I think the title says it all. As long as it's true and crazy we want to hear it. Doesn't matter what kind of crazy, just crazy. Although, Redrus likes beaches, babes and booze.

Well true story, and i am afraid it doesnt contain any of the things rus likes.

I was working for a mate of mine about 10 years ago, handing out flyers outside of clubs. My normal payment was £20 plus vip entance into the club and petrol. Always seemed like a fair deal for 20 minutes work at the end of the nigt.

Anyway i was stood outside Lakota which for those in the know is a pretty seedy dance club down in the darkest reaches of St Pauls, handing out my flyers when this car pulls up right outside, 3 wannabe white boy gangstas get out, they seem to pick somone at random, this poor scrawny lad with specs, and they proceed to jump him and start battering the living daylights out of him.

Now i am not the type of person that will stand by and watch an unfair fight, no matter what the reason, so i wade in smack 2 of them, next thing i know i have got 3 of my mates pulling me off, and the lad that was getting the kicking crawled back into the club.

Next thing i know the 3 wannabes have gone back to their car, got back out and one of the ones i smacked came up to me, pulled out a gun (real or not who knows) puts it too my head and tells me he will be coming back for me, he then runs into the club, and i think to myself ok time to make a sharp exit.

To this day i dont know if the gun was real or if he did indeed come back to sort me out, but there were no reports of a shooting in the club, so i assume it was either a fake gun or they lost their bottle.

So yeah that was a pretty crazy experience, especially when partaking in some of the naughty things that went with that scene. Ohh to be young dumb and full of come

Brave man, daley.

Brave man, daley.

Others have said stupid, but hey after spending most of my school years as a bully, when i actually grew up and realised what a nasty piece of work i was, i vowed to change and help anyone if they were in need.

Please note this doesnt include scamming farang beggers

Brave man, daley.

Others have said stupid, but hey after spending most of my school years as a bully, when i actually grew up and realised what a nasty piece of work i was, i vowed to change and help anyone if they were in need.

Please note this doesnt include scamming farang beggers

Naw, I hear ya. I was once one of the less desirable people someone would want to meet. That's why I say brave, because where I grew up you saw someone getting jumped and tell the cops, if they ask, "I didn't see sh1t." I will say again brave after your second post for I feel the same way now, and I still don't know if I would help. I know how things like this can end up.

It happened to me and it's true......

Mortars in Moonland

By Kerrie Hall

"Grab your passport and run," screamed Bugsy with a fear in his voice and eyes that I had never known. Seconds before, an alien high-pitched scream and lightening crack explosion shook me out of a welcomed afternoon daydream. From my hotel window, I stared incredulously at the gaping wound and rising billows of smoke and dust on the barren range fringing the town.

"What the f*** was that?" I demanded of thick air, not really expecting an answer. Bugsy knew more about these things than I did. Within moments, a second explosion filled my being as rabid reality bit hard.

"Mortar rockets," yelled Bugsy.

Not knowing the definition of mortar, the rocket word got the message across to me loud and clear. My heart beat was out of control. I did not want to believe what was happening.

A glacial fear washed over me. Another explosion. This time the rockets had hit their mark. The town of Kargil was under attack. Billows of dust rose from the wreckage of gutted buildings that, moments earlier, had been busy hubs of local commerce. I have no recollection of hurtling down three flights of stairs. My jelly legs had carried me, in total shock, to the ground floor below into a deserted reception foyer. Three local children appeared by our side, their faces frozen in terror.

A short buck-toothed Kashmiri man, who I recognised as the hotel manager, raced into the office ashen faced, eyes bulging.

"Quickly, leave here, go to that hotel now," he barked, waving his hands at the solid four storey building outside the front gate.

"Hurry, follow me," he repeated, while racing out the door.

I didn't want to go out there. Following Bugsy's lead, I took the tiny hand of the young girl beside me and ran toward the gate. This time it took all my effort to force my legs to carry me across the twenty or so metres to the apparent safe haven opposite the Greenland Hotel. My knees threatened to buckle with every step.

A stately looking, elderly male calmly greeted us at the entrance, ushering us inside. He wore a white collared shirt, neat trousers with matching blazer and a tapestry fez style hat. I still remember his eyes: deep pools of soft chocolate, shining with light from a kind heart. Some people you never forget. He seemed concerned but not afraid. Perhaps his lifetime had seen much worse. Sixty or so refugees crowded into the foyer. Men, women, children and babies gathered together in a state of silent panic.

