. Julia then went off on this blistering tirade about how Eric was a complete nut-job and a lousy teacher. She said, "Steve, he made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space! He told us about how the Skylab astronauts orbiting the Earth noticed at one point how this gray matter that hadn’t been there at first began passing outside their spacecraft periodically. Then they figured out that is was their frozen shit that they had ejected! Eric made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space passing by outside the spacecraft!"
Turns out too that Eric was an Einstein-like natural physics prodigy. Before going off to college, he had read a physics book on his own, one chapter a night, before going to bed. When he got to college at Mississippi State, he took a physics placement exam, but then realized at the end of the test that he hadn’t paid for the test and shouldn’t even be taking it at all, so he just signed the test with an "X." The next day, the physics department had posted signs all over campus looking for the student who had signed the physics placement exam with an "X." Turns our that he got the highest score ever on the placement exam! He accomplished that just by casually reading the one physics book on his own! End of Update] Anyway, now back to our story.
When we arrived in San Diego that morning, Aunt Diane and her daughter Jill announced that they had a special surprise for us! They had made reservations for us and we were going to go…camping! ("What?! Camping?! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! We’ve been camping in the desert for the last three days! This sucks!). As I think about it now, she probably just wanted to keep the five of us and the two dogs out of her house, so camping out on the beach was a perfect solution.
I have to tell you too, that San Diego, California has about the most perfect weather of any place that I’ve ever been in my life. In contrast to the blazing 105+ degree heat of the desert, the temperature in San Diego was something like 75 degrees (23.9 degrees Celsius), about 30 degrees cooler than the desert. We were loving the mild breezy weather of the southern California coast.
Before our camping trip that evening, Carmen’s cousin Jill, who was quite a little hottie, offered to take us on a tour of La Jolla ("la HOI-ya"). For those of you not familiar with southern California, La Jolla is an upscale community a few miles north of San Diego with a relatively high concentration of millionaires, million-dollar houses and upscale boutiques. We went on a window-shopping tour of the shops in downtown La Jolla, looking at three hundred-dollar sculpted etched-glass figurines of dolphins and such. Since we were a poor band of itinerant kidnappers, naturally we couldn’t afford to buy a damned thing in La Jolla, but we had a pretty mellow leisurely afternoon walking around and window shopping.
While we were walking around and talking, I noticed that David spent a lot of time talking with my brother. We had first noticed that David had seemed to trust Michael while we were traveling through the desert. We had encouraged my brother to befriend David and try to win his trust. Apparently, it was working.
When we got back to Aunt Diane’s house, we had an hour or so to kill before Diane got home and we headed out to the beach for our camping trip. Jim, Carmen, Michael and I were hanging out in Aunt Diane’s den. David was doing something else; he may have been taking a nap. That’s when Michael revealed DAVID’s SECRET VICE to us!
Michael told us that David had entrusted him with the knowledge of David’s secret hidden vice, a vice in which David had been indulging the whole time he had been with us! This secret vice was the real reason why David wouldn’t eat any real food.
David’s secret was…HE WAS A CRYSTAL METH-HEAD!
David had had a little stash of crystal methamphetamine in his wallet the whole fucking time since we had kidnapped him. Methamphetamine or "crystal meth" is a powerful amphetamine stimulant. Nowadays crystal meth is also known locally as "redneck crack" and is manufactured in hundreds of illegal underground "meth labs" around here.
The little fucker had been going into the bathroom everytime we’d stopped along the way, whiffed himself a snort of meth, and then came out of the bathroom and bought a shitload of sugary snacks and drinks. That’s why he wouldn’t eat any "real food!" Now we understood why the little fucker was never hungry!
That’s when we began hatching our next plan, a plan to use David’s weakness against him, but which, like the kidnapping, would be "for his own good" in the long run.
Next Chapter…….Confrontation on the Beach!
Stay Tuned.....
(Remaining Chapters will come more quickly now that I'm out of school).
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
-
RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
Thanks for your patience everybody, the last week has been completely nuts for me. Well, here it is.
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART IX - "YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING WHAT UP YOUR NOSE?"
When we last left our band of intrepid kidnappers in their journey to the west, they were trundling along down I-10 in an overcrowded sweltering VW van, with one very whiney, sugar-addicted abductee in their midst. Next stop…San Diego, California (the promised land)!
We drove straight through New Mexico, Arizona and southern California, right through all the pleasantries of three deserts in mid-June (the Chihuahuan, the Sonoran, and the Mojave, respectively). Due to the fact that our forward progress depended upon a little four-cylinder air cooled engine laboring away in the brutal desert heat, we had to nurse our little van along, carefully monitoring our speed and especially the temperature gauge.
At one of our stops, David called his mom. Jim and I stood guard beside him while he was on the phone, to make sure he didn’t call the cops or otherwise try to run away.
Remember, it was David’s father, Mr. K., who had generously offered us 500 bucks back in Houston to kidnap his son, take him to California with us, and then take him back to Tennessee with us to "make a man out of him." If we had had any idea at the time what a living hell of non-stop whining bitchiness we would have to endure to fulfill our end of the deal, we would have asked for much much more that a measly 500 bucks. (Wasn’t this one of the levels of purgatory in Milton’s Paradise Lost?; "the Level of Eternal Whining Complaining Drama Queens?" Just the thought that there even might be such a place is enough to make me wanna change my ways and "get right with God").
David’s mom, Mrs. K., had gone along with the kidnapping deal, but had not been nearly as enthusiastic about getting rid of her wayward son as her husband had been. Mrs. K had been David’s protector. After all he was her baby.
So David called his mom and told her how much he hated traveling with us, it was too hot, we had hit him, blah blah blah; he whined his way through the whole litany of complaints that we had endured in the van. Of course, we couldn’t hear Mrs. K’s end of the conversation, but Carmen got on the line with her after David was finished. Carmen assured her aunt that we weren’t abusing David or slapping him around, but that we had only hit him the one time when he had nearly killed us all by grabbing the steering wheel of the van while we were blazing down the road. Carmen further tried to comfort her aunt by telling her that we had tried to treat David as well as we could under the circumstances. Carmen also informed Mrs. K. that her darling baby son David wouldn’t eat any real food, but just kept on shoveling in the sugar. The conversation concluded with Carmen vowing to keep her aunt informed of the progress of our trip and the condition of her dear son.
We were headed to San Diego, where we would be staying with another one of Carmen’s relatives, an aunt on her Dad’s side. [Update: Remember Carmen’s dad, Eric the crazy-ass physicist? I ran into my friend Julia, an "older" adult student like me, on Friday afternoon (04/23) at UT-Chattanooga after we had both just walked out of our respective physics finals. Guess who her professor was? Yep, you guessed it, crazy-ass Eric!
As Julia and I were talking about our physics classes and professors, I mentioned that I had dated Eric’s daughter, Carmen, when we were in high school, though I failed to mention that we had also been professional kidnappers together too. Julia then went off on this blistering tirade about how Eric was a complete nut-job and a lousy teacher. She said, "Steve, he made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space! He told us about how the Skylab astronauts orbiting the Earth noticed at one point how this gray matter that hadn’t been there at first began passing outside their spacecraft periodically. Then they figured out that is was their frozen shit that they had ejected! Eric made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space passing by outside the spacecraft!"
Turns out too that Eric was an Einstein-like natural physics prodigy. Before going off to college, he had read a physics book on his own, one chapter a night, before going to bed. When he got to college at Mississippi State, he took a physics placement exam, but then realized at the end of the test that he hadn’t paid for the test and shouldn’t even be taking it at all, so he just signed the test with an "X." The next day, the physics department had posted signs all over campus looking for the student who had signed the physics placement exam with an "X." Turns our that he got the highest score ever on the placement exam! He accomplished that just by casually reading the one physics book on his own! End of Update] Anyway, now back to our story.
When we arrived in San Diego that morning, Aunt Diane and her daughter Jill announced that they had a special surprise for us! They had made reservations for us and we were going to go…camping! ("What?! Camping?! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! We’ve been camping in the desert for the last three days! This sucks!). As I think about it now, she probably just wanted to keep the five of us and the two dogs out of her house, so camping out on the beach was a perfect solution.
I have to tell you too, that San Diego, California has about the most perfect weather of any place that I’ve ever been in my life. In contrast to the blazing 105+ degree heat of the desert, the temperature in San Diego was something like 75 degrees (23.9 degrees Celsius), about 30 degrees cooler than the desert. We were loving the mild breezy weather of the southern California coast.
Before our camping trip that evening, Carmen’s cousin Jill, who was quite a little hottie, offered to take us on a tour of La Jolla ("la HOI-ya"). For those of you not familiar with southern California, La Jolla is an upscale community a few miles north of San Diego with a relatively high concentration of millionaires, million-dollar houses and upscale boutiques. We went on a window-shopping tour of the shops in downtown La Jolla, looking at three hundred-dollar sculpted etched-glass figurines of dolphins and such. Since we were a poor band of itinerant kidnappers, naturally we couldn’t afford to buy a damned thing in La Jolla, but we had a pretty mellow leisurely afternoon walking around and window shopping.
While we were walking around and talking, I noticed that David spent a lot of time talking with my brother. We had first noticed that David had seemed to trust Michael while we were traveling through the desert. We had encouraged my brother to befriend David and try to win his trust. Apparently, it was working.
When we got back to Aunt Diane’s house, we had an hour or so to kill before Diane got home and we headed out to the beach for our camping trip. Jim, Carmen, Michael and I were hanging out in Aunt Diane’s den. David was doing something else; he may have been taking a nap. That’s when Michael revealed DAVID’s SECRET VICE to us!
Michael told us that David had entrusted him with the knowledge of David’s secret hidden vice, a vice in which David had been indulging the whole time he had been with us! This secret vice was the real reason why David wouldn’t eat any real food.
David’s secret was…HE WAS A CRYSTAL METH-HEAD!
David had had a little stash of crystal methamphetamine in his wallet the whole fucking time since we had kidnapped him. Methamphetamine or "crystal meth" is a powerful amphetamine stimulant. Nowadays crystal meth is also known locally as "redneck crack" and is manufactured in hundreds of illegal underground "meth labs" around here.
The little fucker had been going into the bathroom everytime we’d stopped along the way, whiffed himself a snort of meth, and then came out of the bathroom and bought a shitload of sugary snacks and drinks. That’s why he wouldn’t eat any "real food!" Now we understood why the little fucker was never hungry!
That’s when we began hatching our next plan, a plan to use David’s weakness against him, but which, like the kidnapping, would be "for his own good" in the long run.
Next Chapter…….Confrontation on the Beach!
Stay Tuned.....
(Remaining Chapters will come more quickly now that I'm out of school).
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART IX - "YOU'VE BEEN PUTTING WHAT UP YOUR NOSE?"
When we last left our band of intrepid kidnappers in their journey to the west, they were trundling along down I-10 in an overcrowded sweltering VW van, with one very whiney, sugar-addicted abductee in their midst. Next stop…San Diego, California (the promised land)!
We drove straight through New Mexico, Arizona and southern California, right through all the pleasantries of three deserts in mid-June (the Chihuahuan, the Sonoran, and the Mojave, respectively). Due to the fact that our forward progress depended upon a little four-cylinder air cooled engine laboring away in the brutal desert heat, we had to nurse our little van along, carefully monitoring our speed and especially the temperature gauge.
At one of our stops, David called his mom. Jim and I stood guard beside him while he was on the phone, to make sure he didn’t call the cops or otherwise try to run away.
Remember, it was David’s father, Mr. K., who had generously offered us 500 bucks back in Houston to kidnap his son, take him to California with us, and then take him back to Tennessee with us to "make a man out of him." If we had had any idea at the time what a living hell of non-stop whining bitchiness we would have to endure to fulfill our end of the deal, we would have asked for much much more that a measly 500 bucks. (Wasn’t this one of the levels of purgatory in Milton’s Paradise Lost?; "the Level of Eternal Whining Complaining Drama Queens?" Just the thought that there even might be such a place is enough to make me wanna change my ways and "get right with God").
David’s mom, Mrs. K., had gone along with the kidnapping deal, but had not been nearly as enthusiastic about getting rid of her wayward son as her husband had been. Mrs. K had been David’s protector. After all he was her baby.
