A common mistake







Knowing the difference can save lives. Think.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 11:25, 7 replies)

It's all over the front page, you give me road rage
Driving to work through South West London one sunny morning, the other side of the dual carriageway is chocker, nose to tail, not going anywhere. My side is moving freely so I'm alright, Jack. Without warning, a battered Sierra estate on the other side decides he's done with queuing and does a u-turn, lurching across the central reservation and screeching out in front of me, who's hurtling along at about 60. I have to take fairly swift evasive action to avoid barrelling into him, and I flick him the V as I swerve past him on the inside. As you would. Big mistake. He and the delightful lady sitting in the passenger seat are dead ringers for Wayne and Waynetta Slob, and they do not look pleased to see me. He speeds up and starts trying to ram me. I have to call on pretty much all my Grand Theft Auto driving skillz to avoid him as he speeds up, swerves, slams the anchors on trying to ram me. This is all going on at dangerously high speed, and I know that there is only a couple of miles until the next roundabout - hopefully it's clear and I can get across. Fuckit. As I round a bend in the road, I see a queue. No no no, this won't do, I'm going to have to stop, he's going to get out and wrench my door off with pure animal strength and then he's going to pull me from my car and beat me to a pulp in front of loads of other drivers that will doubtless stay in their cars with the doors locked instead of coming to my rescue. I drive as far as I can, and then I have to stop. He's a couple of cars behind, and in my rear view mirror I watch him get out, storm towards me (like the dinosaur in Jurassic Park) gnashing his teeth and shouting some very rude words very loudly. Clunk. I lock the doors. I sit tight, looking straight ahead, shades on, as he starts to punch the bejaysus out of the driver's side window. He hits it really hard. He's hitting it so hard that there's blood and skin on it, but it holds firm. I had no idea that the window on a 1989 Citroen BX could be so tough. He leaps onto the bonnet and starts jumping up and down like a deranged monkey on crystal meth, his furious face just a few inches from mine. The expletives are coming thick and fast, and spittle lashes the windscreen. I don't think I've ever seen anyone quite so angry before. Then, I notice that the cars in front of me have pulled away, so I seize my chance. I lurch forward and slam the brakes on, throwing monkeyman onto the tarmac. I'm able to swerve round him and leg it off to safety before he can pick himself up and get back in his shitmobile. Lucky lucky escape. These days I do my utmost to resist the temptation to abuse other drivers, however wrong they are. It's just not wirth the risk.

P.s. I didn't wet myself.
(se8card, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 11:14, 15 replies)

Christian
I was driving my mum's Mini into town, in the pouring rain. Very unfortunately the car didn't like the rain, and the engine stopped right on one of the busiest roundabouts on the ringroad.

I sat in the car, in torrential rain, banging the steering wheel and trying to get it started, with a queue building up behind me and cars whizzing past to the side.

Suddenly a car stops in front of me. There is a Christian fish sticker on the back. A man gets out, instantly soaked in the rain, and walks to the back of the car. He starts to push. I do the gear/clutch thing and the engine starts. Heaving a sigh of relief I wave cheerily through the back window and drive off, leaving the poor bloke standing on a busy roundabout in bucketing rain. And I never even said 'thank God'.
(Smale is stuffed, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 11:05, 2 replies)

CHiPs are great!
The California Highway Patrol that is, not Poncherello and friends (blast from the past for those old enough to remember).

A few years ago my wife and I were driving from San Franpsycho down to Santa Monica. Unfortunately the scenic coast road, Highway 1, was closed due to numerous land slips so we had to take the Interstate instead.

Nearing our destination, I spot the Highway Patrol car in the mirror, lights flashing etc. so I move over to let him past...but he followed me. Pulling over to the side, with an increasingly sick feeling in the stomach, he gets out to tell me he'd clocked me doing 87mph on the other side of town and it'd taken him 'til now to catch up, so he wasn't best pleased.

After running through the possible consequences; night in the cells, $400 on the spot fine etc. and making me sweat a lot (behave!) he let me off - I think the fact we were flying out the next day helped.

He did share his opinions on the driving traits of visiting nationalities though: apparently Brits drive fast, but within their abilities; Germans drive fast, but overrate themselves and the Italians drive fast, but are quite mad.

