Tales of The Silent One
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I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
Tales of The Silent One
It's kinda boring in here, and I'm bored at work, so I thought that I'd entertain everyone with stories from my youth. Back when I lived in Tennessee, I took this job a few hours a week in the mornings at this appraisal-real estate business when I was in school. Fun job at $16 an hour to key in stuff in Excel spreadsheets and do simple relational databases in Access. Most of the little MSIT geeks won't do a job unless it is full time, and the CS guys thought it was demeaning. Hell, at $16 an hour on flexible hours, I'd be a janitor in a **** theatre.
Anyway, one particular morning, I got up at 5:30am to meet this guy and one of my bosses at a property. This property is in Sevier County, next to the mountains, not far from the Tail of the Dragon. This area is nothing but extremely poor, rural areas. So bad that pregnent black women still go out and buy bags of clay to eat. There is nothing here, and nothing has ever been here- not even textiles. That's how white trash poor this area is.
You'll still see trailers with a pig pen and chickens outside. A lot of these people literally fatten up a few hogs to kill and eat during the winter. I finally understood what the term "hillbillies" actually means after visiting that place.
The land is mostly flat with some rolling hills before you get to the mountains, plus there is a lot of green space, and it is pretty in a certain rustic sense. Because land was pretty cheaply valued, and the mountains became too pricey, and because this is within an hour of downtown Knoxville, and 30 minutes to NC, some developers have started to buy it up.
The developments have made older, well cared for properties worth more. This one client was from Greenville, SC. He was from San Diego, and is a dot-com rich boy. He got out in 2000, and moved to Greenville. His kind don't fare too well in the south 'cuz they think they're better than everyone else. Usually the locals run them off. He's in his very early 30's and wants to do the whole Eddie Albert- Green Acres thing. I met his wife before, she's this manic-energetic Arab-Italian chick. She wants a farm so she can learn how to drive a tractor. A big one. "One like they've got on the 1000 acre wheat farms in Canada". This couple is hereby referred to as Mr. and Mrs. Wallace.
Mr. Wallace has a 1998 Corvette, and didn't want to drive it out in po' people country. So we met him at the Super Wal-Mart in the Tahoe. I was with my boss, "Mr. Thorton". He hates the Tahoe, and wanted me to drive. So I was in my tie and jacket playing chaufer, like the good little negro that I am.
So we drive down to this property. The house is a three story unit built in the late 70's. It was probably $70k then, and is worth about $275k now. The land is about 80 acres, at another $200k. Internet millionaire Wallace thinks this is cheap after having lived in San Diego.
We get down there at six and meet the current owner. He is in his early 60's and his wife is a semi-VIP at Maryville College. He's a difficult son-of-a-bitch to deal and get ahold of, and is unabashed.
The house is bordered by about ten acres of pine. Past that, there is another house. That house looks have been built in the late 50's and is falling apart. You can see it from the road, and it has this forestry service lime green paint job on the outside. In the front yard sits a lifted, ghettoized Silverado. Imagine Carnes' truck if he was a drunkass, meth using rapper wannabe. There is a mid 70's Oldsmobille 88 four door Brougham, and a mid 80's Caddy. Both cars have these kandy paintjobs and huge Niche chrome wheels on the 88, and huge gold wire wheels on the Caddy.
So we get down there about 6, and meet the CO (current owner). He shows his tobacco barn (pole barn 1/2 open) and his old block milk barn from his farming days.
We go inside to check out the house after a bit. The wife is a PhD intellectual type. She has this collection of mid 1800's Adams Porcelain.
The house has current termite inspection, and my boss's people had done an appraisal, and everything looked good. We go out to the back porch to catch the sunrise. It was light and there was a bit of a false dawn going on. It was really pretty with the mountains in the background. Oddly enough there was a fog, even on the low lands.
The fog smelled rather acrid and musty. Kind of burned your nose. Smelled like battery fumes after a bit.
Mr. Wallace asks the CO, "What's that smell? Is there a marsh nearby?"
CO sits down on his swing, puts in his chaw of tobbacco, and spits. "Naw, son, ain't no wetlands out he-yah."
Mr. Wallace kinda twitches. "So, what's that smell, you say?"
The CO spits again. "Well son, that's the smell of fresh crystal methedrine being cooked on a fine summer mornin' in Tennessee."
