Tell Us A Story About Something You’ve Done Or Seen That We’ll Think Is Bullshit, But It’s True

Saw ‘The Big Five” on my first day of safari.

Took part in an orgy that was originally going to be only about a dozen people. It was at a huge farmhouse and we ended up with about 50 people, most of whom were pretty hot. This was summer 2015 in Connecticut.

I saw Shawn Mendes pounding some pussy and it was obvious he was enjoying it.

That's really sick and traumatizing, OP. Are you emotionally scarred for life now?

A group of young kids and their parents gathered around in a hut to watch hardcore pron in a tiny village in Laos.

I lived in a second floor apartment where a kind of tough guy lived in the basement. One night I was wakened by loud knocking on the outside door downstairs. I noticed red flashing lights as I went down. A cop flashed his badge and said they were looking for an escaped convict from a local prison and showed me a photo of one of the scariest dudes I've ever seen. After explaining that I knew nothing I went back to bed. A few weeks later I saw my downstairs neighbor and brought up the convict thing. He said "Yeah, that was my buddy. He was hiding in my ceiling and they never found him." That's when I knew I wanted to find a new neighborhood.

R4 No. not for life. I’m on now. I wasn’t freaked out at first, but I had a delayed stress reaction a few hours later. It didn’t last long.

Someone tried to abduct me in broad daylight when I was 7 months pregnant. Circumstantial evidence makes me believe it was by this guy.

Apparently not R4. He knew what he was going to see, stayed and watched to the end, and then bragged about. I’ve got my eye on you OP.

I saw ELLEN help an elderly tranny Across the street in West Hollywood.

When I was a kid, my father worked in black ops and at one point he received threats that I would be kidnapped in order to force him to share secret information -So I was sent to live with another family in another country (kind of like a witness relocation program). While there I was approached by a suspicious person who clearly knew who I was, and I was repatriated by Navy SEALS the next day.

My Donald make love to my poosey every Saturday and he fill me up so good.

When I was about 10 or so, Robert Downey Jr. played hide-and-seek with us at the Museum of Natural History (they were filming a movie; we kids were extras). It was the middle of the night so we all used flashlights and hid in the Elephant room. It was really cool and he seemed like a fun guy.

Something not so fun - seeing a man have his throat cut at a New York nightclub during a sudden violent brawl - he staggered out of the building as the other patrons screamed in horror and fled the scene. He evidently got into his car and bled to death behind the wheel; they found him the next day.

I grew up in Moorhead, Minnesota - across the Red River from Fargo North, Dakota.

While my family wasn't Lutheran or particularly religious at all, I did have a lot of Lutheran classmates given where I lived. When I was in grade school, I went to summer camp at the aptly named Luthercrest, on Lake Carlos, outside of Alexandria, Minnesota.

This is the 80s, during the cold war. Unbeknownst to me, the "theme" of camp for the week was Communism. The camp counselors at times wore red arm bands and "taught" us what it was like to live in a communist society - basically stripping us of all rights. They acted angry and gruff and might take food away from you, or come into your bunk and take something that belonged to you, or interrupt whatever you were doing and order you to do something else on a whim. If you refused any demands, you were sent back to your cabin/bunk or had to clean up in the main hall - as "jail."

To complete the find fuck, this was all interspersed with normal summer camp - games, swimming, canoeing, camp fire sing alongs- periods where they weren't being Commies.

Camp ended Sunday and at breakfast that morning all the counselors were super nice and returned items that were taken and tried to explain the reason behind all of it - to teach us the evils of Communism and what could happen if America ever went down that path.

Communist Camp is a true story and I still can't believe it whenever I tell it.

But did you find the fuck, R14?

I saw a man dancing with his own wife... and you will never guess where!

[quote] To complete the find fuck,

If only I had gone to a camp that held a find fuck!

You're right: I don't believe it.

What, R14?

Did I have sex?

My bad, I didn't see the error.

I meant, "mind fuck."

I saw Batboy having.dinner with Newt Gingrich and Strom Thurmond.

When I was a kid on the farm, around ten years old, I found a kitten in the barn who was mewing loudly and wouldn’t stop. It wasn’t apparent what was causing him distress until I went to pick him up. The poor thing was being eaten alive by maggots and they had chewed a hole in his tummy. It’s whole underside was pulsing with maggots,

I did the only humane thing I could think of. I grabbed a nearby 2x4 and conked it over the head. Even at ten, I knew there was no saving him.

That's nothing to be proud of, OP. Your rich friend sounds like a sick fuck, and so do you.

Let's just say that if the hole's deep enough no one finds out.

In the mid 70s, Peter Berlin cruised me in the meat rack between The Grove and The Pines. I'd seen his huge dick onscreen but I thought he was kind of tacky and just kept walking. He was LIVID!!!

It was ghastly, just ghastly.

Instead of Cub Scouts or Boy Scouts, my Dad and I belonged to a group called Indian Guides. Each group was named after an Indian tribe; ours was Choctaw. At weekly or monthly meetings, we all dressed up like Native Americans, played games and made plans for camping trips. We also called each other Native American names; my dad was Big Fox, I was Little Big Fox.

Oh and we were all whitey white white as could be.

Saw a ghost in a brand new townhouse.

I saw Goody Hawkins with the devil! I saw Rebecca Nurse with the devil!

I saw a beheaded head on a pike on top of a wall.

Please tell us that you and your father wore very skimpy loincloths when you "played Indians" together.

I had dinner at the Space Needle with Bill Gates

R29, the Choctaws were known to rough it in the raw.

r28 = Romy Schneider's next-door neighbor

I met Meghan Markle.

Sandy Bullock was a guest at a dinner party I hosted, and backed up my master bathroom toilet.

Got selfies taken with Angela Lansbury, Helen Reddy, and Lesley Ann Warren.

What did she back it up with, r34?

R23, Cheryl? Is that you?

R17, it's overrated.

R25 Yawn.

R25's story is hot.

That slut Lansbury will take a selfie with ANYBODY!

I grew up in Hawaii. My mom sent me to the supermarket to buy some ground beef for the spaghetti she was making that night.

This creepy old white dude was smiling at me and it was obvious that he was hitting on me. He was giving me totally fuck-me vibes. I told him I really had to go home and I can't be late because my parents were going to be really upset and took off.

When I was being rung up, the checkout lady asked if I knew who that man was. She told me it was Jim Nabors.

In the mid-70’s my mom and Bernadette Peters were good friends. She lived off of Sunset Blvd on Sunset Plaza Dr. in a super glamours apartment building, long since demolished. My sister and I then just kids would visit and hang out at the apartment’s gorgeous pool. They lost touch after she moved back to NYC. She was really a nice human being and was a lovely friend to my mom.

If you scroll down the link you will see the uphill view from pool to the of the major part of the apartment building. Bernadette lived up the stairs on left, that first bay windows was the first floor of her 2 story townhouse. Apparently at the time Cheryl Ladd lived down by the pool but we had no idea who she was at that time.

I love the Sunset Plaza apartments, R43. They still have that old Hollywood charm. The brick and awnings. Classic.

You’re full of shit, OP.

R2 you are lying that they were pretty hot.

When I was a little girl, a bad man slashed my chin. I still feel scarred for life.

I am the reincarnation of Princess Margaret.

I've worked in Hospitality for years. I been cursed out by Serena Williams , Lisa Whelchel , Anderson Cooper and Mickey Rooney .

An old guy gave me a credit card in my 20s (I was movie star hot. For real.). All I had to do was have lunch with him once a week. I traveled all over the world with it. Paid for my school. Had an absolute blast.

Man, looking like a god was fun.

R8 Wow...is he free at this stage?

