Best Story Ever
March 31, 2008 7:58 AM Subscribe
Best Story Ever is a series of clips featuring various celebrities -- Henry Rollins, Lewis Black, Dee Snider, Chuck D, Ron Jeremy, Bret "The Hitman" Hart, and many more -- telling their best stories. Some are lame, some are funny. But hey, what's your best story ever? (It can't be lamer than Alan Thicke's, can it?)
I saw Dee Snider's punchline coming from a good country mile away...
posted by fearfulsymmetry at 8:29 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by fearfulsymmetry at 8:29 AM on March 31, 2008
The Snider and Chuck D stories were hilarious.
posted by tiger yang at 8:31 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by tiger yang at 8:31 AM on March 31, 2008
I can't believe Bret "The Hitman" Hart's story wasn't about meeting me in a lunchroom at the Detroit airport back in 1983. I was 8. He was eating yogurt and granola, which I didn't think was very tough at the time.
posted by goatdog at 8:41 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by goatdog at 8:41 AM on March 31, 2008
Me, too. I was listening to his voice, thinking I'd have a great time hearing him even if he was just reading the phonebook, then -- yeah.
posted by maudlin at 9:01 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by maudlin at 9:01 AM on March 31, 2008
I have a best moderately-entertaining story involving Chuck D. He came to my university about a month ago, for the speaker series. My old roommate works at the alumni house, where Chuck D's R&R room was located. The alumni house has this kitchen and the disposal wasn't working right, so they were expecting somebody from maintenance to come and fix it. When Chuck D showed up, my roommate was like "Are you here to fix the garbage disposal?" Best part is, Chuck D responds, "Did you try hitting that little reset button?" Then he went in the kitchen and fixed the shit.
posted by thebellafonte at 9:28 AM on March 31, 2008 [31 favorites]
posted by thebellafonte at 9:28 AM on March 31, 2008 [31 favorites]
Thicke seems to be all showbiz piffle (a word meaning: your souffle poofs down flat). L.A. should clean house; send all piffles back where they came from. I will be the one to determine a piffle from a sincere artist who is practicing craft and maintaining soul.
posted by yazi at 9:32 AM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
posted by yazi at 9:32 AM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
Hey, some of these people have TWO "best stories ever." Am I to believe these people have led two lives in parallel universes, and we get to hear the best from both versions? (Thanks for the post.)
All of my stories are the "best ever," and even more so, increasing with the amount of vodka in me.
posted by not_on_display at 9:43 AM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
All of my stories are the "best ever," and even more so, increasing with the amount of vodka in me.
posted by not_on_display at 9:43 AM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
I've told one of my best stories ever on MeFi before but never in a thread on Best Stories Ever so here it is again:
Mid nineties I ran a hip video store--foreign films, art films, whatever. Lotsa regular customers. One set is a married couple. The internet was just sorta starting to become popular and I'd built the store a web site (and daily was hit with "What's a web site?" questions) and the husband in this couple keeps hanging around the counter and talking to be about computers and whatnot. His wife does the browsing. But I notice that every time I look past him, she's actually watching me. It was a little odd.
One day she comes in without him for the first time. She brings Antonioni's Zabriskie Point up to the counter and, by memory, I pull up her husband's account and am set to rent her the flick when she tells me she's on her own now and they've gone their separate ways and would I like to go on a date with her. I say sure. She picks a day in the next week and we agree.
That day rolls around and I realize... shit, it's Valentine's day. We're never going to find a table anywhere. So, I call her and tell her "Oops, we didn't realize it was Valentine's Day, maybe we should pick another..." and she says, "Why did you think I chose that day?" and claims to have already made reservations. Shoulda been my first clue, right?
So, we go out for dinner and things are going swell and I end up back at her place and she puts on some french music (I think it was Georges Brassens but don't hold me to it) and she's telling me about her life growing up in Montreal though she's actually German. Yadda yadda yadda, she puts her hand on my arm and asks me if I want to stay the night. I say that I do and we end up in the sack and I have what is easily the worst sex of my life. Terrible, terrible. I'm practically recoiling as I recall this. (And, whenever someone asks me what made the sex so bad, my short answer is: "Teeth.")
I'm not the kind of guy to take off in the middle of the night so we end up falling asleep. In the morning, I'm heading home and she's heading to work. We're on the subway and she's talking about how she can't wait to go out again. I'm thinking, "Not gonna happen" but I'm nodding along anyway.
Days pass, neither of us calls the other, and then she comes back to the video store. She again talks about getting together again. She again rents Zabriskie Point. This happens a few times, her keep bringing it up and her renting the same title.
One day I'm on my dinner break at work and she appears in the restaurant and sits down across from me and wants to know why I'm avoiding her. I tell her I just don't think we're right for one another. She says I should give her a second chance. I tell her that next week I'm flying to Australia. I've met someone online that lives there that I'm keen on. (Which is true.) She flips out and starts screaming about this other woman and how I'd been cheating on her. Pure madness.
She storms out of the restaurant and out of my life.
Two years pass. I'm living with a woman (not the Aussie) back in Toronto. We come home from a movie and it's pushing midnight. There's a message on my answering machine from some woman I've never heard of who insists I call her immediately. At the time, I owned a small software company which manufactured screenwriting software and occasionally I'd get support questions from people, some of them in dire need of help due to an approaching deadline combined with a lack of computer-savvy. My answering machine specifically said leave a note indicating the latest time I can return your call or I'll call you whenever I get the message. So, annoyed that this woman ignored this instruction, I disregard the hour and call her back. Our conversation went like this:
me: Yes, I'm returning your call. My name's VS. Dobbs.
her: Right. I'm calling from the Federal Government. I need to speak with you right away.
(Or course my mind starts racing about what the Feds would be doing wanting to talk to me so urgently... the only thing that comes to mind is my student loan. It's the only connection I can think of to the Federal Goverment.)
me: Ah... sure, go ahead.
her: I can't talk about it over the phone.
me: Okay.... when would you like to meet?
her: I can be there in 15 minutes.
Fifteen minutes later there's a knock at my door. I tell my girlfriend to stay in the back bedroom and if she hears anything weird, call the police.
I open the door to an attractive, unfamiliar woman in a power suit. She badges me and gives me a business card. She's with CSIS--that's the Canadian equiv to the FBI for you foreigners. I invite her in.
her: Since you didn't ask me on the phone, I assume you know what this is about.
me: No. I assumed it was my student loan.
She dismisses this with a does-this-guy-think-I'm-that-stupid?-Of-course-he-knows-what-this-is-about! look. I tell her I really don't know.
We sit down. She pulls out a notepad. She says: "I'm here because someone you know isn't who they claim to be." Immediately I think of my friend, Peter. Nope. Turns out it's this woman I had a date with 2 years prior. The CSIS agent wants to know everything I know about her.
me: Is she in some kind of trouble?
agent: I can't tell you what this is regarding, you just have to tell me everything you know about her.
I do. And she writes every word of it down. I tell her about where she lived, the Georges Brassens record, where we ate, and that she rented Zabriskie Point over and over again.
agent: Zabriskie Point? What's that?
I get my film geek on and tell her a ridiculously detailed history of Zabriskie Point ("Antonioni... hippies... radicals... a secretary... english-language trilogy... MGM... Carlo Ponti... Pink Floyd... Sam Shepherd... Clare Peploe, you know, Bertolucci's wife...Death Valley..."). She listens patiently. At the end, she writes ZABRISKIE POINT in her notebook, underlines it, and puts a circle around it.
me: was that important?
agent: maybe. we'll see.
This goes on for what seems like hours when I mention the ex-husband, who I'd somehow managed to avoid mentioning. She turns to a new page in her book and says, "Oh, you know him too, do you?" and proceeds to ask me all the same questions she had about the wife but now about him.
I ask her how she even knows I'm connected to the woman in the first place. She says she can't tell me that. I again ask her what this is about and she says she can't tell me but that the woman is under lock and key so there's no point in trying to contact her.
The interrogation is pretty much over when the agent stands up and notices several paintings on the wall. She says, "Oh, do you paint?" I tell her that I do not, but my girlfriend does.
agent: Oh, are you close?
me: Yeah, we live together. She's in the back.
A look of horror crosses her face. "You never told me that!" I tell her she never asked. She leans in to me and, swear to god, says, "Be careful. No one is who they claim to be."
I blink a couple times and walk her to the door. As she's leaving she says, "One more thing: you can't tell anyone about this until you know it's okay."
me: how will I know it's okay?
agent: trust me. You'll know.
And she walks out of my house and out of my life.