Length?...about 1700 miles in two weeks
(RTFM May your god go with you, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 10:29, Reply)

Another Mini Tale
My first beaten up old Mini. Bright orange, matt finish, no carpets. You get the picture.

Arriving at Basildon college after picking up my mate, there was a HUGE lake across the entrance road. In the middle was a group of my classmates trying to push out an old Mk1 Cortina that had stranded them there.

My friend jeered out of the window at them as we shot through the puddle. Unfortunately I hadn't put back all the rubber bungs in the floor, and a jet of water shot up inside the car, completely soaking him.

It's great hearing complete joy turn to abject horror within a microsecond.
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 10:11, Reply)

On the flip side, the best ride I got when hitching, was coming back from Cornwall one summer, and a white van pulled up.
I went to the driver and told him I was heading up Bristol way.

"That's cool," he said, "Jump in the back"

I opened up the back of the van, to be greeted by about 5 people - all different hitchers. "Yay!" they cried, "Welcome in!"

I was handed a joint, a plastic mug of cider, and asked who I was, where I was going.

The driver was doing St Ives to Birmingham, and simply picking up every hitcher he saw. He called out the junctions as he reached them, and when your stop came up, you simply said so. He dropped me off pretty well outside my front door.

Brilliant stuff.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 9:24, 5 replies)

"Nice car!"
A recent trip to the US....

Went to pick up our rental car from Hertz at Denver Airport. Although we'd booked the car in advance, I was a little worried. The entire parking lot appeared to be empty. It was Labor Day weekend and I guess everyone had decided to rent a car. The staff looked a little worried when we asked to pick up the compact we'd booked and there was a whispered conversation between the reception person and the manager. All we caught was "Well we'll just have to give them that one." This was worrying - I was envisaging being handed the last clunker in the shop, a motoring liability with the handling of a drunk supermarket trolley and a propensity to break down at the drop of a hat. The receptionist returned - "It's your lucky day" she said. We had just landed a brand new, 2010 model, Chevvy Camaro for the same price our Hyundi compact would have been!

There follows two weeks of people stopping to engage us in conversation about the car, invariably started with the comment "Nice car!" All sorts of people - from a silver-haired guy reminiscing about his Camaro back in the 60s to a bunch of tattooed Harley riders. Always - "Nice car!"

On the last day before I had to hand it back, we were waiting at a set of lights and a van pulled up alongside - custom paintjob, chrome alloys, the works. The passenger leans out. "Nice car! What you got under the hood?" He and the driver look like they have just stepped off the set of The Shield - latinos with tatts and bling. I answer that I have no idea (I find out later it is 3.6 litres). He asks "You wanna go?" I have never been asked to race before, not in the UK, let alone the States. I know I shouldn't (hell, I'd already been told off about speeding in a National Park), but for a moment, testosterone stupidity kicked in and as the lights went green I floored the gas. I left him for dead on the line, but after about 100 metres, British reserve and licence-preservation kicked in and I slowed leaving him to flash by. Adrenalin rush over, we drove to Hertz to drop the car off. As I handed the car keys back, I had to say it - "Nice car!"

[Cherry goes *pop*]
(Roladex, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 9:21, 1 reply)

Ahhh
I see that a number of company car related posts have made their way onto QOTW and thought I should add my own. For anyone who reads any of my regular posts will know that I work for the government. Nothing major just an office job with a number of perks through years of service including a company car. While I treat my car with due care and attention I know a couple of people we work with that end up costing our department a shedload on either repairs or vehicle replacements. The main culprit for disregard of property is J, a bloke who I will not be able to name for obvious reasons.

J is one of our field workers and while I have only met him in passing he has written off a large number of company vehicles costing us (And therefore the taxpayer) £££’s.

I have heard the tale of when he rolled one of his cars after a night on the lash. According to witness reports he was seen leaving a club at god knows what time at night and sped off down some country lane at high speed, the next thing we know is his car is found in a heap in the middle of the field and J using the excuse of he thought he saw someone in the road. The other funny thing was that he had the audacity to place the repairs, (Alcoholic) drinks and gambling receipts on the same claim form.

A few times his boss has had to step in , I don’t really know what had happened but all spending on his office credit card was frozen for a while but that was taken off a few days later.

