goose fleet posted:

Black Pants posted:

I don't know if it's entirely in line with what this thread is about, but I had this friend in highschool who was.. odd? I mean, he was pretty smart, but half the stories he told were purely STDH for some reason. The one that I remember the best was when he was describing World of Warcraft to me, just after the game was released and before I'd really ever seen it myself.

In his story, he was at some Alliance castle and had heard that the Horde was coming to raid, so he and a bunch of people were preparing and waiting for them. Only he decided to be devious, and as an Alchemist, he was making potions for them to help - but with a twist. He poisoned the potions and then slipped away because he was secretly barracking for the Horde instead.

This was told with no hint of him joking about it, like other stories of his - both real and STDH.

jodai posted:

This is the place for people like that, too. I think we all knew at least one kid whose uncle totally worked for Nintendo and gave him a special copy of Street Fighter with Goku in it but he lost it when he moved.

goose fleet posted:

Black Pants posted:

I don't know if it's entirely in line with what this thread is about, but I had this friend in highschool who was.. odd? I mean, he was pretty smart, but half the stories he told were purely STDH for some reason. The one that I remember the best was when he was describing World of Warcraft to me, just after the game was released and before I'd really ever seen it myself.

In his story, he was at some Alliance castle and had heard that the Horde was coming to raid, so he and a bunch of people were preparing and waiting for them. Only he decided to be devious, and as an Alchemist, he was making potions for them to help - but with a twist. He poisoned the potions and then slipped away because he was secretly barracking for the Horde instead.

This was told with no hint of him joking about it, like other stories of his - both real and STDH.

OctoberBlues posted:

I'm kind of surprised imgur hasn't followed the youtube model and started showing ads for pictures and paying people based on the number of views they get. That would at least make all of these BS pictures understandable.

Nuebot posted:

Oh cool are we talking about "That Kid" we knew? Mine was my first friend ever, we were both five and he told me how he had "every transformers ever" except they were in the tank with his pet scorpion so if anyone wanted to play with them they'd put their hands in with the scorpion. When I went to his house I asked him about the scorpion and he said it was at his mom's house.

Funzo posted:

Also, lots of Randy Rhodes truthers, but that's a different thing.

A terrible liar posted:

Now, my memory is a shady one, so my incidents are sort of low in detail and high in speculation and feeling. During my elementary school years, my friend Geoff and I were popular for making comics and designing games, and passing them around the room. Apparently, despite the crappiness of the drawings, they were looked at in reverence and awe. One time, in a class in third grade, I was working furiously at one of these comics. My teacher, a woman I hated incredibly because anyone in our class was smarter than her, told me to stop. Repeatedly.

I got upset when she took my paper, told me I could get it back AT THE END OF THE WEEK, then--this was the final straw--FOLDED the paper. She folded my artwork, upon which I had laboured with pen and ink for a whole two days. So, I loudly protested. She told me to sit quietly. At this point, hot tears stung my eyes because I was crazy emotional. I could feel the pit of my stomach knot up, then punch my brain a few times, until I thought it would make sense to screech loudly and push the desk over.

When she threatened me with sending me to the office, I came out with one of the oddest things I've ever done or said, in my opinion: In a high falsetto, I said "Well then," choking back tears, "why don't I act like a little angel and fly all around?" And I crossed my arms, and flapped my hands, and pranced in little circles like a diminutive cherub.

She dropped the hammer with one of the oddest punishments to which I have ever been subjected. She handed me a half a set of junior encyclopædiæ, and made me stand in the coat closet, holding them, until the day was over. Two hours of standing there with heavy books in my arms.

That was the ODDEST of my anger management issues. I have a history, though. I chipped a kid's tooth in preschool with a giant block. I tied a girl to a tree in second grade. I planned and carried out a full-scale military campaign over several years on the playground. And my crowning achievement, kicking a senior in the nuts when I was a sixth grader, warranting a severe choking. In response to the choking, I hocked a loogie into his face, and ran away.

Ahhh, school.

Yet Another Terrible Liar posted:

I think I had some serious unchecked issues or something as a kid. I'm really not a violent person, but the only two "fights" I've ever been in in my life happened the same year in elementary school.