Of course, I'm completely baffled by the whole thing and feel like a complete idiot when I go to bed and my girlfriend asks me what it was all about. "I don't know and I can't say. Goodnight."
Two days later, on the front page of all the Toronto daily newspapers: Russian Spies Caught in Toronto!
I read the stories with interest. They talk about Ian and Laurie Lambert, two Russian spies who were working in Toronto and were caught by CSIS. They were being deported after being held for several days of questioning. Apparently, they were never married and had taken their names from a pair of dead siblings.
I told the story to friends as the newspapers ran their items (one photo I remember is a dark van with tinted windows parked next to a plane, that was escorting the spies). One of the friends said something you're probably thinking right about now: Damn, that's a pretty long story that really doesn't say anything except that you had sex with a Russian spy who, even though she probably could have killed you thirty-six ways with a paperclip, couldn't get you off.
Every once in a while when I'm walking down the street I think I see Laurie and I become panic stricken--what should I do? Who should I call? Did she see me?! But then I realize it isn't her and do on with my day. Weird.
And that's one of my best stories.
posted by dobbs at 9:51 AM on March 31, 2008 [67 favorites]
Mid nineties I ran a hip video store--foreign films, art films, whatever. Lotsa regular customers. One set is a married couple. The internet was just sorta starting to become popular and I'd built the store a web site (and daily was hit with "What's a web site?" questions) and the husband in this couple keeps hanging around the counter and talking to be about computers and whatnot. His wife does the browsing. But I notice that every time I look past him, she's actually watching me. It was a little odd.
One day she comes in without him for the first time. She brings Antonioni's Zabriskie Point up to the counter and, by memory, I pull up her husband's account and am set to rent her the flick when she tells me she's on her own now and they've gone their separate ways and would I like to go on a date with her. I say sure. She picks a day in the next week and we agree.
That day rolls around and I realize... shit, it's Valentine's day. We're never going to find a table anywhere. So, I call her and tell her "Oops, we didn't realize it was Valentine's Day, maybe we should pick another..." and she says, "Why did you think I chose that day?" and claims to have already made reservations. Shoulda been my first clue, right?
So, we go out for dinner and things are going swell and I end up back at her place and she puts on some french music (I think it was Georges Brassens but don't hold me to it) and she's telling me about her life growing up in Montreal though she's actually German. Yadda yadda yadda, she puts her hand on my arm and asks me if I want to stay the night. I say that I do and we end up in the sack and I have what is easily the worst sex of my life. Terrible, terrible. I'm practically recoiling as I recall this. (And, whenever someone asks me what made the sex so bad, my short answer is: "Teeth.")
I'm not the kind of guy to take off in the middle of the night so we end up falling asleep. In the morning, I'm heading home and she's heading to work. We're on the subway and she's talking about how she can't wait to go out again. I'm thinking, "Not gonna happen" but I'm nodding along anyway.
Days pass, neither of us calls the other, and then she comes back to the video store. She again talks about getting together again. She again rents Zabriskie Point. This happens a few times, her keep bringing it up and her renting the same title.
One day I'm on my dinner break at work and she appears in the restaurant and sits down across from me and wants to know why I'm avoiding her. I tell her I just don't think we're right for one another. She says I should give her a second chance. I tell her that next week I'm flying to Australia. I've met someone online that lives there that I'm keen on. (Which is true.) She flips out and starts screaming about this other woman and how I'd been cheating on her. Pure madness.
She storms out of the restaurant and out of my life.
Two years pass. I'm living with a woman (not the Aussie) back in Toronto. We come home from a movie and it's pushing midnight. There's a message on my answering machine from some woman I've never heard of who insists I call her immediately. At the time, I owned a small software company which manufactured screenwriting software and occasionally I'd get support questions from people, some of them in dire need of help due to an approaching deadline combined with a lack of computer-savvy. My answering machine specifically said leave a note indicating the latest time I can return your call or I'll call you whenever I get the message. So, annoyed that this woman ignored this instruction, I disregard the hour and call her back. Our conversation went like this:
me: Yes, I'm returning your call. My name's VS. Dobbs.
her: Right. I'm calling from the Federal Government. I need to speak with you right away.
(Or course my mind starts racing about what the Feds would be doing wanting to talk to me so urgently... the only thing that comes to mind is my student loan. It's the only connection I can think of to the Federal Goverment.)
me: Ah... sure, go ahead.
her: I can't talk about it over the phone.
me: Okay.... when would you like to meet?
her: I can be there in 15 minutes.
Fifteen minutes later there's a knock at my door. I tell my girlfriend to stay in the back bedroom and if she hears anything weird, call the police.
I open the door to an attractive, unfamiliar woman in a power suit. She badges me and gives me a business card. She's with CSIS--that's the Canadian equiv to the FBI for you foreigners. I invite her in.
her: Since you didn't ask me on the phone, I assume you know what this is about.
me: No. I assumed it was my student loan.
She dismisses this with a does-this-guy-think-I'm-that-stupid?-Of-course-he-knows-what-this-is-about! look. I tell her I really don't know.
We sit down. She pulls out a notepad. She says: "I'm here because someone you know isn't who they claim to be." Immediately I think of my friend, Peter. Nope. Turns out it's this woman I had a date with 2 years prior. The CSIS agent wants to know everything I know about her.
me: Is she in some kind of trouble?
agent: I can't tell you what this is regarding, you just have to tell me everything you know about her.
I do. And she writes every word of it down. I tell her about where she lived, the Georges Brassens record, where we ate, and that she rented Zabriskie Point over and over again.
agent: Zabriskie Point? What's that?
I get my film geek on and tell her a ridiculously detailed history of Zabriskie Point ("Antonioni... hippies... radicals... a secretary... english-language trilogy... MGM... Carlo Ponti... Pink Floyd... Sam Shepherd... Clare Peploe, you know, Bertolucci's wife...Death Valley..."). She listens patiently. At the end, she writes ZABRISKIE POINT in her notebook, underlines it, and puts a circle around it.
me: was that important?
agent: maybe. we'll see.
This goes on for what seems like hours when I mention the ex-husband, who I'd somehow managed to avoid mentioning. She turns to a new page in her book and says, "Oh, you know him too, do you?" and proceeds to ask me all the same questions she had about the wife but now about him.
I ask her how she even knows I'm connected to the woman in the first place. She says she can't tell me that. I again ask her what this is about and she says she can't tell me but that the woman is under lock and key so there's no point in trying to contact her.
The interrogation is pretty much over when the agent stands up and notices several paintings on the wall. She says, "Oh, do you paint?" I tell her that I do not, but my girlfriend does.
agent: Oh, are you close?
me: Yeah, we live together. She's in the back.
A look of horror crosses her face. "You never told me that!" I tell her she never asked. She leans in to me and, swear to god, says, "Be careful. No one is who they claim to be."
I blink a couple times and walk her to the door. As she's leaving she says, "One more thing: you can't tell anyone about this until you know it's okay."
me: how will I know it's okay?
agent: trust me. You'll know.
And she walks out of my house and out of my life.
Of course, I'm completely baffled by the whole thing and feel like a complete idiot when I go to bed and my girlfriend asks me what it was all about. "I don't know and I can't say. Goodnight."
Two days later, on the front page of all the Toronto daily newspapers: Russian Spies Caught in Toronto!
I read the stories with interest. They talk about Ian and Laurie Lambert, two Russian spies who were working in Toronto and were caught by CSIS. They were being deported after being held for several days of questioning. Apparently, they were never married and had taken their names from a pair of dead siblings.
I told the story to friends as the newspapers ran their items (one photo I remember is a dark van with tinted windows parked next to a plane, that was escorting the spies). One of the friends said something you're probably thinking right about now: Damn, that's a pretty long story that really doesn't say anything except that you had sex with a Russian spy who, even though she probably could have killed you thirty-six ways with a paperclip, couldn't get you off.
Every once in a while when I'm walking down the street I think I see Laurie and I become panic stricken--what should I do? Who should I call? Did she see me?! But then I realize it isn't her and do on with my day. Weird.
And that's one of my best stories.
posted by dobbs at 9:51 AM on March 31, 2008 [67 favorites]
send all piffles back where they came from
In the case of Thicke, they did. He was on The Hour to promote his (since canceled) CBC "comedy," jPod.
I have a soft spot for Jeff Goldblum's story, personally.
posted by Sys Rq at 9:51 AM on March 31, 2008
In the case of Thicke, they did. He was on The Hour to promote his (since canceled) CBC "comedy," jPod.