What really REALLY gets on my nerves is that the higher ups ALWAYS let him have a decent motor. While I am stuck to drive in a low spec VW Passat with no extras and would probably get bitchslapped down to a Corsa if I did anything to it, J gets a number of top of the range models with all the gadgets and extras. I remember him having a phase where he used BMW’s but ditched them to go back to the Aston Martins at one point.

As I’m thinking of his wasteful spending I just thank god that half of the slag’s he hooks up with are killed after sleeping with him as we would get a number of claims from them when they realise they caught a number of STD’s from him.

As I said before, sorry I can’t mention his name as this blokes got a license to kill so he would do me away anytime he wanted.

Better get off now the place hates us looking at sites like this while we are at work.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 9:05, 15 replies)

Slow down" It's the fuzz.
In a former life I worked for a coach firm. One of the company cars was a white Ford Granada. There was an extra aerial as it had a two way radio installed and as the Granada was the car of choice for the local constabulary at the time it could easily be confused for an unmarked police car, especially when you are wearing the company uniform including epaulettes.
Other motorists would often slow down when they saw you. Only problem was the speedometer never worked which made using other cars to judge your speed a little tricky. Even had to drop down to third on the motorway as car overtook me and slowed down so much.
That wasn't my biggest complaint about the car though. That was the clutch. Biting point so high your knee was level with your ear and extremely heavy as a fitter had decided to use a spring meant for use in a full size coach in a repair.
(jvz, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 8:15, Reply)

The time I was almost carjacked
Many moons ago, a 17 year old Smurf was out for a drive in his parents battered old Toyota Corolla.

Driving along North Station Road in Colchester, I was coming up level to what was at the time, the Midland Bank. As I drew nearer 4 men in balaclavas and brandishing shotguns came pelting out the bank towards the road. I did what any professional coward would do, I slid down as low as I could in the seat and accelerated like buggery, whilst imagining being carjacked for an escape vehicle or being shot.

It wasn't until I got further up the road and dared to look in my rear view mirror that I saw the camera crew on the other side of the road filming.

It was the Crimewatch re-enactment of a bank robbery that had happened a week or so before.

And I made it on to tv. From the cameras point of view, as the blokes come running out of the bank they are briefly obscured as an apparently driverless Toyota Corolla accelerates from stage left to stage right.
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 7:06, 2 replies)

Good car-related reads
Burial Brothers: From New York to Rio in a '73 Cadillac Hearse
- www.amazon.com/Burial-Brothers-York-Cadillac-Hearse/dp/0345413571

and

Road Fever
- www.amazon.com/Road-Fever-Tim-Cahill/dp/0394758374

I plan to do both of these before I die.
(IHaveComeAmongThee__Twice Tissues on the left. Self-esteem on the right., Tue 27 Apr 2010, 6:00, Reply)

I heart my putt putt
I have a Scion XA:



She's a 2007 model, bought brand new at the time. She's like the tardis inside - it's amazing how much stuff I can fit in there.
I just got back from a trip to the mountains and my gas (petrol) mileage averaged 33 miles to the gallon.
It also seats 5 people in comfort - even with 3 in the back seat, there's room for them all.

I'd kill for another (original era) VW Beetle, or a Karmann Ghia, but as far as putt putt goes, I love her!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 4:38, 1 reply)

Best lyrical couplet involving cars, ever:
"Told my girl I'll have to forget her
Rather buy me a new carburetor"

"I'm In Love With My Car", Queen
(McChinaman banned, Tue 27 Apr 2010, 1:07, 3 replies)

A long time ago
I was driving my 1960s mini and got pulled by the filth for no reason other than it was very early in the morning and I was a teenager.

The mini was a bit of a junker but I did my best to keep it on the road.

One of the plod leant into my window (it was in the days before they asked you to get out), and asked me to test the brake lights and indicators while the other plod assessed the results to see if they were all working. Luckly, they were.

He then asked to hear the horn. I quickly leant over and picked the actual horn out of the glove shelf, where I had put it the other day after finding it was broken, and handed it to him. He took it and stared at it for a few seconds while the other plod creased himself laughing.

He handed the defunct horn back and sent me on my way without a ticket or fine. That was over 30 years ago. . . what are the chances of this happening today?

