By no means am I an author or a good writer…But I thought I would share a true story. We all have had some great humorous happenings…so please share yours……
a true story…when I lived in Montana years and years ago…
Around noon or so, I would travel a couple of blocks to the local small diner in the infancy stages of flying j. Small truck stop, all gravel and dirt. The restaurant was owned by a former sledder that at one time was a racing opposition. He would always race mostly in the modified class with maybe six cylinder car engines modified to fit a race sled or two joined together. Mack always had race and sled pictures, as well as truck pictures in the diner. Mack’s coffee smelled delicious, and was served in heavy mugs, as the coffee was so strong it looked like gumbo mud, and tasted the same. One could always hear others stirring their coffee with the clank of a spoon. You could leave the spoon in the middle of the mud, standing at attention upright. Most days there was always the same trucker crowd for lunch including a fellow by the name of Boyd. I remember some of the nicknames such as johnny many wheels, peterbilt pete, big strapper, and captain Boyd (he had his name on his trucks with 4 stars.) In those days, Boyd, must have been in his late sixties, but ran 3 or 4 over the road trucks, and performed many of the repairs himself. In his older age, Boyd drove a red corvette and always had some sort of young eye candy tagging along. He was a slender fellow with jet black hair, and heavy. black rimmed glasses. Every day was a joy to see the old truckers with their quirks, and hear the same stories. I suppose that is one of the reasons I ate lunch there. All the locals had their designated stool at the counter, and if you were not of the local bunch, one had to sit towards the far end. On one particular day, the lunch counter where I always perched, my favorite stool was taken, and I had to sit close to a large window. This particular stool location was away from the gossiping fellows that repeated the same stories. The day was a hamburger and fries special, with some sort of stale onions and slimy mushrooms. Luckily the bun soaked up the grease. My dad always called those places a “greasy spoon.” To prepare the burger for consumption, I needed ketchup and mustard. Mack always had glass bottles of those condiments scattered about, and one needed to give it a good shake type twist motion to make sure it would pour. On this day, I gave the ketchup bottle a good twist and shake, then grabbed the mustard bottle to perform the same gymnastic task. Boyd was way at the far end of the counter, a good four folks from me, and yelled “look out boys he’s got the mustard.” I looked, sheepishly, to my left, at the fellow sitting next to me, and in complete awe was a trail of ketchup across his arms, burger, and continued on to where Boyd was seated. All had some added red substances to their plates, arms., etc. I suddenly looked to my right and the fellow next to me had the same type of tracks across his arms and plate, and to make matters worse, the trail led up the window. Mack was in hysterics wiping up with a greasy towel, and passing greasy napkins to all the mates at the counter. Boyd was laughing so hard, his glasses fell off and landed in his heavy coffee mug. The rest of the boys laughed, and the fellow next to me grabbed the mustard and made sure the cap was secure, and promptly gave it back to me. Nobody missed a bite, and all carried on. I was so embarrassed, as Mack could tell, he handed me, a glass of water, that was stained with calcium marks, and I accidently spilled it, running onto my crotch. The boys at the counter all roared in laughter again. When I finished and was paying at the register, Boyd yelled loud enough for all to hear “see ya kethup Kim.”
This humorous true story was written by a friend of mine and he wanted to share…
By Wild Bill
A Wild Tale of Dirty Secrets, Giant Insects, and Flying Hotdogs
In the spirit of staying with the times and freely airing my dirty laundry as everyone does on social media, I’m going to let you in on an embarrassing secret. My head is a magnet.
Mrs. Bill and my friends are all aware of this anomaly and my mother has repaired these magnetic infractions numerous times. I’m not exactly sure whose Celestial Wheaties I poured sour milk into, but if there’s a flying bug around, it’s going to hit me right square in the dome. Additionally, the odds of this happening are in direct proportion to the quantity of people I’m with at the time. I can’t begin to tell you the number of drinks I’ve thrown on people, frantically reacting to getting nailed in the face by a scud.
Every morning going to work in the dark, I walk down our covered walkway toward my waiting chariot and without fail, lacewings, crane flies, praying mantis and beetles who were parked on our rope lighting, dive-bomb me. I go straight into a spastic frenzy for about 20 feet, with my lunch box swinging violently in all directions.
I’ve tried hats, they go down the back of my shirt. I’ve tried hoodies eliminating an open neck, they glue to it like Velcro. You have no idea how many times I’ve made it a mile down the road, just to catch a glimpse a praying mantis staring at me from my shoulder. As you can imagine, the amount of coffee I’ve tossed is now in the gallons. This has become a real problem.