I have a soft spot for Jeff Goldblum's story, personally.
posted by Sys Rq at 9:51 AM on March 31, 2008
Ron Jeremy signed my underpants the night my wife first saw me.
posted by MrMoonPie at 9:55 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by MrMoonPie at 9:55 AM on March 31, 2008
The Best Story Ever was the one Richard Harris told on Letterman about he, Gena Rowlands, John Cassavetes and Peter O'Toole getting drunk before the Oscars when Rowlands was nominated for Best Actress. O'Toole says HE is the presenter for the award and then he and Harris worked each other up over the travesty of the other female nominees not holding a candle to Rowlands. Rowlands and Cassavetes, after they sober up realize O'Tool, who stays hammered at curtain time, is going to rig the awards as O'Toole keeps overtly winking at them (and Harris keep winking back at him) as they sit in the audience freaking them the fuck out.
God damned that was a funny story.
posted by tkchrist at 10:03 AM on March 31, 2008
God damned that was a funny story.
posted by tkchrist at 10:03 AM on March 31, 2008
Short version of my best story: I successfully sent an impostor to my 10-year high school reunion.
posted by mhum at 10:13 AM on March 31, 2008 [6 favorites]
posted by mhum at 10:13 AM on March 31, 2008 [6 favorites]
I think miss lynnster is away from the site for a few days, so I'll take the liberty of linking to her awesome John Fogerty story.
posted by slogger at 10:39 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by slogger at 10:39 AM on March 31, 2008
My favorite story and my example that humor doesn't have to be abrasive or painful.
At a Von's store, a little girl of about five waited patiently as her father worked an arcade machine with a drop claw trying to grab a stuffed animal. Attempt after attempt failed. Finally, the little girl tugged on her father's pant sleeve and said, "That's okay, daddy. You can have one of mine."
posted by dances_with_sneetches at 10:48 AM on March 31, 2008
At a Von's store, a little girl of about five waited patiently as her father worked an arcade machine with a drop claw trying to grab a stuffed animal. Attempt after attempt failed. Finally, the little girl tugged on her father's pant sleeve and said, "That's okay, daddy. You can have one of mine."
posted by dances_with_sneetches at 10:48 AM on March 31, 2008
dobbs: Would this be your toothy date?
posted by bunnytricks at 1:09 PM on March 31
Every so often I am forcefully struck by how much the internet rules.
posted by adamdschneider at 11:20 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by bunnytricks at 1:09 PM on March 31
Every so often I am forcefully struck by how much the internet rules.
posted by adamdschneider at 11:20 AM on March 31, 2008
bunnytricks, no, it's not. (Am I missing some joke here or something?)
posted by dobbs at 11:27 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by dobbs at 11:27 AM on March 31, 2008
A couple of years ago, I had a day off work and rode downtown to the public library. I had to use the restroom, so I walked in and saw that the stall was taken. No problem, I just stand there and wait. Well, half a minute later I hear, "OK, you're done. Now daddy has to go," and the stall door opens up and a little kid walks out.
He's four, maybe five years old, blazing red hair. Immediately fixes his eyes on me, like I was the most unnatural thing he's ever seen. I, avoid his gaze, stare at the hand dryer for a minute or something. Then he strikes up a conversation.
"You can't go in there yet."
I nod my head, shift my gaze to the soap dispenser. There is a flushing sound from the stall, thank God.
"My daddy's in there, so you can't go in there."
"Uh huh."
"Ricky, who are you talking to?"
Dad walks out and sees me. There's a two-second silence that feels like an hour.
"Oh, sorry about that."
I shrug, no big deal.
"Come on, Ricky."
I start walking into the stall, and glance at the kid. He's still staring at me, and all of a sudden he calls out, "So long, picklehead!"
The dad apologizes, then brusquely grabs little Ricky by the arm and walks him out hissing, "You don't call people picklehead. You're the picklehead."
"No, you are!"
I probably could have still heard them going back and forth like that as the restroom door closed, had I not been laughing so hard. Ricky made my week.
posted by cog_nate at 11:29 AM on March 31, 2008 [5 favorites]
He's four, maybe five years old, blazing red hair. Immediately fixes his eyes on me, like I was the most unnatural thing he's ever seen. I, avoid his gaze, stare at the hand dryer for a minute or something. Then he strikes up a conversation.
"You can't go in there yet."
I nod my head, shift my gaze to the soap dispenser. There is a flushing sound from the stall, thank God.
"My daddy's in there, so you can't go in there."
"Uh huh."
"Ricky, who are you talking to?"
Dad walks out and sees me. There's a two-second silence that feels like an hour.
"Oh, sorry about that."
I shrug, no big deal.
"Come on, Ricky."
I start walking into the stall, and glance at the kid. He's still staring at me, and all of a sudden he calls out, "So long, picklehead!"
The dad apologizes, then brusquely grabs little Ricky by the arm and walks him out hissing, "You don't call people picklehead. You're the picklehead."
"No, you are!"
I probably could have still heard them going back and forth like that as the restroom door closed, had I not been laughing so hard. Ricky made my week.
posted by cog_nate at 11:29 AM on March 31, 2008 [5 favorites]
rocket 88 and bunnytricks: ok NOW dobbs' story is interesting.
posted by The Bellman at 11:40 AM on March 31, 2008
posted by The Bellman at 11:40 AM on March 31, 2008
WTF? I'd swear that's not her. It's been 12 years and I'd be shocked to death if that's what she looks like now. I think she was... 32 or something when I met her. She had a long face and looked very... um, spy-like. No, really.
Gee thanks The Bellman. Sorry to have wasted your time.
posted by dobbs at 11:47 AM on March 31, 2008
Gee thanks The Bellman. Sorry to have wasted your time.
posted by dobbs at 11:47 AM on March 31, 2008
George Stroumboulopoulos needs to shorten his freakin' name.
There's a solution to that:
1. Don't be retarded
2. Call him "Strombo"
Glad I could be of help.
posted by Turtles all the way down at 12:14 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
There's a solution to that:
1. Don't be retarded
2. Call him "Strombo"
Glad I could be of help.
posted by Turtles all the way down at 12:14 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
George Stroumboulopoulos needs to shorten his freakin' name.
Furthermore, as evidenced by everyone from Ian Hanomansing and Sasa Petrocic to Anna Maria Tramonti and Ioanna Roumeliotis, success as an on-air personality at the CBC is a function of number of syllables, counterintuitive syllabic emphasis, and general degree of pronunciation difficulty. Stroumbo's somewhere near the median on all three metrics, so while he may eventually get a primetime show, he'll never be an anchor on The National.
And one of the very best and most surprising Best Stories Ever on that site belongs to Tony Robbins. (Incidentally, our boy Stroumbo also led Robbins through one of the most fascinating talkshow interviews I've seen in a long time; totally humanizes an informercial cartoon of a man in a few short minutes.)
posted by gompa at 12:24 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
Furthermore, as evidenced by everyone from Ian Hanomansing and Sasa Petrocic to Anna Maria Tramonti and Ioanna Roumeliotis, success as an on-air personality at the CBC is a function of number of syllables, counterintuitive syllabic emphasis, and general degree of pronunciation difficulty. Stroumbo's somewhere near the median on all three metrics, so while he may eventually get a primetime show, he'll never be an anchor on The National.
And one of the very best and most surprising Best Stories Ever on that site belongs to Tony Robbins. (Incidentally, our boy Stroumbo also led Robbins through one of the most fascinating talkshow interviews I've seen in a long time; totally humanizes an informercial cartoon of a man in a few short minutes.)
posted by gompa at 12:24 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
This is a great topic. I don't know if this is my best one, and it certainly can't top the spy story but here goes:
Mike Patton and Mr. Bungle came to our town on tour for their first album. They played at a place that was part music venue and part bowling alley. So whenever someone would play, the artists would have to walk through the bowling alley to get to the stage. It was really great to see GWAR traipsing through the lanes on league night.
So anyway, the bands got free bowling and the guys in the band invited us to bowl with them. So Mike Patton and I are at the counter waiting for our shoes. The guy's got his back turned and for some reason we both see the pink 'while you were out' message pad on the counter. Night Ranger was playing real soon -- might've been the next night -- and someone had called for Kelly, the drummer. The note just said "Kelly - Night Ranger" and a phone number.
I don't think Patton did this for my benefit, because he never made eye contact with me before or after he did it, but he wrote "Call home. Your mother is hurt badly." on the sheet and slid it back before the guy at the counter even noticed.
posted by Atom12 at 12:28 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
Mike Patton and Mr. Bungle came to our town on tour for their first album. They played at a place that was part music venue and part bowling alley. So whenever someone would play, the artists would have to walk through the bowling alley to get to the stage. It was really great to see GWAR traipsing through the lanes on league night.