While I am here. . . and as the mists of time are clearing. The week after I passed my driving test - sometime in the late 18th century I think - I drove a very rusty and knackered first car, an escort van, up to London. As a real novice driver this was a tad ambitious, but I had a new licence and £2s worth of petrol in the tank.

Anyway. . . I drove up to Trafalgar Square from the south and there was traffic everywhere. Getting a bit nervous I decided to stick right behind a coach so I could keep out of trouble from cars flying in every direction in front of me. The coach stopped at some lights and then went through with me following, but not fast enough, and I kind of 'stranded' myself by some bollards, in no mans land, in the middle of car chaos.

A second later and I had a knock on the window from a foot based plod. He checked the car over and found out my tyres were a bit bald. . . well actually they were as good as slicks. . . and he did me for five including the spare!

Fast forward a couple of months and I was summoned to Bow Street Court and stood in a dock and given a fine and five endorsements from a judge in a wig.

My defence of not actually knowing that tyres actually had to have any tread on them at all was ignored. . .

I am on a roll. . . go back one week to my test and I found out an hour before my lesson that the car I was going to take it with had broken down. I made a call and found a relative close by who said I could borrow their car but to get there in time I had to drive my moped over to where they worked so they could drive me over to the testing station. On the way, to get there in time, I drove the wrong way down a one way street. I was stopped at the end by a plod and given a ticket.

But I got there and passed - Huzzah. I was still fined for the offence later though.

That's enough. The end.
(Nutty Slack is a tad dusty, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 23:43, 2 replies)

My mini
I had a lovely mini - 1978 i think. I drove that car like the Gene Genie. Top speed of about 90, but getting there was the fun.

I had a resit exam at uni in liverpool, so the night before I set off and begin the 2 hr drive up there from Leicester. My car is flying, and i get on the M6 about 7pm, sun setting, beautiful.

Get up to junction 18 and onto the motorway comes a plain police car - you could always tell; Volvo Estate, black grill and always nice alloys. I throttle back form about 85 and check the speedo. Its full of smoke.

I am a little worried; the smoke is now filling the other dials. And my car smells like a science lab when you "crack" crude oil.

Pull onto the hard shoulder, get out of the car an stupidly open the bonnet. The engine is fully ablaze so I do the only thing I can think off - use the water bottle in the car to put it out. Luckily this gets the flames down enough to smother the fire out using an old coat.

Shit me rightup - but then the rubbish bit. £220 for an emergency tow off the motorway, £40 for a train ticket from Stoke to Liverpool and £300 in repairs just because the Mini engine shield had come loose, knocked the water pipe off and everything had gone for about 40 miles uncooled.
(Strump striving for imperfection since, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 21:59, 1 reply)

I asked a girl what she wanted to be.
She wanted to be an actress, and have me chauffeur her around. But, turned out she didn't even have a car.
( Curis, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 21:53, 2 replies)

The Sleeper
Growing up in the car-crazy 60's and 70's, I've had my share of great street racers. One of my favorites was a pure sleeper - a performance car dressed in a 'plain brown wrapper', as it were. She was a white on red two-tone, 1965 Chrysler New Yorker 9-passenger station wagon. This car had it all: push-button transmission, square steering wheel, foot-activated 'seek' switch for the (AM) radio, rear-facing fold-down "way back" seat, dual air conditioners, and - and! The best part: a 413 cubic inch (6.8 liters) engine.

She was truly huge, and handled like the cruise ship she was, but put your foot into her 4-barrel carb and you got results in a hurry! Her massive over-square RB engine put out an honest 350 HP, and the intake noise sounded like a jet engine ready for takeoff. It was endless fun to idle up next to "hot" cars at stop lights, then tromp on the gas the instant the light turned green. She wouldn't beat everyone, but the point was she did way better than expected.

One fine spring day, I pulled up next to a local rowdy who was constantly bragging about his small-block Chevy Nova. He had some real performance guys breath on his car once or twice, and his after-market parts probably cost more than the car. We stared each other down, and we both knew: "It was on!"

