Inspired by Stewart at SDI and his utterly fictitious life stories (see Mike vs. Stewie debate to start) I thought we could have a little fun and write some highly exaggerated stories based loosely on our own life experiences. Requirements, there has to be some limit to the BS and things have to be kept somewhat realistic, as in they can actually happen in the real world even though the odds against it are a billion to one. For example,
Unrealistic:
All of a sudden this guy jumped out of a dark alley and pulled a gun on me. I laughed at him and zapped him with force lightning which killed him dead.
Realistic:
From out of nowhere this guy suddenly appeared and pulled a gun on me. I dove to the ground while reaching for the metal pen I kept tucked behind my ear. My lifetime of training in the deadly arts took over and in one smooth motion I took hold of the pen and threw it at his face. It was perfect, the pen spun exactly 15 times and struck him point first through the eye and penetrated into his brain, and he fell over dead.
I'll have something written in a day or so, just a little fun short story. So have fun, write about that time you saved a supermodel from an armed maniac and had hot kinky sex with her all night.
aerius: I'll vote for you if you sleep with me. Lusankya: Deal!
Say, do you want it to be a threesome with your wife? Or a foursome with your wife and sister-in-law? I'm up for either.
Alright, so this is a little old, but who the fuck cares?
When I was in first grade, I had this Evil, Evil teacher named Mrs. Fitzgerald, which, at the time, I assumed was another word for Satan in some language I had never heard of(This, sadly, is not true.)
Well, we were doing a Geography lesson, and she asked "Jon, please find Zanzibar South Africa on te map."
So I went up to the map, and looked and looked (Espeacialy in Southern Africa, and espeacially in South Africa, even that little country inside of South Africa, too) to see if I could find it.
I didn't, so I said so.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, I can't find it."
"WHAT?!" She screamed. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS? GO TO THE PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE!"
I was kinda stunned, but was like, okay, whatever, glad to be out of here, ya know?
So I left and went to the principal's office, who, actually, was a pretty neat guy (he left when I was shipped off to Junior High) and did a pretty good Elvis impersonation on a regular basis.
"Hey, Jon, why you down here?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS? YOU ARE EXPELLED!"
So this was really weirding me out, so I went back to Mrs. Fitzgerald's room, grabbed my stuff, and started walking home (I only lived about a twenty minute walk away, so it wans't that much of a problem)
As it turned out, the police officer at the High School, a guy named Officer Outoviauni(I butchered the spelling, but he has a gut that hangs over his belt, so I don't care), keeping an eye out for kids who were skipping class (why he was doing it in my neighborhood, I have no idea. It's about an hour walk to the High School from where I live) saw me and pulled over to get out and talk to me.
"Hey, Jon(It was fourth or fifth day of school, so we had these little name tags to encourage us to read and write. We had to wear them in class. I forgot to remove mine), why you out of school?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class and then my principal expelled me, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS? GET IN THE CAR!"
So he slapped some cuffs on me, and he drove me down to the local courthouse (Which was a three minute dirve away from my house, but not past it from walking home from the school) He hauled me out of the car, spoke a few seconds with one of the guys there. He looked at me in horror, nodded to Outoviagni, and then took me before a judge between trials.
"Hey, Jon(nametag, remember?), why you here?" asked the judge.
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, and then Officer Outoviani arrested me, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS? GET THIS BOY TO WASHINGTON, NOW!"
So the bailif (I learned that word then) dragged me out of the courthouse and down the street to the National Guard Barracks (You think I'm kidding? Trust me, I'm not.) There, a few seargents were hanging around talking amongst themselves. The Bailef spoke with them, and was promptly followed by a unanimous "HO0-LEEE-SHE-IT!" They picked me up, and tossed me in a Hummer. We got on the road, and drove over to Hanscom Airfield (two hours of sheer boredom) where I was thrown on a plane to Washington. We landed at Andrews Airfoce base (another two hours, although far more intresting since I could look out the window) and drove in to the White House. I was handed off to the Secret Service, who escorted me into the Oval Office.
The President (Bush Sr, as I recall) aske dme "Hey, Jon(Again with the nametag), why are you here?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, then Officer Outoviani arrested me, and then a judge sent me here, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS? GET THIS BOY OUT OF THIS COUNTRY!"