So David called his mom and told her how much he hated traveling with us, it was too hot, we had hit him, blah blah blah; he whined his way through the whole litany of complaints that we had endured in the van. Of course, we couldn’t hear Mrs. K’s end of the conversation, but Carmen got on the line with her after David was finished. Carmen assured her aunt that we weren’t abusing David or slapping him around, but that we had only hit him the one time when he had nearly killed us all by grabbing the steering wheel of the van while we were blazing down the road. Carmen further tried to comfort her aunt by telling her that we had tried to treat David as well as we could under the circumstances. Carmen also informed Mrs. K. that her darling baby son David wouldn’t eat any real food, but just kept on shoveling in the sugar. The conversation concluded with Carmen vowing to keep her aunt informed of the progress of our trip and the condition of her dear son.
We were headed to San Diego, where we would be staying with another one of Carmen’s relatives, an aunt on her Dad’s side. [Update: Remember Carmen’s dad, Eric the crazy-ass physicist? I ran into my friend Julia, an "older" adult student like me, on Friday afternoon (04/23) at UT-Chattanooga after we had both just walked out of our respective physics finals. Guess who her professor was? Yep, you guessed it, crazy-ass Eric!
As Julia and I were talking about our physics classes and professors, I mentioned that I had dated Eric’s daughter, Carmen, when we were in high school, though I failed to mention that we had also been professional kidnappers together too. Julia then went off on this blistering tirade about how Eric was a complete nut-job and a lousy teacher. She said, "Steve, he made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space! He told us about how the Skylab astronauts orbiting the Earth noticed at one point how this gray matter that hadn’t been there at first began passing outside their spacecraft periodically. Then they figured out that is was their frozen shit that they had ejected! Eric made us calculate the speed of frozen shit in space passing by outside the spacecraft!"
Turns out too that Eric was an Einstein-like natural physics prodigy. Before going off to college, he had read a physics book on his own, one chapter a night, before going to bed. When he got to college at Mississippi State, he took a physics placement exam, but then realized at the end of the test that he hadn’t paid for the test and shouldn’t even be taking it at all, so he just signed the test with an "X." The next day, the physics department had posted signs all over campus looking for the student who had signed the physics placement exam with an "X." Turns our that he got the highest score ever on the placement exam! He accomplished that just by casually reading the one physics book on his own! End of Update] Anyway, now back to our story.
When we arrived in San Diego that morning, Aunt Diane and her daughter Jill announced that they had a special surprise for us! They had made reservations for us and we were going to go…camping! ("What?! Camping?! You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me! We’ve been camping in the desert for the last three days! This sucks!). As I think about it now, she probably just wanted to keep the five of us and the two dogs out of her house, so camping out on the beach was a perfect solution.
I have to tell you too, that San Diego, California has about the most perfect weather of any place that I’ve ever been in my life. In contrast to the blazing 105+ degree heat of the desert, the temperature in San Diego was something like 75 degrees (23.9 degrees Celsius), about 30 degrees cooler than the desert. We were loving the mild breezy weather of the southern California coast.
Before our camping trip that evening, Carmen’s cousin Jill, who was quite a little hottie, offered to take us on a tour of La Jolla ("la HOI-ya"). For those of you not familiar with southern California, La Jolla is an upscale community a few miles north of San Diego with a relatively high concentration of millionaires, million-dollar houses and upscale boutiques. We went on a window-shopping tour of the shops in downtown La Jolla, looking at three hundred-dollar sculpted etched-glass figurines of dolphins and such. Since we were a poor band of itinerant kidnappers, naturally we couldn’t afford to buy a damned thing in La Jolla, but we had a pretty mellow leisurely afternoon walking around and window shopping.
While we were walking around and talking, I noticed that David spent a lot of time talking with my brother. We had first noticed that David had seemed to trust Michael while we were traveling through the desert. We had encouraged my brother to befriend David and try to win his trust. Apparently, it was working.
When we got back to Aunt Diane’s house, we had an hour or so to kill before Diane got home and we headed out to the beach for our camping trip. Jim, Carmen, Michael and I were hanging out in Aunt Diane’s den. David was doing something else; he may have been taking a nap. That’s when Michael revealed DAVID’s SECRET VICE to us!
Michael told us that David had entrusted him with the knowledge of David’s secret hidden vice, a vice in which David had been indulging the whole time he had been with us! This secret vice was the real reason why David wouldn’t eat any real food.
David’s secret was…HE WAS A CRYSTAL METH-HEAD!
David had had a little stash of crystal methamphetamine in his wallet the whole fucking time since we had kidnapped him. Methamphetamine or "crystal meth" is a powerful amphetamine stimulant. Nowadays crystal meth is also known locally as "redneck crack" and is manufactured in hundreds of illegal underground "meth labs" around here.
The little fucker had been going into the bathroom everytime we’d stopped along the way, whiffed himself a snort of meth, and then came out of the bathroom and bought a shitload of sugary snacks and drinks. That’s why he wouldn’t eat any "real food!" Now we understood why the little fucker was never hungry!
That’s when we began hatching our next plan, a plan to use David’s weakness against him, but which, like the kidnapping, would be "for his own good" in the long run.
Next Chapter…….Confrontation on the Beach!
Stay Tuned.....
(Remaining Chapters will come more quickly now that I'm out of school).
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
Keeping Ring honest
Ring,
Now I have tried real hard to take up the slack when your where taking a test but I want the next post on the rest of the story as bad as all the other Eplayans. AND I now have allies in your hometown who have access to Icyhot and are not afraid to use it.
I am posting the previous paragraph just to keep you honest. LOL! Plus it is just for giggles. A post a day keeps the Icyhot away!
It even rhymes.
The above is a small part of a message I PM'ed to Ring.
Now I have tried real hard to take up the slack when your where taking a test but I want the next post on the rest of the story as bad as all the other Eplayans. AND I now have allies in your hometown who have access to Icyhot and are not afraid to use it.
I am posting the previous paragraph just to keep you honest. LOL! Plus it is just for giggles. A post a day keeps the Icyhot away!
It even rhymes.
The above is a small part of a message I PM'ed to Ring.
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Ranger Genius
- Posts: 2408
- Joined: Thu Mar 25, 2004 7:07 am
- Location: Behind the Zion Curtain
- Contact:
In deference to CalSur, I'll submit one of the stories from my not-so-distant youth.
When I was 11 or 12, I had a newspaper route and consequently had a little more pocket money than most kids of that age. Since Utah is a desert state, regulations on fireworks and the like are fairly strict (which isn't a problem for most people since they just make the hour drive to Evanston, WY, where all types of fireworks are legal). As a minor, though, I didn't have the ability to make that trip, and since there was a Utah Highway Patrolman who lived in our neighborhood, we were pretty much limited to the legal fireworks during the legal time periods (Flowers, fountains, and sparklers, a week before and after the 4th and 24th of July, New Year's Eve, and Chinese New Year.)
Now, it's also illegal to sell fireworks to anyone under the age of 16, but Wangsgard's, the local Mom-'n'-Pop grocery store would sometimes overlook that restriction if you weren't buying too many. I had managed in this way to buy a couple of 6-packs of little colorful fountains that lasted about 20 seconds, and some ground-bloom flowers (My experiments with which will be the topic of a later post).
I had lit a few of them in the street exactly as the Engrish instructions had recommended: "Do not take the fireworks in yours hand. Places in the level surface, lights the fuse, with runs away. Maintenance from fire, competition, with flammable material. Under the use only supervises in the adult." This, however, quickly failed to stimulate my overactive--yet underachieving--little devious mind. After firing one out of my wrist-rocket (unimpressive as the wind resistance blew out the fuse), I saw my brothers and their friends sitting in the family room (which was in the basement, so the window was at ground level) watching TV. I think they were watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to be precise. Normally I would be down there just as enthralled as them, but pyrotechnics have a somewhat stronger pull on boys of that age. I decided that I would put on a show for them. I got my best friend Bradley from next door to help, acting as my Roadie for the fantastic pyrotechnics display to which I would treat my adoring audience.
I went inside and closed the blinds on the big picture window behind the couch in the family room, where they were all watching TV. I then scotch-taped three of the little fountains next to each other on the outside of the window-frame, so that they could not be seen from inside. I twisted the fuses together, and got a strike-anywhere match. I sent Bradley inside to draw the curtain on the spectacular dramatic interplay of fire that I had envisioned would ensue.
As a footnote, my parents were naturally not at home. They thought my older brother would be a sufficient babysitter, but in this they were sadly mistaken. His babysitting skills were roughly equivalent to those of a cactus, as evinced by the preparations going on behind him, not six feet away, behind drawn blinds.
At a signal from me, which was to be a gentle rap on the window, Bradley was to draw the blinds and dramatically draw the attention of our audience to the fire ballet outside. Here was the moment of truth. I lit the match in the fly of my jeans (the manly way to do it) rapped on the window, and lit the fuses. I took a couple steps to the left in order to be out of view of those inside.
Bradley's showmanship had always left something to be desired. I think his fabulous, attention-getting announcement went something like this: "Hey guys, look." He would never have made it as a carnival barker.
The timing was perfect. Just as everyone turned around to look over the back of the couch and out the window, all the fountains started. There followed twenty or so seconds of fiery rapture. It was beautiful. From inside, there was just a mysterious shower of sparks and colored flames. When the show was done and I stepped forward to accept my glorious applause, I noticed a monstrous black mark on the painted wooded window frame. What's more, my parents were due to be home within an hour. This was a big problem. There was a burn scar three inches in diameter on the front of our brown and tan house.
After a few minutes of panicking, the cover-up node in my brain (located right below the Hippocampus in pre-teen boys) kicked into action. We had just scraped and painted the house and deck the year before; maybe we still had the paint. I quickly disposed of the easily-destroyed evidence (most spent fireworks can and must be flushed. Generally, lit ones are extinguished if you try), then went to the basement to search through the paint cans. I was in luck! there was half a gallon of the matching color! I quickly covered the burn scar with the paint, but got one drop of it on the window, which I did not notice until it had dried. My brothers went right back to the cartoons and did not help with my elaborate conspiracy to cover my crime. Thus is the fickle nature of audiences. Fortunately, my parents didn't notice the drop on the window (or on my jeans) until weeks later. The half-assed cover-up worked perfectly, and my parents never found out what had happened. In fact, no one but eye-witnesses knew anything about this until now.
Sorry the post is so long-winded; my instructors never really could convince me that 'the key to good communication is brevity."
When I was 11 or 12, I had a newspaper route and consequently had a little more pocket money than most kids of that age. Since Utah is a desert state, regulations on fireworks and the like are fairly strict (which isn't a problem for most people since they just make the hour drive to Evanston, WY, where all types of fireworks are legal). As a minor, though, I didn't have the ability to make that trip, and since there was a Utah Highway Patrolman who lived in our neighborhood, we were pretty much limited to the legal fireworks during the legal time periods (Flowers, fountains, and sparklers, a week before and after the 4th and 24th of July, New Year's Eve, and Chinese New Year.)
Now, it's also illegal to sell fireworks to anyone under the age of 16, but Wangsgard's, the local Mom-'n'-Pop grocery store would sometimes overlook that restriction if you weren't buying too many. I had managed in this way to buy a couple of 6-packs of little colorful fountains that lasted about 20 seconds, and some ground-bloom flowers (My experiments with which will be the topic of a later post).
I had lit a few of them in the street exactly as the Engrish instructions had recommended: "Do not take the fireworks in yours hand. Places in the level surface, lights the fuse, with runs away. Maintenance from fire, competition, with flammable material. Under the use only supervises in the adult." This, however, quickly failed to stimulate my overactive--yet underachieving--little devious mind. After firing one out of my wrist-rocket (unimpressive as the wind resistance blew out the fuse), I saw my brothers and their friends sitting in the family room (which was in the basement, so the window was at ground level) watching TV. I think they were watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, to be precise. Normally I would be down there just as enthralled as them, but pyrotechnics have a somewhat stronger pull on boys of that age. I decided that I would put on a show for them. I got my best friend Bradley from next door to help, acting as my Roadie for the fantastic pyrotechnics display to which I would treat my adoring audience.