Nobody uttered a sound but one woman, whose thick grief voiced the fear and anxiety with her wailing and weeping to Allah. Wide eyed, grave faced, hotel staff gestured the crowd into a large function room where a group of ten formally dressed Ladakhi people sat awaiting their guests for a celebration. They did not appear festive anymore. The banquet had become a bunker. Bugsy and I gravitated to the back of the room and huddled on wooden chairs against the inside wall. Most of the women and children scampered behind the abandoned buffet.

The building shuddered with the boom of mortar rockets claiming more targets in the town centre. The hotel foundations screamed in unison with my frayed nerve endings. The hairs on my arms stood to attention. Suddenly, I had the dry horrors, a crazy desperate thirst. An extremely violent blast, just outside the building, sent us diving to the floor as surrounding windows imploded. Shards of glass collapsed into the dining room and adjoining corridor like crystal confetti in a dark fairytale.

I'd never really been a sayer of prayers before this day. I don't mind admitting that I truly did speak to a Higher Being at that moment. Images of my family danced clearly in my vision. I clutched at their faces with an iron grip. My Mother’s face hovered in my torment, her eyes met mine and all I could think was: "Mum is going to kill me if I die".

Crouched beside me to my left was Rinchen, a young Ladakhi woman of Tibetan ancestry who had come to Kargil to be married. She shook her head in disbelief whilst grasping a cloth amulet worn around her neck. I asked her what was inside the grubby red fabric. Her English was a lot better than my Ladakhi.

"Message from His Holiness," she replied in a whisper.

It was a special gift containing a handwritten blessing from the 14th Dalai Lama, exiled spiritual leader of the Tibetan people. Rinchen offered to let me hold it for a short while. It was a comfort. It may sound strange, but I remember feeling a loving warmth from that magic scrap.

To my right sitting rigidly upright was Bugsy, my dear long time friend and travel companion. Having known each other since the early '80's, we had seen and experienced many adventures together. This afternoon took the cake. We searched each others eyes, not knowing whether this would be our last adventure. I also recall thinking: "You bastard, look what you've gotten me into this time. This is the last time I go anywhere with you".

"Well mate, this was a brilliant idea of yours. You had to drag us to Leh, didn't you?" he said, voicing his thoughts.

"Oh, so this is my fault is it?" I replied.

Just typical, I'm always to blame for whatever goes wrong. I shook my head in dismay.

"How was I supposed to know? Anyway nothing bad ever happens when I'm not with you," was my final statement on that accusation.

Between us was the little fine boned village girl from the office bunker. Tears streaked her face. Her tiny body, shaking in terror, was clothed in a filthy, torn peasant dress. She was a pretty urchin, about six years old, the same age as my adorable niece. Traditional silver and turquoise jewellery hung from baby earlobes and around her neck. I imagined she was the daughter of a goat herder.

In the distance we heard the booms of retaliation. The Indian Army had an expansive military base at each end of town. We passed the western base the previous night. It was set behind an avenue of trees. I felt curiously comforted upon viewing the silent khaki trucks from the darkness of the rickety bus that carried us to this fate. Now, there was no sign of a single soldier.

"Where is the Army?" I kept questioning no-one in particular.

I expected a uniformed representative to stride in, with the air of authority that Indian soldiers so readily exude, bearing news of who was behind this attack. Was it rogue militants or in fact, the Pakistani Army raining death on this remote outpost high in the Himalayan foothills?

We weren't even meant to be here. We were heading to Leh. We were supposed to be on a bus to Leh. But somehow all the seats were full and we were forced to stay in Kargil for another day. Kargil is the half way point on the road between Srinigar, in Kashmir, and Leh, in Ladakh, situated on the Tibetan plateau. Leh is described as "more Tibetan than Tibet" with many Tibetan Buddhist monasteries and large refugee communities intent on preserving their threatened culture and lifestyle. The landscape is surreally beautiful, a pastel painting of moon-scaped proportions.

The manager of the Greenland Hotel, the buck-toothed Kashmiri, had kindly offered to take our 300 rupees and find us seats on a bus. He was walking to the bus station when the shelling began. He ducked and dived all the way back to reach the hotel in one piece. We never saw our three hundred rupees again.