So anyway, the bands got free bowling and the guys in the band invited us to bowl with them. So Mike Patton and I are at the counter waiting for our shoes. The guy's got his back turned and for some reason we both see the pink 'while you were out' message pad on the counter. Night Ranger was playing real soon -- might've been the next night -- and someone had called for Kelly, the drummer. The note just said "Kelly - Night Ranger" and a phone number.
I don't think Patton did this for my benefit, because he never made eye contact with me before or after he did it, but he wrote "Call home. Your mother is hurt badly." on the sheet and slid it back before the guy at the counter even noticed.
posted by Atom12 at 12:28 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
Man, I don't have any good stories. Most of them involve drugs and the police and are pretty boring when you think about it. Oh, one time I knocked over HR's tea at a Bad Brains show in '95. He came back and was all like "WHO KNOCKED OVER MY TEA?", then the next show was the one where he beat the shit out of a fan with his mic stand. I probably narrowly escaped death.
posted by DecemberBoy at 12:56 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by DecemberBoy at 12:56 PM on March 31, 2008
My personal favorite Rollins story is "Donate your bodies to science you fools" from Human Butt.
Probably my best personal story is from when I was in my twenties and moving between a succession of shitty jobs. I worked for a few weeks as an alarm dispatcher in St. Louis in 1988; the company regularly installed alarm systems that the customers didn't understand or know how to operate. Each customer had a series of numbers of people to get ahold of in an effort to get them check the system before we'd call the police. One night, an alarm went off at the house of a customer that had a Busch Stadium number listed; I figured that he was on staff there or something. I called the number and, after a while, got the customer on the phone. I told him that an alarm was going off at his house. After a short pause, he replied, rather angrily, "I'm in the middle of a game, man!"
I apologized, found another contact on his list to call, and the next day, went to the library to find out who Vince Coleman was.
posted by Halloween Jack at 1:42 PM on March 31, 2008
Probably my best personal story is from when I was in my twenties and moving between a succession of shitty jobs. I worked for a few weeks as an alarm dispatcher in St. Louis in 1988; the company regularly installed alarm systems that the customers didn't understand or know how to operate. Each customer had a series of numbers of people to get ahold of in an effort to get them check the system before we'd call the police. One night, an alarm went off at the house of a customer that had a Busch Stadium number listed; I figured that he was on staff there or something. I called the number and, after a while, got the customer on the phone. I told him that an alarm was going off at his house. After a short pause, he replied, rather angrily, "I'm in the middle of a game, man!"
I apologized, found another contact on his list to call, and the next day, went to the library to find out who Vince Coleman was.
posted by Halloween Jack at 1:42 PM on March 31, 2008
Well hell, now I just gotta know, dobbs. Is this your toothy spy?
posted by mumkin at 1:43 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by mumkin at 1:43 PM on March 31, 2008
Gee thanks The Bellman. Sorry to have wasted your time.
Aww, dobbs, don't take it that way. My time is here for the wasting. Anyway I just meant this thread is useless without pictures. Of vagina dentata.
posted by The Bellman at 1:50 PM on March 31, 2008
Aww, dobbs, don't take it that way. My time is here for the wasting. Anyway I just meant this thread is useless without pictures. Of vagina dentata.
posted by The Bellman at 1:50 PM on March 31, 2008
Many years ago, before there were cell phones we had these things called pagers strapped to our hips. Someone would page you with their phone number and you would call them back when you got to a phone. As an "on call technician" working in the Audio Visual field, my pager would go off all the freaking time. Like most people who used pagers, our clients knew that if you followed up your number with a 911, that would indicate to the technician to stop what they were doing and call right away. Although I was always busy I rarely if ever got 911's. One afternoon traveling from Orlando to Saint Petersburg via Interstate 4, my pager goes off with a number I don't recognize followed by the 911. I find the first exit, and pull into a little truck stop looking place outside of Plant City, to use the pay phone. This takes maybe 3 minutes tops. I walk in, ask for some change and head to the wall where there are 4 pay phones to choose from. I pop my quarter in and dial the number displayed on my trusty pager. It rings........ and rings...... and rings....... and rings. I'm thinking to myself WTF ?!?! Who would page me with a 911 and not answer the phone, it's just about then that I notice another ringing sound in addition to the one in my ear..... I pull the handset from my ear and two phones over on the wall another pay phone is ringing, but with an incoming call. I hang up my the handset and the ringing stops on the other phone. I walk a few paces over, pick up the handset and look at the phone number printed above the buttons , I look at the number on my pager, I look at the number on the phone, I look at the number on my pager again, I look at the phone AGAIN..... except for the 911 they are identical. I kinda loose my breath for a second and then I make my way over to the girl at the counter and ask if she saw anyone use the pay phone. She said I was the the only person in the store in the last hour. The whole episode probably took 15 minutes, but man, I was freaked out! The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up and I just wanted out of there!
I get about 10 miles down the Highway and come upon a scene that looked like a bomb went off.......4 car pile up involving a tractor trailer hauling a load of steel that had come loose, State Troopers and Paramedics just arriving. I pulled over to the side and helped the best I could, but it was all pretty much over once it began. I have no idea why I got that page or from whom or what but I'm convinced that if I hadn't, I would not be alive to write this today.
posted by HappyHippo at 1:54 PM on March 31, 2008 [12 favorites]
I get about 10 miles down the Highway and come upon a scene that looked like a bomb went off.......4 car pile up involving a tractor trailer hauling a load of steel that had come loose, State Troopers and Paramedics just arriving. I pulled over to the side and helped the best I could, but it was all pretty much over once it began. I have no idea why I got that page or from whom or what but I'm convinced that if I hadn't, I would not be alive to write this today.
posted by HappyHippo at 1:54 PM on March 31, 2008 [12 favorites]
I drove the Wailers in a taxicab. They got in smoking a huge spliff -- the kind you only see on reggae album covers. I didn't make 'em put it out. They were nice guys.
I also picked up Bo Diddley from the airport because the band I was in then was his backing band for the evening. Man, that guy knows a million jokes. I wish I remembered some of them. He too was a really great guy. He's also very fond of fried fish.
posted by Camofrog at 2:20 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
I also picked up Bo Diddley from the airport because the band I was in then was his backing band for the evening. Man, that guy knows a million jokes. I wish I remembered some of them. He too was a really great guy. He's also very fond of fried fish.
posted by Camofrog at 2:20 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
HappyHippo, did Rod Serling speak to you at all that day?
Seriously, that's some unnerving stuff.
posted by Dr-Baa at 2:25 PM on March 31, 2008
Seriously, that's some unnerving stuff.
posted by Dr-Baa at 2:25 PM on March 31, 2008
This was back in college and four of us guys decided to drive down to Acapulco on our spring break. So to prepare we wrote up lists of things we needed to take. Frisbee. Check. Swimming suits. Check. What about some anti-diarrhea pills, just in case? Yeah, good idea. So my roommate Kevin said he’d go to University Health Service to get some, and he came back later with a box of couple hundred Kaopectate tablets.
The next day we continued the check list. Extra spark plugs. Check. Tool kit. Check. Hey what about some condoms, you know, just in case? Kevin said he’d go back to University Health Service and get a supply. Later that day I came back to the room and Kevin was sitting there by himself, erupting with barks of laughter. Kind of weird, so I said, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Well I got a box of 50 condoms to make sure we had enough, and it was the same lady who gave me the Kaopectate yesterday. You know what she said when she gave them to me?”
“No, what?”
“You’re feeling better today, aren’t you?”
posted by mono blanco at 2:41 PM on March 31, 2008 [2 favorites]
The next day we continued the check list. Extra spark plugs. Check. Tool kit. Check. Hey what about some condoms, you know, just in case? Kevin said he’d go back to University Health Service and get a supply. Later that day I came back to the room and Kevin was sitting there by himself, erupting with barks of laughter. Kind of weird, so I said, “Hey, what’s up?”
“Well I got a box of 50 condoms to make sure we had enough, and it was the same lady who gave me the Kaopectate yesterday. You know what she said when she gave them to me?”
“No, what?”
“You’re feeling better today, aren’t you?”
posted by mono blanco at 2:41 PM on March 31, 2008 [2 favorites]
Thanks for being an asshole, Turtles.
posted by booticon at 3:30 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
posted by booticon at 3:30 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
My friend Sweet Jay took me to that video arcade in town, right, and they don't speak English there, so Jay got into a fight and he's all - “Hey quit hasslin me cuz I don't speak French or whatever” And then the guy said something in Paris talk, and I'm like, “Just back off!!!” And they're all, “ Get out!”And we're like, “Make me!!!”