Mr. Wallace develops a definite facial tick. "Uhh, someone's cooking meth?"
The CO swings in his seat for a bit, and nodds his head. He does a Josey Wales take. "Didn't know I developed a stutter. That's whut I sed."
The tick becomes more apparent on Wallace's face. "Uh, why do they do that?"
The CO gets this what the **** look on his face. "Well, I reckon they're too lazy to get a job, but they like to eat."
The tick looks as though it could develop into an aneurism . "But why?"
The CO spits again. "Well, you got to eat to live. You don't, you starve."
Thorton is rolling his eyes at me, and swearing under his breath. Mr. Wallace's breathing is labored.
The CO's wife comes out and sits on the swing with the CO. There is a nervous, nervous quiet. The CO looks accusingly at Mr. Wallace. "You gonna buy this place? I mean if you ain't, give somebody else a chance on the pot."
Wallace stares at the ground, looks up at Boss Thorton, "Yeah, I want it. I'll get all the paperwork ready from my bankers. I want it."
Thorton exhales surprisedly. He gives the thumbs up to the CO, and takes Wallace out to the Tahoe to discuss things and fluff the property some more.
I stand there stupidly for a minute. The CO does his Josey Wales imitation some more. He then lets out this ridiculous laugh. Smiles at me- "Wait til he hears them on the road at 3am. Hot pillow joint once football season up in Knoxville start on Friday and Saturday."
This was bar none, the most ****ed up job I've ever worked.
On the county road we got back on, going to Knoxville, I saw where they'd been doing the "Rockfords". Nice 180 degree bootlegs. For you Yanks on here, a "Rockford" is when you drive in reverse, then spin the car around in a 180 such that you never come to a stop and take off in the same direction but facing forward.
After that, I quit the next day. It's funny 'cuz that poor 30-something idiot is going to live out this Green Acres fantasy amongst the backdrop of twisted locals that will make "Funny Farm" seem entirely Norman Rockwell.
I wonder how they made out.
Anyway, one particular morning, I got up at 5:30am to meet this guy and one of my bosses at a property. This property is in Sevier County, next to the mountains, not far from the Tail of the Dragon. This area is nothing but extremely poor, rural areas. So bad that pregnent black women still go out and buy bags of clay to eat. There is nothing here, and nothing has ever been here- not even textiles. That's how white trash poor this area is.
You'll still see trailers with a pig pen and chickens outside. A lot of these people literally fatten up a few hogs to kill and eat during the winter. I finally understood what the term "hillbillies" actually means after visiting that place.
The land is mostly flat with some rolling hills before you get to the mountains, plus there is a lot of green space, and it is pretty in a certain rustic sense. Because land was pretty cheaply valued, and the mountains became too pricey, and because this is within an hour of downtown Knoxville, and 30 minutes to NC, some developers have started to buy it up.
The developments have made older, well cared for properties worth more. This one client was from Greenville, SC. He was from San Diego, and is a dot-com rich boy. He got out in 2000, and moved to Greenville. His kind don't fare too well in the south 'cuz they think they're better than everyone else. Usually the locals run them off. He's in his very early 30's and wants to do the whole Eddie Albert- Green Acres thing. I met his wife before, she's this manic-energetic Arab-Italian chick. She wants a farm so she can learn how to drive a tractor. A big one. "One like they've got on the 1000 acre wheat farms in Canada". This couple is hereby referred to as Mr. and Mrs. Wallace.
Mr. Wallace has a 1998 Corvette, and didn't want to drive it out in po' people country. So we met him at the Super Wal-Mart in the Tahoe. I was with my boss, "Mr. Thorton". He hates the Tahoe, and wanted me to drive. So I was in my tie and jacket playing chaufer, like the good little negro that I am.
So we drive down to this property. The house is a three story unit built in the late 70's. It was probably $70k then, and is worth about $275k now. The land is about 80 acres, at another $200k. Internet millionaire Wallace thinks this is cheap after having lived in San Diego.
We get down there at six and meet the current owner. He is in his early 60's and his wife is a semi-VIP at Maryville College. He's a difficult son-of-a-bitch to deal and get ahold of, and is unabashed.