There was no traffic in front of us; the road was clear all the way to the intersection with the highway. I had timed the light perfectly, and my foot was already stomping down as it turned green. That old Mopar fairly leapt across the intersection, rising up on the suspension like a boat coming on plane. I was ahead by 3 car lengths before the Nova started catching up, then he slowly inched past me. I eased off the gas, and began judiciously using the brakes - I'd taken him off the line with my bone stock station wagon, and proved my point.

As I watched, the Nova continued accelerating, and didn't even slow down for the intersection! His brake lights came on, and the back end swerved around some, but he zoomed through a gap between a school bus and a cement mixer, then swerved onto the dirt shoulder, through a parking lot, off a large tree and smack into the Taco Time.

Turns out he'd broken a motor mount, and the torque of the engine had twisted it upwards causing the throttle lever to be pushed against the hood. Nobody was hurt, and there was only minor damage to all involved, but the cops got involved, and I got a warning ticket for "contest of speed". I laminated the ticket and hung it from the lighter knob as a badge of honor. :) Good times!
(danalan Pretty good, for an amateur., Mon 26 Apr 2010, 21:02, 3 replies)

burnt eyebrows
as a car mechaninc apprentice in the late 80's i opened the bonnet of a car and leant over the engine to start the next service - with a lit ciggy in my mouth. The resulting fireball from the petrol vapour lurking under the bonnet singed my eyebrows and left me with a bright red face for about a week. Luckily i was wearing a wooly hat as it was a bit cold otherwise would have also lost some hair from my head to add to the look. and it persuaded me to give up smoking.
( nikdude, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 20:28, 1 reply)

sorry to subvert the current QOTW
some of you may remember the cunts in Dubai that nearly cost my family and I everything we own, our livelihoods and our liberty

www.b3ta.com/questions/theboss/post460435

well they have a 'new website' same old shit but with a moody pic of the moody MD

but now they have a comments page!!!

please take a moment to deface the cunts

omnia.ae/blog/?p=55#comments

probably a swear filter so be clever
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 20:05, 16 replies)

I took my car to a quantum mechanic for a service
It'll be ready last tuesday.

Coat/veal etc.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 19:51, 4 replies)

So many road rage stories to choose from, so little time...
I spend about two hours on the highway every day for my commute to and from work. So there's not a whole lot I haven't seen, from cars hanging from the overpass to hit and runs.

The area I live in has a high asshole to car ratio, and I really do believe that most people in this area have a significant drop in IQ as soon as they get into a car. As most of them are already in the double digits, this drop is hardly something they can afford. Many cars on the road remind me of little Maggie in the opening credits of the Simpsons. Happily swerving around and banging on their horns with mentally deficient smiles on their faces. Banging off other cars and concrete barriers like a little kid playing bumper cars. Driving to and from work is like trying to navigate a parking lot carnival without bumping into a freak. About 80 percent of the drivers around here have no idea what those shiny things on the sides of the car are for (checking their make-up and/or hair plugs?), and most of them didn’t take the “turn signal” option when they bought their cars.

But I can always find something in my commute to make me smile.

I like the people who swerve into the slow lane to pass, but end up stuck behind someone going even slower and can’t get back into the fast lane until they’re five or six cars behind where they started. This makes me smile.

When someone blows past you going 80 mph in a 50 mph limit area, while you’re going a nice steady 58 mph, and then you pass them a mile down the road because the state boys have pulled them over. This makes me smile. Sometimes I wave.

The really bad part about all of this is that since we moved to this area, the bad driving seems to be catching. We’ve lived here three years now, and last weekend we drove back home to see our families. Hubby was driving, and we were less than a mile away from our exit. He floored it, swept past a line of traffic and swerved over three lanes to get to our exit. I didn’t say a word, just looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“That was the Columbus. I’m acclimating.” was his reply.

I guess if you can't beat 'em...

Sigh.
(ladydyani, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 19:39, Reply)

Heard this story ages ago...
Can't remember where, but apparently it's true...


A number of years ago the emergency services somewhere in America received a panicked call from a woman in her car in a supermarket parking lot. She claimed that she'd been shot in the back of the head, and her brains were coming out, and she was holding them in with her hand. This was obviously a very disturbing report- not to mention extremely unusual- so an ambulance was sent right away. When they got there, the woman was shocked by their reaction of laughing.

