Sat, 25 May 2013 19:07:06 -0700 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/ Lussumo Vanilla 1.1.4 & Feed Publisher http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291294#Comment_291294 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291294#Comment_291294 Wed, 20 Apr 2011 13:24:24 -0700 government spy
These tales can encompass pretty much any hysterical story from our pasts, and may include current and former relationship stories, as long as they don't descend into "my fucking ex is a [insert expletive] stories."

My first tale of non-greatness, begins when I was seventeen, within a week of my parents kicking me out of my home. My folks had worked their asses off, and slowly but surely, we ended up moving out of the ghetto and into a very nice sub-division. We moved there in the winter of 1996, and by the summer of 97, I was out on my ass (due to my own teenage irresponsibilities).

I had been dating a girl in the neighborhood for less than a week, and had continued to date her as I slept in my car or on a buddy's couch. One night she wants to throw a party for... I think it was a Miss America pageant. Of course, I wore my lime green leisure suit (because I had recently seen Swingers, and thought it was "money"). Well, my girlfriend at the time was unimpressed with my suit and decided all of the guys needed to be in drag. They dressed my best friend in some hideous dress, but they didn't have one to fit me.

Somehow, I knew, back at my folks' place, there was a dress I could borrow from Mom. So my buddy drove me down the street to my folks' place, and I knocked on the door. No one was home. I tried my key, but they had changed the locks. I had only been gone one week, and that really pissed me off. So, thinking very clearly now, I decided to break in. My bedroom was on the second floor, and several times, I had climbed out my window and sat on the roof to smoke. So I went in the backyard, climbed a tree and got on the roof. Only the bathroom window was open, so I climbed in there.

I ran downstairs, and flipped the porch light on and off, to let Jason know I had made it inside. I ran up to the guest room closet, and found my bounty: my mom's navy blue polka dotted dress. I threw it over my shoulder and headed to the bathroom.

What I didn't know, was as I flipped the front porch light on and off, my parents were pulling up the driveway. Already confused as to why my best friend is sitting in his car in front of the house, and wearing a dress, my parents were surprised to see the lights flick on and off.

They open the front door and yell my name. I'm halfway out the bathroom window, when my wallet chain catches on the window crank. I'm stuck.

Mom comes upstairs, and sees her teenage son, wearing a lime green leisure suit, a chicken-hawk haircut, and the ugliest dress she owns over my shoulder, and I'm climbing out onto the roof.

"Billy, get off the roof, and give me that dress!" my mother yells.

"You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Mom!" I scream back.

I jump off the roof, and hit the ground running. I get in my friend's car, and we burn off.

Years later, we laugh about the story, and I'm closer to my folks than ever. But the one thing my folks still don't believe is that I was stone cold sober. I wasn't drunk, I wasn't high. I was just really, really stupid. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291300#Comment_291300 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291300#Comment_291300 Wed, 20 Apr 2011 13:36:04 -0700 MaC http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291306#Comment_291306 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291306#Comment_291306 Wed, 20 Apr 2011 14:18:27 -0700 RenThing
Overly-caffeinated and sugar-rushing like mad, it was getting later and later and we couldn't fall asleep. If we went downstairs to play video games we'd get yelled at and this was shortly before he got his first PC; nothing to do and we were seriously bored. It was about getting around midnight when my friend asks, as a typical thirteen year-old boy with access to powertools might, "Want to light something on fire with a blowtorch?"

How could I resist?

Our sacrificial object was one of his Yanni CDs (if you ask him today he'll deny ever owning them) but we crept downstairs to his garage. He roots around in his father's tools and pulls out a small tank of propane (like you might use for a camping lantern) and the oldest blow torch nozzle you'd ever seen. It was the kind of nozzle you screw directly onto/into the tank and control the output of the gas by a knob on the side. It was rusted, pitted, and had some alarming holes. I asked him where he got it and he said it used to belong to his grandfather. I said it looked like it.

Now, when it came to actually burn the CD I refused to be anywhere near him because I didn't trust the equipment in the slightest. All manner of insults were lobbed back and forth but in the end he was at one end of the garage and I was at the other, sitting on a stool. I had the naive thought that if the tank exploded I might be safe. Ah, youth.

Anyway, my friend puts the CD on the ground (problem 1), lights the torch (problem 2), kneels down on the ground (problem 3) and starts running the flame over the CD (problem 4). Now, unknown to us (although unsurprisingly) the nozzle had a leak, a small hole right above where it screwed into the tank that directed a small trickle of propane out and over my friend's hand. As he kneels and lowers the torch, the flame curls upward at the end and the motion of drawing the torch back and forth over the CD causes the flame to waver. I don't know if it was the rising heat that did it or his hand very briefly touched the tip of the flame but moments after he starts trying to melt the CD his hand catches fire. This causes him to jump to his feet, lit torch in one hand and the other covered in flames.

I, of course, do the only thing a thirteen year-old best friend would do in that circumstance: fall off the stool, arms wrapped around my sides, pissing myself with laughter as I watch my friend jump around the garage, flapping his arms as he tried to put out the fire.

Thankfully it wasn't that bad, the flames just burned the top layer of skin and all the hair up to his elbows, nothing worse than a sun burn. Once the propane on his arm burns off he turns off the tank, walks over to my prostrate form, and kicks me in the gut. Despite the pain, I can't stop laughing and now I'm making these odd sucking noises as I try to breathe around the pain in my stomach, which just makes me laugh harder. I finally get myself together, stand up, and ask to see his arm to see how bad he's hurt. For some reason the sight of his red, hairless arm set me off again and I got punched repeatedly while I tried to apologize for laughing. His mom came downstairs pissed because we woke her up and she sent us up to his room to sleep.

He still gets pissed that I didn't help put himself out. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291380#Comment_291380 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291380#Comment_291380 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 09:24:25 -0700 RenThing
Well, sort of.

Some people have really great twenty-first birthday stories. They had wild adventures involving driving cross-country to Las Vegas. Or maybe it was just as mundane as hitting a row of bars and clubs and getting trashed on free drinks bought by people they’d never see again and then waking up next to someone they hoped to god they never saw again. Mine is not one of these stories.

A few days before SDCC 2001, I got a call from my friend E. E is a rather interesting character. She's alternatively worked in tech in the Bay Area, has piloted tall ships up and down both coasts, has been in the circus, and, as I learned on the phone call, used to help do special effects and was a part-time roadie for GWAR many, many moons ago. It seemed that GWAR was going to have a booth at SDCC that year and her helper flaked on her at the last moment. She knew I'd been to SDCC before and was wondering if I wanted to go.

Now, I was ok with that mostly. My birthday would fall on the Monday after Comic-Con and I did have some plans for that evening but if she promised to get me back in time to spend some time at a bar with some friends I'd be ok. She promised and sweetened the deal by saying I wouldn't have to pay for my room, badge, or food while I was down there. Reassured by her promises and backed by my charitable spirit (which has since been exorcised), I agreed and she picked me up early Wednesday morning.

On my way down I learned that it wasn't really GWAR so much that was putting on the booth as GWAR-related and we’d be sharing a room with a former member of the band Hunter (aka TechnoDestructo), his girlfriend, and their two-year old son. I also found out that the “former” part of the band was contested; it was sometimes described as “left because of artistic differences” and “kicked out for being an ass”. I also learned that I shouldn’t mention the band as much as possible to avoid Hunter’s “temper”. Either way, I was about to spend a weekend in a dark, baby-diaper scented pit of drama. Whee.

One of the first things that immediately became apparent as a large hole in E’s plan was food. As in mine. As in I generally eat meals a day and I guess E didn't really consider that. So, after Thursday evening (with eleven meals left to go on the trip, eight if I decided to be nice and have a late breakfast/early lunch), E admitted she didn't have that much money and stopped paying for my food. With $60 to my name, the rest of the trip was looking...hungry. Thankfully, I know some people down in San Diego who were also attending SDCC who helped me out so I didn't starve, but I did zero out my bank account.

Now, I will admit before this trip I was pretty much completely ignorant of what GWAR was. I’d heard they were a metal band and that it stood for God What an Awful Racket but this was not actually the case (GWAR is what a comic book monster once shouted in some comic one of the founding members had read as a kid). I was also ignorant of their fanbase. GWAR-geeks, I'm pretty sure, are the evolutionary step before Juggalos. They came in faded t-shirts, some of them wearing their very own make-up, some insisted on being called by their Slave Pit names. The fervor and fanaticism of some of them was a little disturbing but, looking back, no worse than Twilight-fans.

And then there was Hunter. TechnoDestructo himself. The supposed (another alleged claim) creator of GWAR. And he dressed up in costume. I’m sure the costume would’ve looked in a poorly lit venue with a lot of smoke while on something mind-altering. As it was, Hunter, all one hundred and seventy pounds of very pale flesh of him, dressed up in his costume which consisted of a big robotic arm with the bastard son of a wrench and a vice on the end made out of PVC, shaped foam, and latex paint and a spiked cod piece. I’m not sure if it had a back. I didn’t have the guts to look. As the apparent bitch of the booth, I learned that one of my jobs was to lead Techno around the floor of the convention while soliciting people to pay $5 to take a cheap Polaroid with the former GWAR member. All the while, in between the five pictures that were paid for all weekend, he’d mutter about how he was going to have a come back and “Show them all”, during which I felt a little pity for this man in his pointy, plastic diaper and crudely done make-up, clinging to a dream long dead.

Now, you’re asking yourself, probably, how this all fits in with my 21st birthday. After having to endure the pitying, horrified looks from the crowds at the Con as I had to lead Hunter like a badly behaving puppy, after having to sleep on the floor and trying to sleep through Hunter’s snoring, after having to lie every time I was asked, “Do you love GWAR?!” by some GWAR-geek and reply, “Oh…from the bottom of my soul…”, after having to eat Wendy’s for the fifth time in a weekend, after having Hunter’s kid (who wasn’t that bad) throw his toys at my head ALL the time, after being surrounded people happily spendspendspending away and me being broke...

After all of that, don’t you think I could have used a nice, stiff drink?

This is what I was looking forward to. Looking forward to going out with friends, getting some drinks, having a good time. It would be fantastic. This, this was the thought carrying me through the weekend. This was not to be. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291393#Comment_291393 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291393#Comment_291393 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 11:03:20 -0700 costa_k
And thinks I'm whistling AT THEM. A dark, shadowing figure down the path, glaring at them, drinking from a beer bottle. Good times...I thought it'd be a little while longer until I established my reputation as the neighborhood creep. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291410#Comment_291410 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291410#Comment_291410 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 12:44:56 -0700 MaC
Just a small bit of set up before I get to my largest and most questionable experience meeting people online.

Throughout my high school life I met a lot of people through the internet. I was a part of an online forum that was built around Friday the 13th movie fans after going on an horror movie kick my freshman year and finding the the board. Met a lot of cool internet friends, a lot of whom I met at cons and ended up becoming IRL friends with the ones who lived close enough to me to see frequently. Each time we hung out we got more people to come and hang with us. Finally I ended up meeting a bunch of my favorite online friends at a big Fango convention in NJ. We all got along really well, drank, had fun, and my friend Blake even preposed to his wife there! It was nice! The good feelings sparked an interest in doing this again, but bigger.

That led to talks about campe 2. Before I had come around to this forum the users had apparently rented a campsite to have an F13 camp, which basically meant get drunk on a big camp site for a week. The fun we all had kinda inspired everyone to make this happen again. So we did. In august of 2004, I had been outta high school for just over a two months. Flew to Missouri and met with 30+ people, some I knew from online. Some I had already met. Some that were my real life friends I hung out with frequently but had met through the board.

Our rally point was a hotel at the Hilton a day before we were to head to Camp. The gist was everyone would meet at a Hilton near the airport and we'd stay there a day, riding the shuttles back and forth to meet people and bring them to the hotel to party. After most of the people had arrived and the son went down, the booze came out. My friend Ryan and I consumed a $12 bottle of awful cheap shit Vodka. I was underage, hardly ever drank before, and not even a little responsible.

It went real bad, real fast.

I remember kicking a wall really hard outside the hotel for some reason,it hurt my foot. Then I started walking back into the hotel. My next memory is waking up without my wallet in a room that smelled of vomit. Alone. I fell out of bed, because when I tried to stand up I felt a horrible throbbing pain in my foot and was still pretty drunk, so I collapsed. Lying on the floor, with no clue what the fuck happened, I crawled to the door of the hotel room and passed out again. After awhile I heard sounds outside and opened the door and dragged myself halfway into the lobby, where my friend Brenna was. She saw me and came over and I asked

"Brenna was I bad?"

"Yeah sweetie you were awful"

Then it was explained to me just what an awful drunk monster I was, through stories, pictures, and video. Our friend Chuck had video of the earliest event since my black out. Apparently I made it through the door of the hotel and back inside, but that's where everything went wrong.

I was shown a video of myself, lying spraled out on the lobby of the hotel room laughing and cackling and screaming about how awesome being drunk was. While my equally drunk friend Ryan stood over me with his hand extended saying "Mike take my hand. Take my hand Mike! Take it and get up!" while I rolled and babbled.

After I got up Chuck forcibly got me into an elevator and took me and Ryan back to our floor. Where Brenna made us promise not to drink anymore. Well hah! We snuck around her and polished that bottle of vodka off and went back to the lobby. Where there was a Christianity Convention.

Chuck described me as Godzilla stomping through Tokyo. I waded through this gathering of exceptionally religious people, drunk, shouting obsenities, staggering, babbling. Just a fucking mess. The fled from me in droves until the hotel manager confronted me.

I apparently told him to fuck himself, that if he kept coming and bothering me with his shit I would break him in half. And when he persisted I said "Don't you get it I could snap my fucking fingers and you would die!", an empty threat, as I am incapable of snapping my fingers. He took it to heart though, and left to call the Police.

My friends brought me upstairs and hid me in one of the rooms. Which might have worked if I hadn't still been yelling and standing and trying to orchestrate an escape. In a desperate bid to weaken my power they seperated Ryan, my drunk sidekick, and myself on opposite sides of the hotel. Without an accomplice adventuring outside of the hotel room wasn't too appealing to me, so I settled into the hotel room after more badgering and desperate pleading to get me to shut up and not get arrested. Nonetheless being seperated from my partner in crime left a void I needed to fill, and I was told that I violently and psychotically demanded towels. Lots of white towels.

It was around this point that the cops showed up.

Things seemed hopeless. I was obviously drunk. Loud. Obnoxious. And underage. and from out of state. My friends shoved me between two beds in the hotel room and buried me with towels, which appeased me enough that I lied down in my tomb of linens and babbled about getting super powers or being a mutant while my friends got the Man off my back.

They explained to the cops that they were sorry. I was stupid. Had too much to drink. But they had put me to bed and I wouldn't be allowed to roam free again. The police were content with that explanation, but assured my friends with a gentle pat on the taser he wore, that if he had to come back to this hotel he was going to electrocute someone(me) for his trouble.

Thankfully he didn't come back. But my wonderful friends(some of which I had only known for hours) had to deal with the rest of the fallout from my mistakes. Yes, with the danger of being arrested gone it was time to start throwing up.

And boy, did I. In unison, on opposite sides of the hotel, Ryan and I began to purge the alcohol that we'd poisoned ourselves with. I guess we developed a psychic bond of irresponsibility and poor decision making skills, because we went off at the same time.

Other then the puking the rest of the night was uneventful. I guess we threw up until we passed out. Ryan lost his wallet somewhere, mine had been secured away before the worst of the night began. I got a lot of stares while we waited in the lobby of the hotel to head to the campsite, where I spent a week with 30 people from all over the world drinking singing karoake and getting up to all kinds of drunk shit out in the wilderness.

And I spent like $100 on booze for the people who kept me from getting arrested and choking to death on my own throw up.

And I remember nothing. Everything was explained to me the next morning as I sat on the floor in the lobby half drunk. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291412#Comment_291412 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291412#Comment_291412 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 12:55:45 -0700 RenThing
Monday we leave, having packed up the night before. I bid a farewell to Hunter, his gf, their kid, and E and I leave. It is then, at this point, that she tells me that she has to pick up a custom piece of piercing on L.A. It's a full, one piece spiral that will go through many holes in her ear along the outter conch of the ear down to the lobe. It would look nifty. It would be short. "Like half an hour, tops."

Two hours later she walked out of the backroom, slightly both pale and flushed at the same time, piercing in place. When she sees my blank, accusatory face, she realizes we're supposed to be going. It is now twelve thirty. We are still in LA.

"Oh, hey, I want to take you to lunch, on me, for helping me out."

I am taken to Long Beach. It takes us an hour. The lunch is Hooters. I am not impressed.

"Oh, hey, I want to go say hi to some friends, it's not to far from here."

Another hour passes. I am not amused.

Traffic on I-5, despite the fact that the Grapevine was clear and 101 passes my house. Traffic for three hours. The rest is all just miles and miles of I-5 but when you get to the end it's 11:30 at night, I'm tired, swetty, and pissed off. E is sorry, apologetic. I am uncaring and angry.

After bidding her a very terse farewell. I go inside and do my best to shower the road funk and the day off of me. Half an hour after I'm done, my dad comes up with two bottles of beer and we open presents. My friends were sacked out from work and, well, who wants to go drinking that late on a Monday (unfortumately, most of my friends were trying to be responsible adults at the time)?

I blame GWAR for a sucky 21st birthday. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291417#Comment_291417 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291417#Comment_291417 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 13:27:30 -0700 Jay Kay
It was about three years ago, and I had just graduated from high school and was starting my first semester in community college. I was living with my parents still, because I couldn't live on my own, and it was so close to the college anyway. But anyway--it was Halloween, and my next door neighbors' children and their friends wanted to tee-pee some houses in the neighborhood and asked their mom if they could do it. She agreed, but only if they had a chaperone.

Guess who had that job. This guy.

My mom, who had informed me of this, was just as confused as I was, but willing to play along. Before I went, though, she told me this: "If you get caught--RUN. Don't even worry about the kids. They're minors, and you're now a legal adult." The more I think about it, the more I wonder if she was genuinely trying to give me a warning, or if she was fucking with me.

So I got a bike and followed the six or seven kids on this strange, parent-sanctioned criminal adventure. You have to understand that I was probably the most boring teenager on the planet. Never went to any parties, never really drank that much (and only in parties and stuff that my parents were part of), my weekends were spent mostly being home and dicking around on the internet. So I was an utter novice at these kind of ventures.

So we got to the first house, with no decorations and completely black inside, and I decided to be the lookout, made no bones that this was their dumbass idea. It didn't really go well for them, since they only had maybe six rolls of the stuff, just enough to maybe cover one of the trees.

Then the front porch lights went up, and the door sprang open.