The house is bordered by about ten acres of pine. Past that, there is another house. That house looks have been built in the late 50's and is falling apart. You can see it from the road, and it has this forestry service lime green paint job on the outside. In the front yard sits a lifted, ghettoized Silverado. Imagine Carnes' truck if he was a drunkass, meth using rapper wannabe. There is a mid 70's Oldsmobille 88 four door Brougham, and a mid 80's Caddy. Both cars have these kandy paintjobs and huge Niche chrome wheels on the 88, and huge gold wire wheels on the Caddy.
So we get down there about 6, and meet the CO (current owner). He shows his tobacco barn (pole barn 1/2 open) and his old block milk barn from his farming days.
We go inside to check out the house after a bit. The wife is a PhD intellectual type. She has this collection of mid 1800's Adams Porcelain.
The house has current termite inspection, and my boss's people had done an appraisal, and everything looked good. We go out to the back porch to catch the sunrise. It was light and there was a bit of a false dawn going on. It was really pretty with the mountains in the background. Oddly enough there was a fog, even on the low lands.
The fog smelled rather acrid and musty. Kind of burned your nose. Smelled like battery fumes after a bit.
Mr. Wallace asks the CO, "What's that smell? Is there a marsh nearby?"
CO sits down on his swing, puts in his chaw of tobbacco, and spits. "Naw, son, ain't no wetlands out he-yah."
Mr. Wallace kinda twitches. "So, what's that smell, you say?"
The CO spits again. "Well son, that's the smell of fresh crystal methedrine being cooked on a fine summer mornin' in Tennessee."
Mr. Wallace develops a definite facial tick. "Uhh, someone's cooking meth?"
The CO swings in his seat for a bit, and nodds his head. He does a Josey Wales take. "Didn't know I developed a stutter. That's whut I sed."
The tick becomes more apparent on Wallace's face. "Uh, why do they do that?"
The CO gets this what the **** look on his face. "Well, I reckon they're too lazy to get a job, but they like to eat."
The tick looks as though it could develop into an aneurism . "But why?"
The CO spits again. "Well, you got to eat to live. You don't, you starve."
Thorton is rolling his eyes at me, and swearing under his breath. Mr. Wallace's breathing is labored.
The CO's wife comes out and sits on the swing with the CO. There is a nervous, nervous quiet. The CO looks accusingly at Mr. Wallace. "You gonna buy this place? I mean if you ain't, give somebody else a chance on the pot."
Wallace stares at the ground, looks up at Boss Thorton, "Yeah, I want it. I'll get all the paperwork ready from my bankers. I want it."
Thorton exhales surprisedly. He gives the thumbs up to the CO, and takes Wallace out to the Tahoe to discuss things and fluff the property some more.
I stand there stupidly for a minute. The CO does his Josey Wales imitation some more. He then lets out this ridiculous laugh. Smiles at me- "Wait til he hears them on the road at 3am. Hot pillow joint once football season up in Knoxville start on Friday and Saturday."
This was bar none, the most ****ed up job I've ever worked.
On the county road we got back on, going to Knoxville, I saw where they'd been doing the "Rockfords". Nice 180 degree bootlegs. For you Yanks on here, a "Rockford" is when you drive in reverse, then spin the car around in a 180 such that you never come to a stop and take off in the same direction but facing forward.
After that, I quit the next day. It's funny 'cuz that poor 30-something idiot is going to live out this Green Acres fantasy amongst the backdrop of twisted locals that will make "Funny Farm" seem entirely Norman Rockwell.
I wonder how they made out.
Has-Been... Was I ever?
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,343
From: Boston, MA
OMG, I read the whole story and I even went back and re-read certain parts to make sure I understood it as a whole. That is some f*cked up ****!!
BTW, I must say after reading your story, I firmly believe that YOU are the biggest hick I know. For anyone to even experience something like that, let alone word it like you have, you are forever known as a damn varmint from the the middle of nowhere, usa.
Just when you think Massachusetts sucks and you're ready to leave, you hear some **** like this. I'll take the 55 red lights on the way to work...... along with the 5 middle fingers.
You can KEEP your Tennessee spittin' trash!
Lata,
Bri
BTW, I must say after reading your story, I firmly believe that YOU are the biggest hick I know. For anyone to even experience something like that, let alone word it like you have, you are forever known as a damn varmint from the the middle of nowhere, usa.
Just when you think Massachusetts sucks and you're ready to leave, you hear some **** like this. I'll take the 55 red lights on the way to work...... along with the 5 middle fingers.
You can KEEP your Tennessee spittin' trash!
