I have two more stories worth telling, but they are not that funny, one is more like an illustrations of the general states of my country, the other is rated R, and there are some more stories that people generally don't know about him, so I will not tell them here either.
I summon some endurance and I will type in at least one of the stories.
I still think I will go back every now and then and correct some of the grammar. I don't see the mistakes until after I have read them a few times.

So many stories...so little time.

How Lark and I met...

I was going to school full time and working part time. I rarely had a day off. My friend and I worked together. She wanted to go to the beach on our day off and the local country bar--I was very interested in learning line dancing. Mostly because it meant not needing a partner for dancing. I was not comfortable with the whole touching a stranger thing.

I was wiped out by the time this day arrived. I really wanted to tell her we could do it another day, but I am a push over and an all around nice gal so we went to the beach where I got baked and then that night me(lobster girl) and my friend went to the bar.

I seem to remember getting there after the lessons were taught. So I had to settle for just watching people doing the dances. A few guys asked me to dance. And each were turned down with a polite no. Yes, I was very polite. I was asked again by another guy. Wow he was decked out. Hat, shirt, jeans, boots, big fancy buckle! But still I stood(err sat) firm on my No. My friend was getting tired of me saying no, she told me to dance with him. No.

"Just dance with him!"she insisted yet again. I was getting irritated at this point. I don't want to! To me dancing was too intimate. I don't know this person. You would think the guy would leave, but I think he was highly amused by us. She said to me, "I am not letting you leave unless you dance with someone!" Ok...ONE dance! THIS guy! Leave me alone! I decided that once I stood up in my 3 inch boots I would tower over the guy anyway and he would decide that I was too much woman for him! Well I stood up reaching the six foot 3 point and to my surprise he was at least an inch taller than me. Boots and hat made him taller too.

I danced with him. He was a good dancer, a nice guy and I felt comfortable. It wasn't so terrible after all. We went our separate ways. A few songs later he returned. I thought, okay why not. he seemed nice enough. Again we parted ways. Soon we were dancing each dance. As it turns out this guy was there with his friend who he had also promised he would come with to this bar despite not really wanting to be there. Yes, it was Lark I danced with that night. he gave me his number figuring this gal was not ever going to call him. I didn't ever give out my number. To his surprise I did return his call, and he asked me out. The rest is history!

*sigh*

Larknet is so dreamy.

Heh...outdrink??? I think not!

...No comment... (no offence meant, I just haven't seen a picture of Lark.)
A contest, then, to settle it!

The attempted break-in

This happened when Mrs. Poop and I were in the early stages of our relationship. I was staying at her place, we were all nekkid after a couple rounds of marathon sex when we heard what sounded like growling from just outside the window.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“Yeah, what the hell was-“

And then she screamed and pulled the covers up over her. Outside the window was some guy staring in and made another growling sound. I stand up and tell him to “Get the f**k out of here!!”

Clearly my giant pendulum-swinging cock scared him off and he walked away. The direction he walked was along the back of the house, and we heard some banging coming from the bathroom. So I slipped on my pants real quick as I walked to the bathroom. There was the a*****e’s arm trying to get in the window. Mrs. Poop had safety windows, so they wouldn’t go up very far and there was no way this jerk-off was going to fit through. So I punched his arm really hard and told him again to get the ‘f’ out of there.

Well he just walked along to the next window, the kitchen. I called for Mrs. Poop to get the phone and call 911 as the assbag attempted to lift the kitchen window. Same windows, same locks; he couldn’t get in.

“I don’t know where the phone is!” Comes the verge-of-tears call of the nekkid lady in the bedroom.

“Well look for it!” I call back as the moron outside moved to the back door.

“I can’t find it!” she says.

Just then the guy slams into the back door and knocks out the deadbolt like it was connected to plywood. The door started to swing inward but was stopped by a mounting pile of dirty laundry. The washer and dryer were there, you see; and the back door area was a laundry room that was sorely behind on its laundry.

I run up and slam the door shut again, apparently hurting one of his fingers in the door as well. I kick a bit more laundry in the way of the door and run to grab a weapon of some sort. Having done a bit of gardening earlier that day, I found a garden rake and held it like a monk who specializes in battle with garden rakes.

“Did you call 911 yet?” I ask.

“I can’t find the phone!”

“f**king look for it!!”

“I can’t find it!”

Clearly she is too frightened to think rationally, having never left the bedroom in her search for the phone.

The guy slams the door open a bit again, the laundry again stopping him.