One spring evening, I was attempting to finish building a deck and the end was in sight. At this point, there was nothing that was going to stop me. Need I also mention that Mrs. Bill gets upset with me because I don’t stop for anything, this includes food or drink. Next thing I hear, “Eat this. You haven’t eaten since breakfast.” I look up to see her holding a paper plate with a hotdog, buried in ketchup. Just the way I like it. Ok… I can take the 45 seconds to eat it. A tall glass of milk accompanied it. Mrs. Bill really spoils me.
I sit down at the outdoor table and start to jam the hotdog like Joey Chestnut going for a new record. After all, daylight was burning. As I was chewing the first big bite, I look up to see a beetle the size of the Hindenburg coming straight at my face. This thing was a mammoth. All I heard was the deep hum of its wings and the time of impact was a matter of nanoseconds. My first reflex? Swat at it as quickly and as hard as possible.
Well, I successfully mashed the huge beetle just as it hit me. Problem is, I used the hand that was holding the hotdog. “What the heck was that!?” I hear from the kitchen door. I must have really made some noise.
She looks to see me sitting there, with ketchup, bun chunks and beetle guts all over my grill and down my shirt, along with being thoroughly stunned from punching myself in the face. The milk glass was on its side, which poured through the metal mesh table onto my lap and the chair across from me was laying on its back. I was a mess.
The poor hotdog was ejected from the bun like a torpedo and flew at least six feet before rolling to a stop under a bench. I sat there in a daze trying to make sense of the situation. Why does this always happen to me!?
Mrs. Bill should have broken out in laughter, but this is nothing new. She grabbed the hose and all I heard was “Don’t move, please.” Suddenly I became an inert piece of patio furniture that needed hosing, along with everything else. As I sat there soaking wet, Mrs. Bill shut off the hose and walked back into the house. I figured she was going get me a towel but no. She came out with a beer, handed it to me and said, “For Pete’s sake, try not to spill it.” See? She really does spoil me!
Wild Bill is an avid gun nut, and mrs bill is also, and one can usually find her at a range…
So, 312 years ago when the wife and I were just married.
We moved in together (after marriage) into our first apartment ever.
One night while getting into bed after my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I noticed that there was a light left on in the laundry room.
I get up, mosey out, go into the laundry room and the light is actually coming through the cracks in the pull down steps for the attic. I was up there earlier storing some stuff so, whatever, I open it climb up and pull the string to shut the light off.
Back down the steps and off to bed again.
After my eyes readjust again I notice the LIGHT IS BACK ON!!!
OMG OMG OMG what do I do!!!
I tell the new wife to stay in bed and lock the door! After grabbing a big knife from the kitchen (long before my first firearm) I’m slowly walk into the laundry room and start pulling down the attic stairs with the knife extended! I virtually crawl up the ladder, with the invisible creepy music I’m sure in the background if it were a movie. NOTHING there is nothing, no body, no gremlin, no nothing up there.
I’m reaching for the light string and notice it is all snagged and caught in the attic stairs spring!
After it was untangled back off to bed for a peaceful night of sleep!
I thought there was ghosts…good story!
Come on folks, lets give this topic some legs.
I’d love a distraction from all the CV stuff.
What’s your funny story?
This happened a very long time ago but every time I think of it I cannot help but laugh!
When my daughter was about 5 or 6, she was doing something and got a charlie horse in one of her legs. I was helping her relieve it by pushing up on the ball of her foot to stretch the muscle and after a minute or two, everything was good. It just happened to be the first time she had a charlie horse and she really didn’t understand what was going on so I was telling my 5 year old how muscles cramp. She then asked why they are called charlie horses? Not having any real explanation I told her that is just what they are called … unless they are really bad, then they are Richard horses. All I get is a wide eyed stare from her and nothing is ever mentioned of this again.
Fast forward more years, she’s in 5th or 6th grade practicing bounce passes in the school gym and she get a cramp in one of her legs. She goes down to the floor and I ask her if she’s OK. He response, “I think I have a Richard Horse!” Everyone there looks at her with that same wide eyed stare and I bust out laughing so hard there’s tears running down my face.
Remember if you are raising children, it is our job to plant the seeds and then we need to be patient to watch how they grow.
She is now an attorney at a prestigious Chicago law firm. I didn’t screw her up too bad.
Some day she’ll tell her kids about Richard horses!
As a teenager in the 70’s, my friends and I would ride around playing the radio and goofing off. These were for the most part deserted country roads – some paved, some not. One night some of us were out cruising around when my cousin decided he urgently needed to go to the bathroom. We pulled into the local cemetery that was a couple miles outside the nearest metropolis (population pushing the 300 mark). As I recall there was one single sodium light for the whole cemetery.