I rode away like a bat out of a very lame hell. I don't think I've ever pedaled that fast before or since. I looked a few times and saw some of the kids riding behind me, which was enough for me as I rode back--I was sorta worried about the others, but I figured they would get off light because they were, like, twelve, and in my fear and adrenaline-fueled mind, if it got as bad that I was going to have a criminal charge as an adult, it wasn't going to be for something as stupid as this. About 20 minutes later the rest came back--apparently a few of them were slower than us and did their best to blend in the shadows in the irrigation ditch, had to steal back their bikes from this guy's nose, and then THEY pedaled away like bats from hell.

So yeah, there's that. I think I may have a few other stories--again, nothing epic like some of you guys, but probably still a bit funny. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291436#Comment_291436 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291436#Comment_291436 Thu, 21 Apr 2011 16:53:32 -0700 HEY APATHY!
I'd been out on the town destroying subway ads with a marker, screaming at NYC passengers to stop buying shit, obsessively smelling my friend Margaret's hair, pinning little buttons I made with images of bombs on classy (possibly frightened) New York lady types and on the police officers I was scolding for being fascists (NYC cops are freaking cool, I am lucky!), then I ran head first into a street lamp knocking my self out cold. I was carried back to the hostel by a fairly androgynous bi-sexual and the young girl I’d apparently been flirtatious with/ used as a canvas, where I proceeded to rampage through the rooms critiquing my classmates on both artistic merit and what I thought of them personally. oh man oh man the highlight of this part of the misadventure being the removal of a sheet hung from the upper bunk bed intended to give two lovers their privacy while I yelled out “ this seems awful suspicious”

Now none of this was that out of the ordinary for me at the time but damn when you can’t remember anything at all it is terribly frightening, shameful and very embarrassing ( as @ MaC probably knows). I never felt so sick as I did while wondering what else they’d gotten on film but at least I didn’t offend anyone I actually cared about and I NEVER DRANK AGAIN. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291473#Comment_291473 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291473#Comment_291473 Fri, 22 Apr 2011 06:13:49 -0700 government spy
I was 18 (yeah, I was saving myself for someone special) and dating this kinda butchy girl named E, and I kinda stole her from a buddy of mine. Well, she had been seriously (emotionally) wounded by a series of previous relationships, and each time we got... "physical" she would get scared, and push me away. I was very understanding and sympathetic, and also clueless, so I didn't push her at all. Now I say we were "dating," but in reality (and we had this conversation several times) she forcefully made me understand (and I quote) "We are not dating. This is not a relationship. I am not your girlfriend. You are not my boyfriend. We just hang out together, and whatever happens, happens." Which was fine with me, I just thought she was hot, and we kinda clicked, and I was willing to deal with all of that baggage because she was willing to make out with me.

Three months (which is SO LONG when you're 18, a virgin, and trying to get laid) of that, and it started getting old. I started going out without her, and trying to meet other people. Which, technically is fine, since we weren't dating. So I'm out with one of my buddies, getting something to eat, and we run into this crazy industrial music/redheaded dreadlocked guy, I'll call "G." He was with a couple of his buddies and this girl, K. K and I started flirting, and we headed out as a group. I drop my buddy off at his house, and head to G's place.

Inside, we drink and smoke a little, and somehow me and K start "wrestling" or something, I dunno. The next thing I know, I end up in this girl's bedroom, and clothes are coming off. We're naked, and she says something about having sex. I admit to her that I'm a virgin. She is fine with that, and fixes it.

The next morning, she is getting dressed and going to work. Somewhere in the apartment, I can hear Insane Clown Posse and "Great Malinko" or some crap, and to this day this is why I can't stand that crap. She says I can stay there and she'd like it if I was there when she came back; I could hang out with her roommates. Ok, cool. She leaves.

I get up, get dressed and walk into the living room. There are three guys in the living room. I kinda know G, and one of the other guys, but I'm not what you would call friends with them. But I have to tell someone. "Guess who's not a virgin anymore?" I say proudly. One of the guys laughs, but no one says anything. I didn't know it at the time, but K (the girl) and G (dreadlocks) have been dating for like a year or more. I walked into his apartment, went into his bedroom, and fucked his girlfriend on his bed, while he was in the other room. He never said a word.

I messed around with this girl for a couple days, in this guy's apartment, and never had a clue. She got kinda creepy on me, and wanted to meet parents and crap, and got really possessive. I backed away gracefully and stopped answering her calls.

About a week later, someone told me that she was G's girlfriend. I felt physically ill. We weren't friends, but we hung out at the same places. I had to tell him I was sorry. I ran into him a while later and tried to explain myself. He laughed and said he knew how clueless I was about the whole thing, and that it wasn't my fault. That was the only reason he didn't kick my ass. I told him he still could if he wanted to; I deserved it. He was very genial, and explained how he was glad he found out what kind of girl he'd been dating, that she could make her own choices, he didn't own her, but she had very visibly chosen not to be with him anymore, and he thanked me for that. We parted as friends, and I felt really stupid. I broke things off with the other girl shortly after that; she had made it clear that we weren't a couple either, but that had felt too close to cheating for me, and I stayed away from relationships for a while after that... ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291481#Comment_291481 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291481#Comment_291481 Fri, 22 Apr 2011 06:43:52 -0700 RenThing
Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that every happened to me was the time I lost my virginity.

Oh god, you didn't even need to say any more.

I know how awkward it can be to have sex with a woman with her boyfriend in the next room (they had an on-the-level open relationship that I knew about and was cool with) but at least he didn't try to join in with you (unlike my situation). ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291534#Comment_291534 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291534#Comment_291534 Fri, 22 Apr 2011 13:14:38 -0700 HEY APATHY!
Alright, so one of my most embarrassing things that every happened to me was the time I lost my virginity.

nice ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291538#Comment_291538 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291538#Comment_291538 Fri, 22 Apr 2011 13:47:50 -0700 SBarrett last time I lost my virginity."

I was like..."How many times can you do that?" ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291545#Comment_291545 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291545#Comment_291545 Fri, 22 Apr 2011 14:42:47 -0700 D.J.
Well, there's a surgery for that if you're a chick. If you're a guy, just... act really awkward or something. No one will question it. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291607#Comment_291607 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291607#Comment_291607 Sat, 23 Apr 2011 07:14:57 -0700 mister hex I NEVER DRANK AGAIN

I do my very best work when I'm drunk.

Okay, Grade Eight - I'm, what, twelve or thirteen? and we're doing silhouette drawing in art class. Everybody in the class had to bring in a hat or some kind of head-gear and sit very still for a portrait on a chair on top of the desk/countertop-dealie at the head of the classroom. Thereupon, an overhead projector would shine on your profile, projecting it onto the screen behind. This was a mandatory assignment, no one wanted to do it, including me.

So my Grade Eight teacher didn't like me very much (I was always reading comics in class, never paying attention, still getting the highest marks with virtually no effort - thus either calling into question my teacher's ability or confirming it, I'm not sure which - no wonder she didn't like me.) and so it's my turn to sit on the countertop-dealie, wearing an officer's cap. "Lean back, sir!" the teacher said (she called all the young men "sir"). So I leaned back. "More, sir! Lean back more!" So I did. And one leg of the chair slipped off and down I went. A roar of laughter went up. Concealed behind the countertop-dealie, I got up, the officer's cap clinging to the side of my head, like something out of the Three Stooges. I poked my head over the top, to show that I was alright (and hadn't broken my fucking neck, thanks for checking, teach) and the laughter was deafening. Even I thought it was funny. The teacher pissed herself, trying to conceal her laughter and show a modicum of concern.

Yet another story in which I receive a great twatting blow to the head. I'm sensing a pattern here. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291701#Comment_291701 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291701#Comment_291701 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 01:49:40 -0700 HEY APATHY! ..."How many times can you do that?" does switching it up for a first time sodomization count?
(damn I'm reading Burroughs today and sure enough I had to talk up the sodomy)

@ mister hex- I may have made some decent drawings while drunk, can't remember but I do know that it always destroyed productivity for a couple of days afterwards. ( maybe next Toronto meet up can have some preliminary coffees, I can't be around the booze it was a problem) also nice pen portrait I've known teachers like that ...

My art college drawing instructor really didn't like me either. We would hang our projects up on the walls before she arrived and she would randomly choose one to talk about, it was always mine ( i used to experiment with different styles so none of them were easily identifiable). Then on the day we hung our perspective drawings, which no one else had done successfully, the class some how divided and I found myself teaching half of the students how to do it while she gave me these terrible glances from the otherside of the room where she was trying to re-explain the technique to her half of the class. My ( kidnapped) students all got it right off.The next class she once again walked up to my work to use as an example. After she discovered it was mine she made a very very stern and strong announcement, sort of out of nowhere, that went like this "Now class remember not to take any of these critiques personnally, just because we like the drawings doesn't mean we like you " I think she meant to say the opposite to encourage people getting bad critiques but fuck her and her freudian slip I was a 20 year old socially inept insecure &terrified introvert, I was really embarrassed and slightly psychologically damaged ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291710#Comment_291710 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291710#Comment_291710 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 03:56:20 -0700 Gordon http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291721#Comment_291721 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291721#Comment_291721 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 08:02:08 -0700 government spy
So we were like "Hell, yeah!" We pack up my buddy's old blue beat up Duster, and head out to meet the crew somewhere in Iowa (I think, and to follow them up to the tour. When we meet up, they inform us that "Ozzfest is full up." We are kinda ticked off, after coming all this way (we did not have cell phones). Then they tell us that they're going up to Minnesota for the Dylan/Simon tour, and we can join up there, they pay is like $25/hr. We kinda shrug, and we're like "Yeah, okay, I guess we'll work for Dylan..." But really we're ecstatic.