I shared a beer and had a conversation with Amy Winehouse. She was very funny and down to earth. I was lucky to ask her for a photo and she was so nice to agree to it, however she posed very oddly - kinda like Elvis. When I show it to people it looks like I photoshopped her in the photo. It's still fun to tell people I got to hang out with her.

R50 Peaking early is difficult, isn't it. For those of us who had a long steady climb, the summit is so much richer; the schadenfreude so much more satisfying.

I hope you enjoy seeing the reflection of your "middle-age face" in the windows of my Porsche when you clean my windows at the car wash.

When I was in the fifth grade a mean trashy girl tried to impress us by bragging that she was getting fucked by a grown man.

This thread is really bleak. I thought it was going to be kooky, fun happenings, not five year olds looking at pron.

I've shared this story before, it makes me smile at the universe.

I met my husband when we were both 13, in Home Ec class- I know, right?- we were seated next to each other and became lab partners, then friends. Both being shy, it took us a while to express our feelings, we just spent a lot of time together like best friend do. His older brother used to tease that I was his gf. Eventually his alcoholic dad started questioning things and that is when my family moved to another town. I have idea of those two things are related.

Many years later, in our late twenties, we reconnected and have been together since. He the kindest, most beautiful person I have ever met and I still get giddy thinking about him.

A few years ago we did ancestry research on our family names and learned his last name was in the Grest Rolls, that is, the first time his last name recorded and this goes back to Medieval times. The person listed on those records centuries ago with his last name, had MY first name.

I know who killed me.

i nursed a dog when i was four years old; my friend and i saw his dog nursing puppies and the rest just kind of happened.

I spent 12 years traveling and living in cheap hotels. In those 12 years I never made a bed or washed a dish. And I never spent more than 10 dollars a night for a room. No one believes me when I tell them this.

R59 were you a hooker ?

R56 Thanks for sharing an excerpt from Chicken Soup for the Frau Soul

I spent some time in East Berlin in the mid 80s. I used to cross the Berlin Wall quite regularly.

On many occasions I would be followed by Stasi agents when I was traveling in East Berlin or going to places like Dresden or Potsdam.

I applied a few years ago to the Federal Commissioner for Records of the the State Security Service (BStU) to see if I had a security file and I did. It was fascinating to read the information that they had gathered on me.

R72 like what kind of information?

Years ago, I met and had tea with one of the survivors of the Titanic. She was 12 when the ship went down and she told me some really frightening and sad stories. She got on a lifeboat with her mother while it was “women and children only”. Her father kissed her goodbye and that was the last she ever saw of him.

r42’s story is creepy!

I was Jeff Bezos's shadow for a year.

I saw a werewolf drinkin' a piña colada at Trader Vic's

I was jogging and a guy jumped off the bridge over me and landed a foot in front of me. His innards were all over me.

R56 that’s so sweet

I was invited with a small group (six people total including an Oscar winning actress) to a party on a yacht on the Riviera. Other than the two hosts, the only other guest was...Jeremy Irons.

At least a few times a year I will be introduced to someone, or someone will come up to me and ask where they know me from, or if I used to be on TV. I have no idea why this happens so often but it freaks me out.

[quote] A few years ago we did ancestry research on our family names and learned his last name was in the Grest Rolls, that is, the first time his last name recorded and this goes back to Medieval times. The person listed on those records centuries ago with his last name, had MY first name.

What?

I married hot sexy man. I love him muchly. It is love that is true, not for money.

I ran for President a second term and won. BY A LOT.

Close, r27.

In The Crucible, Abigail's last name is Williams not Parrish, although there is another character named Reverend Parris. Both were actual historic characters during the Salem Witch Trials.

Your joke could have been funnier if you had remembered what you read in the tenth grade!

Faye slapped a little homosexual boy backstage.

It was delicious.

I saw Judy Holiday, Bette Davis and Gloria Swanson having a street brawl over an Oscar statue. Celeste Holm, Erich Von Stroheim, Hedda Hopper and Thelma Ritter stood on a corner egging them on.. Finally DeMille broke up he fight with the help of Henry Willcoxon. Later that evening when I was home, the phone raing. It was Joan Crawford calling to ask if the story. When I regaled her with the story, she laughed like a hyena for 15 minutes. After I put the phone dawn, I opened the curtains on my three mirror and treated myself to some well deserved masturbation. A most satisfying climax to an exciting evening.

R53 what part of my post made it seem as though I'm not a very successful middle aged man? (I am.) I just don't look Brad Pitt circa Seven anymore.

I once met Echo from Echo and The Bunnymen, although I didn't know who he was at the time.

[quote]A few years ago we did ancestry research on our family names and learned his last name was in the Grest Rolls, that is, the first time his last name recorded and this goes back to Medieval times.

I did research on my family's history on my grandfather's side. My mom never knew much about them. During my research I ran into a painting of a man at our ancestral castle, painted hundreds of years ago. I thought he looked sort of like me with a mustache. It was funny to me. I snapped a photo of the book I saw it in and I sent it to my friends. Without me bringing it up via text, they all said the same thing. They all asked who he was and I didn't know. I just knew he was related to me in some way.

Some point after, I realized I could do a Google image search on the image. It worked. I found the painting and the person. It wasn't odd that he had the same last name as me. That was the point. What was odd was that he also had to same first and middle name as well and no, that wasn't intentional. My first and middle names came from actors my mother was infatuated with!

[quote]I just don't look Brad Pitt circa Seven anymore.

Neither does he.

R72, The Pipe rolls, sometimes called the Great rolls,[1] or the Great Rolls of the Pipe are a collection of financial records maintained by the English Exchequer, or Treasury, and its successors. The earliest date from the 12th century, and the series extends, mostly complete, from then until 1833.

What I was trying to say is husband's last name was on those records, the first time in recorded history where his last name was written down. Its not the name of a noble or royalty, just a working guy paying his taxes to the crown. I think it's when people started taking last names, instead of being known in a village as John the Baker, someone would be John Baker for example. The person on those records with my husband's last name had MY first name.

My first job out of high school was working in the kitchen of a popular local restaurant in my city.

The chef was fired for showing up drunk one too may times, so he threw up in the clam chowder and served it to the owner's family.

I watched him do it and said nothing because he held a knife to my throat and said he'd kill me if I "snitched".

R64 By coincidence, I interviewed Lily Futrelle, once the young bride of science fiction writer Jacques Futrelle who went down with the Titanic, for my junior high newspaper when I was about 12 years old and she was about 90. She had an ear trumpet instead of a hearing aid (so I had to yell a lot) and for some reason was called Anna, even though her legal name was Lily. A neighbor of hers was a friend of my Mom and set it up.

We had tea, too. And dry cookies from the A&P.

I once served coffee to Ann B. Davis.

(Maybe I should have posted this to the underwhelmed thread.)

What’s so underwhelming about that?!

I sucked off Tony Danza in a sauna in a San Fernando valley Bally’s gym in the in the eighties.

My friend, a masseur told me an unhinged Tony Danza did nothing but bitch during the rub down that he deserved John Travolta's career. Waaaaah!

R78 Just ignore him. He’s one of those ugly people who was bullied and teased and held a lot of pent up anger towards us hot people, even if we were nice to him. The only way he can feel better about the situation is to attempt an insult now

No R53 - you can’t sit with us

I cruised Julianne Moore at a Starbucks (not sexually, but cruised for being suspected of being Julianne Moore). She was tiny with the skin of a child and expensive casual clothes. She gave me the most classic look of “Yes it’s me, I love you too.”

r87.. Who made the first move?