This was somebody else's war, I despaired. It had nothing to do with me. I pulled out my biddi cigarettes, those long, thin excuses for tobacco wrapped in brown leaf and tied together with a piece of pink string. They taste like cow shit after a few. A western woman chain smoking biddis drew a few curious glances from the male refugee population in the room. They were intent, however, on sharing precious matches to light their own Indian brand cigarettes which, they too, lit one after the other from the butts of the last.

The men’s toilet was extremely popular. They paced the room, smoked and disappeared again into the lavatory. The blasts continued, rocking the building at regular intervals. Deafening cracks and explosions filled our souls every two minutes, then each five. The women stayed hidden beneath the buffet. Occasionally their eyes met with mine and we managed to trade wan smiles. Finally, at sunset, the attacks ceased. Three hours had passed under the fury of an enemy we did not know.

We emerged from the safety of the hotel scanning the skies like field mice. In the fading light of dusk, I felt the impact of the devastation around us. Earlier, the journalist in me was struggling to 'get out there' and take some world scoop photographs of the attack, but self preservation held me safely away from the death and destruction. Not 200 metres toward the town centre, several buildings were completely gutted. Only the front walls remained standing.

Fallen power lines roamed the streets like serpents. Live electricity hissed and crackled in the warm evening air. Bugsy narrowly missed stepping on a live cable which lay in the dust cobra-like, ready to strike. He was like that, never watching where he walked. I'd saved him from stepping on snakes in the Aussie bush before. "Oh, I didn't see that bugger," he'd exclaim as a two metre Red Belly Black, as thick as your wrist, shot into the grass out of harms way.

A scout from the hotel approached from behind.

"Please come away, it is very dangerous," he pleaded. "There may be more attacks, I do not know," the young man said, shrugging his shoulders. According to the local people, this was the first ever launch of enemy military violence on a civilian population in this region during the entire fifty year history of the India-Pakistan conflict. The town of Kargil is ten kilometres, as the crow flies, from the Line of Actual Control, marking the disputed border with Pakistan. The people had no experience of physical involvement and did not know what to expect next. We were informed later that twenty people had died in the attack, including a number of children returning home from school.

The man in the fez hat insisted we stay in his hotel that night. He provided a room with an unceasing apology for the trauma. He also insisted, however, that we should leave Kargil on the first available transport. At 3am, a knock on the door woke us. It was time to pack up and get out of town.

It wasn't long, maybe only ten minutes, before we heard a vehicle approaching. Fear and tension still hung in the warm air like a tightrope. The driver of the Ta Ta freight truck pulled over cautiously when the hotel boy stood in his dimly lit path. The driver was a Sikh. He wore a white turban. A few rapid Hindi words were exchanged and we were shooed up into the cabin. Our packs were thrown into the back of the truck. The driver took off instantly. No messing around. He wanted out, fast. So did we. It was some minutes before I realized the other passenger was a foreigner. He was John, from England. None of us spoke very often. We were all still in shock. That was obvious. But we also felt new fear.

The driver covered the next fifty or so kilometres with the headlights off, only momentarily switching them on when absolutely necessary. The enemy was still out there. We were the only vehicle on the road. We were sitting ducks for an attack. Pakistan was only ten kilometres away and we were moving in second gear down the treacherous mountain pass. I held my breath, long and often. My fate, once again, was out of my hands. The turbaned driver guided the tinsel trimmed truck skilfully in the darkness while sweeping wide watchful glances sideways toward the mountain border.

Once again I prayed. Please god let us get where we are going. It's not much farther I'm sure. Just let us get there safely. John from England spoke a few quiet words.

"Where are you from?" he enquired in a voice just above a whisper.

I could barely hear him above the labouring engine.

"So, I suppose you were caught in the shelling then," he deducted.

I heard his story the next day in the relative safety of an army outpost town named Drass, on the road back to Srinigar.

We reached Drass at sunrise. I'd never felt more alive. It was the first day of September, 1997. In the northern hemisphere, it was the first day of autumn. In the southern hemisphere, where I'm from, it was the first day of spring. To me, it definitely felt like the dawn of spring. I took photographs. It was the first day of the rest of my life and I needed to capture that moment on film. We never got to Leh on that trip. But two years later, I made Bugsy do it all over again.

Whoa!

What a story!

Wow Khall... that´s some adventure!

This morning I was awoken by a very small latin man with a large pistol in his hand waving it about and yelling and screaming.

I looked out the window, an my staff, bless´em, had the place tidied and open already.