There was this girl in my grade 5 class - one of those stereotypical bratty kids you knew was going to be a vapid valley girl - permed blonde hair, blue eyes, twig skinny, always had bows or ribbons on, and had the most horrible cliquish bitchy personality in the universe. Half the teachers saw through her "innocent flower" act and hated her, the other half bought it hook, line and sinker, and she used that to get away with some things that would get a lot of other kids suspended.

Anyways, during recesses, our school had these alcove dealies built into the walls of the building where you could sit down and relax instead of running around the field. Me, being an arsty nerd type, would often go there and spend all recess doodling on papers.

She'd come by, grab my papers, tear them up in front of me laughing, then when I'd (naturally) get upset, would kick me in the shins and laugh more, or tell me "there's nothing you can do about it because I'm a girl and you can't hit girls!!", laugh while sprinking the shredded papers around me. I'd like to think I was raised to respect women, but bitches who hide behind the "I can do whatever I like without any retribution because I'm a girl" infuriate me to this day.

So, one day I decided I'd had enough, and when she reached to grab all my papers again I stabbed her in the hand with my pencil. It bled like a motherfucker but the wound wasn't that bad, and I didn't get in trouble for it. She didn't pull that crap with me after that. I felt guilty for a long time about it later on in my life, but at that moment it was like pure righteous justice to my kid mind. In hindsight I probably should have just told the principal or something. (The teachers and recess ladies wouldn't do anything.)

Then, there was another kid who one day decided he didn't like me because I'd apparently said something about a friend of his, and he was gonna "kill me" because "he was a black belt". Unfortunately, due to a gross miscalculation on his part, I was about a foot taller and probably 40 pounds heavier than him.

After spending 10 minutes trying to talk him out of it, the recess bell rang, and he figured it would be his last chance so he charged me. Not knowing my own strength, (again from never having been in a fight,) I kicked him squarely in the chest as he charged, and then once more in the chest when he hit the ground.

I got ready for him to get back up, but noticed he was just lying on the ground vomiting and crying his rear end off. (I was freaked out at first because I thought he was coughing up blood, but turns out he'd had some spaghetti for lunch and it was sauce.) Nobody ever tried to pick on me much after that as I had destroyed the super-scary black belt guy in two hits. Oddly enough, we became pretty good friends after that.

I just wanted to be left alone to doodle.

Last I heard both of them were druggies. Ah well.

The Only Black Kid in Our School was A Bad Kid™ posted:

3rd Grade. There was one black kid in our school, his name was Sampson and he was the biggest rear end I have ever met. He was short, but intimidating-- so intimidating that he could do whatever he wanted whenever. I never talked to him or really knew him but one day he came up to me and held out his hand to shake mine. So, I go to shake his hand and he grabs mine and proceeds to punch me in the face.

Back in the day playgrounds used to have jungle gyms constructed out of thin but solid metal rods. It was recess and we were all out playing. I was on the swings nearby so I saw this happen first hand. Sampson was on the top of the jungle gym along with some other girl. Sampson turned around or did something and brushed against the girl. The girl was obviously scared to be up that high so she quickly blurted "Dont push me!". Sampson looked at her and in one move kicked her feet of the bar she was standing on. She tried to catch herself but she failed-- her body hitting bars as she went down. A few bars from the bottom of her fall her mouth got caught on one of the bars. The sound of her teeth being shattered out of her mouth and her jaw splitting was something I won't forget. At the bottom of the gym she tried to scream with blood pouring out of her mouth and teeth fragments kind falling down her shirt.

Some other kid saw this and told Sampson he was an rear end in a top hat and that he was going to kick his rear end. Sampson got off the gym and punched the kid. The next afternoon Sampson's older brother showed up and pushed the kid in front of a car after school-- we didn't see that kid for a week.

