One of my brushes with the law.
35 years later, she's still my girlfriend
Murray...
One of your brushes... with the law??
Last sentence is priceless - congrats!
One of my brushes with the law.
35 years later, she's still my girlfriend
One of your brushes... with the law??
Picture if you will, four college lads enter a tricycle race at the local sleazy bar.
There were two cash prizes, one for best team costumes and another for the actual race, which was a timed relay around the bar using a kids tricycle.
We went as the East German Women's Swimming team and squeezed ourselves into the college cheerleaders outfits. As an aside, my girlfriend took a picture of the four of us sitting in the hotel lobby and we all were wearing powder blue underwear. Weird.
We won both the costume contest and the tricycle race, then found out we couldn't take the money out of the bar, and had to spend it. No problem!
Later in the evening...an RCMP officer came into the bar so I shimmied up beside him, leaned gently into his shoulder and said in my deepest East German accent, "Come capitalist pig-dog, we make love".
I didn't end up in jail.
Murray...
One of your brushes... with the law??
Last sentence is priceless - congrats!
I've heard on good authority that handcuffs can really hurt! Someone told me that.
Dairy farmer.Greetings,
Mr. PB. I'm guessing proctologist.
I've heard on good authority that handcuffs can really hurt! Someone told me that.
When I was a college freshman, Richard Nixon refused to shake my hand.
OMG, you MUST be lying.
I spent many days watching these blue lights, and surprisingly, have never grown an extra appendage! ?View attachment 101042
I was an FBI agent and a DEA agent, and the best story that I could tell, that no one would believe, is still classified, anyway.
I was an FBI agent and a DEA agent, and the best story that I could tell, that no one would believe, is still classified, anyway.
I'll bet you really bought that badge at a swap meet, am I right?
I actually did buy a couple of fake badges. A lot of us did, because losing your real badge (which we would put away for safekeeping) was a big deal, whereas losing a fake one was nothing but whatever you paid for it.
The guy I bought my last one from ended up getting indicted for selling them!
Did you have long hair?
I died at age 4 in the world's smallest republic, and recall it quite clearly.
My parents and I were crossing northern Italy in summer 1957. We were actually in San Marino, the world's smallest, and one of the oldest, republics, which is entirely within Italy. No borders except for road signs that you had entered or left.
Dad had stopped our 1954 Morris Oxford for a roadside picnic (as the English tend to do) on a quiet back road, parking on a blind corner in the hilly forested countryside. The car was one side of the road, the picnic was to be on the other side under a big tree. My mother was laying out the picnic, Dad was by the car, the other side of the road fetching something, and I thought I'd go and see what he was doing. I can see him quite clearly still.
As I crossed the road a typical Italian scooter, Vespa or Lambretta no doubt, came around the bend at high speed with two young guys on it. The rider swerved to miss me as his passenger stuck out his right boot and hit me in the chest. I still see the scooter and that boot. The impact threw me through the air, 30 feet according to my father, and I slammed up against the tree about 6 feet up. I remember the impact, and my head stinging, in fact, just thinking about it makes my head sting in the same place right now. I put my right hand to the back of my head and then looked at it. It was crimson, and I can still see that vividly.
I staggered forward, and I remember standing among four sets of legs, as my parents and the two young Italian guys were all just frozen, watching me. I see those legs now, my mother's in a skirt. Then I collapsed, and my heart stopped beating.
The scooter rider (who must have been beside himself, poor guy) just happened to be a medical student on his summer vacation. He got my heart going again, and then he and his friend led us into the nearby town of San Marino where there was a convent hospital.
I was in a coma and had a collapsed lung, which was reflated. I lay in a coma for 8 days. My first recollection after collapsing was waking in a big bed in a white room, and of a nun in grey habit looking at me in astonishment and running out to fetch my mother.
That's pretty much it. I recovered fully apart from a slightly slow left side of my body and big holes in my mid-term memory that mean that whole days, events, and even people will randomly disappear without recollection. I have often wondered what happened to that young Italian doctor and how traumatised he must have been by the whole event.
LOL You lose your gun too?
No, but I came close one time.
I had come back from an operation really late one night, and I was beat dead tired, and I laid my submachine gun on the roof of my car (intending to grab it and take it inside as leaving those in parked cars was verboten), but forgot it, and walked inside and left it there, just twenty feet from the street. I didn't realize it until they next morning, when I went out to get my newspaper and saw in sitting there!