I went inside and closed the blinds on the big picture window behind the couch in the family room, where they were all watching TV. I then scotch-taped three of the little fountains next to each other on the outside of the window-frame, so that they could not be seen from inside. I twisted the fuses together, and got a strike-anywhere match. I sent Bradley inside to draw the curtain on the spectacular dramatic interplay of fire that I had envisioned would ensue.
As a footnote, my parents were naturally not at home. They thought my older brother would be a sufficient babysitter, but in this they were sadly mistaken. His babysitting skills were roughly equivalent to those of a cactus, as evinced by the preparations going on behind him, not six feet away, behind drawn blinds.
At a signal from me, which was to be a gentle rap on the window, Bradley was to draw the blinds and dramatically draw the attention of our audience to the fire ballet outside. Here was the moment of truth. I lit the match in the fly of my jeans (the manly way to do it) rapped on the window, and lit the fuses. I took a couple steps to the left in order to be out of view of those inside.
Bradley's showmanship had always left something to be desired. I think his fabulous, attention-getting announcement went something like this: "Hey guys, look." He would never have made it as a carnival barker.
The timing was perfect. Just as everyone turned around to look over the back of the couch and out the window, all the fountains started. There followed twenty or so seconds of fiery rapture. It was beautiful. From inside, there was just a mysterious shower of sparks and colored flames. When the show was done and I stepped forward to accept my glorious applause, I noticed a monstrous black mark on the painted wooded window frame. What's more, my parents were due to be home within an hour. This was a big problem. There was a burn scar three inches in diameter on the front of our brown and tan house.
After a few minutes of panicking, the cover-up node in my brain (located right below the Hippocampus in pre-teen boys) kicked into action. We had just scraped and painted the house and deck the year before; maybe we still had the paint. I quickly disposed of the easily-destroyed evidence (most spent fireworks can and must be flushed. Generally, lit ones are extinguished if you try), then went to the basement to search through the paint cans. I was in luck! there was half a gallon of the matching color! I quickly covered the burn scar with the paint, but got one drop of it on the window, which I did not notice until it had dried. My brothers went right back to the cartoons and did not help with my elaborate conspiracy to cover my crime. Thus is the fickle nature of audiences. Fortunately, my parents didn't notice the drop on the window (or on my jeans) until weeks later. The half-assed cover-up worked perfectly, and my parents never found out what had happened. In fact, no one but eye-witnesses knew anything about this until now.
Sorry the post is so long-winded; my instructors never really could convince me that 'the key to good communication is brevity."
“We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered.”
To all the people on this thread. Thanks for the bowing and scraping to Calsur. My ego is in great shape right now. If I can get the people at work to do the same my world would be complete.
Ranger Genius,
I am the oldest of 4 boys and I also became adept at “Emergency Home Repair BEFORE the Parents Got Home”.
The best one I pulled off was getting the 4’ by 6’ front window of the home replaced in an hour and ten minutes. Here is why it was necessary, as usual, because of my brother Tim And a quick explanation. The following post will depict me attempting to kill or maim one of my brothers. Normal people and Eplayans do not have to worry about the extreme bursts of temper depicted here. Tim has made it his life’s work to piss me off and he is very, very good at it. And in my defense I hold the record for working for a very nasty surveyor. 22 months. The next guy in line only lasted 9 months.
So, senior year of high school. I get out an hour before 2 of the bro’s. I am crashed out on the couch in the living room reading my latest Sci Fi novel and Tim walks through the front door. Now I do not even remember why I tried to maim him this time but at some point it was necessary to pick up my size 13 boots and throw them at Tim’s head.
Now Tim has a lot of faults but his self preservation is his specialty. I know, I trained him. So what does the jerk do? He DUCKED! So my boots are now in the middle of the front yard. Unfortunately for me the window was in the way. So at this point even Tim is like “Oh Fuck!’. So now I need to digress. My parents are the “Spare the rod, spoil the child” parents. Corporal mass punishment is a certainty. The brothers bond against the common enemy, THE PARENTS. Clean up is in high gear. And an Angel appears.
Bill, from across the street comes over and asks what is going on? I fess up and Bill offers to drive me to Sabbleback Glass to get the window replaced. Luck for me it was the sliding part and not the fixed part and things worked out. I even got dinner going before the parents got home. SAFE!
Until about 2 month later when Mom was washing the window and noticed the sticker that Saddleback Glass put on the frame.
Dad awarded me style points because I actually got the window replaced and paid for it. Mom was less understanding. Grounded for 2 weeks. Mom always takes the moral high road. All that religious school she did.
And now I will steal a play off of Ring’s play book and post the most busted I ever got tomorrow or the next day. Highlights. My fist, Tim’s face and a bathroom door
Ranger Genius,
I am the oldest of 4 boys and I also became adept at “Emergency Home Repair BEFORE the Parents Got Home”.
The best one I pulled off was getting the 4’ by 6’ front window of the home replaced in an hour and ten minutes. Here is why it was necessary, as usual, because of my brother Tim And a quick explanation. The following post will depict me attempting to kill or maim one of my brothers. Normal people and Eplayans do not have to worry about the extreme bursts of temper depicted here. Tim has made it his life’s work to piss me off and he is very, very good at it. And in my defense I hold the record for working for a very nasty surveyor. 22 months. The next guy in line only lasted 9 months.
So, senior year of high school. I get out an hour before 2 of the bro’s. I am crashed out on the couch in the living room reading my latest Sci Fi novel and Tim walks through the front door. Now I do not even remember why I tried to maim him this time but at some point it was necessary to pick up my size 13 boots and throw them at Tim’s head.
Now Tim has a lot of faults but his self preservation is his specialty. I know, I trained him. So what does the jerk do? He DUCKED! So my boots are now in the middle of the front yard. Unfortunately for me the window was in the way. So at this point even Tim is like “Oh Fuck!’. So now I need to digress. My parents are the “Spare the rod, spoil the child” parents. Corporal mass punishment is a certainty. The brothers bond against the common enemy, THE PARENTS. Clean up is in high gear. And an Angel appears.
Bill, from across the street comes over and asks what is going on? I fess up and Bill offers to drive me to Sabbleback Glass to get the window replaced. Luck for me it was the sliding part and not the fixed part and things worked out. I even got dinner going before the parents got home. SAFE!
Until about 2 month later when Mom was washing the window and noticed the sticker that Saddleback Glass put on the frame.
Dad awarded me style points because I actually got the window replaced and paid for it. Mom was less understanding. Grounded for 2 weeks. Mom always takes the moral high road. All that religious school she did.
And now I will steal a play off of Ring’s play book and post the most busted I ever got tomorrow or the next day. Highlights. My fist, Tim’s face and a bathroom door
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dougaldutch
- Posts: 102
- Joined: Fri Feb 06, 2004 6:22 am
- Location: The Moderate Seas
- Contact:
The “Emergency Home Repair BEFORE the Parents Get Home” was quite a common theme during my youth. Being the socialable fella I am, having had a fairly decent house in the country and parents who would take off for the weekend, parties were not uncommon.
Worst experience was a party held during winter. Since we were in the country and due to heavy snow, everyone who showed up had to stay til morning when the plough went past. 12hours of sustained partying later, the cigarettes and alcohol supplies dried out and people started to drop like flies. A quick inventory before I hit the deck revealed
1) Hole in door caused by pool cue and poorly executed zulu warrior impression
2) Table reduced to kindling when a couple got a little carried away
3) Dent in spare room wall, produced by mates head as he ran full whack into it wearing a sheet on his head screaming "I am THE Whiteman!"
Could have been worse. We had 4 hours till parents were home and having a work force who couldn't leave for another 2 (when the snow plough went past) meant we could have a fair go at covering this up
. The door was swapped with a spare we found in the garage and then made to look like it had been damaged in the garage (handles and hinges nearly critically taxed out frazzled brains). Super glue and screws sorted the table and the dent in wall was repainted and a wardrobe strategically repositioned.
When the parents returned that night the place was clean, the 15 bags of trash had been removed and there was just the possibility I was going to get away with it. Wrong. Swapped door was darker as hadn't been faded by the sun, claimed I had polished before their return and that was why (sigh of relief). The table stood up to inspection (quite proud of that) but the dent in the wall did not when the wardrobe was moved back. Someone had painted the dent white, whilst the rest of the walls were cream. Shit hit the fan though when the snow thawed one night. Go to bed pristine crisp white wilderness, wake up trashed garden looking like it had hosted a local music festival. No amount of bullshit to explain that away. 6 month grounding, extra chores.
From then on allowed atleast a 24 hour period for clean up and cover up after any social event. Wise advice to anyone I think
Lee
Worst experience was a party held during winter. Since we were in the country and due to heavy snow, everyone who showed up had to stay til morning when the plough went past. 12hours of sustained partying later, the cigarettes and alcohol supplies dried out and people started to drop like flies. A quick inventory before I hit the deck revealed
1) Hole in door caused by pool cue and poorly executed zulu warrior impression
2) Table reduced to kindling when a couple got a little carried away
3) Dent in spare room wall, produced by mates head as he ran full whack into it wearing a sheet on his head screaming "I am THE Whiteman!"
Could have been worse. We had 4 hours till parents were home and having a work force who couldn't leave for another 2 (when the snow plough went past) meant we could have a fair go at covering this up
. The door was swapped with a spare we found in the garage and then made to look like it had been damaged in the garage (handles and hinges nearly critically taxed out frazzled brains). Super glue and screws sorted the table and the dent in wall was repainted and a wardrobe strategically repositioned. When the parents returned that night the place was clean, the 15 bags of trash had been removed and there was just the possibility I was going to get away with it. Wrong. Swapped door was darker as hadn't been faded by the sun, claimed I had polished before their return and that was why (sigh of relief). The table stood up to inspection (quite proud of that) but the dent in the wall did not when the wardrobe was moved back. Someone had painted the dent white, whilst the rest of the walls were cream. Shit hit the fan though when the snow thawed one night. Go to bed pristine crisp white wilderness, wake up trashed garden looking like it had hosted a local music festival. No amount of bullshit to explain that away. 6 month grounding, extra chores.
From then on allowed atleast a 24 hour period for clean up and cover up after any social event. Wise advice to anyone I think
Lee
I'm off my tits on Happiness!
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CrimsonHaze
- Posts: 32
- Joined: Wed Apr 07, 2004 5:30 pm
- Location: Chattanooga, TN
- Contact:
Go to bed pristine crisp white wilderness, wake up trashed garden looking like it had hosted a local music festival. No amount of bullshit to explain that away. 6 month grounding, extra chores.
lmao! That is so hilarious! I love these cover up things! I had a get together one time while my parents were gone, and had cigarette butts frequently thrown into the front yard. (Didnt matter how many times I said not to throw them there...) Well, my dad was anal about his yard and would walk around the yard in the mornings. I geuss he was searching for footprints by our window or something. But, I knew he would find them and the shit would hit the fan. So, I went around the yard, with a flashlight, and searched for all the cigarette butts. Lucky for me, he didnt find the one I had missed laying right next to his newly built porch.
Also, another time, I snuck out of the house in the middle of the night with my best friend and my sister. We all got up and went to the bathroom, thinking that the parents must finally be asleep. We climbed out of the extremely tiny bathroom window and onto to the backporch rail nearly a foot and a half away. Not an easy task to accomplish, much less quietly. So, after we were all on the porch and my best friend had climbed back in, turned off the light and climbed back out, the light comes back on. My mother, half awake, peers through the open window. I quickly, (remarkably, as I was a bad liar at that time) made up a story about my best friend's dog barking (which was staying on the back porch) and we wanted to consol it. It was a poor lonely dog.....
My mother actually believes us... but then the twist comes. She is so tired that she just closes the window, uses the bathroom and goes back to bed, leaving us out on the porch. We tried all the doors and even tried prying the window open from the outside. No luck ,we were stuck outside. We knew it would be insane to wake my dad up to let us in...he probably wouldn't be as gullible. So, we decided to make the best of it. We took off down the road and caused all kinds of hell that night. We didnt have to worry about them waking up and not finding us in bed, Mom knew we were outside. We spent most of the night running around the surrounding area, vadalizing mailboxes, stealing yard art and attempting to burn down the nearby boys 'clubhouse'. We returned early in the morning and pretended to be asleep on the porch when my Mom finally let us in. She had forgotten why we were out there, and bought our story again. It was great.