Lata,
Bri
Thread Starter
I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
Knoxville was a fun town. I loved it. In particular, there was this little diner that served Thai food on the cheap. So one day I decide to go get some. I was so hungover, I didn't realize it was only 10am and they weren't open yet. Or maybe it was Monday and they weren't open on mondays. I forget. But anyway, next door, there is this little cafe, near a music store, that serves mainly vegatarian stuff. Considering I was starving and had no food, I stop in.
I wanted some hot mandarin tofu and some pot stickers anyway, so I figured I could get some there. They served breakfast too, so all was good. So it seemed...
So I go in, and I'm greeted by a death metal chick who wants to seat me. This girl probably weighs in at 210lbs, about 6' tall- at least a good inch taller than me barefoot. She's not fat, but not a body builder, just like some Valkyrie from a bizzarre gothic, mid 70's east German horror play. She's got dyed black hair, tattoos of the grim reaper on one arm and a tatoo of Death's Head on the other. She has the nicest, sweetest southern belle voice- kinda surprised as I was expecting Clortho the Key Master. I, of course, am slightly freaked out, but I maintain composure.
She seats me in the back booth and the waiter brings me some water. He wants to know if I want a PBR or something, and I stick with the water after he lets me know that the PBR keg has "gone off"... I didn't need PBR anyway, but I figured it would ease the hangover.
I get to noticing that she put me in the back corner booth, and there is another booth making up the other part of the corner. In between the booths is the kitchen door.
So I order some baked tofu and side of their sweet and sour sauce, and some pot stickers with honey mustard sauce. Yummy.
The waiter walks by later and lets me know that it will be a minute, that there is a problem in the kitchen. Maybe be a slight delay.
So I wait a while and grab the Flagpole and soak up the ambience. My waiter disappears, and a dude in a Mayhem shirt with the picture of the lead singer having blown his head off (yes, it really happened- he killed himself and a bandmate took a picture). How do I know it happened? The dude in the Mayhem shirt stopped to tell me the story and inform me he'd be taking care of me.
So waiter number two disappears out the front of the restaurant and comes back in with a wooden softball bat. He walks into the kitchen, I hear a shriek and a loud clange.
"Goddamn Pampered Chef! F*ck! f*ckin' hell! Hot hot hot!"
Out comes my new waiter with a slightly red burn on the side of his face. "Sir" he says "You don't want rice with that?"
You see, I thought it a question. "No, why?"
"No, sir" he says shaking his head "I mean that you really don't want rice. One of the damn bowls we cook rice in is earthen ware. It started soaking up water and it swelled. Had to break it before it did something bad." He gives me a comforting thumbs up and walks back into the kitchen. Now I'm confused as ever.
Now, Valkyrie girl shows back up with these two really skinny, long haired heroin-addict looking guys. I'm mildly disturbed when I notice the older heroin addict has a weird limp and thump when he walks, and he is missing digits from both hands. Valkyrie seats them at the other booth that completes the corner.
After a while, Mayhem the Waiter brings me my half of the sandwich. They have a new cook apparently, and if I will be patient and wait, I get free gumbo with my tofu.
"This is f*cked up", I keep telling myself.
I'm eating the tofu and reading this material I need for my Differential Equations class in an hour. Then I hear talking, in a muted sort of way.
"... the biggest risk is septicimia. Yeah as long as its sterile, it's all right. Best thing in the world if its done right." That's the older heroin addict.
"Oh man, I want it gone, I want it gone so bad. But, I don't wanna die. The high would almost be worth it though. I haven't been aroused sense I realized the foreigner was there."
I checked my watch and determined that I am not sober enough to hear all this. I check the pot stickers looking for blotter acid that Mayhem the waiter had dropped in, contemplating what his head would look like when I had put him into a blender.
The younger heroin addict continues. "I just can't stand the foreigner. It's just wrong. I don't want it there. I can't live with it being there. I've considered just buying a Dewalt and getting it over with."
Uh oh I'm thinking. Murder for hire plot going down here. Does this make me accessory to the fact or before the fact. F*ck. Just what I need. Goddammit I gotta get the f*ck outta here!
The older heroin addict grabs his friend's hand. "No no. Absolutely not. Doing it with a table saw is out. The guy who did my art, started out in Nevada doing that. Because of the femoral artery, you don't want to use a table saw unless you're good with a tourniquet. Not worth the risk. It will make you hard, but you want to do it again right." The older heroin addict winks and stomps his creaky leg.