So we drive up to some fucking horse track in the middle of nowhere for the gig, and we end up camping the whole time we're there, like 30 minutes from the track. We have to actually build the stage, and put up metal poles and lots and lots of hard work, over a few days. On the actual day of the show, me and my buddy Noah get taught to set up sound equipment and set up the mic's. At the time, Noah, a kind of barrel chested roundish guy with a giant afro of blonde curly hippy hair, and myself, I looked like the sterotypical picture of a roadie, long brown hair, complete with bandanna, some unknown band t-shirt, a flannel around my waist, ripped up blue-jeans, and combat boots.

We walk out on the stage, about maybe 30 minutes before the opening act is supposed to come out, and test the mic's. Y'know, "Check, check one, check two, etc." but as soon as we walk out, the entire race-track filled of hippies starts cheering. Screaming at us as loud as they can. Me and Noah look at each other, like what the fuck is all this? Noah was wearing a shirt with his name on the back, kind of like a jersey or something, and people start chanting "Noah! Noah! Noah!" and we start laughing in the middle of our mic check. I throw up the rock'n'roll devil horns, and then this massive chant starts, "STAGE CREW RULES! STAGE CREW RULES! STAGE CREW RULES!" Grinning like idiots, during our first ever mic check, we can't help ourselves. We start like doing air guitar, and just rocking out to the cheers of the audience. We must have looked like fools, but for those few seconds, and I have no idea how many people were actually there, it felt like the whole crowd was cheering for me and my best friend.

Then, off-stage, our boss was yelling at us. "GET OFF THE STAGE YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!!! NO-ONE IS HERE TO SEE YOU!!"

We slunk off-stage, and all the other roadies gave us shit for thinking we were rock stars. But then we became part of the crew, it was kind of a weird way to join in, and I'll never forget my 5 seconds of being center stage.

@Gordon glad you could get a laugh. I still do. That's why I tell stories, and I still laugh about it. I've even won some bar/party contests for best "losing your virginity" story. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291732#Comment_291732 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291732#Comment_291732 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 09:59:31 -0700 Alan Tyson http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291736#Comment_291736 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291736#Comment_291736 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 10:43:00 -0700 government spy http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291751#Comment_291751 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291751#Comment_291751 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 13:02:37 -0700 Vornaskotti
This pal used to be a bit of a junior scientist, tinkering with electronics and you guessed it, a whole lot of home chemistry that went "boom". He also had very little sense of what would be safe or smart to do, and was quite easy to get to do stupid shit.

He had mixed some "homemade gunpowder" which we had to immediately try. We decided to build a rocket out of it, and our stroke of genius was to use these empty nitrous oxide cylinders they use in whipped cream bottles and such in a restaurant. You know, these nice little things that just about fit in your fist, and that would make nice hand grenades. Anyhow, we filled one of these with the remnants of his "gunpowder", went to the forest line, and after I insisted, placed the thing behind two large boulders, aimed at the forest, and lit the gunpowder trail that lead to it. What resulted was this big damn cloud of purple smoke straight from the 60's Batman, the whoosh a firework makes, a thump, then a sound of something hitting a tree far in the forest. We jumped over the boulders and into the smoke, and found out that our little rocket had shot through half a meter thick earth embankment, snapped a finger thick pine root, shot out and vanished somewhere in the forest. Then we both started coughing, violently. The guy went "oh, I forgot to say, if you mix this stuff with water it becomes sulphuric acid". We proceeded to cough and taste blood the rest of the day.

That was the recipe number one. The recipe number two was actually a common and simple chemical, but if you imbue a paper towel with it, let it dry out and light it, it produces a hell of a lot of dark pungent smoke. You need just a couple of centimeters of twisted, dry paper to fill a room. This worked well, except we averted a huge catastrophe with a very slim margin. Without asking me this friend used the restaurant microwaves to dry out the paper towels, because he was too impatient to wait. Some of them had started to char a little bit - if one of them had gone up, the kitchen would've been out of order for several days.

The actual money shot of stupidity was the recipe number three, or rocket fuel mk 2, if you will. My pal drafted up a list of chemical he needs and got my step-dad to buy them from the small town pharmacy, where he got asked "are you building a bomb". We did some high tech chemistry by crushing and mixing stuff with stuff like folded papers and rocks, and there we had it. By this time some of the local kids had drifted in and they wanted to take part, and they were even more irresponsible with this stuff than my pal, or me.

Well, mixed the stuff, filled one of these canisters with it, and tried to launch it - but no lift off. The mixing ratio was wrong and when the stuff burned, it left this really hard ceramic like residue that clogged the nozzle. Mind you, it was a beautiful summer night and we were doing this essentially in a middle of a crowded campsite. "Okay, no can do" I went, but one of these local kids had a bright idea: let's build a fire and drop the thing there. I tried to object, citing the reason that what we had was essentially a fucking hand grenade, but got shouted down - so I just went with it.

There was this barbeque stand in middle of the resort complex, used for flame grilling fish. It surrounded by a fish smoking shop, the actual resort building (with wide panorama glass windows) and some fishing pools. The guys lit the fire, we plopped the malfunctioning rocket in there, and we had enough sense to run behind the fish smoking shop. When we were there, I suddenly realized that there was an another entryway to the yard, and technically at any moment anyone could walk through there to see why there was fire in that BBQ stand in the morning hours. I ran around the shop and when I went around the corner, the rocket went off and I was the only one who saw what happened.

It went off like a hand grenade. There were burning embers shooting everywhere, even through cracks in the fish grilling stand roof. I swear I saw the windows of the resort wobble. The bang was incredibly loud in middle of a summer night.

We rushed into the stand, which was intact. No shrapnel damage or burning embers, which was pretty remarkable considering the fact that we had a nice fire going on in there, with a couple of big logs -the only thing left of the fire was literally a few glowing embers under a heavy duty grille. After that we pretty much slunk away to bed.

In the morning my step-dad came to ask what the hell did we do last night. Nobody caught any fish, because the bang had startled all of them to the bottom of the river (did I mention it wasn't a cheap place to fish in...). The local police chief had been fishing at the time, and but luckily he was pretty used to country boys' antics, he just laughed the thing off. Now, thinking about it later, I shudder at the stupidity of essentially setting off a small hand grenade in middle of a crowded holiday resort.

Well, it was kind of cool. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291754#Comment_291754 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291754#Comment_291754 Sun, 24 Apr 2011 13:13:33 -0700 Vornaskotti
Well, the evening started with one of the staff members getting this annoying case of aggro drunk. They had thought someone had stolen the car we were using, and he more or less threatened to kick our asses, proceeded to be obnoxiously boasty throughout the night, and end it by jumping into the river, which was whitewater rapids at that point, to swim. Me and the pal tracked him at least 50 downriver, he was swimming furiously but being of course swept downstream.

Then, finally, it was our turn to start drinking, and I got "puke out of the car door" hammered. Nothing untoward happened, but when I tried to go to bed, I ran into a little snag: I was sleeping in the resort kitchen back room, my pal was sleeping in a trailer. Of course the hotel was locked for the night and everybody was already sleeping. I started walking to the toilet/shower complex thinking what to do, when I just happened to run to my step-dad, who was laughing at my drunken ass and gave me a key to another trailer. I took it, but I had this "must sleep in my own bed" idea fixated in my stupid drunken head, so I went back to the resort and... hey, what's that, the men's room window is slightly ajar!

With a fuckton of trouble I managed to drag my ass through this small hatch of a window that was high above my head, and crashed on my own bed happy with my mad ninja skills.

I came to, in a horrible hangover, to some kind of commotion in the restaurant. Feeling superbly miserable I didn't pay much attention to it, before my stepdad came to my room looking really pissed off, and asked if I had climbed in through the window in the night. I told him that I had, and he just left, looking even more pissed off. When I staggered out, it turned out that the whole staff had spent the morning hours doing a furious inventory of the restaurant, since someone had apparently broken in through the mens' room window - I had probably left the window wide open and all kinds of scuffle marks on the wall.

I kept getting this kind of good natured stinkeye from them for a few days, not the least from my stepdad. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291833#Comment_291833 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291833#Comment_291833 Mon, 25 Apr 2011 07:08:07 -0700 government spy
Let me preface with this by saying this isn't going to be a play by play of bondage or anything, but I do recommend that anyone interested in that lifestyle be much more safe and sane than we were. There was a lot of alcohol involved, and what I didn't drink was poured on me and lit on fire a few times. Not the smartest thing ever.

So anyway, this industrial band is playing in the living room, and I'm hanging from some wrist restraints in the kitchen doorway with three or four scantily (and leather/pvc) clad beautiful women with instruments of pain doing their best to wound me. I'm fairly drunk, but just really into whatever these girls wanted to do (I'm a simple man, and I have my weaknesses). Well, I end up kinda bloody, with the words "SLUT" and "PIG" carved into my chest and back (not sure which was on which side, not that it matters) and eventually playtime is over. One of the roommates, who named himself "Arrogant Gay Black Man" as his superhero alter-ego, approached me as I'm coming down from sub-space, and informs me that Industrial Band Lead Singer over there has been saying really rude shit to me while I was unaware, and that he might be a problem. I ignore it and go get a drink in the kitchen.