Since we were in “mixed” company, my cousin slipped over just outside the light perimeter to take care of business. The rest of us were just messing around trying to scare each other. A few seconds later we hear the terrible scream coming from my cousin just outside the light. Of course we thought he was just trying to scare us, so we all started laughing at him. He came running out into the light with his pants still unzipped and everybody ran for the cars! It wasn’t until later we found out he had peed on a farmer’s electric fence and got the shock of his life right in the privates!
One more from my teenage cruising age. There was a lot of farming where I grew up, both animals and fields. There was a large watermelon field near my house – maybe 50 acres or more. One corner of the field was located at a “T” in the road. The field was “protected” by a 3-wire barbed wire fence. Every year as the watermelons got ready for harvest; some people would step thru the fence and grab a watermelon. The guy probably didn’t lose more than 50 a year.
I guess the “loss” just got to him, so one year he put up a 4x8 sheet of plywood at the “T”. He had spray painted words to the effect of: “There is 1 watermelon injected with poison – take your chance if you will”. A few days later the sign had been added to: “Now there’s 2”.
One night in the Philly burbs, when in high school, me and a punch of friends were headed to another friends for a party. The roads were slick and there was some ice but we were indestructible. I was driving my pickup and my best friend was behind me in a Plymouth station wagon. As I went around the corner on the street we were going, I hit an ice patch that spun my car around and put me perfectly parked at the curb going the opposite direction. Seconds later, the others come around the corner and see us getting out. They get out trying to figure out how I turned around and got parked so fast. Thank you Mother Nature.
After midnight one spring evening, with the husband at work, my young children and I were in bed, having gone early due to a power outage. Around midnight, I awoke to the sound of a vehicle moving slowly down the road, and opened my eyes to see a spotlight moving slowly back and forth, someone inside the truck working it pointedly, surveying the surrounding area thru the dark, almost moonless night. My ears perked up. They kept moving past the house, and since it’s a dead end road, soon came back down the road, still going really slow, spotlight still working around the area. It wasn’t a power company truck. My ears are still perked up and I was looking discreetly out the window when they stopped in front of my house. I could hear the voices of men through the open bedroom window, so I picked up the shotgun that sits in the corner by my bed, loaded. With the men still sitting in the pickup, I went to the front door and slowly opened it, and my ears were really perked up, and so were the dog’s. Lucy, a very large, very protective Doberman, who never gave away her position but acted on cue from me, parked herself between me in the doorway and the edge of the porch, and the men in the truck had no clue that the dog, the shotgun and I were there until I said loudly enough for them to hear, identify yourself. Now it took around 10 minutes to get to this point, with them stopped in front of my house for 3-5 of those. But not a peep came from that truck, and I yelled this time for them to identify themselves. Still nothing. The dog’s standing crossways in front of me, so tense I can feel her tremble, but she’s a good dog and never moved from her defensive position or made a sound. I knew they could hear me, I could hear them clearly, so I yelled one more time and said, I’m standing on the porch with a shotgun and you NEED to identify yourselves NOW, and I pumped the 16. Still nothing, but then a door on the opposite side opened and a fellow got out of truck, and started toward the back, but he didn’t get far, because when his foot hit the ground, Lucy flew off the porch, about 15 feet across the yard, and when she hit the ground, she was raising H E double L, and pounding the ground toward that truck. That man busted his butt to get back in that truck before Lucy could get there, and he wouldn’t have made it if one of his buddy’s hadn’t been quick enough to open the door for him. I’ve never seen anybody move as fast as that man was moving. And he just made it back in then. I could hear him gasping for breath and cussin all the way across the yard, then, they all start to holler out the window at once, explaining , oh ma’am we’re from the power company and we’re looking for the source of the power outage, and can you please put the dog and the shotgun away? I did, but I made them listen to a few choice words first, then sit under guard by Lucy while I made a call to the power company to verify them.
Gary, I am originally from Montana, where men are men, sheep are nervous, and women are glad of it. I still wonder if that cute black and white one is out there in eastern Montana…Kiiiiiiim come baaaaaaack!!!
Quick story…When I was in college, as I was studying, sure ….I did study once in a while…I had a pencil and a pop can, twirling the pop can. April fools day…we installed garbage cans on top of all the flag poles on campus. Then with a few brewskies under our belt, installed on the neighboring schools flag poles as well. One of the flag poles was near the engineering building on campus. I was a business major, one would think the engineering students could figure out how to get the garbage can off the pole??? Nope, the university called the local power company, to come over with a bucket truck. In those days the university laughed and the u president had a good laugh. Probably some female students were missing garbage cans. Good clean fun in those days. I wouldn’t recommend that today folks.
