Timestepper

This happened in a little town in South Central Kansas, and even though it sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock tale, it’s true. I was on the side of the road hitchhiking on a very dark night in the middle of a terrible rainstorm, and no cars were on the road. The storm was so strong I could hardly see a few feet ahead of me. Suddenly, I saw a car come towards me and stop. Without thinking about it, I got in the car and closed the door and only then did I realize that there was nobody behind the wheel! The car started to move very slowly. I looked at the road and saw a curve coming up. Petrified, I started to pray, begging for my life. I had not yet come out of shock when, just before the car hit the curve, a hand suddenly appeared through the window and moved the steering wheel. Now paralyzed in terror, I watched how the hand appeared every time the car was approaching a curve. Finally, although terrified, I managed to open the door and jump out of the spooky car. Without looking back, I cut across country and ran through the storm all the way to the nearest town. Soaking wet, exhausted and in a state of utter shock and shaking visibly from my recent harrowing experience, I went into the first bar I came to and ordered two shots of Scotch. Then, still trembling with fright, I started telling everybody in the bar about the horrible experience I'd just gone through with the spooky car with no driver and the mysterious hand that kept appearing. Everyone in the bar listened in silence and I could see that they, too, were becoming frightened hearing my eerie story. Hair stood on end when they realized I was telling the truth because tears streaked my face and I definitely was not drunk! About half an hour later two guys walked into the bar where I was still trying to regain my wits and one pointed at me and said to the other, “Hey, there’s the sonuvabitch who jumped into the car while we were pushin it!”     :leaving:

We have met the enemy and he is us.   Americans no longer need worry about national defense because the destruction of America is coming from within...

Interesting. 20/20 hindsight in 2020 sounds quite a bit like casual observation in 2013...   :shake: :shake: :shake:

Ok, yep, it's all over with now. This has got to be the most assinine, insidious assault on American senses so far.   Sheesh!   Hell, we had a kid who was permanently on crutches who played tag with us in 2nd grade and the only difference was that sometimes we'd deliberately slow down a little or "accidentally slip" when he got close to us, or miss tagging him by an inch or two, so we could nail someone else.   No one wants to be a loser?! Call the freakin wa-a-a-a-a-a-mbulance! The only losers we had were the ones who wouldn't play and if you made an effort (like the kid on the crutches who always tried harder than anyone else), then you were at least equal, no matter how many times you were tagged.   All I can say is we'd better hope to God that aren't any wars when this generation grows up because the first time someone throws dirt on their combat boots the America of the future is going to start crying and whining and saying, "That's not fair, I quit!!!" and someone else who was taught from childhood that life isn't fair will take over and it'll be the end. I'm convinced now that that day is coming. I just hope that I'm not around to see it because I don't think I'll be able to stand the heartbreak...   :shake:

Given that, by definition, political correctness is "A doctrine fostered by a delusional, illogical liberal minority, and rabidly promoted by an unscrupulous mainstream media, which holds forth the proposition that it is entirely possible to pick up a turd by the clean end..."   I'd say the only logical option to Redskins is Ferruginous Integuments. :leaving:

Okay, just one stupid thing.... (since it wasn't really me who did it.)   My cousin Mike was 14 and I was 12 and we'd just been to a rodeo on Saturday night to watch one of my older brothers in the bull riding event. Sunday was a beautiful day and after church, Mike and I were still filled with awe and envy and the desire to become genuine, glorified bull riders our ownselves.   Now, genuine Brahma bulls were in short supply in our neck of the Kansas plains, but our Grandad had a big old Charolais bull named Brummy. Brummy was a gentle giant and wouldn't hurt a flee and all us grand kids had sat on his back at one time or another, so me and Cousin Mike knew that "loadin' him in to the chute" would be a piece of cake. What we were going to afterwards we weren't too sure of, but figured if we could rig us up some good "bull hooks" (slang for the modified spurs bull riders use), we'd stand a chance of becoming genuine rodeo heroes.   So we did some looking around and some tinkering and finally rigged up some pretty neat bull hooks which, if I recall, consisted of about 4 inches of double barbed barb wire wound around and twisted through some old bridle leather we'd found in the barn and lashed onto to the heels of our cowboy boots.   Now since Cousin Mike was the oldest, strongest and wisest, it was up to him to go first while I acted as the "chute man." (Being the "chute man" consisted mostly of me just leading Brummy up to the rail fence that ran next to the chicken coop and then climbing onto the coop side of the fence and holding his bridle while Cousin Mike climbed up on top of the coop preparatory to the rather inspired mounting maneuver he'd personally devised and christened the "paratrooper mount" - back then, paratroopers were our 3rd favorite heroes, superseded only by cowboys and mountain men.)   So I got Brummy up next to the fence, crawled between the rails, then reached back over the top rail and got a good grip on the bridle. When I was set, Cousin Mike shouted "GERONIMO!" bailed off the top of the hen house, lit astraddle of good ol' Brummy, grabbed a double handful of hide (we'd forgotten to make a bull rope) and jammed his homemade bull hooks into Brummy's flanks...   To this day I'm not real sure what happened next, but when the dust had cleared and I could see again, my dad was kneeling over me, gently cradling my freshly broken arm and trying not to laugh out loud, Cousin Mike was squalling something fierce from the pig pen on the other side of the chicken coop and my uncle Bill was trying to help Mike out of the slop but was laughing so hard he kept losing his grip on Mike's hand. (We didn't know they'd seen us earlier and had been spying on us from behind Grampa's threshing machine.)   A trip to the nearest ER (about 25 miles away) and I had a new cast on my arm and Cousin Mike was the first one to sign it. On the way back to Grampa's farm, Dad asked if I'd learned anything and I said, "Yeah, Brummy don't like para-trooping bull riders!" (Come to think of it, he wouldn't go anywhere near the chicken coop again after that, so I guess he prob'ly didn't much care for chickens, either.)     ...TS...

Yeah, definitely not the way to handle them folks.

Deepest condolences. I too lost a brother to self destruction a few years ago.   I commend you on your path to rational thinking. My own brother hung himself with a necktie in a motel room closet after first making a trip to the local hardware for materials to beef up the shelf he hung himself from. Kinda' hard for me to get mad about any of that.   Guess my point is that you are absolutely 100 percent correct in not blaming the tool he used when the actual implement of destruction lies inside the individual. And you are also correct that gun control is based upon emotion rather than fact. My own belief is that this is because society as a whole has traded common sense for false compassion and replaced its values with assumed ideals. Too damned bad because I miss the days of common sense and values as much as I miss my brother...   Again, my most heartfelt condolences. And again, I commend you on your self guided journey to logical rationale.   ...TS...

Coupla' trails (both hiking and horseback) up off US441 below Norris Dam.

Seems to me that it fits Obama perfectly - can't think of any other president who has done so much to execute federal law... not to mention the constitution.   As to magazine vs clip; as long as I continue to hear otherwise literate adults refer to a semi truck, I'm not going to complain about an otherwise literate arms manufacturer mentioning a free clip.

Makes sense when you think about it. Probably wouldn't have the same result if the brass were lodged in a fuse receptacle. :shrug:

I dunno' - seems like if he was trying to OC without a holster it probably would've slipped long before he got to Walmart... either that or he would've... well... never mind. :whistle:

No, but you can remove its family jewels if you're not careful.

She's got better boobs, too - although admittedly Piers Morgan himself is one of the biggest boobs on TV...

OOOOPS!

Yeah, but there's a thousand times when you wish you could die - like when the ER Doc says, "Now, tell me again exactly how this happened?" and you do and he excuses himself and leaves the room but you can hear him laughing all the way down the hall...   ...Or when the ER people ask if you've been drinking and you have to admit, "No. Sadly enough, I seem to be one of the few that doesn't have to be drunk to do stupid stuff..."   ...Or when the hot chick in high school tells you you're going to be a great actor some day and you ask what she means and she says that you made your "dumb ass stunt" look so natural - like you hadn't even planned it - but of course everyone knows you did it on purpose because nobody is that stupid in real life and you just kinda' blush and kick your toes in the dirt and hope to God she never finds out the truth...   Yeah, you only live once... but sometimes you can't help but wonder how you managed to do it that often...   :shake:

I remember reading the Darwin awards several years ago and one of the "runners up" stories was about a couple of guys in Arkansas who'd been out frog gigging late one night when their headlights went out.   Using a flashlight, they determined that a fuse had been blown. Not having any spare fuses in the car, one of them discovered that a .22LR bullet would fit perfectly in the fuse slot and their headlights were once again working and off they went. Unfortunately, as they approached a long bridge south of Little Rock, the short which had initially caused the fuse to blow also caused the .22 round to overheat and discharge. The projectile "struck the driver in the left testicle" causing him to "swerve down a steep embankment" and run headfirst into a large tree with the result that his passenger broke both legs. According to authorities, "No alcohol was involved."