Sampson continued to go to all the schools I went to. Fast forward to high school. One day he stopped showing up for class. Eventually I found out the following had happened. Sampson went to the local liquor store and was trying to steal when the asian shop keeper caught him. Sampson called the shopkeeper a 'loving chink gently caress motherfucker' as he bolted out. The shopkeeper's sons were in hot pursuit-- all 4 of them. Sampson was running, hopping fences and dodging through traffic but the shopkeeper's sons were still right behind him. Sampson hopped a fence-- but it wasnt a fence. It was a guard rail. He fell 45 feet into an empty riverbed covered in boulders.

Excerpt from the first story posted:

“I cannot believe you have me standing here because you can’t do your job! I want to speak to the general manager and the president of Best Buy. I belong to a large club of wealthy individuals who I will make sure will never shop here again. I don’t want to follow you anywhere, you cannot hide your incompetence from me, tell me what you have done or I want a police officer here.”

At this point the cashier was holding back her smile and she looked at the store manager who had a “gently caress it” look on his face and just said very loudly. “The reasons your card was declined was that your fiancée claims you did not return his credit cards after your separation and that he had to call in and remove you from purchase rights on all of his credit cards.”

The lady turn beet red, some of the people in the store were laughing and almost all were smiling. The lady began to cry as she ran towards the door saying “How could you make a fool of me like this?” The cashier smiled and said “The only person that made a fool out of you, was you.” About fifteen people clapped when she said this. The store manager apologized to the people and went back in his office. The cashier rang me up and I was on my way.

PUGGERNAUT posted:

This is how all these wacky STDH stories actually go down.

Some Dude on Facebook posted:

Why I'm not allowed In Public, Reason #9873:
(At Starbucks for the first time in half a year)
Me: "Good Day - I require from you today a Grande Americano with a shot of Caramel syrup, and an Egg White and Feta Wrap."
Barista 1: "Can I get a name for that order?"
Me: "That will be Tristan, T-R-I-S-T-A-N."
Barista 2: "That's a cool name!"
Me: "Thank you. It isn't mine. I'm glad you like it."
Barista 2: "Huh?"
Me: "Every day I flip to a random page in the Baby Name Book. I'll have a different one tomorrow; I hope it meets your approval."
Barista 2: (Impressed) "Woow..."
Barista 1: "You know she's, like, believing every word you're saying, right?"
Me: "Then she has my pity. It must be exhausting living every day under gullibility's shadow."
Barista 1: (laughing at her friend's expense, then realizing that she has written my name incorrectly on everything she's filled out) Oh... Wait, you said 'A-N', didn't you?"
Me: "That's okay, I'm not too attached to this one. It's rapidly becoming more trouble it's worth."
Barista 1: "Wait... So what IS your real name?"
Me: "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you two were roommates."
At which point, my order was ready, and I called out a cheery "Good Day!" and left.

CombatBonta-kun posted:

The STDH was Barista 2 being impressed.

sweeperbravo posted:

I'd joke that it's good to be polite to autistic people like the barista was being, but I know too many cool autistic people.

Love though the fact that the writer has to mention they haven't been to Starbucks in HALF A YEAR. Can you imagine the self-restraint????

Same Guy As Before posted:

***MY CONFESSION***

(The following story is a true account of an incident that occurred while I was in college. I have been inspired to share due to certain hubbub on the internet in theatre circles regarding the right of the viewer to leave a show during intermission. I hope some of you can use this tale as a way to know your rights, and as a guidebook to successful conflict resolution.
The names have been changed (again) for purposes of plausible deniability.)

While I was in college, I took a course in Writing for Theatre, which focused on effective writing of stage directions. In addition to being a 3 credit-course at the University of Washington (which carries a certain pricetag) there was an additional course fee, scarcely below $100, to pay for tickets to several shows that were required viewing for the course.

This detail becomes relevant.

I proved adept at the coursework, and the class was going along nicely, save for my distaste for the pretentious playwright TA, who will be named here as Lawson Rickles.

As it would turn out, during the course of the course, Lawson himself had written a short play. And as it would turn out, we, as a class, were assigned to see it, so that we could analyze and iterate stage direction notes that would result in the action of the play.
HOWEVER. As luck would have it, this last minute addition to the curriculum was for some reason NOT provided for in our course ticket fee. Meaning, we were required, to complete the course, to purchase an additional $16 theatre ticket, on top of our course fee, to see a play written by the course's TA.