What had happened was that she had done some light shopping, left it in the car and gone off for a few hours. It was a very hot day, and she hadn't left any windows open so the heat built up considerably. One of the things she had bought was a tin of pre-prepared cookie dough. Cookie dough tends to expand in the heat, and was accumulating a lot of pressure in the tin. When she got back in the car, the vibration of closing the door had caused the lid of the tin- complete with wad of dough- to shoot off like a bullet, strike her in the back of the head, and leave behind a sticky, warm, gooey mass. The pain made her think she'd been shot, and you can imagine her panic when she put her hand to the back of her head. So she sat there immobile lest she let her brains fall out.
Must've been a sight for the ambulance men!
(Second sign of madness, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 19:14, 4 replies)

my brother works in a garage
he came home today in shock and pain. it seems that, whilst repairing a taxi, a 25-gallon drum of oil right next to him was somehow ignited. his jumper caught fire immediately which, as you can imagine, is quite bad. fortunately, he managed to get his jumper off and has suffered nohing more that a rather badly burned hand and a bit of shock.
he's a tool and he does my head in, but fuck, he could have died today.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 18:40, Reply)

My Father in Law
Bought a really nice ex demo Audi A6 avant (don't say estate, Audi don't like it) as a retirement present to himself.
I really like this car.
Every time i see it though there is another big dent in it, or nasty gouge along it.
He's a nice guy. However, if he crashes it again I'm going to have to tell him he's a cunt
( real i'm not happy 'til you're not happy, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 18:17, 1 reply)

Do not ever turn off the front headlights to see how dark it is with them off.

(thrain, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 17:30, 9 replies)

It was one of those "I wonder what would happen if...." moments
Driving along in my Mini (proper one, from the 70's, with rust but a massive stereo) trundling along a normal high street in the burbs of Leeds and i thought "ohh, DARE i turn off the ignition and take the key out!"

"i'll only do it for a few seconds, oh the thrill!" i thought until CLUNK - SHHIITTTEEEE STEERRING LOCK!

The 1.7 seconds while i put the key in and managed to wrestle it off again before the dodgy tracking on the car took me into a bollard outside an Estate Agents - seemed like an eternity. Luckily only managed to bounce off the kerb and kept going, shamefully ducking down in the seat. I don't think my hand stopped shaking for a good hour.

I did write that Mini off 4 weeks later - i hit a volvo and it proper killed my little car :(
(TheManofScience, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 17:22, 2 replies)

My story...
I was driving down the road the other day when I saw some guy standing on the corner around some kids, looking really shifty.

I noticed he palmed some massive drugs into a kid’s hand, now I’ve got a long fuse but this was now personal, no one does this in my neck of the woods. I did a handbrake turn in my Accord and drove towards the child only to swerve at the very end and knock the bag of meow meow heroin out of his hand with my spoiler.

The drug dealer was in shock and started screaming at me, obviously not noticing the Honda badge. I now started doing doughnuts in the road with caustic rage. I charged towards him, and pressed the brakes so hard that I front flipped the car, pinning him against the shutters of the nearest newsagents.

I got out of my car but he got out a knife and tried to stab me which I deflected with my Honda keyring, then my 2 years of Taekwondo classes kicked in and did a triple roundhouse kick, catching him sweetly on the head, making all his limbs break.

He was trying to crawl away but I grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him towards the Accord and said to him “KISS THE VTEC STICKERS… NOW!” he did whilst crying and pissed all in the gutters.

“Now, get out of my sight!” I said, getting into my car, I was about to burn out when I noticed in the corner of my eye 3 supermodels, all just looking whilst wobbling their fannies at me.

“We saw what you just did, we think you’re so cool and want to look at your penis” so I let them and they all laughed with fright at its masterful size. One tried to hold it and winced instantly. “Oh god, you’re the best man I’ve ever slept with even though I haven’t slept with you yet.” said the 2nd supermodel girl. The 3rd had passed out with lust and done a gush so fierce that she knocked over a bin 20 meters down the street.

They all jumped in the back seats of the HA and we drove off back to my penthouse and we had the sex and played my custom game of dungeons and dragons whilst drinking home brew until the early morning. The End.

Cheers
( Donkey Gums @mattcomedy, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 17:01, 31 replies)

Near death experience + no wires levitation
Throughout the 1990s, Gord was my friend. You may in fact be aware of him if you remember the minor meme that was this site: www.actsofgord.com/ . This story is from before the store.