I don't notice Industrial Band Lead Singer is on the other side of the kitchen window, on the porch, and I mention to someone that I heard he's been talking shit, and I don't want any trouble. He leans down and says some rude things through the window, and I ask him to back off, and I close the window. He opens the window and says rude things again, and I repeat my warning for him to leave us alone, and I close the window. He opens the window a third time, an says something rude again, and I pretend to ignore him. As he straightens back up, I swing through the open window and punch him in the stomach.

He storms into the kitchen to "face off" and threatens me to a fight. I stand in front of him, shirtless, blood still dripping down my front and back, carved and whipped and beaten and I calmly explain a few things to him, like about if there's anything he can do to me that I could possibly still feel this evening. I offer him a fair swing, and he declines, saying he has to load up his van. I offer to help, and start loading band equipment into the van.

Once all the equipment is loaded, we're standing on the street in front of the apartment. I'm like, "We're all done here, we're good to go buddy, let's do this," and he takes off, obviously confused and more than a little creeped out. My girlfriend comes out and asks me if the next time I want to challenge someone to a fight, can I not do it in the middle of the street, with my shirt off, covered in blood.

So anyway, I head into the backyard, and go to take a piss in the bushes. It was a pretty big backyard, and there had been people partying back there, too. So I go all the way in the back, and I'm standing there, peeing, when all of a sudden, I can see my silhouette in front of me. I keep pissing, and I hear a female voice say, "Excuse me, Sir?"

I finish and zip up, and turn around and I'm facing a female police officer holding a flashlight at me. Again, I'm standing there, shirtless and bloody, carved up, bruised and whipped, and now I'm facing a cop. I glance around briefly, and I can see the backyard had cleaned out fast. None of the partygoers anywhere to be seen. Second glance, and I can see upstairs in the apartment, everyone is on the back porch looking out the windows at me. Somehow, I'm able to stay somewhat calm and ask the cop what the problem is.

She tells me there have been noise complaints from the neighbors. I sincerely apologize, stressing that we thought we had informed our neighbors of the party, and had asked them to call us if there were any complaints. I explained that the party was winding down, and there shouldn't be any more problems. Several times she asks me if I'm alright, and I tell her I'm fine, and act a bit confused why she was asking. She just stands there staring at me, thinking god knows what, but apparently I was convincing enough for her, so she and her partner leave.

I get back to my girlfriend and the rest of the party and my girlfriend says I must be the only person that could stand there talking to the police looking like I did, and actually get the police to leave, and not break up the party. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291834#Comment_291834 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291834#Comment_291834 Mon, 25 Apr 2011 07:37:40 -0700 SilentObjector I stand in front of him, shirtless, blood still dripping down my front and back, carved and whipped and beaten and I calmly explain a few things to him, like about if there's anything he can do to me that I could possibly still feel this evening. I offer him a fair swing, and he declines, saying he has to load up his van. I offer to help, and start loading band equipment into the van.

Once all the equipment is loaded, we're standing on the street in front of the apartment. I'm like, "We're all done here, we're good to go buddy, let's do this,"
Best moment of the thread right there. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291863#Comment_291863 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291863#Comment_291863 Mon, 25 Apr 2011 14:43:02 -0700 D.J. My girlfriend comes out and asks me if the next time I want to challenge someone to a fight, can I not do it in the middle of the street, with my shirt off, covered in blood.
Wait, what other way is there to challenge someone to a fight? ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291921#Comment_291921 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291921#Comment_291921 Tue, 26 Apr 2011 00:12:45 -0700 Morac Wait, what other way is there to challenge someone to a fight?
Well, there's always Fight Club. I hear that is what the kids are in to these days. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291926#Comment_291926 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=291926#Comment_291926 Tue, 26 Apr 2011 03:34:48 -0700 government spy http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292193#Comment_292193 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292193#Comment_292193 Thu, 28 Apr 2011 00:12:10 -0700 Purple Wyrm The Hideous Adventures of Denys in the Lair of the Glossolalia Gang, my account of a prolonged run in with Charismatic Catholics back in the late 90s, presented in glorious and extremely pretentious third person!

Share and enjoy! (or not... whatever...) ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292330#Comment_292330 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292330#Comment_292330 Fri, 29 Apr 2011 07:28:26 -0700 Gordon
I will tell you of the time I drunkenly tempted fate and could've been shot on Russian soil. A short film I wrote was part of the official selection for a film festival in Italy. The director (a good friend) and myself were invited over and were put up in a hotel right next to the Russian embassy. It was patrolled day and night by very serious and mean-looking guards with automatic weaponry.

Let's add alcohol into the mix. Let's add a lot of alcohol. It was the last night of the festival and the closing party, with free drink, led to me getting drunk beyond belief. I was less a travelling companion, more a loose-limbed bit of luggage as my friend tried his best to get me back to the hotel. Upon spying the gun-toting guards, I had the best idea in the world: let's get a photo of me with the guards! They might even let me hold a gun!

So I went charging towards them, unable to see anything wrong with putting my arm around one of them, grabbing a gun and shouting in a slurred, heavily-accented Scottish brogue that I wanted a picture taken. Luckily for me, Russia was spared the cost of a bullet thanks to my friend grabbing me and dragging me to the hotel before I kicked off an international incident. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292338#Comment_292338 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292338#Comment_292338 Fri, 29 Apr 2011 08:23:05 -0700 government spy
So, I'm stumbling down the street, alone, singing at the top of my lungs, and I wander down some alleyway. Sticking out of a dumpster is the tattered remains of someone's porch umbrella. To me, it looked like a flag. So I pick it up, and start waving it around like I'm leading some invisible plague of the undead. Did I mention I was singing?

So I get to my apartment, and in the fence, I lodge the umbrella securely. I open up the door, and there are a couple squatter kids I know, hanging out waiting up for me. I burst in, and grab a bottle of lighter fluid, and storm back outside. I quickly douse the umbrella in lighter fluid, and light it with my zippo.

Seriously, within seconds, a car drives up over the curb on the empty lot next to us. A man and a woman jump out and identify themselves as police, and order me to put out the fire.

The guy says "What are you, some kind of idiot?"

"Yes," I announce proudly.

The woman yells at me to put the fire out. I yell back "With what?"

The man yells, "With your shoes!" I point at my barely-there chucks, and he tells me to figure it out or he'll arrest me for arson.

I raise my hands in surrender, and start kicking at the burning umbrella. "Alright, alright, I'm puttin' it out, I'm puttin' it out!"

As I kick at the fire, which for some unknown reason is working, and the female says, "What the Hell is wrong with you?"

Without missing a beat, I say, "Didn't you hear the man? I'm an idiot."

I finish putting the fire out, and I find out that earlier in the day, local gangs had firebombed two cars in the neighborhood, on my block, and across the street. My landlord who lived below me, saw a couple of the gang members, and had called 911 with their descriptions. These two plainclothes police officers had parked nearby to stakeout the neighborhood and lookout for firebombers. Then, my drunk-ass walks down the street and lights a fucking umbrella on fire. Awesome timing. The cops laugh at me, don't arrest me, and leave. Miraculous.

So, the next day, I have a massive hangover, and my friend wakes me up to tell me the landlord is freaking out. I get up to ask him what's the matter. Tom tells me that since the gang members saw him use a phone before the cops came, and that they are out to get him. As proof of his theory, he shows me a burnt out black umbrella wedged into the fence on the front of the apartment. "See this?" He tells me, "This is a death threat. They put these in front of people's houses as warnings."

"No, Tom, it was me."

"What?"

"I did that, Tom. I was a drunken idiot last night, and I stole that out of a dumpster and set it on fire. I'm sorry, Tom."

"No... it was the gangs... I know it."

"No, Tom, it was absolutely me. It was stupid, and had nothing to do with any gangs."

This goes on for several minutes, and I still think he didn't believe me. Or, that I must have joined "the gangs." Months later, another friend of mine living in the same apartment spray-painted her chucks on the sidewalk in front of the house. Tom saw silhouettes of shoes and claimed Mayor Daley was having the Mafia put a hit on him. When my friend told him that she had sprayed her shoes there, he accused her of working for the Mayor and acted crazy until she found another place to live. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292346#Comment_292346 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292346#Comment_292346 Fri, 29 Apr 2011 09:51:13 -0700 DC I got so embarrassed and nervous that I didn’t remember to buy other tickets. In my incredible naivety, I explained her what happened and we decided to postpone the date and we both call our parents to pick us up again. We are at the mall’s entrance waiting for our parents, awkward silence, my mom arrives first and in a hurry to get away from that embarrassing attempt of a date, I say goodbye to her without waiting with her for her ride to arrive. I found the experience so embarrassing I didn’t talk with her for a long while.
Sometimes I think my life has moments straight out from some lame comedy show. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292393#Comment_292393 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292393#Comment_292393 Fri, 29 Apr 2011 15:54:08 -0700 BOODOFFSTAGE http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292401#Comment_292401 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292401#Comment_292401 Fri, 29 Apr 2011 17:34:12 -0700 Verissimus http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292443#Comment_292443 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292443#Comment_292443 Sat, 30 Apr 2011 06:47:40 -0700 government spy
So we hung out a bunch. One night, and man, I'd been single for way too long after the dominatrix dumped me (oh, and boy is that a story I'll have to get to later), Sosa wants to go out. For a straight-edge guy, he liked to hang out in bars. Dude had mastered picking up punk chicks on Myspace (remember, this is like 2003) but could not pick up a girl at a bar for shit. I have the gift of gab, and as an ex once explained, the charisma of the devil, and talking up girls in a bar was something I was really good at. Making it last past that was... not so much. So anyway, we meet up at Sosa's place, and head out to the bars. At some point, I got pretty drunk, and went to head out to the goth club, because I love drinking with the punk chicks, but man, did I have it bad for the goth girls. Sosa was burned out, and headed home.