About this time, Mayhem the waiter comes out and brings me my gumbo and tofu. Mayhem sees me checking out the heroin addicts and bends down to whisper in my ear.
"Dude, don't even look at those guys. They'll cut off your ****ing foot and jack off on your belly, man. They're into cutting..."
My eyes bug out and my hair stands straight up like a surprised Buckwheat from "Our Gang". This was when my hair came to my shoulders, before I cut it prior to coming to Boston. I swallow hard.
"Cutting? " I ask.
Mayhem nods at me, effectively head banging his long greasy hair. Goddamn hippy. "Yeah, they're apotemnophiles. ****, that old dude cut off his ****ing leg. Get's 'em hard, man."
Well, I considered decorating my man Mayhem with a shower of spinach sandwich, but didn't upon further reflection. He mistook my upset stomach for further interest in his delightful commentary.
By this time I expected to see Bozo the clown on my shoulder trying to piece my ear with an ice pick- that would have been normal at this point.
I point to my food. "Box this ****. Now, dammit."
Mayhem isn't offended. "Ten-four, buddy." He winks and goes to box my food.
"You'll need some anesthesia, or some ether, or just a handful of big Motrin. We can try putting you in a tub of ice..." The older heroin addict continues...
Mayhem comes out, brings me my box, and hands me my check. I give him 15 dollars, which was a $3 tip.
Valkyrie girl smiles at me on the way out. "Come back again sometime soon honey chile!"
Like f*cking hell I will.
We're reduced to a terrible affliction in this country. F*cking bored college students dress up like victims of the Bosnian war, and dipshits with money have limbs cut off and that's avante gard. I wanted some damn hot tofu and pot stickers. I got limb stickers who get a hard on standing around emergency rooms waiting for "Tim the Toolman" types to come in after an intimate learning experience with Porter Cable brand power tools.
Incidentally- the gumbo was mighty f*cking good, and it turns that the Amazon goth chick is Creole, and knew her **** in the kitchen.
google apotemnophile for further reading
I wanted some hot mandarin tofu and some pot stickers anyway, so I figured I could get some there. They served breakfast too, so all was good. So it seemed...
So I go in, and I'm greeted by a death metal chick who wants to seat me. This girl probably weighs in at 210lbs, about 6' tall- at least a good inch taller than me barefoot. She's not fat, but not a body builder, just like some Valkyrie from a bizzarre gothic, mid 70's east German horror play. She's got dyed black hair, tattoos of the grim reaper on one arm and a tatoo of Death's Head on the other. She has the nicest, sweetest southern belle voice- kinda surprised as I was expecting Clortho the Key Master. I, of course, am slightly freaked out, but I maintain composure.
She seats me in the back booth and the waiter brings me some water. He wants to know if I want a PBR or something, and I stick with the water after he lets me know that the PBR keg has "gone off"... I didn't need PBR anyway, but I figured it would ease the hangover.
I get to noticing that she put me in the back corner booth, and there is another booth making up the other part of the corner. In between the booths is the kitchen door.
So I order some baked tofu and side of their sweet and sour sauce, and some pot stickers with honey mustard sauce. Yummy.
The waiter walks by later and lets me know that it will be a minute, that there is a problem in the kitchen. Maybe be a slight delay.
So I wait a while and grab the Flagpole and soak up the ambience. My waiter disappears, and a dude in a Mayhem shirt with the picture of the lead singer having blown his head off (yes, it really happened- he killed himself and a bandmate took a picture). How do I know it happened? The dude in the Mayhem shirt stopped to tell me the story and inform me he'd be taking care of me.
So waiter number two disappears out the front of the restaurant and comes back in with a wooden softball bat. He walks into the kitchen, I hear a shriek and a loud clange.
"Goddamn Pampered Chef! F*ck! f*ckin' hell! Hot hot hot!"
Out comes my new waiter with a slightly red burn on the side of his face. "Sir" he says "You don't want rice with that?"
You see, I thought it a question. "No, why?"
"No, sir" he says shaking his head "I mean that you really don't want rice. One of the damn bowls we cook rice in is earthen ware. It started soaking up water and it swelled. Had to break it before it did something bad." He gives me a comforting thumbs up and walks back into the kitchen. Now I'm confused as ever.
