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The Fisher of Stories



Yesterday, about 2 miles from my house, two knucklehead teenagers set a fire that burned 20 acres and, more importantly, almost an entire neighborhood. They were arrested and could be charged with a bunch of stuff, including arson and endangering lives. That got me to thinkin, how many times have I endangered lives? So I decided to do…imageI’ve been thinking for a while, and the first story that pops into my head is the time that I got my first slingshot. Most of you know what a slingshot is, some of you don’t. Here’s a picture.

This is almost the exact model I had.

I got one of these things when I was a young kid, probably in the 5th grade or so. My dad thought it would be a good idea for me to have one, and I’m absolutely certain my mom was horrified. However, my dad won out, and I got a slingshot, along with some nifty “slingshot BBs.” These things were made out of steel, and about the size of a marble. They were for killing things like squirrels, birds, rabbits, etc. Unfortunately, I never got to shoot it at any of those things.
Y’all remember when I blogged about the only accuracy I’ve ever had has been accidental? Well, that trend started with this story. My dad took me out to the back yard, and then he started setting up a target (a coffee can with a bullseye on it) in the yard while I sat on the porch, impatiently fidgeting with my brand new toy. I thought, “Man, I should load this up. That way as soon as he gets done, I can shoot.” So I loaded it up. Then I thought, “Man, I should sight this bad boy in, that way I know what I’m doing.” So I pulled the band back, sighted in the target, and sat there for a second, my father blissfully unaware that his son was pointing a loaded weapon at him. Then, it happened. I slipped. I didn’t even have time to gasp before that steel ball bearing slammed into the can, knocking it from my fathers hands as he was trying to get it set right. Accuracy? Only on accident. That was the last time I shot a slingshot until I bought my own about 3 years later.
There was another occasion I endangered lives, only this time it was with homemade mustard gas. My brothers and I were playing “Keep the other one out of the bedroom.” It was a game where you had a certain amount of time to set up defenses to keep the sibling out of the room they were trying to get in. Creative, eh? Don’t judge us, we made do with what we had. The way our trailer was set up was with two bedrooms on either end, and a long hallway that led back to ours, with the washing machine, dryer and bathroom all situated in that hallway. It was my turn to set up the defense system, and I had just recently watched Home Alone, and I thought, “Man, I should set this up to where he slips and slides all the way down the hallway, then crashes into the door.” So I got started. First, I bleached the floor. It was probably the cleanest that floor ever got. However, it didn’t get it slick enough to be really slippery. I searched and searched, and finally figured out that if I used Windex, it would create a film on the floor that would rival the slipperiest of slides. So I got to spraying. After about 10 minutes, I ran into the living room coughing and crying and about three quarters dead, and that prompted my dad to go check things out. He wasn’t back there 3 seconds and he started choking to death. My whole family had to evacuate the trailer, and that’s the day I learned how to make mustard gas.
My third and final story also involves gassing people, but this time I did it in a different way. When I worked at the jail, they upgraded from a meager, fear inducing facility to a brand new, state of the art fear inducing facility. Of all the changes that took place, one of them was a giant carport where officers could park and bring the freshly arrested or transferred prisoner in for processing. One night, I parked in the carport for giggles. It was night off, and I was up there talking with officers, joking around, all the stuff that you would expect to go on in a jail after midnight. After a while, I noticed that some of my jokes and stories were killing. You know how you get in a joke telling zone and people are about to piss themselves because they are laughing so hard? That was happening. I felt good. Then, a couple of us started to have a headache. Then all of us started complaining of a headache. About that time, someone asked me if my truck was still running. I got to my feet with some help, went in to the carport, and sure enough, my truck was running. Turns out, I had gassed the whole place up with exhaust fumes. I don’t know how much longer it would have taken until we were dead, but I’m sure it wasn’t too long. And that’s how I almost killed several county officers of the peace at one time.
So yeah, those two “juveniles” are idiots, but who among us hasn’t almost killed a few people on accident? You should leave me a comment telling me about yours. Or you can link up with me and tell everyone on your blog!


Did I just use a pop culture reference to describe what has turned into a potential serious situation?

Yes I did.

Some of you read my blog yesterday. Others didn’t. If you didn’t, this one won’t make sense, so go back and read up. Also, read my blogs on time from here on out, then you won’t have homework, doucher.

So I get a Facebook message last night. It reads:

“Obviously you need the part in the bible that says Thou shall not LIE! You need to be careful what you say about others! The rath of GOD is much worse!”

Me being the classy guy I am, I responded.

“That’s all well and good, but do I know you?”

From there it disintegrated into a pish posh of her threatening me with stuff like:

You have know idea who I am or who you’re messing with! Don’t say I didn’t warned you! So I think it’s time you stop it!”

Ok that’s fine keep diggin that hole! Just tryin to help ya! Sorry!”

Now it sounds like you can’t handle someone commenting on what you write about people! Uuuummm! Maybe you should think before you speak! Oh and I told you sorry! Won’t try and help anymore! Just FYI!”

So yeah. That’s how I spent my night. Responding to vague threats from a 33 year old “Christian” mother who drives a vehicle suspiciously like the one that I had the altercation with yesterday. I asked things like, “How deep am I allowed to dig?” and “That’s the best way ever to spell wrath.” And the whole time she wouldn’t admit that is was about the blog. THE WHOLE FREAKING TIME. 

So I did what any self respecting, red-blooded American would do. I threatened her with legal action. 

No dice. She obviously isn’t scared of the long arm of the law.

So here are some scenarios that I’m playing out in my head. 

1. She’s a witch. She’s going to put a curse on me, and that’s what she was warning about. Maybe she’s going to pray down the “rath” of God on me. Either way, I can only hope that she does what that dude in that one Stephen King book did. “Thinnerrrrrrrrrrr…” No diets, FTW!