Next thing I know, I'm taking some red-headed yarn-haired goth girl home to my place in a taxi. Score one for govspy. When I wake up the next day, i realized my phone was off. When I turned it on, I had like seventeen messages from Sosa. Apparently, when we left his place, I had his apartment keys. So from around midnight that night, til... I dunno about noon? He'd been locked out of his place, and I wouldn't answer my phone. I immediately called him back, and told him I was on my way. But first I had to get rid of the girl. But I had blown my cash that night, and couldn't afford a cab. Plus the L train that ran in my neighborhood was closed during the weekend. So I fuckin put this girl on a bus. So I told this girl where the bus stop was, and kicked her ass out.

I got changed and headed out. I catch a bus to the nearest L train, and realize, that fucking girl is sitting across from me. Awkward as Hell! I couldn't make eye contact. It was horrible. I get to Sosa's and get him the key. Sometime after the office opened in the morning, he got his landlord to let him in, but dude had spent all night locked out because I was getting laid. He didn't speak to me for weeks.

About a year later, I was involved in some weird rock'n'roll wedding between a bartender and a dominatrix (a different dominatrix, not my ex-girlfriend. Is it weird I have to make that distinction?) girl, and was one of the groomsmen. As I arrived, I went to hug the bride and congratulate her before the wedding. Over her shoulder, I see the "fire dancer" guy that they had invited to the wedding, as he walked in with his date. His date was some red-headed yarn-haired goth girl. "Oh shit," I said to the bride. "Can you tell me that girl's name? I never called her back!" The bride punched me several times for being a jerk. I deserved it. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292628#Comment_292628 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292628#Comment_292628 Sun, 01 May 2011 12:36:29 -0700 government spy
I do my best to court the younger one, but then her boyfriend shows up. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend! Also, he was a douche. So, anyway, the friend gets a little drunk and asks me to take her to one of the “punk” clubs. I’m a little toasty too, so I hail a cab and take her to Exit. We have a few drinks there, and she starts giving me a lap dance to like Oi music, very odd. But she was cute, so what the fuck. All of the regulars at the bar look at me like I’m slumming it with this yuppie chick, but I’m too drunk to care. We hail a cab, and go to her place. I don’t remember much, but I do remember her stripping me and having some weird fixation with my feet. Hey, I got laid AND a foot massage? Awesome.

I wake up, and the first thing I see is this look of regret on her face. Like immediately. She has to go to work, and she kicks my ass out. It’s fair. Well, I’m a scummy looking punk. My bihawk is all bent and crooked and looks like I slept on it, my clothes reek of cigarettes and beer, and I smell like pussy. I walk out of the apartment, and have no clue where I am. I stumble around the neighborhood trying to find the L train, and look like a scumbag.

After some time, I find the train, and get on board. I shit you not, I sit down on the train car, and looky here, it’s drunk girl! And she totally won’t look at me. I can tell she’s embarrassed that she slept with me, so I decide to just make this as uncomfortable as possible. I start talking at her, thanking her for the wild night, the foot rub, etc. and she’s just blushing and wishing I would go away. Yeah, pretty immature of me, but I was 24, and man, was that a shitty way to wake up. Yeah, she never called me back, either.

So I have to switch trains downtown, and to transfer to another train, I have to walk across the courtyard of the federal prison downtown. I pass by one of my co-workers, who barely recognizes me, and tells me I look like shit. But I felt fantastic! ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292659#Comment_292659 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292659#Comment_292659 Sun, 01 May 2011 18:37:46 -0700 Alan Tyson http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292678#Comment_292678 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292678#Comment_292678 Sun, 01 May 2011 20:29:14 -0700 government spy http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292888#Comment_292888 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292888#Comment_292888 Mon, 02 May 2011 19:03:41 -0700 Alan Tyson
I'd taken some new friends of mine to Chicago for a weekend. They're both from out of town (I mean REALLY out of town - I'll refer to them as The Mad Bosnian and The Kazakh Beauty), and wanted to see a big American city - they'd seen New York, but only from the windows of LaGuardia. I told them I sorta knew my way around Chicago, and offered to show them around as their native guide. The fact that I (fairly obviously, since I choose to name her The Kazakh Beauty) had a rather large crush on The Kazakh Beauty probably had something to do with this offer.

Anyway, we're all done with our trip, which culminated in all of us getting pretty damn drunk off our collected asses (first real hangover suffered that weekend - thank you, Long Island Ice Tea, never fucking AGAIN), getting lost in Boystown (which was actually a pretty damn cool experience), being offered sex by The Mad Bosnian (declined, despite the massive amount of beer and champagne we'd both indulged in, and how very, very pretty the man happened to be), and falling in love with Chicago all over again. Oh, and I lost my god damn wallet in a cab, along with the majority of the money I'd intended to use to get us all back home, my driver's license, my debit and insurance card, and plenty of other useful things. It was a fucking nice wallet, too, on top of everything else.

Being understanding people, The Mad Bosnian and The Kazakh Beauty pay for our gas on the way back, which puts me in quite the state of embarrassment already - these guys only have so much money that they can use over here, and we weren't exactly frugal during our stay in Chicago. Also, I just don't like owing people money in general - it makes me feel extremely nervous, no matter the amount owed or how chill about it the person I owe may or may not be.

So I already feel like I'm skating on thin ice while we're driving back to Iowa. The fact that I'm driving back without a license, through the part of Illinois most likely to be patrolled (It should be noted that this happened during 4th of July weekend), with two foreign nationals in my car and a great big crate of yet-to-be-drunk beer and liquor in my trunk... yeah, none of that exactly helps. My friends, however, seem to be taking things pretty well, and actually decide to kick back for a nap. Dear god, do I wish I could join them - I didn't sleep well at all the night before, and I'm as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs right now.

So, to calm my nerves, I slip in an audio book, one of my favorites. Almost immediately, I relax, and let the words soothe me. It's about a five hour drive, so I get a good chunk into the story.

And then the rather graphic sex scene that I'd COMPLETELY forgotten about starts up.

I look over at my guests to see if they're still asleep. They are, thank god. I decide to, just for safety's sake, skip a few tracks, just in case they wake up.

Naturally, this is when I hit a rather deep pothole.

The Kazakh Beauty snaps awake, to the sight and sound of me fiddling with the car's audio controls, and the somewhat breathy narration of a threesome. Turns out I'd skipped right into the raunchiest part of the scene just as she woke up.

The Kazakh Beauty gives me a very, very strange look. As might be inferred, English is not her first language, but she speaks and understands it pretty well, though I'm willing to bet there were words and phrases being used that she had never had reason to learn.

I go "fuck it," and just hit the "off" switch, waiting for her to make some comment, trying to think of a joking, good-natured explanation. She does the worst thing possible: raises her eyebrow at me, sighs, and goes right back to sleep.

It was an hour before we got back home. A very, very awkward hour, where I was terrified to turn on the radio, or indeed do much of anything except avoid crashing the car.

We never spoke of the incident again. Which is probably all for the best. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292925#Comment_292925 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=292925#Comment_292925 Tue, 03 May 2011 07:18:26 -0700 Erisah
This is one of the few times that I walked right into it:

I was 17, and I'd never been kissed. This was for a number of reasons. The cliched ones were that I was the socially inept chick with the flat chest who happened to consistently top the year, to the point that some kids in my classes used how well I had done as a yardstick for how well they had done in a test, and I (told myself), I had standards- I didn't want any drunken hook-ups, and I didn't want to get with anyone I had to dumb down my speech for ("Speak English" was my least favourite phrase in highschool. One time it was because I used the word "subtle" in a sentence). More to the point, I didn't want any of my "firsts" to be with people I would later regret doing them with. The less cliched one was that I wanted desperately to leave my country home-town upon graduation and go to university, and so didn't want to have anything to tie me down, like a boyfriend, who might have wanted to stay. Also, I had just spent the entire year leading up to this moment secretly crushing on a girl who had then left town because her family moved due to her father's work. I never told her how I felt, because I saw how the lesbian couple who were outed at my school got treated. Ironically, I had already had the lesbian label applied, because my hair was shorter than at least half of the guys'.
The funny one was that this was because I'd been labelled "frigid" since I was 12.

This had to do with the fact that back in Year 7, I was the first girl to get a "boyfriend" in my circle. This meant that we were absolutely fascinating to the entirety of my year, who wanted to know what a relationship was like. I was "going out" with the guy because I liked him as a friend, and I thought it might be fun. Our romance lasted about three days, which was how long it took before I lost patience with the whole farce. About the point where a couple of girls in my class (who were bored- it was SRE, of course they were) were sitting behind me and lover boy and started trying to play dolls with us. "Put your hand on her knee" one of them suggested.
Lover Boy complied, and sick of being treated like an animal at the zoo, I decided that this right here was the final straw.
12yo me hissed at him in words that have been quoted back to me for years since; "THIS IS NOT AN EXHIBITION!"
Needless to say, we broke up the next day. We're actually still friends, but for one reason or another we've never mentioned it since. :P

That's actually not the story. That's just the background stuff.