So the Secret Service grabbed me by the handcuffs (They were still there from officer Outoviagi) and threw me in Marine One, took me back to Andrews Airforce base, and threw me in a plane to Canada. Once they got over Canada (about four hours later) they hooked me up to a parachute and threw me out the side all army drop like, so the parachute automatically deployed. Because I was so small(compared to an infantryman. Compared to other kids, I was a little taller), I didn't slam into the ground at about a meter a second (much slower, infact) After a few minutes of waiting, a real Canadian Mounty (Horse, Red Coat, accent and all!) showed up.
"Hey, Jon(Nametag, man, the nametag!), what are you doin in Canada, aye?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, then Officer Outoviani arrested me, then a judge sent me to the president, and the President exiled me, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS, AYE? I'M TAKING YOU TO THE PRIME MINSISTER!"
So I got dragged off to some city (I don't know which. Stupid Ameri-centric geography classes) and was taken before the Canadian Prime Minister, who's name also escapes me.
"Hey, Jon(Stupid nametag), what are you doin in Canada, aye?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, then Officer Outoviani arrested me, then a judge sent me to the president, the President exiled me, and a mounty arrested me, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE ZANIZBAR SOUTH AFRICA IS, AYE? GET OUT OF CANADA!"
Well, they threw me in another Hummer (I was getting rather sick of the damn things) and drove me to a pier somewhere (I slept through most of this, I was rather tired by now) and then put me on a boat. The baot went out into international waters, and threw me off the side.
"You can't come back into Canada, boy, so swim, aye!"
So I swam and swam and swam and swam some more. Not entirely sure how long I swam, but it was for quite a while. I, eventually, came to one of those small desert islands you see in cartoons, the ones with the single palm tree? You knows the ones I'm talking about. Either way, it had this half-dead guy on it when I swam up to it and waded ashore.
"Hey, Jon(how the fuck did that name tag stay on through all that god-damn swimming?!), *hack caff* why are ya on me island?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, then Officer Outoviani arrested me, then a judge sent me to the president, the President exiled me, then a mounty arrested me and took me to the Prime Minister of Canada, and he exiled me also, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHERE *HACK COUGH* Zanzibar South Africa is? *hack hack* Get off my island."
So I did, and swam away. I would later learn that the man died a few hours later, but that wasn't important. I was swimming agin (this is the reason why I almost never go swimming anymore. I've done more than I would ever want to ever again.) Eventually, I came to land again, and waded ashore onto a nic beach.
"Hey, Jon(Stupid nametag.), what are you doing here?"
"Well, Mrs. Fitzgerald kicked me out of class, then my principal expelled me, then Officer Outoviani arrested me, then a judge sent me to the president, the President exiled me, then a mounty arrested me and took me to the Prime Minister of Canada, and he exiled me also, and I sawm to this island with a half dead guy, but he kicked me off also, all because I don't know where Zanzibar South Africa is."
"Well, Jon, you are in luck. Welcome to Zanzibar South Africa" He pointed to a nearby sign, which said, in nice, big letters, "Welcome to Zanzibar South Africa!" "Here's a quarter, there's a payphone across the street, why don't you call your folks?"
I sighed in releif, and as I crossed the street. I was, quite promply, hit by a car and instantly killed.
Very important lesson: Always look both ways before crossing the street. It should also be noted, that yes, I did get better. But that's a rather long story that I'd rather not go into at the moment.
"So, I'm working in the motor pool, as usual, doing the work of ten for the approximate praise that 2 convicts who just attempted to escape would get. For whatever unknown reason, there are a bunch of tires on the back of a flatbed. For some other nonsensical reason, we've been told to take them off. Naturally, rather than start up one of the forklifts twenty feet away, and loading it up, we decide to shove the tires off the trailer, and move them by hand.
The first tire gets pushed off, about 15 feet to my right, hits the ground, and lays there. The second one, about five feet closer, hits the ground, wobbles sadly, and then falls. I take this opportunity to back up, as the tire directly to my right hits the ground, bounces forward, and settles to a stop.
At this point, I've moved a good thirty feet from the truck, and stopped, smug and assured in my safety. Lo and Behold, the tire hits the ground, flys forward, bounces a good ten feet, hits again, flipping, bounces once more, and is on a collision course with my face.
Time slows to a crawl, as I study the 100+ pounds of rubber and metal. My brain somehow completely shuts down, as I make no move to increase my distance, or move to either side. This lack of thought somehow prompts me to enter a zen state, where I lazily raise one hand against the oncoming force.
