22 Jan 09
Originally posted by Raven69When we were teens me and 3 other friends had great 'somewhat' fake fights. We were in the woods drinking some beers in my car, and it was left seats vs right seats (back seats vs front seats is usually started while driving for extra advantage. Shotgun was NOT your friend.)
I haven't, but it is on my "to do" list.
This involves punches and kicks hard as you like any place but head, heart and belly. Shoulders (front or back), hips, bicep, and thigh were favorites.
Anyway, were parked with doors open and I'm 5'11" and 135lbs. My buddy chasing me into the car is a couple inches shorter but weighs about 215 and a pretty cut guy (I'm a skate boarder, he's on the football team).
I hop into the car backwards facing him almost laying on the seat... and he's coming in for the kill. There I am, and I bend my knees and firmly place both on his hips... with a smile.
He looks at me with a face that says, "Ut oh"! as I expel him from the car a good 4 feet to land in a heap on his knees and chest.
It's not a window, but it was a rather nice sight seeing a guy almost twice my size flying out the door.
P-
22 Jan 09
Originally posted by PhlabibitIsn't it just? I bet I could make you fly...
When we were teens me and 3 other friends had great 'somewhat' fake fights. We were in the woods drinking some beers in my car, and it was left seats vs right seats (back seats vs front seats is usually started while driving for extra advantage. Shotgun was NOT your friend.)
This involves punches and kicks hard as you like any place but head, heart an ...[text shortened]... was a rather nice sight seeing a guy almost twice my size flying out the door.
P-
23 Jan 09
Originally posted by Raven69Okay, but I make no promises as to whether or not anyone would find this interesting.
Certainly. And do tell the story. That goes for everyone who said yes.
For a time, I attended college in a small town in Pennsylvania named Ambler. There wasn't much to do. I mean it's not like we were there to study or apply ourselves, or broaden our horizons, or anything like that. So, we spent many an hour drinking beer and watching VHS tape collections of Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Now, you would think this Utopian existence would lead to contentment. But not for us! And by us, I mean my roommate and I. We would get restless. Antsy in the pantsy. Going to class wasn't an option. And our little rent-a-fridge was already packed with beer and Ramen noodles, so we had no reason to go into town. So, we began inventing games...
Our first was on-campus golf. The rules were simple. Using a six iron and a golf ball, we would compete to see who could get from our dorm room to the on campus library in the fewest strokes. It took us a while to get started, as we immediately ran into the complication of not knowing where the library was. Neither of us had ever gone there. So we changed the rules to make our terminus the campus cafeteria. At least we knew where that was. Our first and only attempt at this game ended when my roommate's winning shot sailed majestically from the bottom of our dormitory building steps and through the side window of the cafeteria. Our six iron confiscated, and our wallets each $25 lighter thanks to the on campus fine, we retired to our room to fortify ourselves with shrimp-flavorerd noodles and think up a new game.
Our next recreational concoction was a game we liked to call 'Kamikaze Frisbee'. We had seen the hippie contingent on campus (what campus doesn't have a hippie contingent?!) chsing around a frisbee in their stupidly, stumbingly stoned way and thought, 'We can improve upon this concept.'. Of course, by 'improve', we meant 'make much more irresponsible and dangerous'. So we decided to start playing frisbee in our dormitory hallway, the dimensions of which were about sixty feet long by about 3-1/2 feet wide. At one end of the hallway was the communal bathroom. At the other was the fire exit door. These were the goals. The stated object of the game was to see who could score the most goals. But it wasn't long before the true object of the game degenerated into seeing who could inflict the greatest grevious bodily harm upon their opponent with a little plastic disc. Seeing as the hallway was barely more than a yard wide, the caroms off of walls and floor were magnificent. The game was such a rousing success that we soon had teams of roommates competing against one another. Sadly, it all ended with the striking of the fire alarm on the side wall.
Frisbee-less and another $25 in arrears, we sulked back to our beer and cartoons. Days passed. We despaired. I toyed idly with the notion of attending a chemistry lab, or perhaps finding this so-called 'library'. But salvation came to us in the form of a janitor's laziness.
While taking a trip to the communal bathroom, I happened to notice that the janitor had left his wheeled pallet outside the custodial closet. Rectangular in shape, about a foot wide and two feet long, with wheels at each corner, the pallet resmbled a sled. I looked at the pallet and down the hallway. Not knowing exactly why (who can explain the origins of unadulterated genius?), I picked up the pallet, took a running start of about ten feet and jumped down upon it, hurtling myself down the hallway. I made it all of twenty feet, about halfway to the fire door, before careening into the right hand wall like a race car out of control. The game of hallway luge had been born!
This was it. Our self-abusive, pointless-to-the-point-of-moronic pinnacle of entertainment. The game was simple, dangerous to the participant, and would in no way lead to the damage of campus property and the reduction of our beer money. Soon we had a group of like-minded retards (Yes, I said retards. They may or may not have had down syndrome. But that's a distinction for another thread.) taking turns hurtling themselves down the hallway to see who could go the farthest. Like any sporting endeavor, we all began to improve with practice. Soon, the benchmark was about 3/4 down the hallway, maybe ten feet or so from the fire door. In spite of our growing proficiency, it seemed that the fire door would remain our three-minute mile, an utterly unattainable yet irresistible goal.
I'm the reason it all came to an end. I'm the culprit who deprived our merry band of dumbasses of their glee. I'm the one who extinguished the light.
You see, because the hallway was so narrow, we had no choice but to stand in our doorways when it wasn't our turn on the luge. This wasn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, it enhanced the experience by leading to potential injury not only for the sledder, but for the poor schmo who might be struck once the luge inevitably wheeled out of control. It also allowed us to douse the sledder with water, beer, flaming refuse, whatever was handy, if they happened to make it past one's doorway.
Poor Dan. Dan lived in the room next to ours. A great guy. Dan came hurtling down the hall, as so many of us had done before. But this was different. Even from the start, we could all see that there was something special in this run. He had hit the ground perfectly on stride, no sign of wobble to the wheels. He had launched himself dead in the middle of the hall, allowing plenty of clearance to either side. His speed was good. Could this be it? Could this be the run that finally made it to the fire door? We were all yelling in encouragement, willing him forward. But our hopes began to turn to, well, the opposite of hope as friction began to win the day and Dan began to slow. He was still going, but we knew. We all knew. He was going to fall short.
I don't know what made me do it. The recent cancellation of Small Wonder? Yet another year without a Stanley Cup for the Flyers? I don't know. But, before I could stop myself, I sprinted from my doorway and, before Dan could ingloriously grind to a halt a mere six feet from the fire door, kicked the back of the sled with every ounce of force I could muster. Newly propelled, Dan not only made it to the door, he flew through it head first and down the stairwell. Legendary.
Dan the Defenestrated. I'll never forget him.