Yum R87

This happened around 1999. I had to be in the city for an appointment an hour away from my home. It's an Eastern city in the US, so it's very old and the infrastructure is constantly being reconstructed. This was the days before the internet, so I couldn't just look up where construction was being done on the highways and roads. One thing was for certain - you were always going to encounter some delays SOMEWHERE on your way. Therefore, I knew not only to give myself plenty of time to get there, but I also knew to drive like a bat out of hell whenever I had to go. I had worked in the city as well for a time before. My comfort zone was 85 miles per hour and I kicked it at that speed the entire way there. I was cruising right along at 85 mph in my bright red Honda Prelude with the moon roof open, and the stereo blaring and when I saw him - it was too late. A State Trooper was backed up onto one of the two mounds of land under an overpass in such a way that when you spotted him, he had already spotted you. His rear end was parked up toward the overpass with his front end nearest to the highway - positioned like a track start about to take off from his mark. He saw me, I saw him, he took off and then just as quickly came to a stop as he could not merge onto the highway right then, but I knew damn well he was coming. We're on a six lane highway, three lanes in each direction. I stepped on the accelerator, and flew when I looked in my rearview mirror and saw that he had made his way onto the highway, lights going. I came upon a Semi Truck, and drove up his left side, getting over right in front of him. We were CLOSE as I drove with his front bumper practically touching my rear bumper, and of course by this time I had slowed down to the legal speed limit of 55 mph which is what he was going. I looked in my rear view to see him with both arms splayed in the air briefly as if to way "WTF?!!" But, then he must have gotten the alert over his CB radio because I saw him crane his neck to the left to look out his side view mirror which is when I looked through mine! Here came the Trooper - mind you, the tables have turned. Now, I can see him before he can see me as I'm right in front of that Semi like a a bear cuddling a kitten. I keep the Trooper in my sight view my side view mirror, and right when he reaches the rear driver's side of the Semi, I move over into the far right lane and I start falling back after dropping about five miles per hour. So, driving on this three lane highway - it's the Trooper in the far left lane, the Semi in the middle, and now I'm in the far right lane. As I fall back, the Trooper is coming up along side the Semi, and because I'm sitting so low in the Honda Prelude, I can still see him underneath the Semi's trailer. He's sitting significantly higher in whatever cars they were driving back then. I can see into the cab of his cruiser just about three inches from the bottom of the passenger's side window - he's on his radio, speaking into the mouth piece. As he pulls ahead, I keep falling back and then I get directly BEHIND the Semi, riding his rear "bumper" for the next several miles until I see an exit for the next town. I speed up because I have to tell this guy "thanks for the help" in some way. I make my way to the front of the Semi, but stay in the right lane as I'm about to take the exit. I stick my arm through my moon roof with my hand in a fist. He pulls his horn "BONK BONK" and I take the exit to sit in a parking lot for the next 20 minutes or so before getting back on the highway to make my way to the city. This all happened very quickly within the space of just a few minutes. It's likely that I haven't explained this well enough to convey the rush of excitement and urgency involved, but it was like something out of the movies. The way it all played out was incredible, and I was led from the very beginning by instinct alone.

R93 again - On another note, my Mother attended two Democratic National Conventions as a delegate at each convention. She was in Chicago in 1996, and she got to meet and shake Hilary Clinton's hand. "The television doesn't do her justice." She was also in Denver in 2008 in support of Barack Obama. She got to meet him as well, shaking his hand and calling him "Mr. President" prematurely. He admonished her for it, telling her not to jinx him. They laughed together and she asked him for a hug. He gave her one.

R90, seriously?

You mean your instinct to drive like a lunatic and break the law?

^^^ STFU and move along, ya bleeding ass CUNT! No intentional offense to anyone else, but up above is DL's resident troll stalker who's breaking the law in more ways than one here on DL. Iggy his comment above and look through his posts to get a feel for his line of bull shit. Cyber stalker to the extreme.

Hey, r97.

SIMMAH DOWN NOW!

I almost got run over by Prince Hans Adam of Liechtenstein in Vaduz on the corner where the Vaduzerhof Hotel is.

I was cruised by Ed O'Neill in a straight Irish bar in West L.A. We were the only two at the bar itself and I purposely didn't try to make eye contact to give him his privacy. But he wouldn't stop eye-fucking me. It was obvious he was waiting for me to leave so he could follow me. But when the friend whom I was meeting showed up and sat down, O'Neill just got up and left in disgust, like I was the one who was wasting his time.

Later when he had the feud with Amanda Bearse, I wondered how much of it was projection.

Was that bar The Irish Times, R100?

r101 -- no, it was on Santa Monica Boulevard in West L.A. (not West Hollywood). Looking at Google Maps, it's now a place called Mom's Bar.

I almost backed over Jane Fonda in an Encino, CA parking lot back in the 1980’s. She yelled and shook her fist at me. It made me feel really bad.

This happened to my brother but it still astonishes me. First, I believe my brother implicitly -- he's not the type of person who makes shit up. Anyway, his wife was out of town and my brother went to their usual Saturday night restaurant sitting at the bar swigging Martinis. He got completely shit-faced but he has always been someone who carries it well. He left the bar even when the bartender offered to drive him home because he knew how many he had had. My brother insisted on driving as he lived close by.

He's coming up to take a left at the break in the median (one of those wide Florida boulevards) and he smashes into a city cop car. It was just parked in the center of the turning lanes, no lights or anything. My brother is scared to death, gets all his Marine Corps (retired) IDs ready and sits in the car. Nothing. Now he thinks he killed the cop so he gets out and tries to be as sober as possible. No one in the car. No one around. Just then another cop car pulls up and the cop gets out and starts questioning my brother. My brother shows his ID and badge (county cop years before after the USMC). The cop asks where he lives and my brother points to his house across the boulevard in one of those Florida developments. Just then the cop from the car my brother hit comes walking out of the bushes and stops cold when he sees what is happening. The second cop says to my brother: "Can you make it?" My brother says yes, and the cop gives him back his ID and badge and tells him to get home quickly. As my brother was getting into his banged up car -- not bad because he had slowed for the turn -- he saw the cop run over the side of the road and grab the cop who had just come out of the bushes. That's all my brother saw. There was no looking back. He got home and got the car fixed before his wife came home, but they're both big drinkers so I think he eventually told her.

Catch One 1987 ish. In the men's room standing at a long open urinal. Pissing. Tall guy comes in walks all the way over to my side stands next to me. I'm holding . He's holding. I glance down and up. He does the same. Smiles , winks . Zips up and leaves. Takes me a second to wonder why he looks familiar. Keanu.

[quote] I cruised Julianne Moore at a Starbucks (not sexually, but cruised for being suspected of being Julianne Moore). She was tiny with the skin of a child and expensive casual clothes.

Did she ever get arrested for having flayed that child?

I had a delicious Whopper from Burger King in the suburbs of Chicago.

R93's story reminds me of an almost accident that I somehow managed to avoid on instinct alone.

I was driving my Ford zx2 (the sport version of the Escort) with my brother in the passenger seat.

We are heading southbound on a 4 lane highway doing about 70 mph in the left middle lane. We were moving at the same speed as the traffic around us and traffic wasn't too heavy but it was busy enough.

Some fuckwit in a BMW whizzes by us in the high speed lane and as I look over, I can see his head down to his right and his cell phone in his hand.

We are in the lane next to the idiot but he has blown by us. There are two lanes to my right. Up ahead, I can see traffic is slowing and some have stopped in the high speed lane and in my lane. The fuckwit texter isn't slowing down. He's still driving at about 75.

I glance at my right mirror and I can see traffic coming up on my right but they aren't moving as fast as we are. At this moment, everything went into that slow motion you hear so much about in accidents.