Gord and I were driving around visiting people, as you do, on a Saturday night. We were in Gord's red Mazda pickup, a stickshift, likely with crappy techno playing on his medium-range deck. We knew we weren't cool, but we were still enjoying ourselves.

While at someone or other's house, they mentioned they were on their way out to a party, and could we give them a ride? Sure we could, if she didn't mind squeezing between us in the cab. She didn't, and off we went.

Got to the party, Gord and I didn't really know anybody there and it sort of felt that it had passed the really fun part and was in the mellow/stunned phase that happens when brains are having trouble sparking through the neuropeptide haze. Gord and I decided to go, but then one of us got a page.

Yes, both of us had pagers. Yes, we wore them hooked to pockets. Yes, we thought this made us flash.

Another friend, another party, could they get a ride out? Sure, why not. Off we went.

Found the place, and picked up Kevin and Jeff. Jeff (very mellow when drunk, smiles with his eyes half-closed when toasted) got in the cab and straddled the gear shift. He did in fact take it in the nuts every time Gord hit second or fourth. Kevin (more aggressive drunk) got in the bed and lay down flat. Off we went.

So. Gord is a dangerously bit of a reckless driver at the best of times, but blessed with the kind of luck that makes you hate statistics. Partly to amuse himself and us, and partly to put a bit of a scare into Kev, Gord floored it and blew through some stop signs (residential late at night, so easy to see other traffic/people) and took corners faster than most people feel comfortable with. Then we got to Sexsmith road.

This is a long fairly straight stretch of road going down an incline with a disused railway crossing it. Gord accelerated it as much as possible, mostly to make the engine roar and freak Kevin out. Basic fun. Then we hit the tracks. What Gord hadn't really thought of was that the tracks were a level blip in an otherwise descending trajectory. We hit at full speed and launched into the air.

You have a lot of time to reflect on things when you're gracefully airborne in a light truck. How smooth the ride has suddenly become, the beautiful clarity of synthesizer notes against a drum machine, the sound that isn't quite a scream coming from low in the throat of your two companions. I also noticed, as the gravity loosened our tether that either the road bent just a touch after the tracks, or we'd picked up a bit of a sideways vector during launch.

In the midst of all of this, something caught my eye through the back window. Keven (still horizontal) had floated up to nearly the top of the glass and was gripping (I think) the rubber seal around it. I was pretty sure he was dead. I didn't have high hopes for the rest of us, come to that.

We landed entirely on the road, albeit just at the edge. Bounced and swayed. Kevin took the bedliner (ribbed plastic) in the face at least once. Gord brought the truck to a stop and as soon as our legs were able to support us and we'd checked for dryness, we were out the door and looking at Kev.

"YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH! LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"

Drunken twit.
(Ejaculantern was caught desecrating pumpkins on, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 16:54, 4 replies)

Finger Trap!
Early 90s, hot summer day in my ancient VW Beetle so I've got the window down, arm out the side, radio on, I'm 18 years old, on my own, all is good with the world.

Get to the M1 so speed up onto the slip road and onto the motorway. Eventually get up to a heady 60mph... oooh it's quite windy now, better crank up the window.

Oh, the airflow is pushing the window out so it won't fit back up into the door properly. So - pull the top of the window in with the fingers of my right hand - the 'trick' being to let go just as the window goes up into the groove.

Oh, the trick isn't working with one hand - I need to use both hands to pull both top corners of the window in. But how to crank the window up when both hands are fully employed? I know, jiggle the window winder with my knee.

Oh, I have now trapped the fingers of both hands in the window due to over-exuberant knee jiggling. Imagine the looks on the faces of overtaking cars as they notice that I have trapped BOTH HANDS in my window AND AM NOW UNABLE TO STEER AT 60MPH ON THE M1. Aaaaaargh!

Dear Reader, it was brown trousers time, and was only remedied by heart-stopping reverse knee jigglage, which probably took a few seconds but at the time seemed to last an eternity of heavy-duty sweating and swearing.

All my cars have had electric windows since then :)
(zootius, Mon 26 Apr 2010, 16:48, 4 replies)