“You take a step in here I’ll f**king kill you,” I tell him. I’m sure I looked intimidating with the garden rake poised over my head. I slammed the door shut again, glanced around and quickly spotted the phone.

“Let me in!” He says. I don’t know if he thought that would work or what, but obviously I responded “no”, probably with a few expletives that I can’t recall.

“Let me in!” He repeats.

“No,” I respond once more. “Why the f**k should I let you in?”

“Because I live here!” he says.

Now I know he didn’t live there, because I had been staying there everyday for almost a month. Mrs. Poop didn’t recognize him either, so there was no way he stayed there. “No you don’t,” I said.

“Yes I do,” he replied wittily.

“Then why have I never met you before?” I asked.

A bit of silence.

“Let me in!”

I swear this guy was one of Bugs Bunny’s old enemies, so I used a Bugs-like tactic.

“Alright hold on, I see what the problem is. There’s laundry on the floor blocking the way. Step back; I gotta close the door to move it.”

“Okay,” he says, stepping back. I slam the door shut and start kicking clothes in front of it, packing them in a bit with my foot. I didn’t know how much time I had before he wisened up to what was going on, so I moved quickly; made a fast dash for the phone, dialed 911 and resumed my stance, poised for the attack should he manage to find a way around the dirty laundry barricade.

He slams into the phone as I tell 911 the address.

I tell the guy I have the cops on the phone, but he continues to try and break in. 911 operator asks if I can describe him. “Describe him?” I ask. “Sure, he’s a few inches away.”

I described him in every detail, going so far as to ask the guy “Would you say your eyes are more of a green or a brown?” The assbag actually responded with ‘hazel’. I told him they were really pretty eyes.

911 said the cops were on the way so I told the guy “the cops are on the way, so you better start running unless you want to spend the night in jail.”

He understood then and took off.

The police apprehended him shortly after, found him staggering up the road (not even running). They asked me to identify him and I recognized him immediately, but took the opportunity to get close enough for him to hear me as I said, “Yeah, this is the a*****e who tried to break into my house; the stupid son of a b***h tried telling me I lived there.” Then specifically to him I said “Enjoy the cell tonight, f**ktard.”

They took him away and we had to answer some questions or whatever. The cops advised us to move out of that side of town, since there was always something crazy happening over there, and we moved in together the next day. I moved out of the big white house in McDonald (which I have more stories about) and we moved into an apartment.

That was almost 10 years ago.

One thing I will add, and hopefully this doesn’t come off as bragging; but I never seem to lose my cool in situations like this. I keep an even head, mock the other person to add to their aggravation and detract from their rationality, and generally do alright. Put me in a room with a bunch of strangers, however, and I become introverted and awkward. It’s one of my favorite things about me, makes me feel good about ‘worst case scenarios’.

[edit]Forgot to mention one detail that may make me look like a bit of an ass. I didn't realize until after the incident, but apparently there were a bunch of knives that I passed up on top of the fridge that I could have easily stabbed the man through the door opening with. Oh well, the garden rake looked way more badass anyway.

Okay, you asked. Here I am, McChunky. I am the one on the right. Obviously my son gets his looks from his Mommy.

Me too... although when faced with tough situations, I either end up in a sort of Zen-like deep concentration/calm, or a controlled berserker rage. (i.e. you don't really feel anything, and you have extra reserves of adrenalin, energy, etc. that your body taps into. It's the strangest feeling.

I've never been able to put myself into that feeling, either. Only involuntarily, which is pretty strange for me (given that I can simulate happiness, sadness, endorphin/adrenalin spikes, etc...)

Beautiful boy. I've had three...I know from beautiful.

Wow. You look... different than I expected. But still pretty handsome.

You don't even know what I look like...I'm sure I'm handsome, too!
Edit: Although Lark has that cup of booze in his hand.

Maybe... pics or you're lying.

DEP, you are a great storyteller.

Irishdrunk V.S. TraumaMamma V.S. Bornbad
I'll buy the drinks just to see who can drink the most.
Edit: All Plimates are welcome.

Thanks. But I've had plenty of practice with that one over the years.

Game on!

I accept any and all challengers. I'll even let you guys choose the booze.

As far tales from our collective past the last time I was picked up for a public intox I blew a 0.24 and passed the field sobriety test. Last time I'll ever walk home from the bar.

I can't drink more than a 1.75 litre bottle of rum at one setting. If you can do that...Let's go!

The drink will be Tequila. We have got to get together. Plime party.

Dunno, Tequila is a drink for hallucinatory. I play by the "Make it to the bathroom" rules. Can you still walk rules.