I look over at the fuckwit and he sees the line of stopped traffic. He slams on his brakes and jerks his wheel to the right in a panic but he hasn't stopped. He's coming right at us, head on and out of control.

Even now, I can see the fear in his face and his cell phone flying up in the air as he tries to control his vehicle.

I didn't hesitate for a second. I punched the gas and cut across to far right lane. As we zoomed by, the front end of the BMW barely missed clipping my driver's side rear end (which would have sent us spinning into the concrete barrier on the right shoulder). Little Blue drove like a Ferrari that day and saved our bacon.

My brother screamed, "that was fucking awesome!" I looked in the rearview to see the fuckwit was now facing northbound in the southbound lanes and all southbound traffic had stopped behind him.

Luckily, the fool didn't kill anyone but had I panicked and slammed on the brakes, he would have killed my brother and I plus who knows how many others behind us.

My brother still talks about that incident with something approaching awe. It really was like something out of a movie, complete with screaming tires and my brother's fist pump.

About 15 years ago, I had sex with Carrot Top. Muscled, freckled ginger.

July 1992. US HWY 98, vicinity of Chiefland, FL (halfway between Tampa Bay and Tallahassee deepest BFE). Despite its US Hey designation this was just a 2 lane road. Up ahead on the opposite side of the road was an overturned farm truck. As I got closer it appeared that it was hauling watermelons. A Black family was loading up the trunk of their Buick Electra 225. It was such a stereotype come life I wasn’t sure I was losing my grasp on reality.

I met Julia Roberts in the subway in my 20’s.

Lady Bunny said I was pretty, claiming my lips and cheekbones “must be fake.”

My father introduced me to Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman in the late 80’s/early 90’s while he worked on the crew for SNL. I really didn’t register who they were but got autographs anyway. I was a preteen.

r100 again -- I had hired a new accountant. Her only appointment was Saturday so I went to her house in an expensive part of town.

As we sat in her dining room going through receipts, her husband walked in from the garage. Behind him was a guy with a gun in the husband's back.

We all ended up face down on the floor -- me, the accountant, the husband, and the housekeeper -- while the gunman ransacked the house. It was probably 10 minutes but felt like forever.

Finally the guy said "Don't get up for five minutes" and we heard the door to the garage shut.

The police came but we didn't have much for them to go on.

I never went back to the accountant, and she never got in touch with me for the initial bill.

I lol’d, r106.

R93 / R94 I want you inside of me.

Not me but my dad: he was in the Navy in WWII and clerk on a transport ship. He got drunk one night in the early 1980s when I was a kid, and started telling a story about hooking up with Audie Murphy. This would have been after his combat service and I believe when he was on his way stateside.

Mom made dad stop telling the story and things were quite tense for a while.

A few things..

I smuggled about an ounce of hashish from Casablanca to San Francisco in my underwear in the 70s. Airport security stopped me and went through my bag, but that was all.

My friend and I were talking in my car which was parked in front of Golden Gate park. A woman came out with a black man,and the skin on the woman's face was green, the color of pistachios. My friend and I discussed it at the time, but she doesn't remember it.

I was mugged by a gunman late at night. I was so stoned that tears started running down my face, with fright. The would-be robber was so appalled that he put his gun away and apologized, and wanted to buy me coffee.

1994 - I was young, handsome and browsing in a midtown Barnes and Noble when I noticed a slender, older, upper east side type woman was staring at me. Then I realized it was Tina Louise. On an earlier film job I’d learned she was a complete wack-job; so instead of letting myself get picked up by Ginger Grant I panicked. I walked away and she followed me around the store until I exited out onto the street. I was such a fucking idiot.

R109 - details please. I find him interesting.

I met and visited with Katharine Hepburn and her housekeeper/companion (Peggy? I don't remember her name, it was about 1984 or '85) at KH's house on East 49th Street, east of the Waldorf. No. 222 or 220? It's one of three or four almost-matching brownstones, sort of Spanish/Moorish/Italianate-style facade, but actual brown stone, not brick or some other stone.

Inside the front door, a step or two down from the sidewalk, you entered a small foyer with black and white chessboard tile floor. The tiles were about 12 inches square, maybe a little smaller. Through an open double doorway at the left, you entered a lovely floor-through room that had covered windows that would have looked out on the street on one side and a very big window that looked out on Turtle Bay Gardens on the interior side. The big window framing the gardens was one of those big rectangles, probably 7 or 8 feet wide, 5 or 6 feet high, and with a grid forming rectangular "lights" or glass panes.

The room looked like a movie set, only more rumpled. Like a lovely Connecticut country house, almost an English cottage look, but definitely American, not as fussy as what I see described as "English country." The sofa that faced the big window (about 12 or so feet back) was very overstuffed comfy style with big red and pink cabbage roses on a cream background. Wing-back chairs, dark wood side tables, etc.

There were newspapers and books all over the place, some of the books placed open and face down, as if she'd been reading and stopped for just a moment, then hadn't made it back to the book yet.

Peggy (that probably isn't her name, but it's how I think of her) hardly said anything. She was a plain, dowdy little woman who shuffled around like Tim Conway in his old-man character on The Carol Burnett Show. I liked her and she made me smile.

Hepburn was charming, laughed easily, sometimes "barked" instead of laughed, but she was also shrewd, and at one point when she thought I might have been trying to put something over on her (I wasn't, but I understood she had a lot of people try to take advantage or just suck up to her), she looked at me and her eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together, but then she relaxed and apparently decided to trust me. It was a non-verbal communication that lasted all of about 2 seconds, but I took it as a supreme compliment.

Great story, R119. Hepburn is one of my all-time favorites as much for her acting as her personal character.

R103 next time, please finish the job.

My boyfriend used to have a recurring nightmare where he was on a cobblestone street about to be killed. He didn't see his killer but he knew it was about to happen. He would have this same nightmare constantly. He knew every inch of the street and would describe it to me, along with the paralyzing fear he felt as he was about to die. One night, on a trip to Paris, he found himself on a street and recognized it as the same on in his nightmare. He called me in shock. "It's real," he said. "I found the street." He was not killed and he never had the nightmare again.

This will appeal more to animal enthusiasts, I think.

A number of years ago, a fox showed up in my yard, and it was so tame that it would take food from my hand. (Her picture is below.) It's not uncommon to see foxes here, because there's forest land in back of my house, and across the field, which you can see in the picture, there are stands of birch trees. Apparently all the people in the area knew her.

She remained in the area for a number of years, and then her visits slowly tapered off, so I figure she went back into the deep woods and probably took a mate. Not once, during the time she hung around my place, did she ever have young, because apparently she spurned all suitors. And yes, suitors would show up at intervals.

One day, I heard the local crows fussing. I looked out the back door, and saw a huge number of them in the trees on both sides of the field. It was early spring, and there was still a high, frozen snowdrift at my end of the field. Upon it reclined the fox, like a queen on her throne, her little black paws crossed in front of her. At the other end of the field was another fox, apparently a male, and he was trying to run the gauntlet of crows to reach his intended mate. Every time he tentatively tried to reach her, creeping timidly past the crows, they would make such a racket that the fox would retreat. He tried a number of times. It was like something from a Disney movie. After several attempts, he gave up, and slunk back into the woods. The crows seemed to enjoy the action immensely, as if they were the minions of the fox, and likewise the female fox, calmly watching the proceedings, once more showed that she was the one in command.

That's a great story R123. I love foxes and find them fascinating. It would be great to domesticate one, and you sound like you came close. This almost makes me wonder if this is how dogs and humans began interacting 12,000 years ago.

My maternal grandparents were an earl and a countess.