2. She’s going to try to take out some form of “justice” on my vehicle. I’ll be the first to admit, the prospect of paying for tires or an insurance claim is kind of lame. So maybe I can confuse her. I drive a white Mercury Milan. Matter of fact, IT’S IN YOUR DRIVEWAY! SCRATCH IT! 

3. She’s going to eventually have me killed in my sleep. In the words of Snoop Dogg, “I done seen everything but God anyway.” Naw. Seriously, I don’t want to die. Don’t kill me. I have so much unfinished business left here like…well, um…let’s see…more blogs? OH! Duke basketball! It’s the start of the season! I don’t want to miss it because we’re going to be REALLY good this year. Also there’s that whole adoption thing. Kids and what not. The love. 

So there are my 3 possibilities.

Now for the serious part.

Listen, I know you’re probably reading this right now. So maybe you realize…THAT THERE IS NO SERIOUS PART! This is a HUMOR blog, you ninny, and it will continue to be one. I’m not going to threaten you back, I’m not going to call you ugly and say you can’t read well. Enjoy your time on my blog, and thanks for telling all your friends and family about it so my page gets more hits.

Just try not to give my vehicle quite as many, okay?


Most of you know my drive to work sucks more than a Dyson on cocaine.

Today however, it reached a new point.

Back in this post, I outlined a couple of roads where people like to pull out in front of me on my drive. Usually when this happens I’m running at about 70 MPH, and when they pull out in front of me, I have to lock up my brakes and pray to the Good Lord that I don’t rear end them. It also cuts into my Facebook/Twitter/Text time on the drive to work.


This morning, as I was driving along at about 70 MPH, a lady pulled *almost* into the intersection, and then slammed on her brakes, bringing her just inches from her car jutting out into the roadway. I had already started applying easy brake pressure, but I was able to back off and continue along. This prompted me to be nice, and instead of giving her the finger, I just kind of held both of my hands up in a “What the heck?” kind of gesture.

She copycatted me.

Well, things had clearly escalated. She wanted to act like she had done nothing wrong, so in order to make sure that she KNEW she had messed up, I flipped her off. Now. I’ve been trying to get back in church and straighten my life up a bit in preparation for kids and…you know…eternity and what not, so I’ll be the first to tell you I felt kind of ashamed to be driving by her with my middle finger at full mast. However, it felt pretty satisfying too. “There. She now knows she’s wrong, and she knows never to drive like an idiot again.” Those were my words as I sped happily on down the road, feeling good about my ability to be a teacher of the rules and regulations of the Oklahoma Highway System.

When I passed this lady in the intersection we were about 10 minutes from town. She was also about 10-15 cars back from me on a road that is barely accommodating of 2 cars side by side, much less open for passing.  Folks, I’m here to tell you, this lady overtook 15 freaking cars and caught up to me at the last intersection before I turned to pull into my work.


Oh snap.

Let me set the situation up for you with a little picture.

imageHere’s what went down. I was turning, and as I turned, I gave the lady the “Come here” hand. You know the one. Palm facing you, bringing all 4 fingers down towards you then release and repeat. The one you give when you want to let someone know you’ll fight them, but you’re too lazy to start it.
The reaction I got seemed as though I gave her the “GET OVER HERE!” hand, as seen here:

I CRAP YOU NOT, this lady slammed on her brakes in the EXACT spot as indicated in the picture above, then attempted to take the white arrow route to get back to me. WITH OTHER TRAFFIC BEHIND HER.
I’ll let that sink in.
I am so glad I made it into my parking lot safe and sound. I don’t think I wanted to have to fight this chick. Mostly because as crazy as she was, I’m pretty sure I’d have gotten my butt kicked. Also now I’ve been going out randomly to the parking lot to make sure I still have a nice paint job and my tires haven’t been slashed.
And that’s my drive to work this morning. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Before reading this blog, go here. Read that. I’m serious, skim through it, get the gist, and come back. I’ll wait.

Back? Alright. Well, I’ve had enough of this crap. Halo Killer? Sweet Lord. They are saying that after an injury he played as much as 18 hours a day, and couldn’t distinguish reality from fantasy. In other words, he thought that when he shot his mother and father, they would respawn across the map from him in blue suits and come back with a couple of maulers and vengeance on the brain.
Kill this kid. He’s 17, and I don’t care. Kill him. I’m callin BS on the whole “violent video game” syndrome. He knew what he was doing, and he was pissed off because mommy and daddy cut his gaming time down to size. My mother does this to my brothers at least once a month, and they play for 18 hour stretches occaisonally. Do they load up a gun and shoot her? Absolutely not. Why? Because they aren’t effin retarded. But don’t give me that insanity stuff.
His punishment? 23 years to life. Meaning he’ll get out in 10 or so for “good behavior.” His mother? In the ground. His father? Wounded (but supporting his son in trial) and widowed at the age of 45. Folks, I’m going to say it again. This kid should be executed. Heck, lets do it Halo style. Put a “sticky” on him, and watch the fireworks. He shot them both in the head, then altered the scene to make it look like murder suicide. Is that in Halo? Cause it wasn’t when I played. The only way the scene was altered when I played was to teabag the mess outta whoever I’d just shot. Oh, and I ususally threw a small party, because I didn’t kill people often. This usually resulted in me being shot myself.
“His addiction was so strong, was running rampant in a tired, exhausted young man, that anybody or anything that stood between him playing the video game and not having his way was in peril,” Kersey said of Petric’s state of mind during the killings.
I’ve got some super glue. Does anyone have a grenade? Let’s go get in between that exhausted, poor, emotionally damaged and tired young man and his video game.