"Never drive 'up' the 'off' ramp."
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
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RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART X - "GIVE US YOUR METH, OR ELSE!"
So, my brother Michael, who David had entrusted with the secret of his hidden vice, had revealed David's the secret to the rest of us. David was secretly a crystal meth-head who had been snorting up a portion of his little personal stash of meth that he kept in his wallet! He had been taking a snort of meth every single time we stopped, all the way from Houston to San Diego. That’s why the skinny little runt was never hungry! He was all "hopped up" on crystal meth the whole damn time since we kidnapped him!
Jim then came up with a brilliant plan to turn David’s addiction against him, a plan to exploit his weakness and make him do what we wanted him to do, whether he liked it or not. Jim’s plan was both brilliant and diabolical in its simplicity.
Jim laid it out for us. "Here’s what we’re going to do. First, we’re gonna take his meth away from him, then we’re gonna ration it back to him as a reward for doing what we want. Every time he eats a meal, he gets a snort of meth. If he refuses to eat...tough shit! No meth! If he’s as addicted as I think he is, then he won’t be able to go too long before he wants some more. We’ll just wait and see just how bad he wants it. If you want it bad enough, then eat a meal, motherfucker!" We all enjoyed a hearty laugh. Jim’s plan was brilliant!
I was gleeful with thoughts of revenge. Even though we had kidnapped David, technically (I suppose) making him the victim, I nonetheless felt like he had gotten us back (and then some) after having endured three cramped, sweltering days in a VW van listening to his whining, complaining and negativity. I thought, "Now we’ve got you, you little fuck! Now we’ll see just how much you like your meth! Now you’re gonna do things all the way our way, or you ain’t gettin’ no fuckin’ meth! Mwah ha ha ha! [rubbing my hands together - figuratively, that is]."
My brother objected though, "Hey! Wait a minute you guys! I don’t want David to know that I told y’all about his secret meth stash! If you guys just go up to him and say ‘Hand over your crystal meth stash David!’, then he’s gonna know that I told you guys about it. If he finds out I told y’all about his meth, he’s not gonna tell me another damned thing! We gotta think of another way to get it from him!"
We all agreed with my brother. It was definitely better to leave our "mole" in place, rather than expose his presence to our captive. What were we going to do though? How were we going to get David’s stash of crystal meth away from him so that we could use it to "twist his arm" and make him do what we wanted?
Jim, who was always quick at "thinking on his feet" didn’t let us down; he added a new twist to his plan. "OK, here’s what we’ll do. Tonight when we’re camped out on the beach, we’ll ask David how much money he has. No matter what he says, we’ll say we don’t believe him. Then we’ll demand that he hand over his wallet so that we can count his money for ourselves. " (Mr brother had already revealed to us that David said he regretted spending so much money on junk food along the way. Apparently, he had had enough money on him when we kidnapped him to escape and buy a bus ticket home, but that was almost all gone now.)
Jim went on explaining the revised plan, "If he won’t give up the wallet, we’ll just take it from him. What’s he gonna do against the three of us? [waving his hand between himself, my brother and I]. Once he hands over the wallet, I’ll start going through it. Then, I’ll just "happen to discover" his little meth stash. I’ll force him to tell me what it is. If he wont tell me what it is, then I’ll threaten to dump it out on the ground. Once I ‘discover’ it, he’ll have to tell me what it is or lose it. That way, he’ll never know that you snitched him out, Mike."
Jim went on, "That’s when we’ll tell him that if he wants to have a whiff of meth, then he’s just going to have to eat a meal. We’ll tell him ‘look man, we don’t care if you snort meth or not, we really don’t give a shit about that, but you’re going to have to eat a regular meal if want anymore of your meth.’" Once again, Jim’s plan was brilliant! We agreed to spring the plan on David later that night, when we were camped out on the beach with Carmen’s aunt and cousin.
A few hours later, we all piled in into the van headed for Torrey Pines State Park, located on the beach just a few miles north of San Diego. Carmen rode with her aunt Diane and cousin Jill. We arrived at the State beach in late afternoon, a couple of hours before sunset. We paid our fees and looked for the camping space that the rangers had reserved for us.
When we got to our assigned camping spot, about fifty yards or so uphill from the beach, we quickly got out and began setting up our tents; we knew this "camp set-up" drill by heart. After getting our tents set up, we wandered over to meet our neighbors in the camp site next to us, about 20 feet away.
We were definately unpleasantly surprised when we met our neighbors. Our next-door neighbors in the campground were two twenty-something sketchy, shady, drunken hoodlums. They were already drunk in the late afternoon, although they were friendly enough, outwardly. However, these two shady guys also had a look in their eyes like that of a hungry mongrel dog on the prowl for food. We talked to them for a while just to be friendly, but all of us later agreed that we "couldn’t trust these guys any farther than we could throw them", as we say around here.
Our two neighbors regaled us with the story of how, just the day before, they had gotten thrown into jail in Tijuana, Mexico ("tee-HWAN-ah" - about a 40-minute drive from our campsite, just across the US-Mexico border from San Diego). They told us how they had hired a couple of Mexican whores in Tijuana and then had gotten shitfaced drunk. The next thing they knew, they ended up in jail. I thought, "Damn! How damn drunk do you have to be to get thrown in jail in Tijuana! These guys are idiots!" We said goodbye to our sketchy new "friends" and decided to head back to camp to cook up some dinner.
We made a killer meal of stir-fryed veggies (broccoli, carrots, water chestnuts, celery, and those flattish green pea pod things (whatever they’re called)) in brown sauce with stir-fried tofu and brown rice (yummy! Carmen was an excellent cook, but we all pitched in with the chopping slicing, dicing and eventually, the cleaning up). Once the meal was cooked and ready to eat, it was "time" to put the plan into action, "time" to spring the trap on our unwitting prey.
Jim called David over by the campfire, "Hey David, come here a minute!" [David walks over, apprehensively.]
Jim: "Hey David, how much money do you have on you?"
David: "I don’t know, why?"
Jim: "I was just wondering how much money you had on you, in case you were thinking about running away."
David: "I don’t have enough money to run away. I don’t have enough for a plane ticket or even a bus ticket."
Jim: "I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying. Give me your wallet so I can check for myself!"
David: [defiantly] "No! I’m not gonna give you my wallet!"
Jim: "Well, you can either give it to me or I can come over there and take it! It’s up to you!"
David: [defiant and emphatic] "I am not giving you my wallet!"
Jim: "Alright then, suit yourself!" [Jim stands up]
I was standing beside David during the confrontation. When Jim got up, I quickly turned to my left and grabbed the skinny little dude in a "bear hug", pinning his arms down at his sides. Jim walked over and extracted David’s wallet from his back pocket in no time flat. After Jim had his wallet, I let him go. Jim started going through the wallet. David protested, "Give me back my wallet!" Jim ignored him.
Jim searched through the wallet, "Let’s see here, looks like you’ve got about thirty bucks. Looks like you were telling the truth! You don’t have enough money for a plane or bus ticket! Let me just check to make sure you don’t have any money squirreled away in here somewhere. Hey! Wait a minute! What’s this?!" Jim yanked out a little carefully folded piece of wax paper with a white powder inside (about as big as a large postage stamp and about as thick as a nickel) and waved it in David’s face.
"What’s this David?" David lunged for Jim and his little meth stash and tried to grab it out of Jim’s hand, "Give me that! That’s mine! Give it back!" Jim easily held David off with one outstretched arm.
Jim taunted him, "Whoa! Seems like you want this pretty bad! So, what is it then? What is this that you want so bad, hmm?" David pleaded, "That’s mine! Give it back! Give it back to me!"
Jim continued the taunting, "If you want it so bad, why don’t you just tell me what it is? Then, maybe I’ll give it back to you."
David started crying, "Just give it back to me!" Tears were streaming down his face as we all stood around the campfire looking at him, watching the drama unfold. Carmen’s aunt Diane and cousin Jill were standing there, mouths virtually agape, at the intensity of the drama unfolding in front of them on their planned "relaxing" camping trip.
Jim: "Well what is it? You'd better tell me!"
David sobbed as he finally broke down and shamefully admitted, "It’s…it’s…it’s crystal meth! Now, please give it back to me!"
That’s when Jim explained "the deal" to David. "OK David, how about this? If you just eat a meal, I’ll give you a whiff of meth. Look man, none of us care if you snort meth or not. We really don’t give a shit about that, but we do care about you David. We want you to stay healthy and you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself. So, we’re going to try to help you. Every time you eat a meal, we’ll give you a whiff of meth. OK? That’s all we want, man. All we want is for you to eat and be healthy. OK? Can you do that? Can you eat a meal?"
Looking down at the campfire, David nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. We all got up and hugged him and reassured him that we all loved him and wanted him to be healthy and happy. Then we served up our yummy meal.
Nowadays, I realize that a lot of people think that tofu is V-I-L-E vile, but I didn’t fully realize this at the time. I personally love the shit. However, I realize that I’m in the minority of the general population at large when it comes to having an occasional hankerin’ for some yummy stir-fried tofu.
I’m sure that the plate full of stir-fried veggies, tofu and rice that we served up, in David’s eyes, looked just like a plate full of stir-fried shit. David regarded his plate full of home-cooked "delicacies" with some disdain. Carmen assured him, "David, you don’t have to eat the tofu if you don’t like it. Just eat some vegetables and rice." David picked at his food, but managed to choke down about a half a plate full of veggies and rice.
We all praised him like he was a year-old infant who had just fed himself for the first time ever. "Ooh David, you did so good! See! That wasn’t all that bad now, was it? Good job, David!" David was having none of it though, he was still sullen and withdrawn.
After dinner, all of us, except Jim and David, decided to head down to the beach to check out the ocean. Jim and David were going to stay behind at the campsite, near the van, while the rest of us strolled down to the beach. Jim was going to give David his reward for eating a meal, a line of meth to snort.
As we walked down toward the surf, we looked over beside us and noticed that our sketchy drunken hoodlum neighbors were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave. It seemed a little odd. The sun had already set about a half hour before, and the residual glow of daylight was fading on the western horizon, but these two idiots were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave!
We shrugged it off and walked on down to the surf. Little did we realize though, what surprising event was would transpire within the hour.
Next Chapter……The Great Escape!
Stay Tuned
So, my brother Michael, who David had entrusted with the secret of his hidden vice, had revealed David's the secret to the rest of us. David was secretly a crystal meth-head who had been snorting up a portion of his little personal stash of meth that he kept in his wallet! He had been taking a snort of meth every single time we stopped, all the way from Houston to San Diego. That’s why the skinny little runt was never hungry! He was all "hopped up" on crystal meth the whole damn time since we kidnapped him!
Jim then came up with a brilliant plan to turn David’s addiction against him, a plan to exploit his weakness and make him do what we wanted him to do, whether he liked it or not. Jim’s plan was both brilliant and diabolical in its simplicity.
Jim laid it out for us. "Here’s what we’re going to do. First, we’re gonna take his meth away from him, then we’re gonna ration it back to him as a reward for doing what we want. Every time he eats a meal, he gets a snort of meth. If he refuses to eat...tough shit! No meth! If he’s as addicted as I think he is, then he won’t be able to go too long before he wants some more. We’ll just wait and see just how bad he wants it. If you want it bad enough, then eat a meal, motherfucker!" We all enjoyed a hearty laugh. Jim’s plan was brilliant!
I was gleeful with thoughts of revenge. Even though we had kidnapped David, technically (I suppose) making him the victim, I nonetheless felt like he had gotten us back (and then some) after having endured three cramped, sweltering days in a VW van listening to his whining, complaining and negativity. I thought, "Now we’ve got you, you little fuck! Now we’ll see just how much you like your meth! Now you’re gonna do things all the way our way, or you ain’t gettin’ no fuckin’ meth! Mwah ha ha ha! [rubbing my hands together - figuratively, that is]."
My brother objected though, "Hey! Wait a minute you guys! I don’t want David to know that I told y’all about his secret meth stash! If you guys just go up to him and say ‘Hand over your crystal meth stash David!’, then he’s gonna know that I told you guys about it. If he finds out I told y’all about his meth, he’s not gonna tell me another damned thing! We gotta think of another way to get it from him!"