Thank you, R124. She was about as tame as a fox could be. She would even come up onto the back step and look in the doorway. I would imagine that it's very possible that dogs and humans interacted in this way thousands of years ago.

As a matter of fact, my partner and I were hiking around a clifftop in the area a couple of years ago, and we found a colony of semi-wild foxes living in a small abandoned stone building. I'd estimate that there were 20 of them, and they were very curious about us. We sat on the grass, and a number of them gathered around us. My legs were stretched out in front of me, and one of them tentatively nibbled at the toe of my sneaker. After observing them for some time, we got up to leave and one of them accompanied us for some distance and then turned back. It was surreal. I felt like chimp researcher Jane Goodall.

Growing up we went every year to Ireland my mother was born there. My grandfather helped found the IRA and was kicked out of the country. He was never allowed to return to Ireland (even after he passed he had to be buried in NY).

A few years ago my cousin and I went out drinking. While drinking he asked if I thought it was weird that I, as a three and later four year old, carried my own small suitcase going to Ireland. I stated that I did not know why as I thought it was just a small kid wanting his own stuff. Turns out that my grandfather was raising money for the IRA and sending it to Northern Ireland in my luggage. I laughed it off but my cousin told me to ask my mom about it. With him there, I called her. She confirmed the story and stated that it was all good because I would not have been charged as they would never search a small kid. I was a money mule for my grandfather. My mother also would give us baby valium when we got to JFK for our flight. Her reasoning was that it put us to sleep so that our bodies were already adjusting when we landed in London before transferring to our flight to Belfast.

r119, her name was Phyllis, Phyllis Wilbourn actually, not Peggy.

When I was a child I learned to play one, and only one, tune on the piano - Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater, using only the black keys. One summer my parents took me and my brother to a nice resort in Northwestern CT, The Wake Robin Inn. There in the ping pong room was also an old upright piano, and while my family played ping pong, I played PPPE over and over. The family was used to it, or didn't care, but apparently my playing infuriated the very old man staying in the room on the other side of the wall from piano. One day the raging man came out of the room with his cane and stood behind me. He then lifted his cane up as though he was going to hit me with it -- which he would have done if my mother hadn't spotted him and stopped him -- luckily he was so frail she just basically pushed him. He glared at her and then his wife showed up and ushered him out of the room.

My mother asked the desk who that man was. Why, the receptionist said, that's James Thurber. I was nearly killed by a great writer. Still my greatest achievement as of today.

R124

Cultures across the globe consider foxes to be incorrigibly wild. In both ancient fables and big-budget movies, these fluffy mammals are depicted as being clever, intelligent and untamable. Untamable, that is, until an unparalleled biology experiment started in Siberia almost 60 years ago.

The tale begins with Dmitry Belyaev, who was studying genetics during a very dangerous time in the Soviet Union. State officials campaigned actively against genetic research with a tactic known as Lysenkoism, under which hundreds of biologists were either thrown in prison or executed. After Joseph Stalin’s death, the government’s grasp on genetic research loosened, and though it was still controversial, Belyaev was finally able to test a hypothesis he had been secretly pursuing.

A sequel to "A Thurber Carnival" called "A Thurber Homicide"!

To the person who had the selfie taken with Helen Reddy, what is the story behind it?

Thurber had been a morose, misanthropic drunk since his youth and was basically completely blind in his later years; so R129 was completely dominating his limited consciousness with the aural equivalent of Chinese Water Torture - no wonder the old boy cracked. He’s always been my favorite author, and now I admire him even more.

Thank you, R128, I'm glad my memory at least got the first initial correct.

When I was a kid, my neighbors were big Beatles fans, so I knew who Maharishi Mahesh Yogi was. I heard on the news he was coming to Denver the next day, but didn't think much about it. The next afternoon I was playing in the front yard and heard a ton of sirens, and suddenly a caravan of police cars came down ournothing-ever-happens-here suburban street followed by a gold Rolls Royce with a white-haired guy with a white beard in the back. Apparently, there was traffic on the main thoroughfare and they decided to divert past my house. My Beatle friends missed it and wouldn't believe me.

R129, Thurber lived in an adjacent town. Sam Waterston now lives is his house.

This thread has it all. I feel like I’ve flipped through [italic]Meet the Stars[/italic], [italic]Fight Club[/italic], [italic]The Fast and the Furious[/italic], and [italic]Out of Africa[/italic], all in one fell swoop.

R129 here. There's more to the story actually. After Helen Thurber lead her husband back to their room, she came back out and apologized to my mother, who was rather a pretentious, cold woman (of course she had a good side too, but then, we never really found it). My mother, now knowing the identity of my would-be killer, was so impressed that she invited Helen to lunch; they became friends and corresponded for many years afterward. I suspect my mother probably offered my frail little body up to her husband as a sacrifice if he ever wanted to kill me again. And, naturally, now that Mom knew who the man was, I was forbidden from playing the piano, thus depriving the world of a future Vladimir Horowitz.

I have had to have intense physical therapy twice to walk again. The first time was after brain surgery in 1997, and I was paralyzed from the neck down by gulliaine-barre syndrome in 2016. I live independently and work full-time today.

Congrats, R139...those are quite the accomplishments!

R25 - Pals forever, Indian GUIDES!

Yep - I was part of that too. Honestly, I don't think there was any bad intent - it was just strange for all these white men and boys to be taking on this Native American culture.

Indian Guides (and their female counterpart, Indian Princesses) were the YMCA's version of the Cub Scouts.

Ok, in the 90s when I lived in LA, a friend took me to a house where there was supposed to be a late-night (weekday) party. It immediately gave me the creeps. I didn’t see open sex or drug usage but the blinds were all closed (who does that for a party?), there weren’t many people there — everyone was gay — and the vibe was incredibly sketchy. And I’d been going through a drug phase but this was too sketchy for me, even!

Suddenly, two older men walked in through the kitchen in incredibly expensive suits. Barry Diller and mega agent Sandy Gallin.

Their presence made no sense...it felt like a big drug deal or something was about to do down...so I quickly got out of there. Bizarre

R2 Dawson, is that you?

I saw a trapeze artist fall and splat on the floor at the Shriner's Circus when I was 12.

I haven't been able to watch anything involving trapezes or aerial acrobatics since, including Circus of the Stars!

[quote]Your joke could have been funnier if you had remembered what you read in the tenth grade!

R27 was too busy talking on the telephone instead of doing her American Literature homework!

R27 was too busy ratting her hair and doing the Ubangi Stomp.

I was bored at work one day and for some reason decided to watch Youtube videos about plane crashes...I know, sick. A lot of them were in water. About five minutes into it, outside my office window, I saw a plane come in low over the Hudson River. Turned out to be the US Air flight that landed in the river with Captain Sully at the controls.

In 1983 during a three year stint in NYC I was in the Adonis Theater one night, lookin' for love (well, dick actually), as they did. After meandering around the place for a while I ended up in one of the loos, in a stall, watching through the oversized glory hole none other than Jack Wrangler star of 'A Night At the Adonis' shot in that very same theater years earlier giving some of the most energetic head I'd ever seen to this gorgeous hunk of a guy. My first thought was "this can't be real", but it was. Jack looked over at me several times during the act and smiled with his eyes. After the deed was finished and they left their stall there was a knock at my stall door. I opened it and it was La Wrangler. I let him and and I proceeded to give him what he'd given the other guy. I knew I did a great job and when we were finished he grabbed me up and put his tongue down my throat for a good 30 seconds before turning and leaving.

And now he's dead, and I'm an old man. Ah, life, ain't it grand.

Yes!

Sucked my dad’s toes.