This small latin man has previously been barred from receiving any service and this morning he was still buzzing from the party of the night before.

I should note, I´ve not seen him for a week or two, and despite he being barred from the Maktub´ar, we{ve always been on relatively good terms.

This morning, he was angry, high as a kite, and most probably -as is the wont with these young rich brats - bored, so he decided to vent on his local hardworking amicable non violent bartender - MOI!.

My afternoon bartender managed to get the gun off him - thankfully with no trouble - and the the little guy runs on into the house at the back of the property. Bear in mind, I´m still pulling my pants on, having just got out of bed.

He had buddy backing him up, and together they attempted to shik the Khik out of me, right there in the kitchen.

I received a couple of blows to the head, but er.... you should see the other guy!

No! I just received a couple of blows, and by then I managed to get the fat friend of my back, and then without throwing a single punch, I pinned the small latin man on the ground with one of my large hands, and politey and using a wee bit of force on his arm (which was pinned behind his back, he on the floor) asked him to leave the establishment.

He did... but on his way smashed two bar stools, a microwave oven (nearly missing our humble cook) and a fire extinguisher got lobbed onto a flower bed.

My head aches a wee bit.

They claim they´ll be back...

I bloody well hope not.

Soon and maybe one day I'll tell a story but, not today. Soon though,

redrus

when? Did you mention?

Hi Croc!

Wow Khall... that´s some adventure!

This morning I was awoken by a very small latin man with a large pistol in his hand waving it about and yelling and screaming.

I looked out the window, an my staff, bless´em, had the place tidied and open already.

This small latin man has previously been barred from receiving any service and this morning he was still buzzing from the party of the night before.

I should note, I´ve not seen him for a week or two, and despite he being barred from the Maktub´ar, we{ve always been on relatively good terms.

This morning, he was angry, high as a kite, and most probably -as is the wont with these young rich brats - bored, so he decided to vent on his local hardworking amicable non violent bartender - MOI!.

My afternoon bartender managed to get the gun off him - thankfully with no trouble - and the the little guy runs on into the house at the back of the property. Bear in mind, I´m still pulling my pants on, having just got out of bed.

He had buddy backing him up, and together they attempted to shik the Khik out of me, right there in the kitchen.

I received a couple of blows to the head, but er.... you should see the other guy!

No! I just received a couple of blows, and by then I managed to get the fat friend of my back, and then without throwing a single punch, I pinned the small latin man on the ground with one of my large hands, and politey and using a wee bit of force on his arm (which was pinned behind his back, he on the floor) asked him to leave the establishment.

He did... but on his way smashed two bar stools, a microwave oven (nearly missing our humble cook) and a fire extinguisher got lobbed onto a flower bed.

My head aches a wee bit.

They claim they´ll be back...

I bloody well hope not.

Sh1t, Kayo! Lock the fcking doors, dude. How the h3ll did he get back to where you were sleeping? Get some bouncers, or a gun, sh1t a dam baseball bat, something! I take the police will be no help in this matter, so start packing.

Thing is.. the boss is not around, and i've gotta be close to the bar until he gets back. Then I'm packing my bags for a week or two....

He'll hopefully be returning around the 10th of March,.

Having said that, I've been hanging out at the beach and the internet shop for a few hours now though....

But yeah, I can't have some little d1ckhead be dictating to me... meataphorically. I've got a business to run man.

My boys at the bar will take care of him if he comes back.

I hope.

Hi bebops!

Rus, I do have some great beach/babes/booze stories for you.... I'll copy them off my laptop for the next visit to tv.com

Thing is.. the boss is not around, and i've gotta be close to the bar until he gets back. Then I'm packing my bags for a week or two....

He'll hopefully be returning around the 10th of March,.

Having said that, I've been hanging out at the beach and the internet shop for a few hours now though....

But yeah, I can't have some little d1ckhead be dictating to me... meataphorically. I've got a business to run man.

My boys at the bar will take care of him if he comes back.

I hope.

Hi bebops! Yeah, well, try to stay in one piece will ya? We'd miss ya if you went off and got shot.

Rus, I do have some great beach/babes/booze stories for you.... I'll copy them off my laptop for the next visit to tv.com

so far 8pm and haven´t seen hide nor hair of the little midget d1cktwerp.

so far 8pm and haven´t seen hide nor hair of the little midget d1cktwerp.

If he is that small you might wanna use buckshot, just to be sure.