It was cool.
(Long story short - sneaking onto a base and into a high security area in a gorilla suit. Or using military equipment to intercept, decrypt and watch one of the wrestlemanias on Sky (in the U.K.) from a very long way away...Actually, I’m blessed/cursed with having way too many good stories. Not too many lately though. Strange how when life stabilizes and you’re fat, dumb and happy, you run out of interesting stories.)
posted by Smedleyman at 3:41 PM on March 31, 2008
It was cool.
(Long story short - sneaking onto a base and into a high security area in a gorilla suit. Or using military equipment to intercept, decrypt and watch one of the wrestlemanias on Sky (in the U.K.) from a very long way away...Actually, I’m blessed/cursed with having way too many good stories. Not too many lately though. Strange how when life stabilizes and you’re fat, dumb and happy, you run out of interesting stories.)
posted by Smedleyman at 3:41 PM on March 31, 2008
Unfortunately I can't tell my best and/or most personally humiliating stories on the Internet. So I'm down to my fifth or sixth best.
Way back when I was in elementary school, we had one of those little art projects where you lie down on two big pieces of brown paper and trace out an outline of yourself, get up and cut out the outline, stuff, staple and decorate to create a life sized doll.
Well, flash forward to parent teacher night, on the way home from school I'm walking across someone's lawn at dusk a fair distance ahead of my parents. I step on one of those little metal grates and the whole thing pivots, throwing me forward. When I looked back over my shoulder, there is what looks to be a five foot tower of sparks and flame coming out of the ground. I don't know if I teleported or had an adrenaline induced fugue, but suddenly I'm standing about 30 feet away looking back at the sputtering flames, listening to my parents scream. From their perspective it looked like I was swallowed by the bowels of hell. It turns out that the grating was covering some kind of voltage line (220?), which shorted spectacularly when the cover hit it. We go to the nearest house and call the police to get them to fence it off so no one else falls in.
By the time the cop gets there it's full dark, and he comes out of the car shining a flashlight. At the very edge of the beam, he sees the brown paper doll. His face totally shuts down into an emotionless mask as he says "Is that the body?"
posted by BrotherCaine at 3:56 PM on March 31, 2008 [4 favorites]
Way back when I was in elementary school, we had one of those little art projects where you lie down on two big pieces of brown paper and trace out an outline of yourself, get up and cut out the outline, stuff, staple and decorate to create a life sized doll.
Well, flash forward to parent teacher night, on the way home from school I'm walking across someone's lawn at dusk a fair distance ahead of my parents. I step on one of those little metal grates and the whole thing pivots, throwing me forward. When I looked back over my shoulder, there is what looks to be a five foot tower of sparks and flame coming out of the ground. I don't know if I teleported or had an adrenaline induced fugue, but suddenly I'm standing about 30 feet away looking back at the sputtering flames, listening to my parents scream. From their perspective it looked like I was swallowed by the bowels of hell. It turns out that the grating was covering some kind of voltage line (220?), which shorted spectacularly when the cover hit it. We go to the nearest house and call the police to get them to fence it off so no one else falls in.
By the time the cop gets there it's full dark, and he comes out of the car shining a flashlight. At the very edge of the beam, he sees the brown paper doll. His face totally shuts down into an emotionless mask as he says "Is that the body?"
posted by BrotherCaine at 3:56 PM on March 31, 2008 [4 favorites]
I post here in this thread in hopes that something interesting happens to me somewhere in the near future. I don't have any great stories yet. :/
posted by flatluigi at 4:00 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by flatluigi at 4:00 PM on March 31, 2008
I have no idea why I got that page or from whom or what but I'm convinced that if I hadn't, I would not be alive to write this today.
HappyHippo, was that call from Tony Todd?
posted by JDC8 at 4:26 PM on March 31, 2008
HappyHippo, was that call from Tony Todd?
posted by JDC8 at 4:26 PM on March 31, 2008
I don't have many great stories of my own (which doesn't stop me from telling them), but I'll pass along my sister's best "I met a celebrity" story:
She was at the Warped Tour in London, Ontario, several years back, and got trapped in the middle of a mosh pit during (I think) Blink 182's set. She got knocked down and stomped on, and she separated her shoulder. A few bystanders helped her over to some security guards, and she was led to a tour bus. A doctor was summoned, and he popped her shoulder back into place. This hurt so much she puked all over herself. Then they took her outside the bus and gave her a chair in the shade and a tank of oxygen to huff on. So there she is, tear-stained and puke splattered, sitting in this chair and sucking on this oxygen mask when none other than Ice-T walks by. He sees her sitting there, flashes her a "peace" sign and says..."Word."
posted by The Card Cheat at 5:04 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
She was at the Warped Tour in London, Ontario, several years back, and got trapped in the middle of a mosh pit during (I think) Blink 182's set. She got knocked down and stomped on, and she separated her shoulder. A few bystanders helped her over to some security guards, and she was led to a tour bus. A doctor was summoned, and he popped her shoulder back into place. This hurt so much she puked all over herself. Then they took her outside the bus and gave her a chair in the shade and a tank of oxygen to huff on. So there she is, tear-stained and puke splattered, sitting in this chair and sucking on this oxygen mask when none other than Ice-T walks by. He sees her sitting there, flashes her a "peace" sign and says..."Word."
posted by The Card Cheat at 5:04 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
I guess, now that I think about it, my best story might be the time I went to my one and only high school dance; the very first one in grade nine. I was nerdy and shy and scared shitless and spent most of the night glued to the wall, but at one point, during a ballad when they'd turned down the lights a bit, a girl came up out of nowhere and asked me to dance. To say I was astonished would be understating it, but of course I said yes. So we're slow dancing at arm's length and my hands are sweating and my heart is beating out of control, but I'm dancing! With a girl! And then she starts telling me that she'd noticed me in class, and I seem like a nice guy, and maybe we should hang out sometime. Of course this sends me over the moon, but then I realize...I have no idea who this girl is. And it's too dark for me to make her out clearly. And I can't think of a suave way to say "Wait a minute, who are you?" when she clearly knows who I am. And then the song ends, and she says "Well, see you around" and walks off...and to this day I have no idea who that girl was.
posted by The Card Cheat at 5:15 PM on March 31, 2008 [4 favorites]
posted by The Card Cheat at 5:15 PM on March 31, 2008 [4 favorites]
Ok, I just love that I click on a Ron Jeremy link, and the first thing I notice is "loading www.cbc.ca" -- CBC... WTF?? And then of course the cute claymation intro and outro to boot.
Ron was a bit stiff telling it, though. (yeah, so sue me)
posted by Durn Bronzefist at 5:41 PM on March 31, 2008
Ron was a bit stiff telling it, though. (yeah, so sue me)
posted by Durn Bronzefist at 5:41 PM on March 31, 2008
It was my best friends bachelor party, we're staying at the Hard Rock Hotel in Vegas. After a hard night of partying its 6AM or so, there are four guys in a room, sleeping. I hear a noise, wake up, see a woman, who could only be described as a hooker in our room. She notices I see her and starts with the 'Hey Baby, want to have some fun' No, I do not--but somehow in my haze I realize this is the perfect time for a legendary practical joke.
I send her over to my friend, who is still asleep. This is a room full of straight men, and she proceeds to start rubbing friend's balls. He of course wakes up, the look on his face was somewhere between astonishment, rage, and the sheer terror of thinking one of us had made a move on him. I cant think of a worse way to wake up after a night out.
We were sobered up a bit when we learned the hotel door didn't latch completely, and that this hooker wasn't sent by a friend in another hotel. She was there to rob us. Thankfully, nothing was lost.
posted by vaportrail at 6:19 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
I send her over to my friend, who is still asleep. This is a room full of straight men, and she proceeds to start rubbing friend's balls. He of course wakes up, the look on his face was somewhere between astonishment, rage, and the sheer terror of thinking one of us had made a move on him. I cant think of a worse way to wake up after a night out.
We were sobered up a bit when we learned the hotel door didn't latch completely, and that this hooker wasn't sent by a friend in another hotel. She was there to rob us. Thankfully, nothing was lost.
posted by vaportrail at 6:19 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
HappyHippo, was that call from Tony Todd?