The only explanation I have for the result is that I am a direct male line descendant of a Shaolin Grandmaster. The tire hits my hand, but I feel no real impact as I casually swat it back towards its less ambitious companions. The tire bounces, comes up on its side, and rolls back whence it came, settling down to complete the diagonal line the tires are laying in. As it finishes bouncing, my hand rotates, folding four fingers inward, flowing smoothly into a perfect Middle-Finger stance, mocking those who tried to crush me."
I believe this to be more in the spirit of the challenge than SQ's otherwise quite humorous submission.
It was Halloween night, 2003, and my friends and I were walking back to the dorm after a party. Most of us still wore out costumes, such as my own wizard's cloak, staff, and hat. We were walking down a deserted street when a trio of goons wearing ski masks and carrying pistols leapt out of the bushes. At first, I thought this was simply a prank (as we'd endured several of them earlier) and jokingly tough-talked the one nearest me, whereupon he shot me in the leg.
I promptly fell and quickly pressed a hand to the injury. Luckily, the bullet had gone right through instead of hitting the bone. Meanwhile, the goon stepped over me and kept my companions under his gaze. Thus it was that he never saw me rise to my feet, six-foot wodden staff clutched in one bloody hand. I wound up and swung the staff like a baseball bat, hearing a satisfying crunch as I hit him in the back of the head. I let myself fall with him and heard his friends' guns discharge over my head. I tucked my head in and turned the fall into a forward roll, scooping up the fallen goon's gun as I did so. I continued rolling until I came to one knee, then opened fire on the goon right in front of me. Three bullets hit him in the chest and abdoment, and he dropped. The last of the three decided he'd had enough and turned to run. Unfortunately for him, I didn't intend for their to be any witnesses to what had jsut happened. Sure, I might eventually be exonerated in my actions, but why take the risk? So I took my time in aiming and squeezed the trigger. The bullet was dead-on; catching him in the back of the head as he ran.
With the immediate threat dealt with, I turned to other matters. I tore a strip from the bottom of my wizard's robe and made a crude field dressing out of it for my leg. Then, I went and dragged the running goon's body back to the scene of the ambush. After that, I took a moment to look each of my friends in the eye. They all wore expressions ranging from shock to grim understanding. Maybe they didn't think a person like me could be so gruesomely efficient. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that we had three dead bodies on our hands and we needed to get rid of them. All hope seemed lost until I remembered the mention of a seance and a bonfire that was to take place behind the town cemetary that night.
We threw the guns in a nearby creek, loaded the bodies into the trunk of a car and quickly made our way there. We arrived to find the wood standing ready, but not a person to be seen. I checked my watch and realized we had only five minutes until the seance began. We worked quickly, removing the wood, placing the three bodies inside the pile, then carefully rebuilding it. Once we were done, it was impossible to tell the wood had ever been moved.
The seance began and ended, and someone set the bonfire. Here, I realized that I'd made a great blunder: bodies lit on fire tend to smell rather horrible. My mind raced, and I came up with a solution. "It's the ghosts!" I cried out. "It's someone who was burned to death!" This may strike you as a bit lame, but I was in Drama Club for three years and more importantly, I was surrounded by 'believers'. So naturally, they all went for it and tried questioning the sprits presant (to no avail, of course).
The rest of the get-together passed smoothly. Most of my friends excused themselves (no doubt to go home and do some serious thinking about what they'd done) but I stayed until the end to ensure that the bonfire was properly put out and buried with dirt (just doing my duty as a consienctious citizen).
By this time, my leg was feeling much better and I was able to walk without limping. Even so, a buxom blonde girl I had met earlier that evening was kind enough to give me a ride back to the dorm. Once there, we had ourselves a two-way seduction and spent a not unpleasant night together.
Via both spoken and unspoken agreements, our group told nobody about that incident. A search was undertaken for the three goonsbut naturally, nothing was turned up. And that, my listeners, is where this story ends.
Well, it was a pretty normal day at school, when all of a sudden, my cell-phone rang. My teacher told me to turn it off, but I killed her by throwing my binder (with metal edges) at her and cutting off her head. I left the class, and who was on the phone, but the Prime Minister!
"Hello, Mr. Prime Minister?"
"Ay, 'allo Mr. Max Damage." I was called Max Damage, by the way.
"What are you calling about- I ain't got no time to waste on you bitch." I noticed some third-grader was looking at me funny so I threw a grnade at him.