This is true.

Many years ago I was checking out the used stuff at a Goodwill store in the US. Goodwill is a huge chain of stores that hires handicapped people and sells used items that people donate to them. I was walking past the book shelves which I usually would pass by without a glance because the books are usually garbage and so disorganized that you can't find anything anyway.....but....on that particular day I got a very strange feeling that there was something in the book section that was just for me and I should go look. This was a strange feeling which I normally don't get....so....I walked into one of the aisles which I just sort of picked at random...walked down the aisle a few paces....turned to the left and looked at the second to the top shelf (eye level) and my eyes immediately came to rest on a very old mathematics book. Now this would be really uninteresting for most people but I actually have a fondness for certain mathematics so I was intrigued to say the least. I opened the book and it happened to open to the beginnning of a section entitled "An exact method for extracting cube roots manually." This chapter showed exactly how to perform this mathematical task. For about 20 years of my life I had wondered if it was possible to do this and my strange feeling that something was there for me that day directed me exactly and without delay to this long awaited information.

I did not buy the book. I did copy down the entire method on a small piece of paper and still have it tucked away in one of my long term stashes. Whenever I run across this small piece of paper with its bizarre instructions I still get an eerie feeling.

This is true.

Many years ago I was checking out the used stuff at a Goodwill store in the US. Goodwill is a huge chain of stores that hires handicapped people and sells used items that people donate to them. I was walking past the book shelves which I usually would pass by without a glance because the books are usually garbage and so disorganized that you can't find anything anyway.....but....on that particular day I got a very strange feeling that there was something in the book section that was just for me and I should go look. This was a strange feeling which I normally don't get....so....I walked into one of the aisles which I just sort of picked at random...walked down the aisle a few paces....turned to the left and looked at the second to the top shelf (eye level) and my eyes immediately came to rest on a very old mathematics book. Now this would be really uninteresting for most people but I actually have a fondness for certain mathematics so I was intrigued to say the least. I opened the book and it happened to open to the beginnning of a section entitled "An exact method for extracting cube roots manually." This chapter showed exactly how to perform this mathematical task. For about 20 years of my life I had wondered if it was possible to do this and my strange feeling that something was there for me that day directed me exactly and without delay to this long awaited information.

I did not buy the book. I did copy down the entire method on a small piece of paper and still have it tucked away in one of my long term stashes. Whenever I run across this small piece of paper with its bizarre instructions I still get an eerie feeling.

Books in Goodwill cost like 25 cents each; What a Cheap Charlie!

This is true.

When I was attending the university the house the dormitory house where I lived went to a flag football game to play against another house. On the way I saw a sheriff's car with a red light on top (in those days they were red, now they are blue) and I noticed that the red lense covering it was only held on by a snap ring which could be undone in about half a second. When the game was over and we were walking back I noticed that the same car was still there......so......I grabbed the cherry top, stuck it under my sweat shirt and headed out running back to the dorm...made it...filled it with Bourbon Whiskey and coke, cranked up the music, and partied. Next issue of the campus news had a short article about a sheriff attending an FBI law inforcement conference has his red top stolen....of course this percipitated another celebration using our new red transparent punch bowl!

This morning I was awoken by a very small latin man with a large pistol in his hand waving it about and yelling and screaming.

I looked out the window, an my staff, bless´em, had the place tidied and open already.

This small latin man has previously been barred from receiving any service and this morning he was still buzzing from the party of the night before.

I should note, I´ve not seen him for a week or two, and despite he being barred from the Maktub´ar, we{ve always been on relatively good terms.

This morning, he was angry, high as a kite, and most probably -as is the wont with these young rich brats - bored, so he decided to vent on his local hardworking amicable non violent bartender - MOI!.

My afternoon bartender managed to get the gun off him - thankfully with no trouble - and the the little guy runs on into the house at the back of the property. Bear in mind, I´m still pulling my pants on, having just got out of bed.

He had buddy backing him up, and together they attempted to shik the Khik out of me, right there in the kitchen.

I received a couple of blows to the head, but er.... you should see the other guy!

No! I just received a couple of blows, and by then I managed to get the fat friend of my back, and then without throwing a single punch, I pinned the small latin man on the ground with one of my large hands, and politey and using a wee bit of force on his arm (which was pinned behind his back, he on the floor) asked him to leave the establishment.