By sheer coincidence, I happened to see Tony Todd on Saturday. He had ducked out into the hallway, and then tried to reenter the room using the same door by which he had exited, only to find it locked, along with all the other doors nearby. I pointed towards the main entrance and said, "I think you have to go that way, Tony."
Thrilling, eh?
posted by Faint of Butt at 6:52 PM on March 31, 2008
By sheer coincidence, I happened to see Tony Todd on Saturday. He had ducked out into the hallway, and then tried to reenter the room using the same door by which he had exited, only to find it locked, along with all the other doors nearby. I pointed towards the main entrance and said, "I think you have to go that way, Tony."
Thrilling, eh?
posted by Faint of Butt at 6:52 PM on March 31, 2008
... and she says "Well, see you around" and walks off...and to this day I have no idea who that girl was.
"Be careful. No one is who they claim to be."
posted by swell at 8:01 PM on March 31, 2008
"Be careful. No one is who they claim to be."
posted by swell at 8:01 PM on March 31, 2008
I have already told my best story ever on Metafilter. Warning - sappy story. We're still married 15 years later.
posted by bradth27 at 8:05 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by bradth27 at 8:05 PM on March 31, 2008
Great idea! Nice post.
If "best" means "piling one embarrassment on top of another" then here is my best. (Suitable for Pathetic Geek Stories.)
I was a short, skinny, long-haired, white boy when I was a freshman in high school in Detroit. The school was about 98% black, and I felt conspicuous, even though I lived in that neighborhood my whole life. One day at lunch, I went through the line and paid for my meal, and walked away, looking for a place to sit. But, I had forgotten my change. The cashier started yelling for me, but only seeing me from the back yelled "Miss!!! Oh, Miss!!!! You forgot your change!" All eyes were on me now, and I had to decide whether to get my change or pretend to not hear her, because I was not a "miss." I couldn't decide which would be least pathetic. Finally, someone corrected her that I was "a boy" and she started yelling, "Young man!!! Your change!!!" I slunk back and got my change, totally red-faced as every eye watched me. I just wanted to get away as soon as I could. But it would not be so easy.
I particularly noticed a big, football-player dude sitting on the end of a table near the cashier. He was staring in disbelief at my every pathetic geeky whiteboy move. I was so flustered that when the cashier gave me my change, I dropped a dime and it rolled across the floor. Now I'm walking around with my tray in my hands, looking for the dime, with every eye on me. I just wanted to leave, but I thought it would look more pathetic to leave without finding my dime. But I couldn't see it anywhere. So, to extricate myself, I bent down and pretended to find it, and mimed putting it in my pocket. As I started walking away, the football-player dude said, loudly, "Yo, man!" I looked at him as he continued, "It's right there!" as he pointed to the coin near his feet. Everyone laughed, but he just stared at me. I thanked him and picked up the dime, pathetically mumbling something like, "Oh that must have been another one I found before..." as I slunk away the farthest corner table I could find.
Welcome to high school!
posted by Fuzzy Skinner at 8:38 PM on March 31, 2008
If "best" means "piling one embarrassment on top of another" then here is my best. (Suitable for Pathetic Geek Stories.)
I was a short, skinny, long-haired, white boy when I was a freshman in high school in Detroit. The school was about 98% black, and I felt conspicuous, even though I lived in that neighborhood my whole life. One day at lunch, I went through the line and paid for my meal, and walked away, looking for a place to sit. But, I had forgotten my change. The cashier started yelling for me, but only seeing me from the back yelled "Miss!!! Oh, Miss!!!! You forgot your change!" All eyes were on me now, and I had to decide whether to get my change or pretend to not hear her, because I was not a "miss." I couldn't decide which would be least pathetic. Finally, someone corrected her that I was "a boy" and she started yelling, "Young man!!! Your change!!!" I slunk back and got my change, totally red-faced as every eye watched me. I just wanted to get away as soon as I could. But it would not be so easy.
I particularly noticed a big, football-player dude sitting on the end of a table near the cashier. He was staring in disbelief at my every pathetic geeky whiteboy move. I was so flustered that when the cashier gave me my change, I dropped a dime and it rolled across the floor. Now I'm walking around with my tray in my hands, looking for the dime, with every eye on me. I just wanted to leave, but I thought it would look more pathetic to leave without finding my dime. But I couldn't see it anywhere. So, to extricate myself, I bent down and pretended to find it, and mimed putting it in my pocket. As I started walking away, the football-player dude said, loudly, "Yo, man!" I looked at him as he continued, "It's right there!" as he pointed to the coin near his feet. Everyone laughed, but he just stared at me. I thanked him and picked up the dime, pathetically mumbling something like, "Oh that must have been another one I found before..." as I slunk away the farthest corner table I could find.
Welcome to high school!
posted by Fuzzy Skinner at 8:38 PM on March 31, 2008
Fuzzy Skinner, your story reminds me of a pathetic one from my own high school days.
Until age 14, I was a pretty stupid kid because I hated school and learning and most of my education came from my mother, her friends, and her boyfriends. I was raised by ignorant people. Nice, but ignorant. I lived all over the city, mostly in slums and gov't housing, including Regent Park in the mid-70s. My mother and her friends thought nothing of using racial slurs around the house. When I was about 10 I asked my mother what a Jew was as she and her friends had been disparaging them. She said, "It just means a cheap person." "Oh," I thought.
Cut to a few years later and my mother manages to land a man way out of her league and all of a sudden I'm living in a not-so-bad part of town and I'm sent to a new junior high school for grade nine, joining halfway thru the year. (By the time I hit grade 10, I'd been in 13 schools, that's how much my mom moved around.) I'm pretty good at making friends, what with being the constant new guy.
One day a line up of us kids are in the hall waiting for a tardy teacher and I pull a pack of gum out of my pocket and pop a piece in my mouth. This kid (let's call him Rob, because that was his name) comes up to me and says, "D., can I have a piece?" I really don't like Rob so I decide that instead of just handing him a piece, I'm going to make him work for it. I toss it over my shoulder. It's wrapped in paper and lands on the floor as I say, "Scrambles". Rob picks it up, opens it, and pops it in my mouth.
I say, "What are you, Rob? A Jew?" thinking that I'm just calling him a cheapskate. He says, "Yeah. I am, what of it?" and gets in my face... as does every single other guy in line but one. I suddenly realize that jew doesn't quite mean what my mom told me it did.
Turns out the school I'd transfered into was 94% Jewish.
I got the crap beat out of me every day 'til the end of the year. Punched, kicked, stuffed into garbage cans, you name it.
It was an important day in my youth, practically dividing my life into a before and after. I instantly became an autodidactic, reading every fucking book I could get my hands on to learn what was what and never, ever trusting my mom or her friends again on anything.
Last year, I told my mother that story for the first time. I wish I'd kept it to myself. She balled her eyes out.
posted by dobbs at 9:39 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
Until age 14, I was a pretty stupid kid because I hated school and learning and most of my education came from my mother, her friends, and her boyfriends. I was raised by ignorant people. Nice, but ignorant. I lived all over the city, mostly in slums and gov't housing, including Regent Park in the mid-70s. My mother and her friends thought nothing of using racial slurs around the house. When I was about 10 I asked my mother what a Jew was as she and her friends had been disparaging them. She said, "It just means a cheap person." "Oh," I thought.
Cut to a few years later and my mother manages to land a man way out of her league and all of a sudden I'm living in a not-so-bad part of town and I'm sent to a new junior high school for grade nine, joining halfway thru the year. (By the time I hit grade 10, I'd been in 13 schools, that's how much my mom moved around.) I'm pretty good at making friends, what with being the constant new guy.
One day a line up of us kids are in the hall waiting for a tardy teacher and I pull a pack of gum out of my pocket and pop a piece in my mouth. This kid (let's call him Rob, because that was his name) comes up to me and says, "D., can I have a piece?" I really don't like Rob so I decide that instead of just handing him a piece, I'm going to make him work for it. I toss it over my shoulder. It's wrapped in paper and lands on the floor as I say, "Scrambles". Rob picks it up, opens it, and pops it in my mouth.
I say, "What are you, Rob? A Jew?" thinking that I'm just calling him a cheapskate. He says, "Yeah. I am, what of it?" and gets in my face... as does every single other guy in line but one. I suddenly realize that jew doesn't quite mean what my mom told me it did.
Turns out the school I'd transfered into was 94% Jewish.
I got the crap beat out of me every day 'til the end of the year. Punched, kicked, stuffed into garbage cans, you name it.
It was an important day in my youth, practically dividing my life into a before and after. I instantly became an autodidactic, reading every fucking book I could get my hands on to learn what was what and never, ever trusting my mom or her friends again on anything.