Now, Valkyrie girl shows back up with these two really skinny, long haired heroin-addict looking guys. I'm mildly disturbed when I notice the older heroin addict has a weird limp and thump when he walks, and he is missing digits from both hands. Valkyrie seats them at the other booth that completes the corner.
After a while, Mayhem the Waiter brings me my half of the sandwich. They have a new cook apparently, and if I will be patient and wait, I get free gumbo with my tofu.
"This is f*cked up", I keep telling myself.
I'm eating the tofu and reading this material I need for my Differential Equations class in an hour. Then I hear talking, in a muted sort of way.
"... the biggest risk is septicimia. Yeah as long as its sterile, it's all right. Best thing in the world if its done right." That's the older heroin addict.
"Oh man, I want it gone, I want it gone so bad. But, I don't wanna die. The high would almost be worth it though. I haven't been aroused sense I realized the foreigner was there."
I checked my watch and determined that I am not sober enough to hear all this. I check the pot stickers looking for blotter acid that Mayhem the waiter had dropped in, contemplating what his head would look like when I had put him into a blender.
The younger heroin addict continues. "I just can't stand the foreigner. It's just wrong. I don't want it there. I can't live with it being there. I've considered just buying a Dewalt and getting it over with."
Uh oh I'm thinking. Murder for hire plot going down here. Does this make me accessory to the fact or before the fact. F*ck. Just what I need. Goddammit I gotta get the f*ck outta here!
The older heroin addict grabs his friend's hand. "No no. Absolutely not. Doing it with a table saw is out. The guy who did my art, started out in Nevada doing that. Because of the femoral artery, you don't want to use a table saw unless you're good with a tourniquet. Not worth the risk. It will make you hard, but you want to do it again right." The older heroin addict winks and stomps his creaky leg.
About this time, Mayhem the waiter comes out and brings me my gumbo and tofu. Mayhem sees me checking out the heroin addicts and bends down to whisper in my ear.
"Dude, don't even look at those guys. They'll cut off your ****ing foot and jack off on your belly, man. They're into cutting..."
My eyes bug out and my hair stands straight up like a surprised Buckwheat from "Our Gang". This was when my hair came to my shoulders, before I cut it prior to coming to Boston. I swallow hard.
"Cutting? " I ask.
Mayhem nods at me, effectively head banging his long greasy hair. Goddamn hippy. "Yeah, they're apotemnophiles. ****, that old dude cut off his ****ing leg. Get's 'em hard, man."
Well, I considered decorating my man Mayhem with a shower of spinach sandwich, but didn't upon further reflection. He mistook my upset stomach for further interest in his delightful commentary.
By this time I expected to see Bozo the clown on my shoulder trying to piece my ear with an ice pick- that would have been normal at this point.
I point to my food. "Box this ****. Now, dammit."
Mayhem isn't offended. "Ten-four, buddy." He winks and goes to box my food.
"You'll need some anesthesia, or some ether, or just a handful of big Motrin. We can try putting you in a tub of ice..." The older heroin addict continues...
Mayhem comes out, brings me my box, and hands me my check. I give him 15 dollars, which was a $3 tip.
Valkyrie girl smiles at me on the way out. "Come back again sometime soon honey chile!"
Like f*cking hell I will.
We're reduced to a terrible affliction in this country. F*cking bored college students dress up like victims of the Bosnian war, and dipshits with money have limbs cut off and that's avante gard. I wanted some damn hot tofu and pot stickers. I got limb stickers who get a hard on standing around emergency rooms waiting for "Tim the Toolman" types to come in after an intimate learning experience with Porter Cable brand power tools.
Incidentally- the gumbo was mighty f*cking good, and it turns that the Amazon goth chick is Creole, and knew her **** in the kitchen.
google apotemnophile for further reading
Thread Starter
I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
Originally posted by TEACH C6
i agree...cam, i LOVE your stories. the content is always good, but the way you write is GREAT!!!
we need one per day....FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!
Chris
i agree...cam, i LOVE your stories. the content is always good, but the way you write is GREAT!!!
we need one per day....FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!
Chris
I will say that writing is way more fun that writing stupid military software.
Thread Starter
I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
LOL, actually I might have a Stoner Dad story for you soon. He called me today and made one of the most ridiculous requests ever.