He did... but on his way smashed two bar stools, a microwave oven (nearly missing our humble cook) and a fire extinguisher got lobbed onto a flower bed.

My head aches a wee bit.

They claim they´ll be back...

I bloody well hope not.

Sh1t, Kayo! Lock the fcking doors, dude. How the h3ll did he get back to where you were sleeping? Get some bouncers, or a gun, sh1t a dam baseball bat, something! I take the police will be no help in this matter, so start packing.

Thing is.. the boss is not around, and i've gotta be close to the bar until he gets back. Then I'm packing my bags for a week or two....

He'll hopefully be returning around the 10th of March,.

Having said that, I've been hanging out at the beach and the internet shop for a few hours now though....

But yeah, I can't have some little d1ckhead be dictating to me... meataphorically. I've got a business to run man.

My boys at the bar will take care of him if he comes back.

I hope.

Yeah, well, try to stay in one piece will ya? We'd miss ya if you went off and got shot.

so far 8pm and haven´t seen hide nor hair of the little midget d1cktwerp.

If he is that small you might wanna use buckshot, just to be sure.

LOL.... Left my shotgun in LOS...

This is true.

Many years ago I was...........the entire method on a small piece of paper and still have it tucked away in one of my long term stashes. Whenever I run across this small piece of paper with its bizarre instructions I still get an eerie feeling.

This is true.

When I was ..............rse this percipitated another celebration using our new red transparent punch bowl!

I like!

Fantastic news...my company cancelled its annual Winter Party, due to protests from concerned employees that it represents a corporate endorsement of religion. It seems that while the suits were positive they had stripped the celebration of all religious symbolism, someone managed to smuggle in a plate of "Christmas cookies" that morning and leave them in the break room. Several of us progressive, secular employees felt that the tree-shaped cookies created a hostile work environment and inflicted an "atmosphere of exclusion" upon those who do not celebrate Christmas. In a panic, the bosses desperately tried to save their hides by tossing the cookies out, but it was too late, the damage had already been done and people had been opressed. I called the ACLU, who had a team of lawyers on the site in about 20 minutes - pro bono. A couple of heartbeats after their arrival, it was announced over the PA that the Winter Party had been cancelled.

So you see, every once in a while the little guy triumphs over the corporate goliath. I haven't been this proud of myself since I won a campaign to provide a company prayer room for our muslim employees...

This is true.

Many years ago I was checking out the used stuff at a Goodwill store in the US. Goodwill is a huge chain of stores that hires handicapped people and sells used items that people donate to them. I was walking past the book shelves which I usually would pass by without a glance because the books are usually garbage and so disorganized that you can't find anything anyway.....but....on that particular day I got a very strange feeling that there was something in the book section that was just for me and I should go look. This was a strange feeling which I normally don't get....so....I walked into one of the aisles which I just sort of picked at random...walked down the aisle a few paces....turned to the left and looked at the second to the top shelf (eye level) and my eyes immediately came to rest on a very old mathematics book. Now this would be really uninteresting for most people but I actually have a fondness for certain mathematics so I was intrigued to say the least. I opened the book and it happened to open to the beginnning of a section entitled "An exact method for extracting cube roots manually." This chapter showed exactly how to perform this mathematical task. For about 20 years of my life I had wondered if it was possible to do this and my strange feeling that something was there for me that day directed me exactly and without delay to this long awaited information.

I did not buy the book. I did copy down the entire method on a small piece of paper and still have it tucked away in one of my long term stashes. Whenever I run across this small piece of paper with its bizarre instructions I still get an eerie feeling.

Dear Penthouse, Normaly I don't believe the letters people send in but the other day...

edited: This story is almost porn for a mathmetician.

This is true.

When I was attending the university the house the dormitory house where I lived went to a flag football game to play against another house. On the way I saw a sheriff's car with a red light on top (in those days they were red, now they are blue) and I noticed that the red lense covering it was only held on by a snap ring which could be undone in about half a second. When the game was over and we were walking back I noticed that the same car was still there......so......I grabbed the cherry top, stuck it under my sweat shirt and headed out running back to the dorm...made it...filled it with Bourbon Whiskey and coke, cranked up the music, and partied. Next issue of the campus news had a short article about a sheriff attending an FBI law inforcement conference has his red top stolen....of course this percipitated another celebration using our new red transparent punch bowl!

Great story!