Last year, I told my mother that story for the first time. I wish I'd kept it to myself. She balled her eyes out.
posted by dobbs at 9:39 PM on March 31, 2008 [1 favorite]
OUCH Dobbs! At least I survived with only psychic damage. :)
posted by Fuzzy Skinner at 10:01 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by Fuzzy Skinner at 10:01 PM on March 31, 2008
This thread was a nice way to end the day, and happyhippo should report to Section Alpha at the Ad Hoc Psyops Think Tank post haste. Or later today. Whatever is easier.
posted by vrakatar at 10:21 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by vrakatar at 10:21 PM on March 31, 2008
Balled her eyes out, what like the song borderline? Or do you mean bawled?
posted by BrotherCaine at 10:38 PM on March 31, 2008
posted by BrotherCaine at 10:38 PM on March 31, 2008
As part of my sideshow act, I used to put condoms in my nose and make them come out of my mouth, then reverse the process by putting them in my mouth and making them come out my nose. Then put them on my head and inflate them.
After a performance in Texas during Lollapalooza 1992, Ministry's road manager Marky Ray grabbed me and said someone wanted to meet me. I was ushered aside to meet Billy Gibbons. Billy asked me for a condom, evidently having seen my act. I produced one for him, and he proceeded to perform the illusion of putting it in his ear and making it come out his mouth! Upstaged by Billy Gibbons!
Later on in 1994 ZZ Top attended our show when we performed in Sweden. They were in Sweden to promote their album Antenna. They had enough time to come backstage and talk with us for a while. I showed Dusty a cigarette lighter case that I had bought in Dallas that featured a montage image of David Koresh in front of a burning Waco compound. Dusty wanted that lighter case bad, but I wouldn't give it to him. Billy Gibbons was quite knowledgeable about American sideshow history, especially with reference to Texas. A very smart guy, too.
Realizing that I might never run into Billy Gibbons again, I asked him in as dry a tone as I could:
"So what's that Pearl Necklace song all about?"
General guffaws ensued...
posted by Tube at 10:58 PM on March 31, 2008
After a performance in Texas during Lollapalooza 1992, Ministry's road manager Marky Ray grabbed me and said someone wanted to meet me. I was ushered aside to meet Billy Gibbons. Billy asked me for a condom, evidently having seen my act. I produced one for him, and he proceeded to perform the illusion of putting it in his ear and making it come out his mouth! Upstaged by Billy Gibbons!
Later on in 1994 ZZ Top attended our show when we performed in Sweden. They were in Sweden to promote their album Antenna. They had enough time to come backstage and talk with us for a while. I showed Dusty a cigarette lighter case that I had bought in Dallas that featured a montage image of David Koresh in front of a burning Waco compound. Dusty wanted that lighter case bad, but I wouldn't give it to him. Billy Gibbons was quite knowledgeable about American sideshow history, especially with reference to Texas. A very smart guy, too.
Realizing that I might never run into Billy Gibbons again, I asked him in as dry a tone as I could:
"So what's that Pearl Necklace song all about?"
General guffaws ensued...
posted by Tube at 10:58 PM on March 31, 2008
I don't know who Grant Lawrence is but his story is pretty darn fantastic. Heavy on the schadenfreude admittedly, but he also tells it really well. Not for germaphobes or people who have had unfortunate encounters with airplane toilets.
I have to say that it's not particularly surprising that it's the actors and showpeople who have to talk as part of their schtick who really come across the best - their pacing's good, they work the audience well, and it helps that the stories themselves are pretty fun. Tony Robbins's delivery is spot-on. On the other hand, MIA's anecdote is a stark example of how poor delivery can kill a story.
I guess the choice of story may be a little telling as well. Wyclef Jean's story of getting back at the girl who jilted him for prom was surprising to me. No doubt that she hurt him but isn't living well supposed to be the best revenge and not rubbing others' noses in your success?
posted by ooga_booga at 11:14 PM on March 31, 2008
I have to say that it's not particularly surprising that it's the actors and showpeople who have to talk as part of their schtick who really come across the best - their pacing's good, they work the audience well, and it helps that the stories themselves are pretty fun. Tony Robbins's delivery is spot-on. On the other hand, MIA's anecdote is a stark example of how poor delivery can kill a story.
I guess the choice of story may be a little telling as well. Wyclef Jean's story of getting back at the girl who jilted him for prom was surprising to me. No doubt that she hurt him but isn't living well supposed to be the best revenge and not rubbing others' noses in your success?
posted by ooga_booga at 11:14 PM on March 31, 2008
No, no, no. The best story EVER is the one where Henry Rollins is telling a story about some fan who wrote him a letter about being an ambulance worker/falling in love with a naked, dead girl he tried to save. Rollins is torn -- WHAT SHOULD HE DO? How should he respond to this guy? OH MY GOD!
Then, backstage at a show, Rollins tells Tom Waits about it. And Tom Waits says: no, no, no. You responded all wrong. What you should have said is "Forget her! She'll do the same thing every time! She did it to me!"
Rollins imitating Waits is worth it alone.
posted by bitter-girl.com at 9:23 AM on April 1, 2008
Then, backstage at a show, Rollins tells Tom Waits about it. And Tom Waits says: no, no, no. You responded all wrong. What you should have said is "Forget her! She'll do the same thing every time! She did it to me!"
Rollins imitating Waits is worth it alone.
posted by bitter-girl.com at 9:23 AM on April 1, 2008
Strange how when asked for the “best story” I get muddied when thinking of my own, but others’ come out clear as a bell.
My favorite celeb story is by Don Rickles. As the story goes Don was just starting out in show business but he had worked some of the same clubs as the rat pack. He had a group of friends in town and wanted to impress them.
He knew Frank Sinatra only very casually but asked him to come over to his table. Frank gave a non-committal sort of answer so Rickles begged and pleaded saying “You have to come over, please, it’s so important” and finally Sinatra relented and took pity on the guy and promised he’d come over and talk to them. So Rickles leaves and sits down.
A few minutes go by and Sinatra gets a chance to stop by the table. From Sinatra’s perspective (which is fun to hear along side of Rickles’ story) he’s only going to stay for a few minutes purely out of pity.
So Sinatra comes over to Rickles and calls him by name and says hello being very magnanimous and Rickles stands up and says “Frank, what the hell’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I’m with people?”
Rickles tells that story in one of his specials (Mr. Warmth or some such). I can’t seem to find a video of it.
posted by Smedleyman at 9:47 AM on April 1, 2008
My favorite celeb story is by Don Rickles. As the story goes Don was just starting out in show business but he had worked some of the same clubs as the rat pack. He had a group of friends in town and wanted to impress them.
He knew Frank Sinatra only very casually but asked him to come over to his table. Frank gave a non-committal sort of answer so Rickles begged and pleaded saying “You have to come over, please, it’s so important” and finally Sinatra relented and took pity on the guy and promised he’d come over and talk to them. So Rickles leaves and sits down.
A few minutes go by and Sinatra gets a chance to stop by the table. From Sinatra’s perspective (which is fun to hear along side of Rickles’ story) he’s only going to stay for a few minutes purely out of pity.
So Sinatra comes over to Rickles and calls him by name and says hello being very magnanimous and Rickles stands up and says “Frank, what the hell’s the matter with you? Can’t you see I’m with people?”
Rickles tells that story in one of his specials (Mr. Warmth or some such). I can’t seem to find a video of it.
posted by Smedleyman at 9:47 AM on April 1, 2008
Worst... Titles.... Evaaaarrr!
posted by coach_mcguirk at 10:27 AM on April 1, 2008
posted by coach_mcguirk at 10:27 AM on April 1, 2008
ooga_booga: Grant Lawrence is a DJ on CBC Radio 3. He can be a pretty funny guy, and most of his stories are self-effacing or embarrassing in some way.
posted by sauril at 10:35 AM on April 1, 2008
posted by sauril at 10:35 AM on April 1, 2008
I have lots of stories, so its hard to say which is the best. The time I snuck a python onto a transcontinental flight might be up there. Anyway I tell the ones I can remember best on my blog, from time to time.
I do have one that is a personal favorite to me, however, which I'll share for old time's sake.
I was about a year out of college and working in buyers-training-program for Kaufmannn's, which was then a department store chain in PA-OH-NY, part of the greater May Co. Department stores. I had just received my first promotion - I was no longer the assistant buyer (AB) in lowly men's sportcoats/dress slacks/rainwear. I was now the AB in the much more lucrative and higher volume men's knits and sweaters office.
