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tom waits for alice

Av tom waits for alice
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Videoannonse

Videoannonse
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Kexxy er sexxy!

Kexxy er sexxy!

Skrevet
Skrevet
FluffyPinkSheep må roe seg ned.

 

Edit (slitsomt å redigere innlegg hele tiden! :p ): herlige vufser. De har det sikkert mye morsommere enn deg.

o_o

 

FluffyPinkSheep må roe seg ned.

Han er ifra Bø i Vesterålen, han er unnskyldt :wee:

Takk for den du. :p

 

Tja, det skal du bare gjøre, er ganske fin plass sånn rent naturmessig men ellers så er det bare idioter og pyromaner som bor der ute :wee:

 

Meg du sikter til? :p

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HannaMagnussen

HannaMagnussen

Skrevet
Skrevet (endret)

Er DU idiot og pyroman? *sniker seg stille og rolig ut av kafeen.*

 

edit: Livmor/livbåt, samma søren det vel. Verste jeg har hørt er da en dame skulle fortelle om en gang hun dykket og så sinnsykt mye undervannsliv og likegreit hoppet over ordet vann. "Det var så sinnsykt mye bra underliv å se på der! Nei vent, det ble feil - eee"

Endret av HannaMagnussen
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Kexxy er sexxy!

Kexxy er sexxy!

Skrevet
Skrevet (endret)
Er DU idiot og pyroman? *sniker seg stille og rolig ut av kafeen.*

Om jeg er idiot?  Næhæ. 

 

Om jeg er pyroman? Ne.. Tror ikke det. :p *gjemme lighteren*

 

 

 

Tja, det skal du bare gjøre, er ganske fin plass sånn rent naturmessig men ellers så er det bare idioter og pyromaner som bor der ute :wee:
Meg du sikter til? :p
Nei faktisk ikke :wee:

 

 

 

Hmm, har vanskelig for å tro det. :p

Endret av FluffyPinkSheep
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b-real

b-real

Skrevet
Skrevet

Litt crossposting but who the fuck cares...denne er faktisk ganske bra :lol:

One of the runs out of Lincoln I get called for is the run from Lincoln to the city of my birth, and the subsequent 20 years there after, McCook, NE. I grew up there, met my wife there, had many happy times there, but yet, fled the instant I could, and have never gone back to visit, except for when I am working. My parents moved up here so I have little reason to go back.

 

I usually catch the LIN-MCC run once a year, if that, so it's rare when I catch it. I just got back from a round trip there, and it never fails. As the plains start melting into familiar surroundings, I often catch my mind wandering about the fun times I spent raising hell in these surroundings. I pass the Indianola Diversion Dam, and think about the times spent smuggling beer to that concrete ledge I spot jutting out from the side of the embankment, just visible for a split second as I go by on the rails. Almost every hill, canyon, and field within 20 miles of McCook has, at one time or another, been the subject of some adventure.

 

So as I sit and adjust the throttle on my train, I get lost in the familiar, the sense of being back home, and ultimately, it always goes back to my most embarrassing moment I have ever experienced. One of those things that you cannot help but wonder if you had done something different, how much of an impact it would have had on your present life. I am sitting in the hotel, strange staying in a hotel in your hometown, it seems wrong, and decide to type up a short story, so bear with me.

 

I was dating this girl, who we'll call Sarah. This would have been the late 80's, and, as you can imagine, the experience of dating and the opposite sex was still something that was a mystery, something I hadn't figured out yet.

 

Things were going great, we had been dating for a couple of weeks, and I finally went over to her house to meet the parents. That dreadful experience of being on display, and being scrutinized, because, and of course they were right, you were up to no good, and involving their offspring. I was out in the garage, having just arrived and waiting for my date to finish getting ready, and out comes Sarah's mom, who seemed nice enough and we exchanged pleasantries. She then said Bill was coming out, and I should try to get on his good side.

 

Why the hell do you go out of your way to instill even more fear into a 13 year old kid with a comment like this? She could have said "Do be a dear and not touch his horns or fangs, would you?" and that would have had less scary undertones in it that what she said.

 

So out comes Bill, a massive (alright, massive to a 13 year old with bad intentions towards his daughter) man who worked doing god knows what, but I think it involved large machines, ones where they pulverize children for no other reason that "cuz it's fun".

 

He nods and something resembling words come from his mouth. The only problem being, I cannot understand one damned thing he's saying. Not like he's mumbling, but the words, they, aren't words. I sit panicked, not knowing what to do.

 

"Y gawn taw' caw' m' da?"

 

These were the words he said. Sweat physically manifested itself on my brow, and I seriously thought he could sense it, that fear, the stench of it, and I expected his mouth to go agape and rows of sharp teeth to devour my soul that would set in motion the end of not only the world, but time itself.

 

I do the only thing I can, I wing it.

 

Now, being thirteen, I haven't got the expansive "winging it" database I have now. I have, one, maybe two things in my arsenal, and they all sucked.

 

I don my best 'please don't kill me' look and give him one of these, complete with a sly elbow and eyebrow lilt, which, I had that mastered, and it has remained unchanged for 20 years.

 

"Oooooooh yeeeah!" Grimacing because of the obvious Kool-Aid man underpinnings, but it was too late, it was out there.

 

He instantly dropped any friendly features his face had, and said something which I think I could make out, but dared not repeat, due to years of intensive mouth-soap exercises.

 

He stormed inside, the door slamming, me about to wet my pants.

 

Her mom comes out, and asked, very nicely, what happened.

 

I quickly go into self preservation mode, stammering out an excuse.

 

"I apologize, ma'am, it didn't mean anything, it's just...I can't, understand him because of his condition."

 

"What condition is that?!"

 

I could feel the interrogation spotlight swinging over me, I was doomed.

 

"Well, ma'am, his..."

 

Now at this point my mind is in overdrive, a surly man in overalls is barking orders, mashing buttons at the switchboard in my mind, and he hit the wrong button, which caused me to say the dumbest thing I have ever said, ever, and if you know me, that's like the Stanley Cup of stupid, the apex, baby, we are at the precipice, and are about to jump over the edge, screaming "RIDE THE LIGHTNING BAY-BEE! C'MON!"

 

"...his, mental *dontsayretarded-dontsayretarded* re...tard...dation." *SHIT!*

 

Her face drops flat, any enthusiasm for my well being just went out the window.

 

"Umm, excuse me, but he's Cajun, you know, Creole."

 

"Yes, ma'am, I understand, cree hole, I volunteered at school with some kids that I believe had that condition, I am perfectly fine with it, give me another chance to apologize."

 

Now let me interject something about my upbringing. I wasn't what you would call "worldly", "knowledgeable" or even "smart", I lived in a small town in Nebraska, in the middle of nowhere, and knew nothing of what she was talking about.

 

So here we stand, me, thinking being Cajun was some severe form of mental retardation, and her, thinking I implied she married a mentally handicapped person. The showdown of the ages.

 

I found out later, after talking to Sarah's sister, because she was evidently no longer my girlfriend, or on speaking terms with me, that what her father had said was:

 

"Y gawn taw' caw' m' da?"

 

"Are you going to take care of my daughter?"

 

So, my sly, enthusiastic "oh yeah" nudge move was interpreted as "Yes sir, I plan on fornicating profusely with your daughter, hoping she does not end up pregnant, do you have any other sibling that care to join in on the festivities, your wife, perhaps? Good day to you sir."

 

To this day, I cannot hear the word Cajun or Creole without smirking about those fucking retards.

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