No, the story is, that 17yo me, dateless me, and let's face it, extremely sexually frustrated me, got asked out by the Norwegian Exchange student.
He wasn't particularly hot, but I didn't have to speak in small words for him to get what I was talking about. He was only going to be in Australia for another three months. He asked me out.
I thought that accepting his offer to take me out would be a good way to signal to all and sundry "hey, I'm not actually asexual and would not be completely adverse to a bit of experimenting". Needless to say, that wasn't quite what happened.
Norway (that was what my schoolmates originally nicknamed him), had asked me out whilst me and about three quarters of my yearmates were on a bus to an excursion, so it took about thirty seconds before the entire school knew about this. Remember this, this relates to the punchline.
So anyway, the next day, I have all these random people asking me about what the date is going to be, what it's going to be like. I was a bit confused as to why I was being treated like a celebrity zoo animal. Again. So I ask this girl, and she's all "oh, it's just that none of us have been on real dates, you know? Just mostly hookups around the bonfires".
At the time I took this at face value. It was G-town after all. In retrospect, this was the point that I definitely should have smelled a rat.
So anyway, the date afternoon happens. I have my license, and he doesn't, so I'm the one driving. He comes over to my house after school. We chat a bit, and then we figure we'll go see a movie. All that's on is a shitty kid's flick that's going to be on in about three hours. "No worries," I think, "we'll just kill some time".
The "killing time" turns out to involve me standing around in the shopping mall bored out of my brain while he buys himself some new shorts.
We decide to eat something, so we pick up some snacks, then wander over to the river. It's sunset, it's pretty as hell. I'm bored.
We talk for a bit. He decides to tell "Read the Communist Manifesto for fun"/"aggressive pacifist" me that he approves of nuclear armament. I'm underwhelmed.
We watch the movie. It's shit. He tries to "casually" put his arm around me, and I move forward so I'm only barely sitting in my seat. There is a stroller three feet from us. I'm bored and uncomfortable.
Movie ends, we go get dinner. He tells me the story of how he got kicked out of his first host-family's house for suspected animal cruelty. I'm really bored and uncomfortable.
I drive him to where he's staying, which happens to be in the next village, a good half-hour's drive away. We get lost. He twigs that I'm driving him home. He's annoyed. I'm past wishing that this was over.
I finally get him to the place he's staying, and dodge his attempt at a goodnight kiss. Awkward.
I drive home, and decide that that was one of the most simultaneously boring and annoying and uncomfortable experiences in my life. I go to bed, and decide that I'll let him know there won't be a second date tomorrow.
The next day at school, everyone wants to know how it went. My answer is "meh".
It's about this point that someone decides to fill me in on why they were all interested.

Random Chick:"So yeah, apparently Norway has a bet going that before he goes home he's going to fuck an Australian girl..."

Fuckers. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293068#Comment_293068 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293068#Comment_293068 Tue, 03 May 2011 18:32:58 -0700 Purple Wyrm is true it's so good that it deserves sharing.

The story was being told by a guy sitting opposite me to one of his mates. They were both obviously graffiti artists (for a certain value of 'artist' I guess) as they spent most of the journey spotting murals and tags out the windows and critiquing them. They then got on to talking about their various adventures in vandalism and the following tale emerged.

(Just to clarify, I have no problem with people putting up a decently painted bit of street art, legally or illegally, but I despise mindless taggers. These guys sounded a lot more like taggers, hence my disdain.)

So some years back the guy telling the story got together with a bunch of his mates and snuck into the big rail yards down in Kewdale. They spent a while tagging carriages on a freight train before a late-comer turned up with Mcdonalds for everyone. So the whole bunch of them climbed up on top of one of the carriages to eat and shoot the breeze.

All was going well, until the train started up.

The narrator jumped off the carriage and landed face first in the gravel by the track. He got up, and started running along the rails shouting for the others to jump, but they were either too scared, or having to good a time. He ran alongside the carriage until the train pulled away and then, with nothing else to do headed home.

Six hours later he got a phone call. The train had headed out into the goldfields and hadn't stopped (or even slowed down) until it reached Kalgoorlie, a good 550km away. His mates were stranded out in the desert with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the contents of their pockets, which didn't include anywhere near enough cash to get a train, bus or taxi home on.

So yeah, there's any number of reasons why that's probably not true, but it still makes for a good story. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293096#Comment_293096 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293096#Comment_293096 Tue, 03 May 2011 22:30:19 -0700 Erisah http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293323#Comment_293323 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293323#Comment_293323 Thu, 05 May 2011 05:03:20 -0700 government spy When Dominatrix girl dumped me

I’d had a crush on her through high school, one of my best friends dated her for a long time, and I move to Texas with her best friend, and had a kid. When I came to Chicago after me and my ex had split, and she was actually interested in me; it blew my fucking mind. She is still one of the most gorgeous women I’ve ever known. She’s funny, brilliant, an extremely talented artist. She was with me when I met Neil Gaiman, she’s the one who first handed me an issue of Transmet, and restarted my love for comics and the graphic novel. We dated for like six months. Some of the best (and craziest) sex I’ve ever had. Plus, I was on the rebound from a four-year relationship. So yeah, I fell for her hard (just to clarity, we're still really good friends to this day).

She let me crash on her couch when I had first moved to Chicago. I met a future roommate, E. the cute little lesbian, and K. the self-proclaimed Arrogant Gay Black Man. I lived there rent-free, and when I got a job, I pitched in for groceries while I saved up for an apartment. Six months later, I found a great apartment a block away (feel the need to cut the umbilical cord, anyone?) When I loved into my new place, maybe a week later? I got the “let’s be friends” speech. I was heartbroken. I also knew it was coming; it just was a matter of time. She was way out of my league; too beautiful, too smart, too talented, too skinny (read: I was too fat).

When she dumped me, I said, “Oh yeah, let’s be friends. Look, I don’t see you calling me wanting to go hang out or anything, so don’t pretend.” She denied that. I shrugged. “Alright, we both know you’re going to find some new guy long before I move on and date another girl. So do me a favor. When you want to hang out, fine, just I better not see the guy. I won’t be ready. I won’t be fair. I don’t want to see the guy, or know anything about him.” She agreed to my terms.

A few months later, I get a call. She had tickets to see Thrill Kill Kult at the Metro. I was like, “Is dude gonna be there?” She said no. We made plans to meet up.

I show up, and the first thing she says is, “I didn’t know he was going to be here. He’s a DJ and he got VIP passes.” Whatever. Fine. Good to see you too. I was livid. (And I’m not claiming I was being fair, or even rational. This is just a record of how it went down.) So I go into the club, and I got right into the pit. Now, normally, my pit etiquette is very strict; you don’t elbow, you don’t punch. If you see someone fall, you pick them up. If you see someone small (male or female, but generally I look out for the ladies) being hurt or something, do what you can to help. Don’t be a dick. Well, this time, I threw everything out the window. I went in, balls to the wall. I went in with the desire to get my ass kicked. I got bloody, and went back to the bar for a drink. When I looked up, I saw the balcony, and there was my girl, kissing this asshole right on the fucking balcony. Like with a fucking spotlight on them. I don’t remember much, but I do know I immediately head-butted someone.

By the time the show was over, my shirt was in shreds, my face had been clawed by someone’s fingernails, I had at least one black eye, my knuckles were red, swollen and cut open by someone’s teeth. I walked out of the Metro, and ran into the group. I saw the girl, and said goodbye. I saw the new boyfriend (went by DJ Kitty and was usually either in drag or wearing kitty ears. Tonight was a kitty ear night. Really?), so I walked up to him and offered my hand and said, “Hey man, nice to meet you,” looked back at the girl, shaking his hand and said “Good luck with that.” As I walked away, I swear to God, and to this day I don’t know if this was real, or in my head, I swear I heard Kitty say, in a mimicking, high pitched cartoony voice, “nice to meet you, good luck with that” like he was imitating me sarcastically. It took every ounce of willpower not to shove my elbow into his mouth and break his jaw. I hesitated for a really long second, and then I walked away. As I passed the roommate K, I handed them their apartment key, which they had told me to keep, since I was always welcome. I gave it to K, and said that I didn’t think I’d need it anymore. Then I stormed off with a dramatic exit.

About a block away, I realized, I was still so new to Chicago, and having never been to the Metro before, I had no idea where I was. So I had to walk back and ask for directions back to the train. Felt like a total douchebag.

As I board the train, all fucked up looking, some homeless guy gets on and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention? I’m not looking for your money or charity; I’m not lookin for nothin. I’m just lookin for God.”

I sat there for a second. I was really pissed. And this kind of shit always pisses me off. So I look up, deadpan serious and I say, “You’re looking for God? You just missed him. He was on the other train, going that way,” as I point down the rail. He looks at me confused. “Big guy, long white beard, wearing a robe? Yeah, he went that away.” The bum walks away, no idea what he really wanted, but I’m guess he really wasn’t on a spiritual quest. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293336#Comment_293336 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293336#Comment_293336 Thu, 05 May 2011 07:47:19 -0700 AmableSim
Because it wasn't working, I thought it was a problem with the batteries. Well, there was a problem, but the batteries were not just dead. I opened it to get to the batteries and battery acid flew all over the bed and her.

Basically, I used it in the shower once before and the batteries had leaked battery acid. That was pretty bad.