Ok, again I'm not going to actually admit to anything, but since I posted this on the hunting board a while back, I guess re-posting it here would only be fair. This was originally written as a "letter of introduction" to acquaint a former supervisor of mine with the Rocky Mountains, but the world works in funny ways and, as luck would have it, it also turned out to be the first piece I had published and appeared in Muzzle Blasts magazine in January of 2001.      Dear Boss: Congratulations on having chosen the Colorado Rocky Mountains as your vacation spot this year! As you may know, even though I'm originally from Kansas, I have spent a great deal of time in the Rockies. In fact, due in large part to inaccurate maps, faulty compasses and the mysterious geologic forces which strive to constantly re-arrange otherwise familiar landmarks - I have probably spent more time in the Colorado back country than most members of the search and rescue team. At any rate, I am convinced that you, yourself could not have picked a better destination. I must admit that I am honored that you have come to me for advice and I commend you on your excellent judgment. Naturally, over the years, I have acquired an almost encyclopedic knowledge on this subject and you may believe me when I say that I have forgotten more than you know. From the time of Zebulon Pike to present there have been literally thousands of books and articles authored on the subject of camping and living in the Rocky mountains So many so that my wife jokingly inquired as to why anyone over the age of eight who owns a library card would willingly come to me for advice. I politely informed her that I, for one, could understand your wanting to learn things that only a real expert like myself would know! With that in mind, Boss, I have decided not to fill your brain with information easily obtained from other sources. Instead, I have enclosed the following list of things you should NOT do while you are in the mountains. I know you should not do these things, because unfortunately, I have done them all at some point in the past. Needless to say, the results have ranged from just thoroughly embarrassing to damn near disastrous! Good Luck Boss! May you learn at least as much from my "adventures" as I have... Things you should NOT do in the Mountains (Or anywhere else for that matter!) 1. Do not wrap an egg in clay and place it the campfire to cook. 2. Do not try to start a campfire using only a mouthful of brandy and a Zippo lighter. 3. No matter how cute and cuddly it may look - Do not try to pet a baby porcupine. 4. Never try to kill a skunk with a banjo! 5. Never try to bluff a moose... 6. Never try to cross a stream on any log which is more than ten feet above the water - Especially if the water is less than three feet deep! 7. Never leave your clothes more than a mile from where you are actually "skinny-dipping." 8. NEVER allow yourself to be convinced that riding a plastic toboggan down a two thousand foot snow mass and into a mountain lake would be "a really neat thing to do!" 9. Do not sneak up on your camp partner and "woof" like a grizzly - Especially if they are holding a cast iron skillet or a fly rod. 10. Do not throw rocks or pinecones at your camp partner when they in the bushes answering the call of nature - Especially if they are bigger and meaner than you are. 11. Do not throw rocks or pinecones at any stump that looks like a sleeping bear. 12. If you must climb a tree to escape from a recently awakened bear, do NOT disturb anything which looks like a wasp nest (at least until AFTER you are past it). And finally - Even if the hornets choose to go after the bear and leave you with only a few stings - Do not jump up and down, clap your hands and laugh uproariously while you are still standing in the uppermost branches of a pine tree!     :whistle:   ...TS...

Ummm... not if you slip before you make contact with him... :yuck:

Ummm... I don't  think the statute of limitations is up yet. But I can give you some more advice regarding that particualr adventure: Never try to kick a skunk in the ass with a pair of slick-soled cowboy boots! :whistle:

Well, amongst other things, I broke the neck out of a damn good banjo and ruined a really nice pair of Tony Lama cowboy boots...  :whistle:

Ok, I'm not going to actually admit to anything here, but I will give just a tiny little tidbit of advice:   Never try to kill a skunk with a banjo...

Way that bugger's made it looks more like a pass through Bowie to me. Good job, youngun'!

Looking good! My best friend also used a deer foreleg for a handle on a sharpening steel he made me for Christmas several years ago and I love it!

Sword, rebar, injure or not injure, if I were unarmed and someone came running out of the dark waving it at me and yelling I'd leave so much piste' behind me so fast it'd make your mouche spin.     :panic: :leaving: