sharkmx62
11-12-2009, 06:01 AM
Before you read this id like to point out a few things. The remainder of my storytimes, will for the most part, be about blatant disregard for acceptable alcohol usage. Their will be tales of drunk driving which I condone in no way what-so-ever. It is not smart to do and all of my friends, including myself, have had problems occur because of it, so it is not something I would suggest
The Night We Should Have Went To Jail
This story starts out in a little German restaurant in Plano off 15th street. Brian, Sam, Milly, and myself decided to try these Applekorn shots that were crazy delicious. After a few shots we were feeling pretty good, having a grand old time, and being asked to leave. Being the cooperative people we are, we left immediately and headed across the street to the Fillmore Pub. This was one of the few times Milly and I were the most sober, Brian and Sam quickly made a bet to see who could get a number the fastest. After Brian spots the single hottest chick in the bar (who I quickly recognized as a cosmotolegist, because they all look the same) and gets turned down practically immediately, he turns to his other ace in the sleeve, loud ass monkey noises and fake orgasm sounds. Sam plays it a little more cool and finds a middle-age bar-whore. Sam picks her up, carries her to our table, and sets her down. Not many seats available so she sits on my lap. What happens next im still confused about to this day, she says "Oh my lord youre hard as hell". What is so confusing is, this chick is not my type in any way, and I am in no way hard. Maybe it was my cell-phone?
So after Sam picks this lady up and gets her number, we figure game over. Head outside, hop in the car, and determine that since Sam drove us there he should drive home. This is a terrible idea. Sam apparently has years of racecar driver pent up ready to be released at this exact moment of intoxication. We takeoff down 15th headed East, next thing I know we are completely turned around faced back West. I at this point realize Sam is doing 180s... completely intoxicated.. on 15th street... For those unfamiliar with Plano, Fillmore on 15th is about a block away from the police station. A few more 180s and we are parked again in the middle of 15th next to a limosine. Sam hops out of his car (which was brand new at the time) to ask the limo driver who is so important. Moments later we are urinating on the street, next to a limosine, car still parked in the street. We get back in the car, put it in drive, takeoff slowly and a cop drives by.
You would think this would be a wake up call, but no, we were on a roll. Sam finds a street that isnt terribly busy and quickly gets up to 100mph. We find an empty parking lot and start doing 360s, burning out, and being complete total retards. After what felt like an eternity we decide its time to leave while were still alive. Sam speeds out of the parking lot, speeding so much that we cross the street accidently. Only problem is we were going somewhere around 80 and the street was on an incline. I had never jumped a car until that exact moment. Sam, still determined to push boundaries decides to go for another 180, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhqZ7-cXU3w admittedly, this was the worst one. We are now 2 mesely blocks from home when Sam takes a hard right and promptly hits the curb. Common sense says call it quits, walk home, do something sane. Drunk sense says ****it, and Sam proceeds to drive home with a clearly popped tire. Now one block from home we see 3 police cars with one car pulled over. Something you need to understand about Milly and I, we have this game of honking at cops whenever we pass them, no matter how bad of timing it is. I lean over and honk a good 5 or 6 times. For some reason the cops do not budge at all.
We are now home, everything should be set, but no, Sam just cant stop. He opens his trunk looking for a spare. What happens next is one of the greatest phone conversations ive ever heard. Its 3AM and Sam is tearing into every GM employee, every ONstar employee, and anyone else who had the unfortunate job of answering the phone. Note this important life lesson, new Gran Prixs do not come with a spare tire, only a fix-a-flat kit. I wake up the next morning, see Sams car is still flat, but surrounding it is some weird white goo. I ask Sam what happened, he then explains that he tried to put fix-a-flat in it. The drunkass actually attempted to put fix-a-flat in his car. Whats the big deal you say? The effing tire was completely off the rim, he had rolled the puppy off, something we had clearly made aware of that night and photographed.
The next day and a good sized auto bill later everything was fixed up and somehow we didnt go to jail. The mechanic working on Sams car asked "Whadya do, run over a horse???"
The Night We Should Have Went To Jail
This story starts out in a little German restaurant in Plano off 15th street. Brian, Sam, Milly, and myself decided to try these Applekorn shots that were crazy delicious. After a few shots we were feeling pretty good, having a grand old time, and being asked to leave. Being the cooperative people we are, we left immediately and headed across the street to the Fillmore Pub. This was one of the few times Milly and I were the most sober, Brian and Sam quickly made a bet to see who could get a number the fastest. After Brian spots the single hottest chick in the bar (who I quickly recognized as a cosmotolegist, because they all look the same) and gets turned down practically immediately, he turns to his other ace in the sleeve, loud ass monkey noises and fake orgasm sounds. Sam plays it a little more cool and finds a middle-age bar-whore. Sam picks her up, carries her to our table, and sets her down. Not many seats available so she sits on my lap. What happens next im still confused about to this day, she says "Oh my lord youre hard as hell". What is so confusing is, this chick is not my type in any way, and I am in no way hard. Maybe it was my cell-phone?
So after Sam picks this lady up and gets her number, we figure game over. Head outside, hop in the car, and determine that since Sam drove us there he should drive home. This is a terrible idea. Sam apparently has years of racecar driver pent up ready to be released at this exact moment of intoxication. We takeoff down 15th headed East, next thing I know we are completely turned around faced back West. I at this point realize Sam is doing 180s... completely intoxicated.. on 15th street... For those unfamiliar with Plano, Fillmore on 15th is about a block away from the police station. A few more 180s and we are parked again in the middle of 15th next to a limosine. Sam hops out of his car (which was brand new at the time) to ask the limo driver who is so important. Moments later we are urinating on the street, next to a limosine, car still parked in the street. We get back in the car, put it in drive, takeoff slowly and a cop drives by.
You would think this would be a wake up call, but no, we were on a roll. Sam finds a street that isnt terribly busy and quickly gets up to 100mph. We find an empty parking lot and start doing 360s, burning out, and being complete total retards. After what felt like an eternity we decide its time to leave while were still alive. Sam speeds out of the parking lot, speeding so much that we cross the street accidently. Only problem is we were going somewhere around 80 and the street was on an incline. I had never jumped a car until that exact moment. Sam, still determined to push boundaries decides to go for another 180, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UhqZ7-cXU3w admittedly, this was the worst one. We are now 2 mesely blocks from home when Sam takes a hard right and promptly hits the curb. Common sense says call it quits, walk home, do something sane. Drunk sense says ****it, and Sam proceeds to drive home with a clearly popped tire. Now one block from home we see 3 police cars with one car pulled over. Something you need to understand about Milly and I, we have this game of honking at cops whenever we pass them, no matter how bad of timing it is. I lean over and honk a good 5 or 6 times. For some reason the cops do not budge at all.
We are now home, everything should be set, but no, Sam just cant stop. He opens his trunk looking for a spare. What happens next is one of the greatest phone conversations ive ever heard. Its 3AM and Sam is tearing into every GM employee, every ONstar employee, and anyone else who had the unfortunate job of answering the phone. Note this important life lesson, new Gran Prixs do not come with a spare tire, only a fix-a-flat kit. I wake up the next morning, see Sams car is still flat, but surrounding it is some weird white goo. I ask Sam what happened, he then explains that he tried to put fix-a-flat in it. The drunkass actually attempted to put fix-a-flat in his car. Whats the big deal you say? The effing tire was completely off the rim, he had rolled the puppy off, something we had clearly made aware of that night and photographed.
The next day and a good sized auto bill later everything was fixed up and somehow we didnt go to jail. The mechanic working on Sams car asked "Whadya do, run over a horse???"