We all agreed with my brother. It was definitely better to leave our "mole" in place, rather than expose his presence to our captive. What were we going to do though? How were we going to get David’s stash of crystal meth away from him so that we could use it to "twist his arm" and make him do what we wanted?
Jim, who was always quick at "thinking on his feet" didn’t let us down; he added a new twist to his plan. "OK, here’s what we’ll do. Tonight when we’re camped out on the beach, we’ll ask David how much money he has. No matter what he says, we’ll say we don’t believe him. Then we’ll demand that he hand over his wallet so that we can count his money for ourselves. " (Mr brother had already revealed to us that David said he regretted spending so much money on junk food along the way. Apparently, he had had enough money on him when we kidnapped him to escape and buy a bus ticket home, but that was almost all gone now.)
Jim went on explaining the revised plan, "If he won’t give up the wallet, we’ll just take it from him. What’s he gonna do against the three of us? [waving his hand between himself, my brother and I]. Once he hands over the wallet, I’ll start going through it. Then, I’ll just "happen to discover" his little meth stash. I’ll force him to tell me what it is. If he wont tell me what it is, then I’ll threaten to dump it out on the ground. Once I ‘discover’ it, he’ll have to tell me what it is or lose it. That way, he’ll never know that you snitched him out, Mike."
Jim went on, "That’s when we’ll tell him that if he wants to have a whiff of meth, then he’s just going to have to eat a meal. We’ll tell him ‘look man, we don’t care if you snort meth or not, we really don’t give a shit about that, but you’re going to have to eat a regular meal if want anymore of your meth.’" Once again, Jim’s plan was brilliant! We agreed to spring the plan on David later that night, when we were camped out on the beach with Carmen’s aunt and cousin.
A few hours later, we all piled in into the van headed for Torrey Pines State Park, located on the beach just a few miles north of San Diego. Carmen rode with her aunt Diane and cousin Jill. We arrived at the State beach in late afternoon, a couple of hours before sunset. We paid our fees and looked for the camping space that the rangers had reserved for us.
When we got to our assigned camping spot, about fifty yards or so uphill from the beach, we quickly got out and began setting up our tents; we knew this "camp set-up" drill by heart. After getting our tents set up, we wandered over to meet our neighbors in the camp site next to us, about 20 feet away.
We were definately unpleasantly surprised when we met our neighbors. Our next-door neighbors in the campground were two twenty-something sketchy, shady, drunken hoodlums. They were already drunk in the late afternoon, although they were friendly enough, outwardly. However, these two shady guys also had a look in their eyes like that of a hungry mongrel dog on the prowl for food. We talked to them for a while just to be friendly, but all of us later agreed that we "couldn’t trust these guys any farther than we could throw them", as we say around here.
Our two neighbors regaled us with the story of how, just the day before, they had gotten thrown into jail in Tijuana, Mexico ("tee-HWAN-ah" - about a 40-minute drive from our campsite, just across the US-Mexico border from San Diego). They told us how they had hired a couple of Mexican whores in Tijuana and then had gotten shitfaced drunk. The next thing they knew, they ended up in jail. I thought, "Damn! How damn drunk do you have to be to get thrown in jail in Tijuana! These guys are idiots!" We said goodbye to our sketchy new "friends" and decided to head back to camp to cook up some dinner.
We made a killer meal of stir-fryed veggies (broccoli, carrots, water chestnuts, celery, and those flattish green pea pod things (whatever they’re called)) in brown sauce with stir-fried tofu and brown rice (yummy! Carmen was an excellent cook, but we all pitched in with the chopping slicing, dicing and eventually, the cleaning up). Once the meal was cooked and ready to eat, it was "time" to put the plan into action, "time" to spring the trap on our unwitting prey.
Jim called David over by the campfire, "Hey David, come here a minute!" [David walks over, apprehensively.]
Jim: "Hey David, how much money do you have on you?"
David: "I don’t know, why?"
Jim: "I was just wondering how much money you had on you, in case you were thinking about running away."
David: "I don’t have enough money to run away. I don’t have enough for a plane ticket or even a bus ticket."
Jim: "I don’t believe you. I think you’re lying. Give me your wallet so I can check for myself!"
David: [defiantly] "No! I’m not gonna give you my wallet!"
Jim: "Well, you can either give it to me or I can come over there and take it! It’s up to you!"
David: [defiant and emphatic] "I am not giving you my wallet!"
Jim: "Alright then, suit yourself!" [Jim stands up]
I was standing beside David during the confrontation. When Jim got up, I quickly turned to my left and grabbed the skinny little dude in a "bear hug", pinning his arms down at his sides. Jim walked over and extracted David’s wallet from his back pocket in no time flat. After Jim had his wallet, I let him go. Jim started going through the wallet. David protested, "Give me back my wallet!" Jim ignored him.
Jim searched through the wallet, "Let’s see here, looks like you’ve got about thirty bucks. Looks like you were telling the truth! You don’t have enough money for a plane or bus ticket! Let me just check to make sure you don’t have any money squirreled away in here somewhere. Hey! Wait a minute! What’s this?!" Jim yanked out a little carefully folded piece of wax paper with a white powder inside (about as big as a large postage stamp and about as thick as a nickel) and waved it in David’s face.
"What’s this David?" David lunged for Jim and his little meth stash and tried to grab it out of Jim’s hand, "Give me that! That’s mine! Give it back!" Jim easily held David off with one outstretched arm.
Jim taunted him, "Whoa! Seems like you want this pretty bad! So, what is it then? What is this that you want so bad, hmm?" David pleaded, "That’s mine! Give it back! Give it back to me!"
Jim continued the taunting, "If you want it so bad, why don’t you just tell me what it is? Then, maybe I’ll give it back to you."
David started crying, "Just give it back to me!" Tears were streaming down his face as we all stood around the campfire looking at him, watching the drama unfold. Carmen’s aunt Diane and cousin Jill were standing there, mouths virtually agape, at the intensity of the drama unfolding in front of them on their planned "relaxing" camping trip.
Jim: "Well what is it? You'd better tell me!"
David sobbed as he finally broke down and shamefully admitted, "It’s…it’s…it’s crystal meth! Now, please give it back to me!"
That’s when Jim explained "the deal" to David. "OK David, how about this? If you just eat a meal, I’ll give you a whiff of meth. Look man, none of us care if you snort meth or not. We really don’t give a shit about that, but we do care about you David. We want you to stay healthy and you haven’t been taking very good care of yourself. So, we’re going to try to help you. Every time you eat a meal, we’ll give you a whiff of meth. OK? That’s all we want, man. All we want is for you to eat and be healthy. OK? Can you do that? Can you eat a meal?"
Looking down at the campfire, David nodded his head, but didn’t say anything. We all got up and hugged him and reassured him that we all loved him and wanted him to be healthy and happy. Then we served up our yummy meal.
Nowadays, I realize that a lot of people think that tofu is V-I-L-E vile, but I didn’t fully realize this at the time. I personally love the shit. However, I realize that I’m in the minority of the general population at large when it comes to having an occasional hankerin’ for some yummy stir-fried tofu.
I’m sure that the plate full of stir-fried veggies, tofu and rice that we served up, in David’s eyes, looked just like a plate full of stir-fried shit. David regarded his plate full of home-cooked "delicacies" with some disdain. Carmen assured him, "David, you don’t have to eat the tofu if you don’t like it. Just eat some vegetables and rice." David picked at his food, but managed to choke down about a half a plate full of veggies and rice.
We all praised him like he was a year-old infant who had just fed himself for the first time ever. "Ooh David, you did so good! See! That wasn’t all that bad now, was it? Good job, David!" David was having none of it though, he was still sullen and withdrawn.
After dinner, all of us, except Jim and David, decided to head down to the beach to check out the ocean. Jim and David were going to stay behind at the campsite, near the van, while the rest of us strolled down to the beach. Jim was going to give David his reward for eating a meal, a line of meth to snort.
As we walked down toward the surf, we looked over beside us and noticed that our sketchy drunken hoodlum neighbors were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave. It seemed a little odd. The sun had already set about a half hour before, and the residual glow of daylight was fading on the western horizon, but these two idiots were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave!
We shrugged it off and walked on down to the surf. Little did we realize though, what surprising event was would transpire within the hour.
Next Chapter……The Great Escape!
Stay Tuned
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
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Captain Goddammit
- Posts: 8589
- Joined: Sat Sep 06, 2003 9:34 am
- Burning Since: 2000
- Camp Name: First Camp
- Location: Seattle, WA
When I was a kid my parents were extreme health food nuts. There was no sugar, white flour, etc. in the house.
When my sisters and I were left alone in the house, we would hit the grocery store and load up, and come home and bake! Cookies, cakes, candy bars, hell, we'd even just eat Wonder bread!
But the wierdest thing was that the folks smoked pot. And they'd even let us smoke a little. So ironically, we were possibly the ONLY kids who weren't allowed to eat pot-brownies because of the SUGAR in them!
When my sisters and I were left alone in the house, we would hit the grocery store and load up, and come home and bake! Cookies, cakes, candy bars, hell, we'd even just eat Wonder bread!
But the wierdest thing was that the folks smoked pot. And they'd even let us smoke a little. So ironically, we were possibly the ONLY kids who weren't allowed to eat pot-brownies because of the SUGAR in them!
GreyCoyote: "At this rate it wont be long before he is Admiral Fukkit."
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RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
No problemo! You should thank calsur too though.robotland wrote:Whew! I was worried I'd have to go into the weekend without another chapter! Thanks, Ring'O!
calsur, has been (more or less) pokin' me in the ass with a sharp stick in his PM's as an incentive to keep the chapters coming out on a regular basis. However, he did help cover my ass last week, when I had my physics final and had to go a whole week without posting a chapter, by exhorting everyone else to post more stories. Whatever you do though, don't piss him off! He's a dangerous man! He'll threaten to put a "contract" out on your ass! He'll (threaten to) offer to pay your friends to put Icy Hot on your balls and/or give you atomic wedgies, wet willies, tittie twisters and such! He's one mean S.O.B.!
[The following is part of a PM to calsur] Even though I stayed up till midnight composing this last chapter, I still managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed at 04:00 this morning to go down to the Mead cardboard mill in north Alabama and collect wastewater samples in the rain. I hope I'm not too worn out tonight for my big date with Julia (the young hottie) to The Wailers' show and after that, to my close friends' big party with a live band. [Sigh] Ah, the sacrifices one has to make for one's reading public.
I'll post the next chapter of the kidnapping story either Saturday or Sunday afternoon.
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
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CrimsonHaze
- Posts: 32
- Joined: Wed Apr 07, 2004 5:30 pm
- Location: Chattanooga, TN
- Contact:
This happened recently, but I'm still young, so I suppose it's ok.....
Speaking of contracts there Ring, I have a humorous story about such things.
A former co-worker of mine, who shall be named 'Dumbass', borrowed some money from me. It was a sob story about needing for some deal with his kid, so I decided (against my better judgement) to let him borrow 25 dollars from me. (As I said, I'm still young....naive) So, after he didnt pay me back for nearly a month, after numerous 'I'm bringing the money tomorrow' and such excuses, (The deal was, borrow money today, pay back on friday after getting paycheck.) I got a hold of his number. So I called him and asked about my money. He says he will bring it on monday. Monday comes around and he doesn't show up for work, or for the rest of the week. I was getting pretty ticked, so I called him again. He says, ' have to come talk to the boss anyway, so I'll bring it tomorrow.' noshow again. So, I call yet again and he's 'not there'. So, while eating dinner with my Aunt and her Fiance, and his buddy Jason, Dumbass calls me back. I told him I was not waiting any longer, I wanted my money brought the next damn day. He says a bunch of bs about bringing it and apologizes for how long it was taking. So, Jason says 'This dude owes you money?' I nod and he says 'Lemme talk to him.' I gave him the phone and he puts on this gravelly sounding voice and says ' You owe her money huh? Well, you better be paying her back soon cause she told me she'd give me 10% if I brake your legs.' I had no idea was he was gonna say, so I start cracking up. Dumbass says 'Uh...I'll bring it tomorrow...' and hangs up. I thought about it for a moment and realised, 10% is two dollars and fifty cents. So, we had a good laugh about it and I was hoping it might have worked and I would be getting my money back soon. Well, about 45 minutes later, Dumbass calls me back. He sounds like he's been crying or something and starts going on about how he should call the police because I threatened him. So, I told him to go ahead, I'd kindly tell the police that I had not threatened him and he owed me money. So he starts this 'You know I was just messin with ya' shit and swears he's not really gonna call the police. So I just demand to have my money the following day and hang up on him. Well, I still have yet to get this money back and also found out he owes a bunch of people money in the area. So, I may have to call him back and make some non- threatening suggestions.