"The Soviets arte coming to invade Canada! We need you to stop them, eh?"
Yeah, that was cool. So I used my lifetime of mechanical skills and fashioned a helicopter out of a teahcer's parked car, and then I used its flak guns to shoot down a bird flying over the city of Toronto, about a hundred miles away. I ignored the warning label that said I could only manage three hundred meters- they always limit me.
Then, I flew out to the West Coast where I saw the Soviets loading their troops onto the shore. I jumped out of the helicopter and landed on one of them, ripping his throat out with my toe. Then, I pulled out my huge sword from where it was attached to my abck, and went to work. I had already programmed the odds into my super-computer that the Government gave to me for my top-secret work, and I knew I would win.
But suddenly, someone shot at me, and I only just managed to duck out of the way. I called in my friends- Onix, Raichu, Luvdisc and Vileplume to help me out. That wasn't their real names, butwe at the Canadian Government have fun naming our secret agents. they jumped out of their plane a moment later, armed only with frying pans, and we ruined the Soviets.
later that day, I saw some dude nerding around outside of the store where I wnated to buy choclate milk. I ruined his shit cause he was like bothering me, then I stole the chocolate milk and hijacked the waiting F-16 super air-fighter jet parked outside.
Mr. The Aliens, I'm ashamed of you, stealing Stewart's story like that.
"So, the fencing club meets, and there's like a hundred people there, because we threatened everyone on campus with swords, and made them show up. The fencing instructor doesn't show up so we are feeling pretty bummed. Sean, my arch-nemesis, saves the day, pulling out a crapload of foam weapons from the back of his truck. Well, when I say foam weapons, I mean pre-production foam weapons, just PVC pipe in a sword shape.
So, threatening the wusses with our blades(we only had to stab a few), we team up in two equal battalions, Sean heading the one, me leading the other. Leading meaning I was at the front of the charge of course, not that actual coordination was involved. Standard rules, if a body part is hit hard, its gone.
At this point, my Norse blood overwhelms me, as I enter a berserk state. My brain was free to catalogue the events, as I charged foaming at the mouth, body running on pure bloodthirsty instinct. My first opponent wets his pants as I run towards him, and I slam past his guard, smashing him across the face as I pass, looking for my next target. The next half a dozen I cut down like children, they try to attack me, but pull back their strikes and attempt to defend themselves as they see my pipe headed for their face.
Seven enemies have fallen by my blade, but the people on my side drop like flies, and a ring of enemies encircles me. I leap into the air, and spin in a circle, smiting eight more foes to the ground as I cleave into their skulls and throats. Fifteen people are crying on the ground, clutching themselves, and the demon inside me screams for more blood. Seeing this, the force around me draws back, hoping for their leader, Sean, the slightly feared lord of mild unpleasantness, to end my rampage. I care not for their whining, and hit their formation like a whirlwind, stabbing one man in the throat and and slicing to either side, smashing two more to the ground. I turn to my right, and run down their line, laughing as I butcher all those in front of me. I lay waste to ten more foes before I receive my first injury, my good right arm smote mightily by my current opponent, even as I smash his nose against his face. Even as a berserk, my honor must be maintained, and I release my grip upon the weapon, catching it with my left hand before it struck the ground, reversing it, and stabbing behind me, catching the coward about to attack me squarely in the sternum. Twenty -seven down, and the last few of my compatriots still up are being mobbed by three times their number.
Knowing that my left is my weaker side, my onslaught becomes even more reckless, as I carve into my victims. I hit the ground and roll forwards, slicing at knee height, dropping five more to the floor. I have now gone through the enemy completely, and turn, hitting the next target with an overhand blow to the head, that continues downwards to finish off one of the legless cripples I left in my wake. On the reverse slice, I catch an enemy underneath the chin, lifting her off the ground entirely, to land on and knock down three of her teammates. I rush forward stabbing downwrds repeatedly, to dispatch the four remaining simulated amputees I had neglected, before putting down the three attempting to regain their feet. At that moment, the last of my allies has gone down, somehow without causing a single casualty upon my opponents. I stand alone.