R119 & R128 in fact Hepburn “inherited “ Phyllis from Constance Collier, whose companion Wibourn had been. Hepburn took on Collier — a great beauty and star in her day — after they performed together in Stage Door. Their roles were a semi-reflection of their respective statuses. When Collier died in the 1950s, Hepburn got Wibourn. Hepburn basically became Wilbourn’s caretaker, oddly enough, as both became elderly.

I am increasingly convinced I blew an Oscar winning actor in the early 1990s. But he was not very well known at the time nor had he won his Oscar.

His hair was a bit longer and he was maybe 10 lbs heavier, but the voice is the same. And I was young enough at the time for me to be on his radar, soooooo........

I think I ran into Tom Cruise at a porn shop on the corner of Hudson and the West Side Highway back in the day. Except he had dyed his hair blond but with black roots. He said his name was Thomas Cruise. Or maybe it was Tomas Cruz.

R153 So of course you have to tell us who it was. Or who you think it was.

MIssLucy R123, I always enjoy your posts so much. <3

R125, what was that like? An open-ended question; just whatever comes to mind. Thanks.

Was sitting down for coffee a few years ago in Paris in the summer and a van crashed right into a police car. The police officer immediately shot the driver right in the head. It was an attempted terrorist attack because the van in question was full of explosives that didn't detonate. This was on the Champs Elysee. After that for the next few days police and military with machine guns were even guarding the Sephora.

r157, did you see it happen? You could have been blown to smithereens.

R158 - yes I was like 5 feet away. Closest to death I have ever come. Oddly, it sank in after I got home to the US...somehow it happened so fast and I was in that strange vacation mode such that it took awhile to digest. God forbid the poor people who become victims of these psychopaths.

R155 well his name is mud now, but.....I can tell you he loved to show off at urinals. And he came an unbelievable huge amount, both times we played.

He also really liked it if his bodyguard watched and/or joined in.

R160 Quit fucking around and just tell us who it was. Kevin Spacey?

R80, Im sorry to inform you that - at a point not to far away - you will fall into a well which will propel you across the ages. You will be just another missing person in this era, but will wake to find yourself trapped in the distant past. Your portrait will one day hang in a future hallway ... your only message to the future

This happened a really long time ago.

When I was about 12, my dad and I went to Carlsbad Caverns on vacation. We went on a guided tour with a docent talking about the caverns. There was a narrow paved trail with rock edging on the sides.

The docent was pointing out stuff on the ceiling, and I wasn’t looking at my feet and tripped over one of the edging rocks. I fell off the trail onto the surrounding rocky area. I started rolling down a small but steep decline away from the trail. It seemed like time slowed down, and I had lots of time to think.

I had recently read a Reader’s Digest condensed version of a novel called In This House of Brede. That book is about nuns in a covent. One nun is a widow who became a nun, because her only child died after he fell down a narrow mine shaft. Both his legs were broken from the fall. He was trapped for days and eventually died before they recovered him. This story flashed across my mind as I rolled down this rocky little hill.

I was rolling over and over, tucked in, three times. At first I thought I’d just come to a rapid stop, but I kept going. At the third roll, I put my foot out to stop because I thought I could get hurt. I stopped right away, pretty easily. I couldn’t really see anything ahead of me when I was rolling, because it happened so fast. When I stopped, there was a hole in the ground pretty close to where I stopped. One more roll and I would have fallen in. But there was no sign or anything about the hole and I figured it probably looked worse than it was.

I got back on the trail and the guide was hysterical. She threw a big fit about how I was “fooling around” (I wasn’t, I just tripped on a stone like anybody could have). My dad and I exchanged looks and joked about how the hole must have been a “bottomless pit” or something because she was so upset. It was kind of embarrassing, but my dad was calm about it so we just kidded around.

Right after that, there was a big rock to the side of the trail and the trail curved around it. When we got past it, there was a sign facing in the direction we came from, for tourists going in the other direction to read. The sign said, “Bottomless Pit,” and pointed back to where we just came from.

The “bottomless pit” is actually about 140 feet deep. And there’s now a rail around the trail so this can’t happen. The comment at the link is how I remembered it. There was a sign about the pit (after you passed it), but it’s not really that obvious what it is unless someone tells you.

A few years before this story, my mom used to go to a psychic all the time. This woman predicted, there would be some incident where I could possibly die as a child, but if I survived it I would live to be old. And said something about “I could choose not to die.” I always thought that was some sort of metamorphical thing, because how could you choose not to die? So when I came back from this trip, I reminded my mom, of course. My dad and I really just brushed it off at the time, because the docent was over the top enough for both of us. And we both hated being yelled at.

About half a dozen times in my life, I have suffered from a type of hallucinations. Half of these times occurred just as I was waking up (hynopompic hallucinations). When this happens, it is as if I have continued dreaming after I have woken up. I think whatever I am seeing or hearing is real, until I realise it isn't. An example of this is waking up in a fright, thinking someone is in the room looking at me, and seeing a transparent figure at the foot of my bed. But other times these events have occurred in broad daylight with no obvious trigger or stimuli. I could be alone or with others. I have no history of mental illness or instability, and neither drugs, alcohol or fatigue were involved. However I have been told that I sleepwalked a bit when I was a child, and this could be related.

I died and came back.

Obviously, I didn’t die: I’m here, almost 40 years later, writing this. But a penicillin shot caused a massive anaphylactic shock, my blood pressure dropped to zero, the most ungodly noises started in my head and I went into the tunnel surrounded by the brightest lights I’ve ever seen traveling at what felt like a thousand miles an hour. It reminded me of nothing so much as Space Mountain at Disney World. Without the hour-long wait in line, of course.

I didn’t get to the other side nor did I see Jesus, St. Peter, Shirley MacLaine, or the cast of “Cats.” They got my heart started again with the electric paddles and I came to, but not before I’d had the obligatory out-of-body experience where I got to see - looking down from where my POV was; floating up near the ceiling - the docs looking nervously at my prone body on the gurney and the monitors until they’d restored a stable heartbeat.

I’m guessing our ideas of the afterlife start with the trip I was on. I was 25, had some damage to my heart, and I lived to tell the tale. Trouble is, I had to be a bit cagey about telling this tale back then because the shot was for an STI. I think I willed myself to survive (who knows?) because it would have been so fucking embarrassing to have died in the clap clinic.

I skipped school with a friend one afternoon. We were about fifteen years old. We got on a bus and went fishing at the river near the city. At some point a small motor boat came up the river toward us and a man yelled out to reel in our lines. I thought we were being busted for skipping class. After a several minutes of watching them putt-putt back and forth in front of us, they began tugging on a length of chain behind the boat. And out of the green water popped a hand and arm, and with that they proceeded a little bit further downstream to a spot under the nearby bridge and hauled a woman's body out of the water. Blood streamed from her nose. She had jumped from the bridge some time before my friend and I arrived. It was a suicide. A man on a passing barge saw what had happened and called the police.

I once got into a fight at a deli counter with Britney Spears, who was in town for a performance. We fought over olives. She got really nasty, probably because I didn't recognize who she was. The checkout lady had to tell me.

I was in London after Christmas 2007. I'd taken the train down from Scotland, where I was visiting my sister and brother-in-law while my BIL had a fellowship at St Andrew's. My train pass entitled me to a tube pass, and so I zoomed around London on the tube until they made us all get off at Victoria Station because renovations were being done. One could either catch a bus outside to a nearby station, or just get off and go on your way. (I'd already had to endure a bus transfer on the train trip down when a "railway improvement" was under way, and didn't want to endure it again.) So I got off and just began randomly walking, enjoying my first time in London as a starstruck American tourist.