I asked Jason later on how much he'd do for 5 bucks and we had another good laugh about. I honestly dont think this guy grasped the 10% thing very well. I mean, who would do a job like that for $2.50??
But, be warned Ring, I have the IcyHot on standby!
Speaking of contracts there Ring, I have a humorous story about such things.
A former co-worker of mine, who shall be named 'Dumbass', borrowed some money from me. It was a sob story about needing for some deal with his kid, so I decided (against my better judgement) to let him borrow 25 dollars from me. (As I said, I'm still young....naive) So, after he didnt pay me back for nearly a month, after numerous 'I'm bringing the money tomorrow' and such excuses, (The deal was, borrow money today, pay back on friday after getting paycheck.) I got a hold of his number. So I called him and asked about my money. He says he will bring it on monday. Monday comes around and he doesn't show up for work, or for the rest of the week. I was getting pretty ticked, so I called him again. He says, ' have to come talk to the boss anyway, so I'll bring it tomorrow.' noshow again. So, I call yet again and he's 'not there'. So, while eating dinner with my Aunt and her Fiance, and his buddy Jason, Dumbass calls me back. I told him I was not waiting any longer, I wanted my money brought the next damn day. He says a bunch of bs about bringing it and apologizes for how long it was taking. So, Jason says 'This dude owes you money?' I nod and he says 'Lemme talk to him.' I gave him the phone and he puts on this gravelly sounding voice and says ' You owe her money huh? Well, you better be paying her back soon cause she told me she'd give me 10% if I brake your legs.' I had no idea was he was gonna say, so I start cracking up. Dumbass says 'Uh...I'll bring it tomorrow...' and hangs up. I thought about it for a moment and realised, 10% is two dollars and fifty cents. So, we had a good laugh about it and I was hoping it might have worked and I would be getting my money back soon. Well, about 45 minutes later, Dumbass calls me back. He sounds like he's been crying or something and starts going on about how he should call the police because I threatened him. So, I told him to go ahead, I'd kindly tell the police that I had not threatened him and he owed me money. So he starts this 'You know I was just messin with ya' shit and swears he's not really gonna call the police. So I just demand to have my money the following day and hang up on him. Well, I still have yet to get this money back and also found out he owes a bunch of people money in the area. So, I may have to call him back and make some non- threatening suggestions.
I asked Jason later on how much he'd do for 5 bucks and we had another good laugh about. I honestly dont think this guy grasped the 10% thing very well. I mean, who would do a job like that for $2.50??
But, be warned Ring, I have the IcyHot on standby!
"Never drive 'up' the 'off' ramp."
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
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Release Me
- Posts: 82
- Joined: Sun Jan 04, 2004 10:09 am
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DVD Burner
- Posts: 11031
- Joined: Fri Dec 12, 2003 3:09 am
- Burning Since: 1986
- Camp Name: White Trash Camp
- Contact:
So in my own defense, I am posting the text of the “contract” on Rings balls so you can see that it is humor. I am not an axe murderer or pedophile but rather someone who has the low “Monty Python” style of humor.
But a brief history. Ring did not post when promised. I composed the contract off line but had the good sense to check the Eplaya before posting the contract and Ring had posted. So I did not post the contract but did PM Ring and provided him the text
Here it is ------
“Treehugr11 & CrimsonHaze
I threatened Ring with the IcyHot treatment last night in a PM as he promised to post and did not. And as I do not see the next post here yet, I have decided to hire some assassins to assist me. As I have been told by Ring he knows both of you I will give you first shot at the contract.
Terms: I will go $20.00 and reimburse for the IcyHot. For a truly spectacular hit I will go $25.00. By spectacular hit, Ring has to post 3 times to this board complaining about the BURN! I will also accept an Atomic Wedgie And only one other item. Only IcyHot or the wedgie. No shaving him. No haircuts. No teeth cleanings. And only one hit.
Now if Ring should post as he promised then the contract is cancelled. And This contract shall not be entered into until midnight Friday, Pacific time. So you can not hit him until then.
Ring, let this be a wake up call. We are tired of all these excuses like tests and work.
Post and post now or I will let slip loose the IcyHot assassins.”
And Ring screws the whole thing up by posting. There is very little justice in the world.
But a brief history. Ring did not post when promised. I composed the contract off line but had the good sense to check the Eplaya before posting the contract and Ring had posted. So I did not post the contract but did PM Ring and provided him the text
Here it is ------
“Treehugr11 & CrimsonHaze
I threatened Ring with the IcyHot treatment last night in a PM as he promised to post and did not. And as I do not see the next post here yet, I have decided to hire some assassins to assist me. As I have been told by Ring he knows both of you I will give you first shot at the contract.
Terms: I will go $20.00 and reimburse for the IcyHot. For a truly spectacular hit I will go $25.00. By spectacular hit, Ring has to post 3 times to this board complaining about the BURN! I will also accept an Atomic Wedgie And only one other item. Only IcyHot or the wedgie. No shaving him. No haircuts. No teeth cleanings. And only one hit.
Now if Ring should post as he promised then the contract is cancelled. And This contract shall not be entered into until midnight Friday, Pacific time. So you can not hit him until then.
Ring, let this be a wake up call. We are tired of all these excuses like tests and work.
Post and post now or I will let slip loose the IcyHot assassins.”
And Ring screws the whole thing up by posting. There is very little justice in the world.
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RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
I was just trying to create a pool of potential witnesses, just in case the IcyHot assassins were ever "contracted" to perpetrate their dastardly crime. I imagined something like a "Law & Order" courtroom scene, with one of my eplaya witnesses on the stand, "...yes your honor, Mr. 'RingO'Fire' clearly feared for the safety of his balls...he even posted that his nut sack had been threatened with IcyHotbefore the event in question..."calsur wrote:And Ring screws the whole thing up by posting. There is very little justice in the world.
"Nut sack" - Just wanted to say that again. Heh heh heh
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
RING WROTE;
I'll post the next chapter of the kidnapping story either Saturday or Sunday afternoon.
It's already Saturday evening and as he is Likely getting ready for another " big date with Julia (the young hottie) " I am imagining the voodoo curse of Calsur's "contract" will be causing Ring some discomfort as the evening wears on. The sight of CrimsonHaze or Treehugr11 across a crowded bar, restaurant or movie theater will cause a sharp burning sensation. He has to realize the pressure is of his own making if he wasn't as great of a story teller, if he hadn't hooked us all on the epic tail of his youthful adventure who would care if he came threw with his next installment. As it is, I'd be willing to pitch in a couple of buck towards the "contract" myself if he doesn't come threw tomorrow. I'd even be willing to through some money towards Calsur experiencing some IcyHot for causing me to think of RingO'Fire's " Nut sack " this other wise fine evening.
I'll post the next chapter of the kidnapping story either Saturday or Sunday afternoon.
It's already Saturday evening and as he is Likely getting ready for another " big date with Julia (the young hottie) " I am imagining the voodoo curse of Calsur's "contract" will be causing Ring some discomfort as the evening wears on. The sight of CrimsonHaze or Treehugr11 across a crowded bar, restaurant or movie theater will cause a sharp burning sensation. He has to realize the pressure is of his own making if he wasn't as great of a story teller, if he hadn't hooked us all on the epic tail of his youthful adventure who would care if he came threw with his next installment. As it is, I'd be willing to pitch in a couple of buck towards the "contract" myself if he doesn't come threw tomorrow. I'd even be willing to through some money towards Calsur experiencing some IcyHot for causing me to think of RingO'Fire's " Nut sack " this other wise fine evening.
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frogprincess
- Posts: 15
- Joined: Sun Sep 07, 2003 10:56 am
- Location: Berkeley, CA
These are starting to sound more like Darwin awards gone right. Well, my story may not be as death defying, but I never had the chance to be a 10-year old boy either.
When I was 16, my friends and I went car bowling. We’d drive around town in the middle of the night (in MY car, the stupid part) and take turns opening up the door and letting the bowling ball rip at 30-40 mph. Mostly it just pin-balled off curbs and trees. Then it dented a parked car, oops. The grand finale…a street that ended in a “T” with a house at the end. No one expected the ball to actually go straight long enough to get to the end, nor did we factor in the swoop of the driveway. The ball woop-dee-deed up and went straight thought the garage door with a loud crash. That was the end of the game…we lost our ball, duh. We were paranoid for weeks ‘cause of course, our fingerprints were all over the ball.
And now I see this discussion ended weeks ago…oh well, it’s been fun reliving it anyhow.
When I was 16, my friends and I went car bowling. We’d drive around town in the middle of the night (in MY car, the stupid part) and take turns opening up the door and letting the bowling ball rip at 30-40 mph. Mostly it just pin-balled off curbs and trees. Then it dented a parked car, oops. The grand finale…a street that ended in a “T” with a house at the end. No one expected the ball to actually go straight long enough to get to the end, nor did we factor in the swoop of the driveway. The ball woop-dee-deed up and went straight thought the garage door with a loud crash. That was the end of the game…we lost our ball, duh. We were paranoid for weeks ‘cause of course, our fingerprints were all over the ball.
And now I see this discussion ended weeks ago…oh well, it’s been fun reliving it anyhow.
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RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
Thanks! I appreciate it!Release Me wrote:I'll just chime in real quick to say, Ring O', your hard work is appreciated!!
I'm doing my best to make the story an interesting read, mostly by using descriptive action verbs and adjectives to try to convey the emotion of the moment or the physical setting. Everytime I finish one though, I think of ways that I could have been better. You guys are getting it "hot off the press", flaws and all, as soon as I finish each part.
I'm not quite finished with Part 11. I worked on it till 2:00am this morning, but I still have a little more tweaking to do before it will be finished. It's the longest one yet.
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...
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CrimsonHaze
- Posts: 32
- Joined: Wed Apr 07, 2004 5:30 pm
- Location: Chattanooga, TN
- Contact:
Contract
*scene opens*
*scene closes*Dark, smoky lounge, blues music floating softly through the air, several tables of couples, single candle lighting each. One table in a dark corner, Calsur slides the contract across the table. Two young women read it carefully and sign their names in red ink. Calsur hands them a large envelope, rolling the contract up. He rises and leaves the lounge, blues music still playing.
"Never drive 'up' the 'off' ramp."
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
Doctor: What do you do when you're sad?"
Patient: I smoke crack!
Doctor: What do you do when you're angry?
Patient: I smoke crack and I masturbate!
(Heard by a friend, an orderly taking notes.)
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DVD Burner
- Posts: 11031
- Joined: Fri Dec 12, 2003 3:09 am
- Burning Since: 1986
- Camp Name: White Trash Camp
- Contact:
Calsur adjusts his fedora yet again as he eyes his reflection in the car window. Thinking to himself how classy it makes him look he removes it after taking his seat behind the wheel of a none descript dark colored four door. He lights a cigar using a wooden match he strikes on the dash. he thinks, its just a mater of time now nothing to do but wait. He begins coughing uncontrollably and throws the cigar out the window. It lays still glowing as his tail lights disappear into the night.
Gawd,
Ring and I have created a monster and I love it! A community story built around a nut sack and IcyHot! Try explaining that at work on Monday. “So this one nutcase talked about setting up a contract on another guys’ nutsack because the other guy did not post about a kidnapping”. Get pictures of the expressions and post them here.
I tried to explain this to my dumb little brother Tim tonight when I had him over for dinner. I know the look he gave me. Just confirmed once again that I am insane. And again when I told him about the Ticket. Exact Quote “Dude, you paid $200 to go camping in the desert in August?”.
Enough thread drift but really what is thread drift on this thread? A conundrum wrapped in an enigma.