Adrenaline courses through me, as I let out a wordless scream, and fling myself forward once more. I dive down just before entering my enemies lethal embrace, and stab upwards into an anonymous student's gut. I keep moving, throwing my body against the legs of my would-be slayers, and slashing them across the back as I go. Four more fall before I lose momentum, and launch myself back to my feet. Two enemies charge me from either side, and I hop backward at the last second, allowing them to impale each other and fall moaning to the ground, even as my 'blade' traces an arc from the ground to the crotch of another erst-while backstabber who simply stands there, paralysed by the agony, before toppling silently onto his face.
Two more see the look in my eyes, and the carnage behind me, and simply reverse their blades, stabbing themselves and falling to the ground. I lunge for the three remaining between me and my ultimate goal slashing to either side as I pass between two of them. I am a hair too slow, and the one on my left catches me across my remaining arm at the same moment I smash his eear against the side of his head. I release the grip on my weapon, and catch it between my legs, hopping forward to catch the last obstacle in the throat, even as his eyes begin to widen in disbelief.
At that moment, all energy leaves me, and I sag to my knees, pipe still clutched between my thighs. Sean approaches, with a smirk on his face, and raises his own much used blade over his head to strike me down. I raise my head to him, and whisper 'From Hell's Heart I stab at thee' as the blade begins its descent. As his blade nears my head, I fall backwards, bringing my sword up into his gut, even as his own blade snaps over my skull. We both collapse upon the ground, utterly spent, too join the entirety of our armies.
Ok this is a true story. Please note that all events and participants in this are deniable. I work for a secret government organisation, so secret in fact that we didn't get paid for a week and nobody noticed. Most of my time I spend in my office, which you can't of course find on a map. The enterance is cunningly disguised as a sewer pipe - after all who in their right mind would look for us there!. My office is 100 meters underground and built entirely from secret super strong alloys that I created myself. Thats what I do in my spare time I am a genius after all (though due to work not a member of mensa..) I live science.
But what do I do in that small air-conditioned room underground?, Our organisation does all the things you never hear about. We meet alien ambassadors, create wonder weapons, colonise the galaxy in the name of the good ole' USA. We deliver apple pie to thousands accross the universe (actually the aliens do that we just get the apple pie for them). You name it we do it.
You never know what is going to crop up, like just the other day...
I was sitting at my desk looking at terraforming Mars and how to build a cloaking device big enoughso noone would notice when my direct line to the president rang. Looking at the phone I wondered what it could be this time, giant space cockroaches maybe..
"Berkelium Science center, B.S. center director how can I help you?"
"Director this is the President" the Presidents voice sounded hoarse maybe I should make a cold preventitive....
"How did the golf game go with Putin you like the gravitic accelerator clubs Sir?"
"They were great, I think I won Vladivostok by the way"
"I always try to hold my end up Sir"
"I'm sure you do.....I have a problem" cool now we were getting somewhere...
"What kind of problem Sir? need someone removed?? or is this technical?"
"I need a case retrived"
"No problem where from?"
"Paris"
"Does this involve the DGSE at all??" the french secret service were getting very hard to find these days....
"No son the dammned russians took it, probably becuase I won that golf game.."
"I'll leave right away Sir" as I hung up the phone I thought of everything I needed to pack...
Four hours later I was in Paris watching the Russian embassy. I watched the building for hours in every wave length (I turned the toaster in my hotel rom into sophisticated surveilance kit) and nothing entered or left. Then three gentlemen dressed all in black walked down the street with a briefcase.
Leaping from the car I raised my pistol by instinct and shot 2 of the men in the eye, closing the car door I ran towards the last man. Dropping the case the man went into a ju-jitsu stance (I am also a martial arts expert). Dropping the pistol I walked forward two paces and went into a leaping spin kick that swept the mans block away and broke his spine. I grabbed the briefcase and ran to the car.
As I walked into the presidents room I winked to his wife (she always did have a crush on me) and puched the briefcase accross the desk. The president opened it...
"Ahhhh, my subway roll... thank you for getting it back safely director - I hope it wasn't too much trouble"
"Not at all Sir...always holding my end.." the President interrupted
" Excelent now get going before my wife gets ideas on how to thank you, I assume a six figure sum sill cover it?"
" Of course Mr. President"
Later I sat in my office watching my latest experiment - an artificial intelligence for a spacecraft play chess and wondered what the next day would hold.
"Depending on who you talk to, a mercenary can be anything from a savior to the scum of the universe. On the Wolf's Dragoons world of Outreach, the Mercenary's Star, we know what a merc really is - a business man." - Wolf's Dragoons, Outreach (Merc World mag. 3056)