If I can find time in between meetings today, I'll tell you about it. Then we can find out if I'm being evil, or if he really is a f*cking moron.
If I can find time in between meetings today, I'll tell you about it. Then we can find out if I'm being evil, or if he really is a f*cking moron.
Thread Starter
I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
back in august, me and my best friend from home went muddin in his tahoe out in the flats in mississippi. as luck would have it, we gota flat tire.
"f*ck! we're in the middle of nowhere and it's 95 degrees out. please kill me now," I though to myself. it was a good 3 miles to the nearest service station, and it was hot as ***** out.
So what did we do? Kept our black asses in the truck and prayed that someone would offer a lift.
(mental note: baking is hard on the nuero-functions!)
god shined on us that day, and some indians pulled over in like 2 minutes. when we got in the back of the truck, they offered me a smoke. they were cherokee indians you see. i looked at it pretty good, you know to make sure there wasn't any pixie dust on it- yano ?
see, this one time i got some of this crazy **** that'd been doctored with "pixie" dust and i nearly became the father of a centaur if you catch my drift.
so, anyway i check out this smoke and i notice these black hairs in it, and i'm like holy ****! so i asked and they told me it was horse tail.
"ok, wtf???"
see, there is some **** they put on horses that when you add it to smokes makes it like super duper smokes. like giving john holmes or long dong silver viagra and a shot of cortizone in the dick.
the only thing is that chemical is a controlled substance by vets and they won't just sell it to anyone off the street. so they had to go cut off a horse's tail to get some.
the other good thing was that it just really covered the smell of the smokes real, real good. it smelled like when you cover your leg in butane and light the damn thing on fire. have you ever done that?
it's some funny ****. get out on the side of the road with you car. get out, raise the hood, with one hand douse your jeans with butane and then light them up and start running down the road. its better if you got somebody to pick you up because there can be traffic accidents.
onetime this couple tried to stop and i kept yelling "momma told me not to freebase !"
it was pretty sweet actually.
"f*ck! we're in the middle of nowhere and it's 95 degrees out. please kill me now," I though to myself. it was a good 3 miles to the nearest service station, and it was hot as ***** out.
So what did we do? Kept our black asses in the truck and prayed that someone would offer a lift.
(mental note: baking is hard on the nuero-functions!)
god shined on us that day, and some indians pulled over in like 2 minutes. when we got in the back of the truck, they offered me a smoke. they were cherokee indians you see. i looked at it pretty good, you know to make sure there wasn't any pixie dust on it- yano ?
see, this one time i got some of this crazy **** that'd been doctored with "pixie" dust and i nearly became the father of a centaur if you catch my drift.
so, anyway i check out this smoke and i notice these black hairs in it, and i'm like holy ****! so i asked and they told me it was horse tail.
"ok, wtf???"
see, there is some **** they put on horses that when you add it to smokes makes it like super duper smokes. like giving john holmes or long dong silver viagra and a shot of cortizone in the dick.
the only thing is that chemical is a controlled substance by vets and they won't just sell it to anyone off the street. so they had to go cut off a horse's tail to get some.
the other good thing was that it just really covered the smell of the smokes real, real good. it smelled like when you cover your leg in butane and light the damn thing on fire. have you ever done that?
it's some funny ****. get out on the side of the road with you car. get out, raise the hood, with one hand douse your jeans with butane and then light them up and start running down the road. its better if you got somebody to pick you up because there can be traffic accidents.
onetime this couple tried to stop and i kept yelling "momma told me not to freebase !"
it was pretty sweet actually.
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I Enjoy Posting At StuntLife!
Joined: Oct 2002
Posts: 1,197
From: Chicago!
I may have a story for you when I get back from Tennessee this weekend. Since I'm a self-proclaimed pothead, I will attempt to obtain some ganja this weekend.
Bringing it with me is completely out of the question. See, this one time, I tried to bring some back to Boston with me. I had it all figured out. I'd stick the herb in a sandwich bag, and stick it in my shoe. Well, I get to the airport, and the goddamn detector goes off. ****!
"Sir, can you please step off to the side?"
I twitch. Nervous cough. Off to side, a few National Guard offers were chillin' off to the side, complete with AK-47's, and a sherrif's officer sitting the corner on the phone.
The TSA person then waves the hand wand over my body. The right shoe goes off. I start sweatin' like Rosie O'Donnell in a gym.