Fantastic news...my company cancelled its annual Winter Party, due to protests from concerned employees that it represents a corporate endorsement of religion. It seems that while the suits were positive they had stripped the celebration of all religious symbolism, someone managed to smuggle in a plate of "Christmas cookies" that morning and leave them in the break room. Several of us progressive, secular employees felt that the tree-shaped cookies created a hostile work environment and inflicted an "atmosphere of exclusion" upon those who do not celebrate Christmas. In a panic, the bosses desperately tried to save their hides by tossing the cookies out, but it was too late, the damage had already been done and people had been opressed. I called the ACLU, who had a team of lawyers on the site in about 20 minutes - pro bono. A couple of heartbeats after their arrival, it was announced over the PA that the Winter Party had been cancelled.

So you see, every once in a while the little guy triumphs over the corporate goliath. I haven't been this proud of myself since I won a campaign to provide a company prayer room for our muslim employees...

Redrus wants true stories, not propaganda.

This is true:

I used to work in a medical research lab way back in the days before windows had taken over computers. I was working on a project where we had collected a really huge amount of data and the data had been recorded in about a dozen different files. The problem was that in order for the computer to analyze the data it had to all be put into one file....so, the problem was how to get 15,000 lines of data which was spread out in about a dozen files into one file. I knew a fair amount about the DOS operating system which is what our computer was running and I suspected that there was an easy command that would do this but I couldn't remember what it was....so....I take out the DOS manual and start reading and then trying this and then reading that and trying that....for about four hours non stop I was focusing totally on finding how to perform this task...but to no avail. I decided to call it a day even though I had not succeeded, but as a precaution I decided to copy all twelve of the individual files into a back up drive on the computer. To save time I tried to copy them in one batch using the "*" symbol to select and copy them all to the new location in one batch. I went ahead and did this....and.....low and behold!!!!....it did not copy the seperate files to the new location!!!....instead it combined all of the files into one!!!......what I had struggled with for four hours using total effort to accomplish unsuccessfully had been accomplished in a moment when making a mistake!

Fantastic news...my company cancelled its annual Winter Party, due to protests from concerned employees that it represents a corporate endorsement of religion. It seems that while the suits were positive they had stripped the celebration of all religious symbolism, someone managed to smuggle in a plate of "Christmas cookies" that morning and leave them in the break room. Several of us progressive, secular employees felt that the tree-shaped cookies created a hostile work environment and inflicted an "atmosphere of exclusion" upon those who do not celebrate Christmas. In a panic, the bosses desperately tried to save their hides by tossing the cookies out, but it was too late, the damage had already been done and people had been opressed. I called the ACLU, who had a team of lawyers on the site in about 20 minutes - pro bono. A couple of heartbeats after their arrival, it was announced over the PA that the Winter Party had been cancelled.

So you see, every once in a while the little guy triumphs over the corporate goliath. I haven't been this proud of myself since I won a campaign to provide a company prayer room for our muslim employees...

This is true:

I used to work in a medical research lab way back in the days before windows had taken over computers. I was working on a project where we had collected a really huge amount of data and the data had been recorded in about a dozen different files. The problem was that in order for the computer to analyze the data it had to all be put into one file....so, the problem was how to get 15,000 lines of data which was spread out in about a dozen files into one file. I knew a fair amount about the DOS operating system which is what our computer was running and I suspected that there was an easy command that would do this but I couldn't remember what it was....so....I take out the DOS manual and start reading and then trying this and then reading that and trying that....for about four hours non stop I was focusing totally on finding how to perform this task...but to no avail. I decided to call it a day even though I had not succeeded, but as a precaution I decided to copy all twelve of the individual files into a back up drive on the computer. To save time I tried to copy them in one batch using the "*" symbol to select and copy them all to the new location in one batch. I went ahead and did this....and.....low and behold!!!!....it did not copy the seperate files to the new location!!!....instead it combined all of the files into one!!!......what I had struggled with for four hours using total effort to accomplish unsuccessfully had been accomplished in a moment when making a mistake!

Gosh, Chowner, you do lead an exiting life.

I bet you'll be telling us next, you once won a prize for making up stories in the school mag.