The buyer for that office was a certifiably insane woman with no connection to reality on this planet, except that she could run a buying office sufficiently well, somehow. When my boss in the sportcoats office found out I was going to be moving to her office, he spent my last week randomly bursting into song in the middle of the workday - my future boss-of-horror's name was Roxanne. You can guess what song he was singing.
Well, I go to work for Roxanne, and I find out why someone of her space-cadettery has lasted as long as she has. She's finangled a Buyer-In-Training, the position between AB and actual Buyer - someone who's about ready to be a buyer, but they don't have an open position for yet. Roxanne had the canny knack of making the BIT and myself, the AB, do all of her work for her. I had way more thrown at me than I could handle, and Adam, despite being the genuinely nice and funny guy that he was, couldn't help me because he was busy doing most of the rest of her job that I couldn't do. She'd show up and disappear at odd hours and very often we never saw her at all. She'd often ask us weird questions like "Why do you think my husband is growing all these strange plants in our basement, of all places?" I am not joking.
When we did see her is when we were due to meet with management - our weekly status meetings with our Divisional Merchandise Manager, special advertising meetings or business updates with our VP, things like that. Roxanne handled these brilliantly as well - anything that was going right with the business was her fault. Any time there was a problem she would turn to us, and repeat the same question that upper management had just posed to her about a given deficiency with the business, implying deftly that we were fuck-ups.
Well, we had just gotten out of a particularly prickly meeting with our DMM one day, where Roxy had pulled another one of her blame jobs, and this was one we had seen coming a mile a way, so we were actually pissed in advance about this one, and no less pissed when we left, the subjects of much berating for failures that were indeed ours, but mainly our loon-of-a-boss' fault.
Our offices were situated in the main, and original, Kaufmann's store in downtown Pittsburgh. If you've ever been there, you'll know that it's traversed via escalator, like many a department store is even to this day. There's one unique part of the store, between the 2nd and 3rd floors, where two escalators, a down and an up, are situated right next to each other, on the same plane, unlike the rest of the store, where they are at opposites, and you only see the people going the other direction for a brief second in the middle. As we stepped onto the down escalator, the genial older buyer for Men's Suits steps onto the up escalator, and eyes us. I'm standing in front of Roxanne, and Adam is standing behind her. I look at Rick, the suits buyer, and he must have noted the sour face, because he gave us a kind of comical look that said "What's up? oh that's right you work for Roxanne!"
To this, I instinctively responded by raising a mock finger-gun to the bottom of my chin, and pulling the thumb trigger, telling Rick exactly how I felt, while keeping my back turned to Roxanne so that she couldn't see.
Rick immediately doubles over, literally, in howling laughter. He loses is footing and tumbles down the up escalator. Seeing someone tumble down an up escalator can sometimes be a painfully long experience, but fortunately Rick was near enough to the bottom that he was able to steady himself eventually. He was OK save a sprained wrist and a ruined dress shirt.
Of course I think I know why Rick busted up laughing, and while Adam isn't saying much of anything either, Roxanne is going ape-shit trying to get Rick to explain what happened, but Rick was lips zipped on it, he wouldn't tell her a thing, which made her even more crazy - she's screaming about how he's not telling her something and accusing Adam and I of having done something, but she couldn't figure out what it was.
At the same time, I'm starting to wonder how my little stunt made Rick laugh so hard. But later that afternoon, when Roxanne was gone for the day, he called Adam and I both to his office, where he explained what neither of us could have known.
Rick said that when he gave us that look, my gun to the chin was simultaneous with Adam's gun raised to temple, which was so uniquely timed as to look almost-orchestrated ahead-of-time, but each of us had sufficient looks of disgust on our face to indicate that it was not at all planned. Roxanne never saw Adam's gun either.
A few months later the company announced it was consolidating our branch into a sister division in Boston. Adam moved to MSP to work for Marshall Fields. I went to NYC to work for Federated Department Stores. Neither of us ever saw Roxanne again, but the story gets told over beers whenever we run into Rick, or anyone else from that time.
posted by allkindsoftime at 4:06 AM on April 7, 2008 [1 favorite]
I do have one that is a personal favorite to me, however, which I'll share for old time's sake.
I was about a year out of college and working in buyers-training-program for Kaufmannn's, which was then a department store chain in PA-OH-NY, part of the greater May Co. Department stores. I had just received my first promotion - I was no longer the assistant buyer (AB) in lowly men's sportcoats/dress slacks/rainwear. I was now the AB in the much more lucrative and higher volume men's knits and sweaters office.
The buyer for that office was a certifiably insane woman with no connection to reality on this planet, except that she could run a buying office sufficiently well, somehow. When my boss in the sportcoats office found out I was going to be moving to her office, he spent my last week randomly bursting into song in the middle of the workday - my future boss-of-horror's name was Roxanne. You can guess what song he was singing.
Well, I go to work for Roxanne, and I find out why someone of her space-cadettery has lasted as long as she has. She's finangled a Buyer-In-Training, the position between AB and actual Buyer - someone who's about ready to be a buyer, but they don't have an open position for yet. Roxanne had the canny knack of making the BIT and myself, the AB, do all of her work for her. I had way more thrown at me than I could handle, and Adam, despite being the genuinely nice and funny guy that he was, couldn't help me because he was busy doing most of the rest of her job that I couldn't do. She'd show up and disappear at odd hours and very often we never saw her at all. She'd often ask us weird questions like "Why do you think my husband is growing all these strange plants in our basement, of all places?" I am not joking.
When we did see her is when we were due to meet with management - our weekly status meetings with our Divisional Merchandise Manager, special advertising meetings or business updates with our VP, things like that. Roxanne handled these brilliantly as well - anything that was going right with the business was her fault. Any time there was a problem she would turn to us, and repeat the same question that upper management had just posed to her about a given deficiency with the business, implying deftly that we were fuck-ups.
Well, we had just gotten out of a particularly prickly meeting with our DMM one day, where Roxy had pulled another one of her blame jobs, and this was one we had seen coming a mile a way, so we were actually pissed in advance about this one, and no less pissed when we left, the subjects of much berating for failures that were indeed ours, but mainly our loon-of-a-boss' fault.
Our offices were situated in the main, and original, Kaufmann's store in downtown Pittsburgh. If you've ever been there, you'll know that it's traversed via escalator, like many a department store is even to this day. There's one unique part of the store, between the 2nd and 3rd floors, where two escalators, a down and an up, are situated right next to each other, on the same plane, unlike the rest of the store, where they are at opposites, and you only see the people going the other direction for a brief second in the middle. As we stepped onto the down escalator, the genial older buyer for Men's Suits steps onto the up escalator, and eyes us. I'm standing in front of Roxanne, and Adam is standing behind her. I look at Rick, the suits buyer, and he must have noted the sour face, because he gave us a kind of comical look that said "What's up? oh that's right you work for Roxanne!"
To this, I instinctively responded by raising a mock finger-gun to the bottom of my chin, and pulling the thumb trigger, telling Rick exactly how I felt, while keeping my back turned to Roxanne so that she couldn't see.
Rick immediately doubles over, literally, in howling laughter. He loses is footing and tumbles down the up escalator. Seeing someone tumble down an up escalator can sometimes be a painfully long experience, but fortunately Rick was near enough to the bottom that he was able to steady himself eventually. He was OK save a sprained wrist and a ruined dress shirt.
Of course I think I know why Rick busted up laughing, and while Adam isn't saying much of anything either, Roxanne is going ape-shit trying to get Rick to explain what happened, but Rick was lips zipped on it, he wouldn't tell her a thing, which made her even more crazy - she's screaming about how he's not telling her something and accusing Adam and I of having done something, but she couldn't figure out what it was.
At the same time, I'm starting to wonder how my little stunt made Rick laugh so hard. But later that afternoon, when Roxanne was gone for the day, he called Adam and I both to his office, where he explained what neither of us could have known.
Rick said that when he gave us that look, my gun to the chin was simultaneous with Adam's gun raised to temple, which was so uniquely timed as to look almost-orchestrated ahead-of-time, but each of us had sufficient looks of disgust on our face to indicate that it was not at all planned. Roxanne never saw Adam's gun either.
A few months later the company announced it was consolidating our branch into a sister division in Boston. Adam moved to MSP to work for Marshall Fields. I went to NYC to work for Federated Department Stores. Neither of us ever saw Roxanne again, but the story gets told over beers whenever we run into Rick, or anyone else from that time.
posted by allkindsoftime at 4:06 AM on April 7, 2008 [1 favorite]
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posted by booticon at 8:18 AM on March 31, 2008