I was getting a bit hungry and thought I might stop at the next affordable place I saw. I happened upon a panini shoppe, but the doors were locked and a stern-looking man in a black peacoat was standing outside. He didn't say anything to me and vice versa, but as I was walking away I noticed two customers at the counter inside the shoppe. So help me, it was Wills & Kate! I nearly flipped out and grabbed my camera to take a pic, but I realized the guy standing at the entrance must've been their bodyguard and would've stopped me. I told the story to my sister and bro-in-law when I got back to St Andrew's (where Wills & Kate met, mind you), and they both gave me a big, "Sure, Jan."

I was visiting a friend in NYC (He's a native New Yorker). He took me to a nearby bar and were standing right by the bar having some cocktails. The place got jam packed. In comes Sheryl Crow and her entourage. They were shoving their way up to the bar. One of them bumped my friend causing him to spill his drink. He turned around and went up to her and kicked her in the shin and yelled at her.

R169 are you sure he didnt kick her in the cunt bone?

Tell us more, r151 - did he enjoy it?

I was carjacked at my Gym. I went to my car and there was a gun to my head. He said "get in." I told him no, he could have my car I didn't care but I didn't see his face and I was not getting in the car. He cocked the gun, but then other people were coming and he got scared and ran. To this day I cannot go into a parking garage alone.

I've been given my "last rites" twice. Fist as a newborn (pneumonia), second time was as a teenager due to cardiac arrest.

Cruising a beach in San Juan back of my hotel when a fight breaks out a meter or 2 from me and a Dominican guy pulls out a gun. He fired point blank at someone and the bullet grazed the guy's temple. I still see the blood on the guy's face.

I'm curious how you knew he was Dominican. (Honest!)

R175 One of the guys told me-he could tell from his dialect

Last Wednesday night, I turned out the light and got into bed. While getting into bed, I was prompted with the word "visions." I woke up at 4 :30am and just lay there in the gray area between sleep and consciousness during which I "saw" from a straight on POV a red pickup truck turning left from one street onto another. It was a rather messy, fresh and deep snowfall outside when I took my dog out to squat and lift his leg. Because of the snow, we only walked four blocks and then circled back home. When I got to an intersection on the way home, looking straight on, I saw a red pick up truck stop at the stop sign and turn left onto the next street.

R177 I wish this post had been written in English.

[quote] I was prompted with the word "visions."

We've heard it all before, Stevie.

I'd love to know if anyone else experiences this. It happens a lot. When I'm reading in bed at night just before I fall off to sleep I become aware that I have somehow begun inventing a new story out of what I'm reading. It starts out to be what's in the book but then switches into a completely made up couple of lines or paragraph that is not on the page. I've made it up like in a dream. I know then that it's time to turn out the light and go to sleep.

When I was in my teens I hitchhiked back and forth across country with $2.40 in my pocket . . . without having to have sex for money.

R180 Sometimes instead of going directly from wakefulness to sleeping, you can get really relaxed and enter a hypnagogic state. Your mind will spiral in all sorts of surreal directions like a Salvador Dali painting. You're right that it means it's time to turn off the lights: it's a sign that you're falling asleep.

R180, I have that same thing, but I'm not as quick as you are to know what's happening. I'm usually just confused enough that I turn off the light and go to sleep without thinking it through, or it wakes me up and I get up and have to shake off that confusion.

R189 - in college I had to read the Iliad - I found it pretty slow going. On more than one occasion I would be lying on a couch in one of the dorm study rooms reading and my eyes would slowly close, but my brain still churned out bad Homeric Poetry. I never fell completely asleep, but would suddenly realize that my eyes were shut and I’d just made up the last goddamn half page.

^^^ excuse me - R180. And my eyes are open, I swear.

Okay, I don't feel so alone now. It's such a weird feeling, and sometimes I come up with some really creative lines! Don't remember them the next day, but when I realize what I've just done before I go to sleep I'm like - Wow - that was kind of like what I'm reading but I just took it on a totally different path.

I was born in 1988. Around 2005 I had a crazy dream where I was working on the set of an Aretha Franklin video (doing something with lighting) . I never forgot the dream. Even the details have remained with me. The clothes she was wearing. The scenery. The dancers. I didn’t know much about Aretha Franklin besides her staples like “Respect” and so on. Anyway, last year I was watching YouTube and auto play was on and it shuffles to “Jimmy Lee” by Aretha and it was the video I remembered working on in my dream.

That in-between-awake-and-asleep feeling really is weird. It can happen any time you're sleepy. There's a particular situation where it's actually enjoyable... I used to listen to music in bed for a while before sleeping, and if I got into a hypnagogic state the music would suddenly seem to sparkle, I would feel warm and fuzzy, and it was very pleasant even though I was drifting in and out of sleep. It reminds me of what people describe listening to music on weed to be like, except that in reality I don't like being high. The sleepy listening I would look forward to though.

One year for Christmas my niece got a toy cat. It was a compromise cat.

She loved to chase after and play with my mother's best friend's cat. Problem was she couldn't have one of her own because her sister is allergic. Furthermore, my mom's best friend tragically passed away a few days before Christmas that year. We all just loved her. She was the NICEST woman you could ever meet. No joke. No lie. We all gave her the title "Aunt Annie" because she was always doing stuff like that. Buying us stuff, hanging out with us and asking about our lives, trying her best to help us with any issues we had. Her husband and she divorced. Her own child was in the military and once she retired it was her, my mother and their other best friend together all the time. Thirty years together those three!

So the toy was animatronic. This was the compromise. It moved. It purred. It responded to touch. It was cute but a bit creepy. I mean it was almost as big as she was at the time but she loved that thing. However, there was one issue ...

First Day: Everyone in the family that weekend, as we all had went home for Christmas, would talk to the cat and it would respond as if it knew what you were saying. No, it didn't have this power. It responded to touch. Sometimes if you'd look at it and say, "Hey kitty!" and its little head would turn towards you and "purr." At one point my mother put it in a different room and the cat started purring non stop so she brought it back to the living room.

I was sitting near at one point and I looked at it and didn't say a thing, the damn thing turned its head and looked straight at me.

Second Day: My mother had an entire conversation with it and asked it to answer things based on purrs. My sister found out about it and said to her, "Okay there's something really wrong with this thing!" Later that night, my mother turned off all the lights and went to bed. It started purring non-stop until she went back downstairs grabbed it and put it in the bathroom where the lights stay on all night.

Third Day: We had fun moving the cat around the house to scare people. It still talked when you spoke to it and turned its head towards you.

Fourth Day: It was downstairs in the living room. When I walked into the room it looked at me and purred. It was then I decided to have a conversation with it while everyone but my older sister was there.

I said, "Can you really hear me?" And -- "Purr."

"So you're really listening aren't you?" And again ... "purr."

"Are you evil?" No response. "Do you want to hurt us?" No response.

"Do we know you?" Then ... "purr."

"Are you someone who passed away a long time ago?" No response.

"Are you someone who passed away recently?" Then ... "Purr."

I told the "cat" I was sorry. By this point my family was freaked out beyond all comprehension. Of course my crazy ass finally decided to ask that question. No one else had. Then my mom said, "I think I know who it is," and the cat of course, "Purred." My mom added, "Merry Christmas, we love you and it's good to see you one more time. You go rest now."

"Purr."

Now here's the freakiest part. My sister got really annoyed with it purring at some point during the night and when she came downstairs she said, "Did someone put more batteries in there?" I checked, there were none.

And with or without batteries, it never "purred" again.

R156 Thank you!