This is true:

I used to work in a medical research lab way back in the days before windows had taken over computers. I was working on a project where we had collected a really huge amount of data and the data had been recorded in about a dozen different files. The problem was that in order for the computer to analyze the data it had to all be put into one file....so, the problem was how to get 15,000 lines of data which was spread out in about a dozen files into one file. I knew a fair amount about the DOS operating system which is what our computer was running and I suspected that there was an easy command that would do this but I couldn't remember what it was....so....I take out the DOS manual and start reading and then trying this and then reading that and trying that....for about four hours non stop I was focusing totally on finding how to perform this task...but to no avail. I decided to call it a day even though I had not succeeded, but as a precaution I decided to copy all twelve of the individual files into a back up drive on the computer. To save time I tried to copy them in one batch using the "*" symbol to select and copy them all to the new location in one batch. I went ahead and did this....and.....low and behold!!!!....it did not copy the seperate files to the new location!!!....instead it combined all of the files into one!!!......what I had struggled with for four hours using total effort to accomplish unsuccessfully had been accomplished in a moment when making a mistake!

Gosh, Chowner, you do lead an exiting life.

I bet you'll be telling us next, you once won a prize for making up stories in the school mag.

No, but I did get an "A" once on a paper I wrote by plagiarizing a Mr. Peabody episode from the Rocky and Bullwinkle show....I was in the 4th grade.

This is true:

I used to work in a medical research lab way back in the days before windows had taken over computers. I was working on a project where we had collected a really huge amount of data and the data had been recorded in about a dozen different files. The problem was that in order for the computer to analyze the data it had to all be put into one file....so, the problem was how to get 15,000 lines of data which was spread out in about a dozen files into one file. I knew a fair amount about the DOS operating system which is what our computer was running and I suspected that there was an easy command that would do this but I couldn't remember what it was....so....I take out the DOS manual and start reading and then trying this and then reading that and trying that....for about four hours non stop I was focusing totally on finding how to perform this task...but to no avail. I decided to call it a day even though I had not succeeded, but as a precaution I decided to copy all twelve of the individual files into a back up drive on the computer. To save time I tried to copy them in one batch using the "*" symbol to select and copy them all to the new location in one batch. I went ahead and did this....and.....low and behold!!!!....it did not copy the seperate files to the new location!!!....instead it combined all of the files into one!!!......what I had struggled with for four hours using total effort to accomplish unsuccessfully had been accomplished in a moment when making a mistake!

Gosh, Chowner, you do lead an exiting life.

I bet you'll be telling us next, you once won a prize for making up stories in the school mag.

No, but I did get an "A" once on a paper I wrote by plagiarizing a Mr. Peabody episode from the Rocky and Bullwinkle show....I was in the 4th grade.

This is true:

Long ago I was living on a small farm along with some of my hippy friends. It was very rural and we had two boards laid over a hole in the ground as our toilet. Usually people would build a house for privacy but we were hippies and didn't reallly care about public bare butts so instead of having an "outhouse" we had an "outhole". Anyway one day I had to take a dump so I stepped on the two boards, dropped my coveralls and did my business, so to speak. I went inside to show my friends the shopping list for our trip into town that day, reached into my back pocket and pulled out a turd!!! I hadn't been careful enough with the coveralls and shat in my pocket!!!

This is true:

Long ago I was living on a small farm along with some of my hippy friends. It was very rural and we had two boards laid over a hole in the ground as our toilet. Usually people would build a house for privacy but we were hippies and didn't reallly care about public bare butts so instead of having an "outhouse" we had an "outhole". Anyway one day I had to take a dump so I stepped on the two boards, dropped my coveralls and did my business, so to speak. I went inside to show my friends the shopping list for our trip into town that day, reached into my back pocket and pulled out a turd!!! I hadn't been careful enough with the coveralls and shat in my pocket!!!

I knew you couldn't resist posting the story that won the prize in the school Mag.

Miss Simpson said, "The subject matter showed originality and promise. Pity about the style"

This is true:

Long ago I was living on a small farm along with some of my hippy friends. It was very rural and we had two boards laid over a hole in the ground as our toilet. Usually people would build a house for privacy but we were hippies and didn't reallly care about public bare butts so instead of having an "outhouse" we had an "outhole". Anyway one day I had to take a dump so I stepped on the two boards, dropped my coveralls and did my business, so to speak. I went inside to show my friends the shopping list for our trip into town that day, reached into my back pocket and pulled out a turd!!! I hadn't been careful enough with the coveralls and shat in my pocket!!!

I knew you couldn't resist posting the story that won the prize in the school Mag.

Miss Simpson said, "The subject matter showed originality and promise. Pity about the style"

redrus