Stupid Ass Stories

Stories

The Legend of Sweeney's Bog

	It was late in May of 2003 when Sweeney, Nathan, Lauren, Matt, John, and I decided to take a trip out to the farm. We headed out at about five Friday evening to go grilling and have a good time. The rain had been steadily falling for a week at the time and as we drove out there it continued to moisten the ground. About twenty minutes after our arrival at the farm house, Sweeney convinces us to do a bit of off-roaming, or muddin' as I would effectively call it. We were the first people to visit the farm since the previous fall and the neglected grass had grown to a mind boggling 5 feet tall. As my '95 Wrangler plowed blindly through field upon field mud puddles covered the bright red paint with a brown coat. We hit puddle after puddle as I led Sweeney in his Land Cruiser over the acres of perfect land. We drove past the race, around the barn, and then Nathan and I decided we should give the multi-ton cruiser a workout. Across the dam we went, over a bridge held up by a few measly two-by-fours and small logs. Miraculously, his car managed to make it over the make-shift-bridge so we continued on towards the tractor trail that circled the lake.
	The trail continued to get muddier and muddier the farther we went, but we didn't get discouraged. Finally, we reached a nice, muddy, left turn. My Jeep fishtailed into it but made it through, so we stopped to make sure that Sweeney didn't make the same mistake that we did. But of course, there comes his huge SUV sliding into the mud bank. As we sat there with our jaws open laughing at Patrick's folly, he proceeded to gun the cruiser back and forth until the frame of the car almost sat on the mud. Then we attempted to pull the massive vehicle out of the mud by attaching ropes to my Jeep and having everyone else push, but my V4 engine didn't do much of anything. Our next attempt involved putting wooden boards under the tires of his car, but that almost ended in disaster as the boards began to smoke and almost caught fire.
	At the time it was about 8:30 at night and the sun was falling towards the west, so I broke down and called my father. After insuring that we all felt like complete idiots, he pulled out the brand new tractor and after an hour of work we finally had Sweeney's car out of the mud, little did we know that our adventure wouldn't stop there...
	On the trip back to the old gravel road, we traveled through an open field in which Sweeney's car got stuck yet again. As we attempted to pull it out again, it started to slide into the nearby woods, so at 10:00 we gave up and left the car there for the night with hopes that we would have better luck the next day. Saturday morning, we made the trip out to Bullitt County yet again to try our hand at freeing the imprisoned vehicle but ironically, we somehow managed to lodge the tractor in the exact same place. When we retired from the farm that day there were two vehicles stuck in an open field.
	Four days after the original incident, Monday, we made yet another trip to the bog and attempted to remove the trapped vehicles but only managed to get my uncle's Ford F-150 stuck as well. Through our continued stupidity and reluctance to give up we had managed to loose three vehicles to the mud. In a final attempt to save our cars we waited until Friday of the next week when once again we made the familiar trip to the forsaken spot. But this time proved to remove the curse from the area. Once we turned on the three vehicles we were able to drive all three out of the mud without any assistance. Relieved that we had finally accomplished our goal we set off on the even more daughnting task of cleaning our cars. I labored for five and a half hours the next day to cleanse my Jeep of all evidence of our adventure. Now all that remains of our expeditions is a muddy field, some good memories, and the legend of Sweeney's Bog.

Glenn's Jeep Adventure

It was the Friday night immediately after I got my license and I was the only person that could drive themselves to the party. Upon coming up to Griffin's house, everyone was hanging around outside kicking soccer balls and throwing footballs. As I drive up and put my car in neutral, Anthony, Mike, and Glenn grab onto the roll bars of my '95 Wrangler. Now, before I continue I have to give you an idea of what the setting was like. Griffin lives on a little street that ends in a tight circle, now the most fun thing you can possibly do on that street is gun your car down to the end and fishtail around the culdesac. As they tighten their grips on my car, I get the sly idea to pull a quick one and make them regret ever jumping onto my car and kicking balls at it. So, I proceeded to fishtail around the little circle and in the process threw Glenn off of the spare gasoline holder on the back of my Jeep. This wasn't some sissy fall either, he hit the asphalt and rolled about 5 times across the pavement! As he limped back into my car, cursing me in every possible way, we noticed that his ankle had swelled up to about 3 times its normal size.

Now, when Griffin's mom saw that ankle of his, she just about had a heart attack, and she couldn't believe that he did that by "rolling down the hill while they were playing basketball." Amazingly enough, she didn't catch onto the fact that it was a lie and he hurt himself while we were all pulling stupid ass stunts. But at the party the next night, Glenn informed us that he had to have his ankle drained and that it could barely fit in his shoe! Talk about good times...

Glenn: Biking Extrordinaire

Once again we find ourselves reminiscing about one of the many "Tales of Glenn." This one occurred in the summer of 2002 at Evan's going away party. It was a nasty rainy day out at the farm and the dock had a nice meniscus of water on it (gotta love that word!). We have two ramps on the dock, one from the shore up to the wooden dock and one about three feet tall at the end of the dock pointing into the water. Why the hell would we want a ramp at the end of the dock, well I'll tell you, its for extreme biking! Now, this is an excellent sport to really injure yourself in, you have to ride a little BMX bike without breaks down a grassy, bumpy hill fast enough to make it onto the dock and propel yourself off the last ramp and into the lake. In the process you have to make sure that you don't fall off on your way, hit yourself with the bike in the air or in the water, and hold onto the bike so that it doesn't sink to the bottom of the lake.

Now, back to the story at hand, it had been raining off and on all day and the ground as well as the dock were very wet (and slippery). Glenn, being the daredevil he thinks he is, decides to ride the bike off of the wet ramp...in the rain. This may sound fun, but in the real world that we live in, it was a mistake by every law of physics. Everything started out good as he plowed down the hill on our little bike and rushed up the first ramp onto the dock, but instantly upon contact with the wet dock, the bike lost all traction and started into a flat spin on the dock, throwing Glenn off in the process. As the bike spun off the left side of the dock into the shallow, muddy water, Glenn slid across the right side of the dock on his side, almost plummeting into the mud himself. Needless to say, that was the last extreme bike ride of the party.

The Taylorsville Raid

	Early August of 2003, I got a call about a massive field party out in Taylorsville. So we piled into our cars and were rolling deep to this party. When we arrived, I discovered that the girl throwing the party went to middle school with me, how cool is that? But we parked about half a mile away in a rich neighborhood on the other side of the highway and walked to the secluded field where the party was. Now, its a strange breed of idiots that throw a kegger in a field with two kegs and forget a tap completely, and on top of that, once they finally manage to obtain one, it took five of them to tap both kegs unsuccessfully. These pathetic twits thought that the entire keg was full of foam and started pouring it out on the ground. Needless to say, Billy and Duncan were yelling at them and screaming to pour the foam into their cups because they would drink it regardless.
	After the rest of our friends bailed on the party and about half an hour in, four or five cop cars come down the one gravel road leading to the field and block it off forcing the seventy or so people to rush off into the woods. Duncan, Billy and I made a mad dash back and away from the road, dodging flashlights, thorn bushes, and hopping over multiple barbed-wire fences in the pitch black.
	About ten minutes into our fugitive escape Billy and I lost Duncan in the brush. But sticking with our new, and very drunk, friend Rachael, we headed for the highway, through fields and forest. Over fences and trees, only to find that the 5-0 had dispatched a helicopter to aide in the search for us! How ridiculous is that, a helicopter to help catch runaways from a field party? But anyway, we made it over the barbed-wire with a little trouble and a lot of pain, I was wearing flip-flops of all things, and made it to the highway. On our mile long walk back to our car, we were passed by the Po-po mobiles many a time, without being questioned and we were followed by that damn helicopter spotlight constantly. When we finally made it back to our car, Duncan was there waiting for us and related his mis-adventures with some girls he met, trying to get away from the cops and we headed home. What a night, let me tell you, it was a blast!

The Foaming

	It was early June of 2003 after Bert and Lauren's 5th break up and we were all getting sick of hearing about it, so John, John, Nick, and I took it upon ourselves to voice our opinion of the situation. We stopped up at Meijer's to buy some foam stuff and a camera and set out on our mission. Before we went for the big targets we hit a couple cars in the Meijer parking lot as well as Tom's ugly ass orange car at Steak n' Shake (after she had been a totally worthless waitress and had made us wait half an hour for four shakes).
	Finally we decided it was time so we set out to Lauren's first. It was about 1:00 in the morning and luckily she left her front door open, except for the outer glass door, the perfect target. Our plan was perfect, Cooper was the get-away car and had the engine ready in case of an emergency, John F. and I were the hit-men and foamed the door, backwards so she could read it from the inside. After we finished our artwork, gay john took the pictures and we headed to our next target.
	The second target was Bert's truck. We hit it mercilessly at about 1:30 a.m. But as John and I were putting the finishing touches on our artwork I noticed some headlights coming around the bend, the two of us quickly darted up by Billy's house to hide and wait for the car to pass, which just so happened to be a cop car. After he drove by, we rushed into the car and drove down the street to watch. With all of the lights and the engine off we watched in suspense and the cop backed up to admire our artwork with his flashlight. He then proceeded to knock on Bert's door and explain what had happened. Needless to say we decided that one close call was enough for the night and we headed out, only to find the cop behind us on the street. Quickly we made a few last minute turns and lost him somewhere back in Greymoor-Devondale. The pictures of our artwork can be seen in the Photos section of the site, enjoy them.

Train Tracks

It was about 11:30 at night and Nathan, Billy, Kevin, and I were on our way home from the Bob Dylan concert at Jillian's. We were on LaGrange and turning onto Washburn when Nathan and I looked at each other and simultaneously said, "Train Tracks!!" Now, we have this fascination with the train tracks on Washburn because they conveniently make a ramp on a road that is seldom patrolled by the Po-po. As soon as we turned onto the road I turned back to Billy and Kevin and said, "You're gunna want to buckle up for this one...trust me, hold on!" I floored the Wrangler and shifted up through 5th gear quickly watching the speedometer rise to 65. As we approached the tracks I laid on the brakes a little for fear of hitting them going too fast, but it was pointless, we were still at a hair-raising 65 mph when we went airborne. My red Wangler got a good five feet in the air as Kevin and Billy were in the back scared for their lives. The front wheels smacked the ground and I swerved a little bit but managed to keep the Jeep going straight. Just an instant after landing one of the rare cop cars rolled by going the other direction. After successfully scaring the crap out of everyone in the vehicle we headed home to get some rest before school the next morning. What a night!