A word about taming or feeding wild animals - don't do it. I lived in NZ for awhile and although they are considered pests, the native opposum is very beautiful, with soft fur. One came to my suburban kitchen door and I fed her every night for nearly 2 years. She let me pet her. The last six months, she had a little baby, first in her pouch and then as a youngster, accompanying her. One night they came no more. And it's obvious what happened - they would have gone into one of my horrible neighbours' kitchens (people leave their doors open in summer) and it's pretty certain they killed them. I was heartbroken.

R189

MARY!

MARY!

MARY!

PURR!

Really enjoyed your story, R189. Actually, I've enjoyed reading all of them. Great thread!

Merry Christmas, all! 🎆

My husband and I had cocktails with Chaka Khan. He wasn't wearing any pants or underwear at the time. (It was an Atlantis Cruise - these sorts of things happen...)

R43 Was she a lady lover?

I was at Julia Roberts and Lyle Lovett's wedding dinner. They had reserved a restaurant in WeHo and my friend was a server there. She called me and said, "Want to go to Julia Robert's wedding dinner?" It was a big secret at the time and she booked me a table right next to their party. As much as people hate her, she was super nice and paid for our dinner. In HIndsight I could have made a shit ton of money off that. I knew people at the Enquirer who would have paid a lot for that exclusive.

I was doing the San Francisco to LA AIDS Ride in 1999. When I got to camp one day, I was waiting to use a port-a-potty, and out the door came Meg Foster. She looked at me and said, "You might wanna wait a couple minutes before you go in there. Sorry." Then she scurried away.

r197, did you wait?

R198 I got in another port-a-potty line, yes. If Meg was telling me not to go in, I wasn't going to question it.

I met a southern politician at a rest stop just outside Orangeberg. Small but fat dick with a noticeable curve. The sex was blah- he used his mouth like vacuum cleaner

R200 Lady G?

I was hoping for more stories like R59, not about the death of kittens or the OP's. Damn, that's out of some of the horror movies I watch.

R200, did he know you recognized him or did he think he was anonymous?

When I was a teen, my father sent me to live in a hotel he and his siblings owned in Manhattan off Herald Square. It was kind of a seedy place, the last of what was once a string of small hotels owned by my grandfather. I didn't know anyone in NYC but the counterman at the Nedicks which was tucked into the corner of Macy's at 34th and B'way. He would give me free hot dogs and I'd stay up talking to him all night. He was in his 40s, a really nice guy. I really liked him. I was a lonely soul with no one to talk to and too scared to go out looking. One night I took him back to the hotel and the night clerk gave me a dirty look, like what's this kid taking an older man back to his room. I would have done anything for him but we just talked and he left. The next day, I was kicked out of the hotel by my schizo uncle who was put in charge of running it since he was useless at anything else. I became the black sheep of the family, a male prostitute, the "hot dog prostitute." My father was pissed because he knew his brother was bisexual, maybe mostly gay. He died young. I'm still friends with his eldest son. We laugh about it now.

My uncle was friends with a girl who stabbed her boyfriend to death behind the local steakhouse.

With a steak knife, R205?

I played Pictionary with Sandra Bullock in her Austin house.

Ronee Blakely played and sang "Tapedeck in His Tractor" for me at a party.

R207 Is she a lesbodian?

I had a long chat in the 1970’s with Mel Torme about his love of English cars. He said he loved anything British and it was the first time I heard the word “Anglophile.”

I met Manhattan Transfer at one of their very first appearances. Back then, Alan Paul performed with glitter on his face.

Tom Bosley yelled at me... and I hadn’t done anything! An angry nutcase.

R209 not at all

R151 is Ford Hammer.

r207, she seems very intelligent and funny, am I right?

bump.

When I was a kid, I made friends with this childless couple in their 50s who lived next door. They were nasty, "get off my lawn" type people (they actually said this) but I was a curious kid. They had a barn/garage that was always closed up. I never saw anyone go in there. One day he invited me in this barn and he had all these Nazi pennants hanging from the rafters and all sorts of related "memorabilia" from WWII in cabinets and shelves. I opened a drawer and found a swastika armband which I thought was cool. He said, "You want it?" I said "Sure! Thanks!" He helped me tie it around my arm, I thanked him, and showed it to my dad, the only Jew in the neighborhood. He was cool about it and explained what it signified, which I didn't really understand. Then we took it out onto the patio and he set it on fire. Later, I left a big bag of dog shit in a paper bag on the neighbor's porch, set it on fire, and ran.

r215, Wow. What year would hat have been? I wonder how many arm bands are left? Your neighbor was a freak. Do you think he knew your family was jewish?

Yeah, he knew R215. This was the early 60s, so about 15 or so years after WWII. He even had a German name: Schroeder, and he was rich, not like you'd think for a lowlife bigot. It was kind of a weird neighborhood because on the other side of us was the writer Jack Kerouac (who liked my dad), so I was kind of sandwiched in between a Beatnik and a Nazi. Crazy.

I posted on DL about how I closed down a LAX terminal with a ziplock bag of xylitol sugar and a black L-shaped bike handlebar stem in my carry on luggage. One poster called bullshit on my story because I wrote too well to be that stupid.

I think I remembered that, R218.

R217, "Jack Kerouac was my next door neighbor" is nothing to shake a stick at. What was his house like?

R219, yeah, pretty cool huh, if you remember who the hell he was (JK) which most people don't. I was real young and don't remember him except that my dad loved him and my mom hated him (he was over for drinks one Christmas and creeped her out). His house was a small tract-like house on a dead end street next to our house, nothing special.

It's ridiculous OP thought he would impress us with such an unbelievable tale.

Now, had he told us he had witnessed outside Manila a staged vicious faceslapping fight between two ladyboys, I not only would have believed him, I would have been far more impressed.

[quote] I said, "Can you really hear me?" And -- "Purr."

[quote]"So you're really listening aren't you?" And again ... "purr."

[quote]"Are you evil?" No response. "Do you want to hurt us?" No response.

[quote]"Do we know you?" Then ... "purr."

[quote]"Are you someone who passed away a long time ago?" No response.

[quote]"Are you someone who passed away recently?" Then ... "Purr."

Obviously it was the ghost of Edith Massey! "Purr, purr Fwancine!"

I was a sixteen year old exchange student in Sweden. The school principal made me take free Swedish classes in the mornings, and classes at school in the afternoons. The Swedish classes were offered by a quasi governmental agency, and they were mostly middle eastern refugees and a smattering of other Europeans. I became friends with an Italian woman who said that she had been granted political asylum in Sweden. I didn’t ask questions of her about her reasons, but she was pretty skittish doing things in public. So we hung out at her apartment a lot.

About six months into my stay, a friend of hers visited from Italy. One night we were sitting around listening to music and she asked me if I could drive. I had my driver license but was not allowed to drive legally in Sweden (under 18). But I drove those two, as requested, to the local hospital. They told me to wait in the car, lights out, in a specific place. They went in a side door and several minutes later, emerged running to the car. They got in and screamed at me to drive. I did.

We returned to her apartment, but she told me to go home (to my host family’s place). The next morning, as I was having breakfast, I picked up the newspaper to see a mugshot of my friend’s friend. The article said that he was wanted in connection with the kidnapping and murder of Italian prime minister Aldo Mora a year and a half before. Turns out, my friend was an active member of the Red Brigades, a leftist domestic terrorist group in 1970-80’s Italy.

R223, What did they do at the hospital? The kidnapping/murder was 18 months earlier...

Yes r223, don't leave us hanging. And why would your friend have been granted asylum?

I believe they were stealing needles and syringes, but cannot be sure. They had been heatedly discussing something in Italian before we left. But i didn't speak Italian. Maybe medicine?

Maybe medicine? ...just call it dope.