Jog
At school, I was friends with an asian lad referred to as Jog. He was the kinda guy who was alright as long as you didn't have to trust him with any of your possessions (they would most likely be sold to buy bud).

During year 11 especially, a small group of us would be found spending our lunchtimes ensconced in a local abandoned garage to partake in a bit of a session. There would usually be four or five of us but because a couple of the regulars had a GCSE exam on that day, this particular occasion saw only myself and my asian rudeboy counterpart occupying the derelict, piss-soaked construction that had become our regular lunchtime hangout.

The combination of the fact that there were only two of us and that Jog had a particularly nice bit of Thai Stick in which we could indulge meant that we were a bit more 'out of it' than usual. Our spliff had made it down to the roach so we decided to head schoolwards to grab a bit of lunch before period 7 (English, if I'm not mistaken). In order to make it back to the school grounds, we had to cross a road. Our chosen crossing point was about 50 yards from a blind corner. As we approached the kerb I looked to my right to check for oncoming traffic and saw an approaching car. Needless to say I stopped and waited for it to pass...but Jog didn't.

You know when you hear people's stories of things they have witnessed and they say 'it all happened in slow motion'? I was always a bit skeptical but after this experience, I understood.

As Jog stepped out into the road, the car that I had seen approaching rapidly made it's way to where he was making his advance, no doubt lured by the promise of munchies upon his return to school. The bumper of the car struck his legs so that he sat on the bonnet. He then slid upwards and bounced off the windscreen where he shot about four feet into the air, coming back to cause a huge concave oval of cracked glass above the passenger seat before sliding back down the bonnet to the road below.

I froze. Visions of ambulances and police and expulsions and other bowel-loosening concepts ran through my mind. 'Shit' I heard myself say. I needn't have worried. As I looked on I saw Jog, visibly shaken but scratch free (I mean it; to see the impact you would have thought he had at least a bruise, but no. Not a scratch) stand up, brush himself off and utter the word 'motherfucker' before resuming his crossing of the road.

All of this was witnessed by the school caretaker, who was just up the road in his car. After realising that Jog was OK he tended to the woman in the car. She was a bit shocked, but pretty much OK.

And that was it. No-one ever got in trouble and we even resumed smoking the next lunchtime. Last I heard from Jog he was a dad and was running a credit card scam in Birmingham.

Apologies for length, and the fact that I got a bit bored halfway through typing this up (it's been a long day).
(ConanTroutman thought we would free the vulture, Thu 16 Sep 2010, 19:58, Reply)