There was also the time when my dog got sprayed by a skunk. I went to school, thinking that I would be OK, since I didn't even see my dog that day. Except my dog had rubbed up against my backpack. Immediately upon entering school, some kid comes up to me and says, "You smell like my dog's ass." This is within seconds upon entering the doors. I was taken home from school, but I had to change while there and they tossed my clothes out onto the sidewalk in garbage bags. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293337#Comment_293337 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293337#Comment_293337 Thu, 05 May 2011 07:56:48 -0700 government spy
Wow. You just made my jaw drop, and hang open the entire time while I read your post. I tip my hat to you, Sir. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293364#Comment_293364 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293364#Comment_293364 Thu, 05 May 2011 12:37:56 -0700 government spy
It was a badass place. They had converted some mansions up there into like several condos, and you had to take this little rickety elevator up to his door, and it was pretty big inside. Dude had his own library and everything. He also had to devil dog Dobermans or whatever they were they were mean. It took a while, but eventually the Hell Hounds got used to me. We did drywall, we painted, and I can’t remember everything we worked on that guy’s condo, I think I had to carry a St. Andrew’s Cross, which is basically like two 6ft long wooden beams that form a giant X that you can shackle someone to as they spread their arms and legs across the big X, and I had to move it into the “playroom.”

Well, it was a lot of hard work, and when we were done he was like, and of course you both are invited, although William (my name isn’t William, but he refused to call me Billy, he found it…plebian or something), he explained to me, it is a black tie only party, and did I need to borrow a black tie? I told him I had a tie, and that I was looking forward to it.

New Year’s Eve comes by, and I show up at the party. I’m wearing red plaid bondage pants, black combat boots, a white dress shirt (sleeves ripped off), a tie (with three or four metal spikes in the tie) and my leather jacket, my black hair done up like liberty spikes. I knock on the door, and this little hairless guy in leather shorts and a collar opens the door and looks confused, and I tell him to get the boss. Marquis shows up, and raises an eyebrow, and was like, at least you wore a tie… He walks me to the kitchen and points at a metal bathtub (I assume it was for washing the Hell Hounds) and it’s full of ice and Heinekens. He tells me that it’s all mine, as a thank you for helping with the party. Very cool of him.

This party is crazy. If I never go to a party like this ever again, I’ll be alright. There was a naked girl playing a violin (Dude found out she was a virgin, so he had his slave eat her out in front of everyone to “break her in.” Later, I saw a stripper strapped up to the St. Andrew’s Cross, while he used a Violet Wand on her ass. A violet want is a Victorian electrical device that glows a soft neon-like purple and it’s used to zap people. When he used it on her, she sounded like she was having orgasms. Those are just some of what I saw. I had decided early, that there was a limit on how drunk I was going to get. This was not a party you wanted to pass out or lose control of yourself at, or risk having something horrible done to you when you’re not thinking clearly and drunkenly agree to something dangerous.

I walk in one room, and there’s a girl passed out with a couple guys. Everyone’s dressed, but something’s amiss. I realize one of the Dobermans are in the room, and these guys are trying to coax the dog over to the unconscious girl, and that they’re gonna try to get it to fuck her. I get pissed really quickly. They try to shrug me off, and play it like everything’s cool man, don’t be a dick. I raise my voice, tell the dog to heel, and then I throw them both the fuck out, or I’ll have the dog rape them.

The rest of the night goes smoothly, and when midnight hit, I realize I am without a date, and get a pity kiss from my ex-girlfriend. Wow. Later, as I’m walking around, I spot her boyfriend, eating out some random girl’s ass. Yeah, this fucking Hello Kitty DJ asshole from before. It creeps me out but I don’t say anything, because I know it’ll come off as the jealous ex-boyfriend type bullshit. Party’s over, and I go home.

That week, I have lunch with Arrogant Gay Black Man, Domme Girl’s roommate. He asks me how the party was, and I start to say something, but cut myself off. I don’t know how many gay friends you have, or if they’re gossips, but if they are, they fucking hate that. So he pesters me and shit until finally I tell him about DJ Kitty eating some girl’s ass. I make him swear not to tell Domme Girl (thereby ensuring that he will, but guaranteeing that he won’t say it came from me). A week later, she dumped his ass. I felt much better after that. (She later confessed to me that she was glad she found out what a douche he was, and shortly after dumping him met a really great guy, and she ended up marrying that really great guy, who's a really good friend of mine, and everyone's all happy ever after. Hearts and motherfucking bunnyrabbits) ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293376#Comment_293376 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293376#Comment_293376 Thu, 05 May 2011 14:40:32 -0700 Jamie Heron http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293389#Comment_293389 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293389#Comment_293389 Thu, 05 May 2011 18:52:39 -0700 Alan Tyson http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293551#Comment_293551 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293551#Comment_293551 Fri, 06 May 2011 22:57:25 -0700 Purple Wyrm
Keep this in mind.

Now at my school they made us keep all our class work in a lever arch file. For reasons I still am unable to adequately explain I had a strong aversion to actually clipping anything into my file - I'd just open it, shove my papers in, and close it, which meant there was always a big wad of loose documents floating around inside it. In fact one of the more sadistic teachers took great pleasure in grabbing my file and tipping it upside down in front of the entire class, sending papers blossoming out all over the floor in a big WHOOPH. Used to take me a good five minutes to pick them all up again.

Keep this in mind also.

The school also insisted on everyone having the same school bag - a green, zip-up, satchel like arrangement with two handles and the school crest on the side. I used to absent-mindedly abuse mine terribly until it got to the point where the zipper simply wouldn't work any more.

Once again, keep this in mind.

So one fine day I was heading home from school. Along with a bunch of other students I used to catch the bus to the nearby railway terminal. As I was the only member of my gang of geeks and misfits to get the train, I used to hang out with a different and somewhat cooler bunch of kids for the rail journey - none of us ever spoke to each other at school but were forced into an alliance by the commute. This particular day most of the gang weren't there, only one guy named Jules, and he was talking with a girl from our year named Sam.

As circumstances would inevitably have it, I had a bit of a crush on Sam. She moved in some pretty rebellious circles, and was the first cousin of one of the year's biggest bullies, which somehow made her seem dangerous, exotic and cool. Thinking that I'd never get such a good opportunity to speak to her again, I took a deep breath, walked up and inserted myself into the conversation.

It actually went pretty well. I avoided all the normal issues I had with talking to girls, and did my best to adopt a kind of cool, nonchalant persona (which was probably hilarious to watch, but anyway). Everything was under control and I was feeling pretty good about the situation and myself. Then the train came in and I grabbed my bag, swinging it up to my shoulder in a cool, nonchalant fashion.

Unfortunately I only managed to grab one strap.

The bag swung up in a perfect arc, landing on my shoulder with its un-zipped mouth gaping wide. Inside the mouth was my lever arch folder which, in accordance with Newton's laws of motion, promptly vomited its contents in a great stream of loose paper, shooting all across the platform, onto the tracks opposite and then (with wind assistance) onto the opposite platform as well (I imagine it looked like I'd fired some kind of paper rocket launcher). I froze in shock with a facial expression similar to that of a surprised marmoset as everyone around - Sam in particular - burst into gales of uncontrollable laughter.

Sam went and found a seat on the train as Jules (after he stopped whooping with laughter long enough to catch his breath) and I dashed around madly recovering my entire year's work as onlookers laughed and jeered. We managed to get most of it back and boarded the train (naturally in a different carriage to Sam's).

Sam left the school not long afterwards - with me never having spoken to her again. I didn't change my filing habits, I just made sure to be careful when picking up my bag from then on. ]]> http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293674#Comment_293674 http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=9780&Focus=293674#Comment_293674 Sun, 08 May 2011 06:32:16 -0700 government spy
I graduated high school in the summer of ’97. During that summer, I had volunteered for some trips with the church my parents were members of. One was a week-long trip to New Orleans. I had been a volunteer for Habitat for Humanity in the past couple years, and had gone on several trips with this group, and I knew some people (read: girls) that would also be at the event.

So we check into our hotels, which were nice, but we’re sharing them with a bunch of dudes. We meet our little church group leaders, ours was a guy named Fritz, who was a really great guy. I’m not really into the Christian thing so much anymore, but Fritz was one of those people who taught what spirituality meant, regardless of dogma, and how to incorporate that into your daily life. I don’t have anything to do with any of these people anymore, but I still have respect for Fritz.

One night, it was a weekend I believe; I go meet this girl out on the top of the Ritz hotel downtown. Don’t remember how we got access, I just remember it was midnight or so, and I’m making out with this girl on the roof of a hotel in downtown New Orleans. Then I realize I’m out past curfew, and I take off down the stairs of the hotel to make it back to my room before I get caught.

I run through the hotel lobby, and bump into Fritz. I apologize, and he just looks at me like I’m crazy. Like a really weird, “you’re a pervert” kind of look. I dash off out the hotel, dodging traffic; almost get hit by a taxi, people honking at me, yelling at me, etc. Finally, I rest up in an alleyway to catch my breath. I feel kinda funny. Like you know something is wrong. I look down, and not only is my fly open, but my entire dick is hanging out my open fly. I had been running around New Orleans, and bumped into my mentor, with my dick exposed. Awesome.

I put my junk back in my pants, and make it back in time to walk in with another girl from my group who was out past curfew, so when we walked in, nobody knew we were out alone in the city. Of course, when I got back home to Illinois, my folks found out I had blown all of my college money (not like $800 was going to get me into anything other than the local community college), and I pissed them off, and they kicked me out. ]]>