Now one thing that did creep me out a little.
Zulegoona,
I do have a leather fedora and wear it for the reason stated. I do smoke cigars and light them with wooden matches and cough uncontrollably when I forget what I am smoking and inhale. And I always rent 4 door non descript sedans. Makes shifting the bodies around a lot easier.
CrimsonHaze,
You have not learned anything from this thread, have you? When involved in a RICO conspiracy, never sign something. Other than that I have to assign a 10+ for setting the mood and the style and the content. I really like the red ink.
So I went through 3 phases on how to post back to this part of the thread.
1, Join, no
2, Give additional information about me, no
3, Do nothing and see where this goes, YES!
We may be spawning a whole new art form here.
Ring and I have created a monster and I love it! A community story built around a nut sack and IcyHot! Try explaining that at work on Monday. “So this one nutcase talked about setting up a contract on another guys’ nutsack because the other guy did not post about a kidnapping”. Get pictures of the expressions and post them here.
I tried to explain this to my dumb little brother Tim tonight when I had him over for dinner. I know the look he gave me. Just confirmed once again that I am insane. And again when I told him about the Ticket. Exact Quote “Dude, you paid $200 to go camping in the desert in August?”.
Enough thread drift but really what is thread drift on this thread? A conundrum wrapped in an enigma.
Now one thing that did creep me out a little.
Zulegoona,
I do have a leather fedora and wear it for the reason stated. I do smoke cigars and light them with wooden matches and cough uncontrollably when I forget what I am smoking and inhale. And I always rent 4 door non descript sedans. Makes shifting the bodies around a lot easier.
CrimsonHaze,
You have not learned anything from this thread, have you? When involved in a RICO conspiracy, never sign something. Other than that I have to assign a 10+ for setting the mood and the style and the content. I really like the red ink.
So I went through 3 phases on how to post back to this part of the thread.
1, Join, no
2, Give additional information about me, no
3, Do nothing and see where this goes, YES!
We may be spawning a whole new art form here.
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Last Real Burner
- Posts: 941
- Joined: Mon Sep 01, 2003 9:34 am
- Location: Heaven
- Contact:
Say Cheeseeeeee......
[center]Ahhh Youth...[/center]
wettly,
mr smith
wettly,
mr smith
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CrimsonHaze
- Posts: 32
- Joined: Wed Apr 07, 2004 5:30 pm
- Location: Chattanooga, TN
- Contact:
-
RingO'Fire
- Posts: 978
- Joined: Mon Mar 01, 2004 3:00 am
- Location: Chattanooga
Here's the Latest
THE TIME I KIDNAPPED MY BROTHER - PART XI - “THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY”
The residual pinkish-purple glow of daylight’s last vestiges was slowly fading away in the western sky over the ocean. After we had “discovered” David’s stash of crystal meth in his wallet, taken it away from him, forced him to publicly confess the shame of his addiction and “convinced” him to eat a meal, we all decided to take a stroll down to the surf. Jim stayed behind at the van with David, so that he could give David his “reward” for eating a meal, namely, a snort of meth. Our drunken idiot hoodlum next-door neighbors at the campground were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave.
Carmen, her aunt Diane, cousin Jill, my brother Michael, the two dogs and I all strolled downhill the hundred yards or so from our campsite toward the steady crashing of the surf. Down on the beach, we wandered around looking for sea shells in the fading sunlight. We all took turns gazing, rapt with the endless procession of waves crashing ass-over-teakettle onto themselves, sneaking up onto the shore, wetting the sand and then slipping back into the sea, just beneath the next wave in the parade. Watching and listening to the perpetual procession of waves was very reassuring, soothing, and humbling.
We stayed down on the beach for about 45 minutes or so. Of course, we had no idea of the events that were transpiring just out of sight back at our camp.
When we got back to the van, Jim was sitting inside by himself. Carmen asked him, “Where’s David?” Jim answered her, clearly disgruntled, “He ran away.” Instantly, all of us starting bombarding Jim with frantic questions, “How did he get away? Where did he go? Should we go look for him? Where do you think he went?”
Jim laid it all out for us. “Here’s what happened. David asked me if he could walk to the store (across the highway and about 2-3 blocks from our campsite). I told him, ‘Sure, go ahead, I don’t care.’ Then right after he walked off, I realized that he wasn’t coming back; that he’d run away and wasn’t going to come back. I was going to chase him, but those two shady dudes next to us were packing up their shit and were just about ready to leave when David walked off. There was no way I could run off and chase him down and leave all our shit here unguarded while those two thieves next door were about to leave! They would have loved that, if I’d run off and chased down David’s sorry ass! They would have come tight over here, helped themselves to all of our shit, and then just blazed right on out of here with all of our stuff in their car! No way! There was no fuckin’ way I was gonna leave all our shit unguarded to go chase down that whiney little fucker!”
It appeared that these last insults to his person: being manhandled (again) on the beach, having his meth stash forcibly taken away from him, and being extorted into eating a (“yuck! Tofu!”) meal were more than David could stand. Apparently, instead of breaking his spirit, we either sparked his desire or strengthened his resolve to escape! He had had enough and wasn’t going to take it anymore! He had gotten away!
Jim continued with his diatribe, “Anyway, fuck him! Fuck that little motherfucker! Let him go! I was tired of his whiney little ass anyway! He has been nothing but one pain-in-the-ass after another ever such we kidnapped him! I tired of him and I’m tired of all his shit! Let him fuckin’ go! We’re better off without him!”
Carmen was still worried about the well-being of her fragile cousin David though. Where was he going to sleep? What was he going to eat? How was he going to get around? Where was he going to get any money to pay for anything?
Jim pretty much had it all figured out though. “Well, you know the first thing he’s gonna do is go call his mommy and beg her to wire him some money. He’ll probably whine and cry about how we’ve been torturing and abusing him and making him eat things he doesn’t want to eat. Wah wah wah! And…of course mommy is going to send him whatever money he says he needs, so he can get back to Houston and start whiffing meth again! I’ll tell you one thing though, if they [Mr and Mrs K.] send him the money for a plane ticket, we’re keeping that five hundred bucks they paid us to kidnap his ass! We had a deal! We only had one condition to the kidnapping…if we agreed to do it, they agreed not to send him the money for a plane ticket the first time he called home cryin’ about how much he hated it! We’re definitely keeping that five hundred bucks! Especially after all that little fucker has put us through!”
So we decided not to go look for David. Although a little while later, I did take a walk on over to the convenience store a few blocks down. I scanned the shadows of nearby buildings, halfway thinking that maybe I might see David hiding in the shrubbery (perhaps with “the knights who say ‘nee!’” - sorry, random Monty Python reference; the word “shrubbery” always reminds me - “I’m Roger, the shrubber!” Ahem! Anyway...).
I scanned the shadows, just in case David was still lurking about waiting for a cab or something, although I knew that he was probably long gone. Of course, I couldn’t have known at the time that I would actually never see him again.
Back at the campsite, we all sat around the fire drinking, smoking, discussing the day’s events, laughing and following the random drifts in the conversation. Eventually, we all tired out and crawled into our sleeping bags or under our blankets to go to sleep.
The following morning, we broke camp and headed back to Diane and Jill’s house. Carmen came up with a brilliant idea to try to find David. If her plan worked, we should be able both to find David and find out if his parents had wired him the money for a plane ticket, in violation of our single-condition kidnapping deal.
Carmen explained her plan, “What we should do is call every airline at Lindbergh Field [San Diego’s airport] that has a flight flying out to Houston this morning. One of us will call the airline, pretending to be David. Then whoever’s pretending to be David will ask to confirm his reservation on this morning’s flight out to Houston. We’ll call every airline, one after the other, until we find out which flight he’s on.”
We all agreed that I should be the one to call the airlines, pretending to be David. I rehearsed my little “script” before I started calling. The script went something like this, “Hello, American Airlines? Yes, my name is David K. and I am supposed to be flying out on this morning’s flight to Houston. Yes, I just made the reservation late last night and I want to make absolutely sure that I have a reserved seat on this flight.” After hearing “I’m sorry Mr. K, I don’t see you listed here on the passenger list” about five times in a row from airline agents, I finally hit the jackpot! “Yes, Mr. K., I show you right here on Flight X, departing at 11:30 this morning for Houston.” I gave the “thumbs up” to the rest of the crew, sitting around the den listening to me talking on the phone. I politely inquired, “And what gate does that depart from?….Oh really?…Gate yada yada?…OK, thank you! Thank you for your help.”
I briefed the rest of the crew with the essential info, “OK you guys, here’s the deal. He’s got a reservation on [whatever] airline, flight yada yada. It leaves at 11:30 from Gate X!” Jim suggested our next move, “We should just go to his departure gate about an hour before his flight leaves. We could just wait on him at the gate if we have to. Even if he’s not sitting there when we get there, he’ll have to come through the gate to get on his flight. Oh!…Listen up, y'all!…We definitely can’t yell at him or grab him or make any kind of ‘scene’ that would draw attention to ourselves! There will be security guards and cameras everywhere! We should just say ‘we’re sorry if we hurt your feelings’, wish him ‘safe travels’, say ‘goodbye’, and then good riddance! We are going to be so much better off without him around!”
My brother and I both nodded vigorously, “Hell yes! Good riddance!” Jim sounded the charge, “Come on, let’s go!”
The whole pro-fessional kidnapping crew scrambled into the VW van, slammed the sliding door, “fired it up” and…we were off to the airport! Jim was driving while Carmen or I (I can’t remember which, but one of us always navigated) read the road map and relayed navigation instructions to Jim. “Left here!” “That’s our off ramp!” “This way is us, man.” “Hey, there’s the airport!”
As we approached the airport, David’s flight was scheduled to depart in about a half hour! Since we were so late, we discussed the possibility of sending Carmen into the airport alone. We reckoned that since time was running out, Carmen could run in and be the spokesperson for the Kidnap Partners, Inc. collective.
Jim came up with another excellent reason that he, I and my brother should definitely not to go into the airport. [Remember: Jim’s dad was a Chattanooga FBI agent who taught Jim stuff like: how to shoot, how to run someone's car off the road, how to fight dirty, and how to control “suspects” with wrist-lock and arm-bar grappling moves - among other skills].
Jim spoke up to Michael and I, “Hey you guys, none of us should go into that airport. We definitely should not go in there! What if he called the cops on us? The cops could be sitting in there just waiting for us to show up, and then they’re gonna ambush us! If he called the cops, they will definitely be waiting in there for us. Just Carmen should go in.”
As we pulled up to the “Departing Flights” door of his airline, Jim gave Carmen last-minute instructions, “Carmen, tell David we all said ‘goodbye!’ and we hope there are no hard feelings! See if you can find out whether he’s called the cops on us. We’ll keep circling around through the airport. So, if you come out and we’re not here, just wait; we’ll be right back around in a few minutes!” We stopped, they kissed, and Carmen hopped out and ran inside the airport. Jim, my brother and I starting circling around the airport.
Even though I was a little disappointed with the apparent lapse of vigilance on our part (after all, we were supposed to be professional kidnappers!), I was actually relieved that David was leaving us. In a way, it kind of felt like loosing some kind of sports game. Our team had lost. We got whupped. Our complacency in guarding our captive had cost us “the game”; we lost the game by fumbling the ball!
Despite any disappointment I may have had in our professional kidnapping skills, I too was glad to see David go on his merry little way. Since Carmen was gone and there were no women around, us guys started “talkin’ shit” about David and his departure from our band of happy campers. Not surprisingly, Jim, my brother, and I were all perfectly agreed in our opinions regarding David’s impending return to Houston, “Fuck him” “Hell yes!” “Fuck that whiney little S.O.B.” “Hell yes!” “Let him go!” “I’m tired of his ass too!” “Good riddance, I say!” “Man, I am so glad he’s going home!” Blah blah blah
After about seven loops around Lindbergh Field (“what the hell is taking so damn long?”), we spotted Carmen waiting out front. We slowed down, pulled up, she hopped in, and we sped away. Carmen immediately started spewing forth the details of her contact with David inside the airport, “Hey you guys! David got on his plane. We talked for a while and I apologized and told him ‘I hope there aren’t any hard feelings.’ Then we decided to call his parents, together. So we called and I talked to Uncle Nick and Aunt Yada [whatever]. They’re not mad at us and no one has called the cops! We talked and we agreed that the whole “kidnapping thing” probably wasn’t a good idea in the first place.”