DISCLAIMER…Don’t do this on April fools day. However try it on the neighbors…tp their tree…just joking!!! Darn darn…I haven’t tp a tree in years!!!
IN my college days…we dressed up like gangsters with trench coats and would go downtown Spokane and stand in the soup line and smoke with the natives. Free food. We were always looking for a deal on food, and 2fers.
DISCLAIMER…Don’t do as I used to do.
Speaking of ghosts (which I do not believe in). I was living in Iron River MI at the time in an old two story house that was built in about 1940 during the mining days. I was home alone, it was winter and about 10:00 pm. I was reading a book, no tv on. Being an old house it creaked, popped and groaned frequently and I was used to it as I had lived there for about 10 years. Suddenly came the loud sound of someone pushing a wooden chair across the old hardwood floor for about eight feet, a very distinct sound I am familiar with except I didn’t have any wooden chairs upstairs. It spooked me enough that I grabbed my shotgun and cleared all three rooms and found nothing, it never happened again while I lived there.
Good story Bruce…hope you a supply of tp!
Jane, hopefully the power company has your number on speed dial
Another creepy true story… When I was 18 I worked for the Forestry and Parks in Florence Co. WI.
It was mid February and we were trimming the Red Pine plantations (you trim the branches up to 20 feet when the trees are about 40 feet tall). The branches are piled high and started on fire. The two guys I was working with had to go back to the shop at about noon to get some tools so I stayed to watch the fires. After the fires burned down I thought I would take a walk down a unplowed side road. No one had been down here since November deer season. As I rounded a sharp corner I saw three big black Ravens sitting on several branches about 30 feet up the side of a large Elm tree. I stopped dead in my tracks, there seemed to be a round dark aura around the Ravens much darker then the bright gray sky. As I was looking at the Ravens one turned it’s head and looked at me, then the other 2 raised there heads and stared, I felt such a strong almost physical sense of foreboding and and almost evil intent that I just turned around and walked back the way I came from. After all these years I still vividly remember the encounter and I feel I disturbed an conclave of Ravens. I have told almost no one about this encounter.
Great story! You have said you don’t believe in ghosts, but maybe what you encountered was an evil spirit ….just throwing out a suggestion. Great story and the wooden chair story. Thanks for sharing!
After we built the house in which I still live, I was going about my business one day, domestic engineering and moming in the upstairs floor of the house, when I heard the sliding glass door in the basement open (it had to be the opened direction because it was locked up unless someone was downstairs). No body was home but me, with the baby girl, so I went to the stairwell to peek down, thinking my husband had come in from work and had gone directly to the basement upon arrival, but when I got down the stairs, the basement door was closed and locked, and empty except for me, and he wasn’t yet home. A few days later, same thing, and then a few times more, until one day as I stood in the kitchen, I heard heavy, large-man-wearing-boots, footsteps on the stairs. Now, I know the sound of a large man in boots on the stairs because my husband was 6’, 170lbs. This time everyone was home, so when the basement door didn’t open and my husband appear, I thought it a little strange, so I went over and opened the door only to find an empty stairwell. Now I want you to understand that the footsteps only went one direction, there wasn’t a coming up then going back down, it was just one way. So I went out to find the hubby, to ask him if he’d been on the stairs and tell him what had happened. He hadn’t been in the house for a couple hours, but in the yard working on the dog’s new kennel, and our son was with him, and it certainly wasn’t the baby. Ok, so that’s weird, but nothing to do but file it away for later. These things kept happening- the basement door sliding makes a very distinctive sound, and there’s no mistaking it, and the footsteps on the stairs were loud enough to hear almost thru the entire house, but everytime I checked, there was never anyone there to make the sounds that we all eventually heard. We finally accepted that our home had the occasional other-worldly visitor, and on those basement stairs one afternoon, I had a one-sided conversation with the footsteps to let him know we were there to stay, and since there seemed to be no threat, all would be cool between us. These things still happen periodically, and other things without explanation too, but it’s ok, and I’m NOT crazy, others can tell you about things that have happened too. You may not believe in ghosts, or spirits, as I call them. That’s fine because if it hasn’t happened to you, then it may not be real to you.
I can’t explain it, even the Bible says we can’t understand all the world’s workings in this life, but I know this is a spirit-filled world we live in, so who am I to question the Creator’s world. It’s just a little personal experience for your enjoyment anyway I’m a little hesitant to tell it…
@Jane2 Thank you. I was hesitant to tell about the Ravens, you really just had to be there.