"Please take off your shoes."
Deep breath, Cameron. Breathe. Jail isn't so bad. I can finally get in shape, and maybe get ripped at the same time. I pull off my shoes. The little bag falls on the floor.
The TSA person was this black lady, maybe 50'ish. She's the type who prolly just finished high school, and had little jobs all her life. I bet she can cook some mean Sunday dinners. Now I'm thinking of what to tell this woman who found my dime bag.
"Well, it's not like I'm trying to blow the plane up," I say. Christ, what the f*ck am I thinking here!?!?! Is that the best I can do here?
She looks at me for sec, and gives me that disappointed look. I can imagine the conversation my mom and I have when I tell her I got arrested."
"You know you know better than that. Put that up and go catch your flight."
I nearly **** a brick when she said that. She actually let me go. Wild. I wonder if she would've let me go if I was white. But I digress..
Since that little incident, i go out to fayette county north of Memphis to where these migrant dudes work and live and buy from this little 14 yo kid who grows decent hydro.
This little ****er scares the **** out of me. He sits there with his Mossberg 590 with ghost ring sights and just grows all day. I like to think of him as a young tony montana. He owns his own house trailer so he must do a brisk business.
So, Tuesday I decide to give him a call to give him a head's up that I'd be in town. No answer. I call my cousin today to see what's up, and he had bad news for me. Tony Jr had been to school once since he was officially enrolled at the middle school. Little mother****er. Truancy officer shows up and he's sitting on his trailer porch with the damn shotgun. They took in his little ***, searched the trailer, and he was out. I mean clean. It'd been fall break, the kids came back, cleaned his *** out on Sunday. Monday he got taken in. He's going into foster care.
This place is a very dangerous place to collect marbles. You never know when there is a blue meanie. So nothing lined up. ****. Just means my liver has had it.
-Teach your children well, and know that their love will slowy drag by... heh heh
Bringing it with me is completely out of the question. See, this one time, I tried to bring some back to Boston with me. I had it all figured out. I'd stick the herb in a sandwich bag, and stick it in my shoe. Well, I get to the airport, and the goddamn detector goes off. ****!
"Sir, can you please step off to the side?"
I twitch. Nervous cough. Off to side, a few National Guard offers were chillin' off to the side, complete with AK-47's, and a sherrif's officer sitting the corner on the phone.
The TSA person then waves the hand wand over my body. The right shoe goes off. I start sweatin' like Rosie O'Donnell in a gym.
"Please take off your shoes."
Deep breath, Cameron. Breathe. Jail isn't so bad. I can finally get in shape, and maybe get ripped at the same time. I pull off my shoes. The little bag falls on the floor.
The TSA person was this black lady, maybe 50'ish. She's the type who prolly just finished high school, and had little jobs all her life. I bet she can cook some mean Sunday dinners. Now I'm thinking of what to tell this woman who found my dime bag.
"Well, it's not like I'm trying to blow the plane up," I say. Christ, what the f*ck am I thinking here!?!?! Is that the best I can do here?
She looks at me for sec, and gives me that disappointed look. I can imagine the conversation my mom and I have when I tell her I got arrested."
"You know you know better than that. Put that up and go catch your flight."
I nearly **** a brick when she said that. She actually let me go. Wild. I wonder if she would've let me go if I was white. But I digress..
Since that little incident, i go out to fayette county north of Memphis to where these migrant dudes work and live and buy from this little 14 yo kid who grows decent hydro.
This little ****er scares the **** out of me. He sits there with his Mossberg 590 with ghost ring sights and just grows all day. I like to think of him as a young tony montana. He owns his own house trailer so he must do a brisk business.
So, Tuesday I decide to give him a call to give him a head's up that I'd be in town. No answer. I call my cousin today to see what's up, and he had bad news for me. Tony Jr had been to school once since he was officially enrolled at the middle school. Little mother****er. Truancy officer shows up and he's sitting on his trailer porch with the damn shotgun. They took in his little ***, searched the trailer, and he was out. I mean clean. It'd been fall break, the kids came back, cleaned his *** out on Sunday. Monday he got taken in. He's going into foster care.
This place is a very dangerous place to collect marbles. You never know when there is a blue meanie. So nothing lined up. ****. Just means my liver has had it.
-Teach your children well, and know that their love will slowy drag by... heh heh
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