Carmen went on, but then her mood suddenly changed, she seemed irritated,. “Listen to this shit though! Uncle Nick said he wanted us to send him back the five hundred dollar check! He wants us to send back the five hundred bucks that he paid us for the kidnapping! Can you believe that shit?!”
Jim quizzed her nervously, “What did you tell him?”
Carmen instantly seemed to get happy as she smiled her biggest ear to ear shit-eating grin, “Naturally, I told him ‘Of course we'll return your check right away, Uncle Nick.’ I told him we’d get it the mail to him later today!” Then, when she couldn't hold it in anymore, Carmen burst out laughing. We all fell over ourselves, convulsing with laughter, “Har Har Har…He he he…he thinks we’re gonna send his check back!…Bwah!…After everything we’ve been though?!…Haw haw haw!…That’s so fucking hilarious!…Bwah ha ha! I can’t believe it! ha ha ha ha!…”
Eventually, we recovered our composure, then Jim said, “We need to find a bank that will cash that check right away!”
Next Chapter…My Brother Abandons Our Band of Merry Kidnappers
Stay tuned……..
The residual pinkish-purple glow of daylight’s last vestiges was slowly fading away in the western sky over the ocean. After we had “discovered” David’s stash of crystal meth in his wallet, taken it away from him, forced him to publicly confess the shame of his addiction and “convinced” him to eat a meal, we all decided to take a stroll down to the surf. Jim stayed behind at the van with David, so that he could give David his “reward” for eating a meal, namely, a snort of meth. Our drunken idiot hoodlum next-door neighbors at the campground were packing up their shit and getting ready to leave.
Carmen, her aunt Diane, cousin Jill, my brother Michael, the two dogs and I all strolled downhill the hundred yards or so from our campsite toward the steady crashing of the surf. Down on the beach, we wandered around looking for sea shells in the fading sunlight. We all took turns gazing, rapt with the endless procession of waves crashing ass-over-teakettle onto themselves, sneaking up onto the shore, wetting the sand and then slipping back into the sea, just beneath the next wave in the parade. Watching and listening to the perpetual procession of waves was very reassuring, soothing, and humbling.
We stayed down on the beach for about 45 minutes or so. Of course, we had no idea of the events that were transpiring just out of sight back at our camp.
When we got back to the van, Jim was sitting inside by himself. Carmen asked him, “Where’s David?” Jim answered her, clearly disgruntled, “He ran away.” Instantly, all of us starting bombarding Jim with frantic questions, “How did he get away? Where did he go? Should we go look for him? Where do you think he went?”
Jim laid it all out for us. “Here’s what happened. David asked me if he could walk to the store (across the highway and about 2-3 blocks from our campsite). I told him, ‘Sure, go ahead, I don’t care.’ Then right after he walked off, I realized that he wasn’t coming back; that he’d run away and wasn’t going to come back. I was going to chase him, but those two shady dudes next to us were packing up their shit and were just about ready to leave when David walked off. There was no way I could run off and chase him down and leave all our shit here unguarded while those two thieves next door were about to leave! They would have loved that, if I’d run off and chased down David’s sorry ass! They would have come tight over here, helped themselves to all of our shit, and then just blazed right on out of here with all of our stuff in their car! No way! There was no fuckin’ way I was gonna leave all our shit unguarded to go chase down that whiney little fucker!”
It appeared that these last insults to his person: being manhandled (again) on the beach, having his meth stash forcibly taken away from him, and being extorted into eating a (“yuck! Tofu!”) meal were more than David could stand. Apparently, instead of breaking his spirit, we either sparked his desire or strengthened his resolve to escape! He had had enough and wasn’t going to take it anymore! He had gotten away!
Jim continued with his diatribe, “Anyway, fuck him! Fuck that little motherfucker! Let him go! I was tired of his whiney little ass anyway! He has been nothing but one pain-in-the-ass after another ever such we kidnapped him! I tired of him and I’m tired of all his shit! Let him fuckin’ go! We’re better off without him!”
Carmen was still worried about the well-being of her fragile cousin David though. Where was he going to sleep? What was he going to eat? How was he going to get around? Where was he going to get any money to pay for anything?
Jim pretty much had it all figured out though. “Well, you know the first thing he’s gonna do is go call his mommy and beg her to wire him some money. He’ll probably whine and cry about how we’ve been torturing and abusing him and making him eat things he doesn’t want to eat. Wah wah wah! And…of course mommy is going to send him whatever money he says he needs, so he can get back to Houston and start whiffing meth again! I’ll tell you one thing though, if they [Mr and Mrs K.] send him the money for a plane ticket, we’re keeping that five hundred bucks they paid us to kidnap his ass! We had a deal! We only had one condition to the kidnapping…if we agreed to do it, they agreed not to send him the money for a plane ticket the first time he called home cryin’ about how much he hated it! We’re definitely keeping that five hundred bucks! Especially after all that little fucker has put us through!”
So we decided not to go look for David. Although a little while later, I did take a walk on over to the convenience store a few blocks down. I scanned the shadows of nearby buildings, halfway thinking that maybe I might see David hiding in the shrubbery (perhaps with “the knights who say ‘nee!’” - sorry, random Monty Python reference; the word “shrubbery” always reminds me - “I’m Roger, the shrubber!” Ahem! Anyway...).
I scanned the shadows, just in case David was still lurking about waiting for a cab or something, although I knew that he was probably long gone. Of course, I couldn’t have known at the time that I would actually never see him again.
Back at the campsite, we all sat around the fire drinking, smoking, discussing the day’s events, laughing and following the random drifts in the conversation. Eventually, we all tired out and crawled into our sleeping bags or under our blankets to go to sleep.
The following morning, we broke camp and headed back to Diane and Jill’s house. Carmen came up with a brilliant idea to try to find David. If her plan worked, we should be able both to find David and find out if his parents had wired him the money for a plane ticket, in violation of our single-condition kidnapping deal.
Carmen explained her plan, “What we should do is call every airline at Lindbergh Field [San Diego’s airport] that has a flight flying out to Houston this morning. One of us will call the airline, pretending to be David. Then whoever’s pretending to be David will ask to confirm his reservation on this morning’s flight out to Houston. We’ll call every airline, one after the other, until we find out which flight he’s on.”
We all agreed that I should be the one to call the airlines, pretending to be David. I rehearsed my little “script” before I started calling. The script went something like this, “Hello, American Airlines? Yes, my name is David K. and I am supposed to be flying out on this morning’s flight to Houston. Yes, I just made the reservation late last night and I want to make absolutely sure that I have a reserved seat on this flight.” After hearing “I’m sorry Mr. K, I don’t see you listed here on the passenger list” about five times in a row from airline agents, I finally hit the jackpot! “Yes, Mr. K., I show you right here on Flight X, departing at 11:30 this morning for Houston.” I gave the “thumbs up” to the rest of the crew, sitting around the den listening to me talking on the phone. I politely inquired, “And what gate does that depart from?….Oh really?…Gate yada yada?…OK, thank you! Thank you for your help.”
I briefed the rest of the crew with the essential info, “OK you guys, here’s the deal. He’s got a reservation on [whatever] airline, flight yada yada. It leaves at 11:30 from Gate X!” Jim suggested our next move, “We should just go to his departure gate about an hour before his flight leaves. We could just wait on him at the gate if we have to. Even if he’s not sitting there when we get there, he’ll have to come through the gate to get on his flight. Oh!…Listen up, y'all!…We definitely can’t yell at him or grab him or make any kind of ‘scene’ that would draw attention to ourselves! There will be security guards and cameras everywhere! We should just say ‘we’re sorry if we hurt your feelings’, wish him ‘safe travels’, say ‘goodbye’, and then good riddance! We are going to be so much better off without him around!”
My brother and I both nodded vigorously, “Hell yes! Good riddance!” Jim sounded the charge, “Come on, let’s go!”
The whole pro-fessional kidnapping crew scrambled into the VW van, slammed the sliding door, “fired it up” and…we were off to the airport! Jim was driving while Carmen or I (I can’t remember which, but one of us always navigated) read the road map and relayed navigation instructions to Jim. “Left here!” “That’s our off ramp!” “This way is us, man.” “Hey, there’s the airport!”
As we approached the airport, David’s flight was scheduled to depart in about a half hour! Since we were so late, we discussed the possibility of sending Carmen into the airport alone. We reckoned that since time was running out, Carmen could run in and be the spokesperson for the Kidnap Partners, Inc. collective.
Jim came up with another excellent reason that he, I and my brother should definitely not to go into the airport. [Remember: Jim’s dad was a Chattanooga FBI agent who taught Jim stuff like: how to shoot, how to run someone's car off the road, how to fight dirty, and how to control “suspects” with wrist-lock and arm-bar grappling moves - among other skills].
Jim spoke up to Michael and I, “Hey you guys, none of us should go into that airport. We definitely should not go in there! What if he called the cops on us? The cops could be sitting in there just waiting for us to show up, and then they’re gonna ambush us! If he called the cops, they will definitely be waiting in there for us. Just Carmen should go in.”
As we pulled up to the “Departing Flights” door of his airline, Jim gave Carmen last-minute instructions, “Carmen, tell David we all said ‘goodbye!’ and we hope there are no hard feelings! See if you can find out whether he’s called the cops on us. We’ll keep circling around through the airport. So, if you come out and we’re not here, just wait; we’ll be right back around in a few minutes!” We stopped, they kissed, and Carmen hopped out and ran inside the airport. Jim, my brother and I starting circling around the airport.
Even though I was a little disappointed with the apparent lapse of vigilance on our part (after all, we were supposed to be professional kidnappers!), I was actually relieved that David was leaving us. In a way, it kind of felt like loosing some kind of sports game. Our team had lost. We got whupped. Our complacency in guarding our captive had cost us “the game”; we lost the game by fumbling the ball!
Despite any disappointment I may have had in our professional kidnapping skills, I too was glad to see David go on his merry little way. Since Carmen was gone and there were no women around, us guys started “talkin’ shit” about David and his departure from our band of happy campers. Not surprisingly, Jim, my brother, and I were all perfectly agreed in our opinions regarding David’s impending return to Houston, “Fuck him” “Hell yes!” “Fuck that whiney little S.O.B.” “Hell yes!” “Let him go!” “I’m tired of his ass too!” “Good riddance, I say!” “Man, I am so glad he’s going home!” Blah blah blah
After about seven loops around Lindbergh Field (“what the hell is taking so damn long?”), we spotted Carmen waiting out front. We slowed down, pulled up, she hopped in, and we sped away. Carmen immediately started spewing forth the details of her contact with David inside the airport, “Hey you guys! David got on his plane. We talked for a while and I apologized and told him ‘I hope there aren’t any hard feelings.’ Then we decided to call his parents, together. So we called and I talked to Uncle Nick and Aunt Yada [whatever]. They’re not mad at us and no one has called the cops! We talked and we agreed that the whole “kidnapping thing” probably wasn’t a good idea in the first place.”
Carmen went on, but then her mood suddenly changed, she seemed irritated,. “Listen to this shit though! Uncle Nick said he wanted us to send him back the five hundred dollar check! He wants us to send back the five hundred bucks that he paid us for the kidnapping! Can you believe that shit?!”
Jim quizzed her nervously, “What did you tell him?”
Carmen instantly seemed to get happy as she smiled her biggest ear to ear shit-eating grin, “Naturally, I told him ‘Of course we'll return your check right away, Uncle Nick.’ I told him we’d get it the mail to him later today!” Then, when she couldn't hold it in anymore, Carmen burst out laughing. We all fell over ourselves, convulsing with laughter, “Har Har Har…He he he…he thinks we’re gonna send his check back!…Bwah!…After everything we’ve been though?!…Haw haw haw!…That’s so fucking hilarious!…Bwah ha ha! I can’t believe it! ha ha ha ha!…”
Eventually, we recovered our composure, then Jim said, “We need to find a bank that will cash that check right away!”
Next Chapter…My Brother Abandons Our Band of Merry Kidnappers
Stay tuned……..
...but it seemed like such a good idea at the time...