Needless to say, this galled me, and struck me as an abuse of position.

I went to see the play, and the professor, who was somewhat fond of me, sat nearby, making idle chatter before the show.

The play was abyssmal. A large part of the first act was a painful, "acted-in-fake-slow-motion" conversation between two soldiers at war as they raced to fling themselves, conversely, upon and away from an exploding grenade. While a somewhat interesting theatrical device, it went on for too long by half, and the dialogue, going into their painfully cliche backstories in great and mundane detail, sapped any energy and intrigue right out of the scene. Aside from that, it was unmemorable - the worst insult I can envision hurling at a piece of theatre.

Intermission was called and I made use of the definitive piece of theatrical democracy - I left. I wrote my paper as required based on the parts I had seen, and made no reference to any part I hadn't, or the incident of leaving itself.

Upon grading the assignment, the professor asked to see me.

They brought up objection to the fact I had left during intermission, and I retorted that nowhere in the assignment was it required that I sit thru, or reference, the entirety of the play; and that leaving during intermission is the audience's best tool to ensure that artists look beyond reviews and allow their work to grow.

The professor countered that it was simply rude, and that others who saw me leave first also left during intermission, thinning out the audience. I said that I was not aware that I was such a trendsetter, and asked in turn if there was any issue with the content of my assignment. They said that, no, the assignment was done to specifications, but they were considering docking me 10 points for the insult to the work.

I seamlessly replied "That sseems a little harsh for a medical emergency."

The professor blinked. "Medical emergency?"

I continued. "Yes. The medical emergency that required me to leave."
"What medical emergency?"
"I don't believe that I am required to say, because it did not interfere with class-session attendance or the completion of my work."
Suspicious, the professor prodded. "Why didn't you mention that at first?"
"I was embarrassed, ma'am. It was a personal medical emergency involving areas covered by my bathing suit."
The professor looked perturbed, completely uncertain of how they should, or rather, were allowed to, proceed.
"Am I free to go?" I asked.
"Yes, I suppose so." they replied.
"And my grade on this assignment will not be lowered?"
"No, I guess it won't." the professor conceded.
"Thank You. Good Day."

Fast forward to the final project. Our task was to write a multi-act play involving 5 set changes. It was made clear that our stage direction notes were all that we would be graded upon, *NOT* the content or quality of the play's action.

My "play" for this assignment was entitled: "The Incredibly True Story of the Time these Two Crazy Mixed Up KIds Just Started Up and Whaling on this One Guy for Totally No Reason: A Play in Three Acts". The subline read: "Any similarities to real persons or events are entirely coincidental."

You may wish to refer back to this title shortly.

This play was the story of two college-level theatre students who, as part of a class on playwriting, were forced to watch a play written by the course's TA, one "Smawson Smickles". The fictional play in question was an abyssmal reimagining of Samuel Beckett's "A Play Without Words - NOW with WORDS!".

At the zenith of the play's action, the two students, enraged at the fact they had to pay for tickets to such a dreadful show, on top of their course fees, expanding at length on the dangers of nepotism and compliance to totalitarian regimes, happen upon Smawson Smickles as he is loading sacks of money into the bulging trunk of his car. As he tries to defend his artistic vision, and how it was no sort of a conflict of interest to require the ticket purchase as part of the coursework, the students become enraged and beat him to a pulp with his own sacks of money.

And a parking meter.

The play ends with a bystander shouting the line: "HELP! THESE TWO CRAZY MIXED-UP KIDS JUST STARTING WHALING ON THIS ONE GUY! FOR TOTALLY NO REASON! SOMEBODY GET SOME HELP!!!" as the lights fade to black.

One week later, I was called to my advisor's office. There to meet me was my advisor, my course professor, Lawson Rickles, and the campus counselor.

They had concerns over the content of the play I had written, and the professor in particular wanted to talk about my "clear" hostility towards the TA and the requirements of the course.

Face a complete blank, I said, "I'm not sure I understand the concern."

The TA tapped the page and said, "It's pretty clear this is about me, and the course, and this play has some pretty disturbing content."

I, in turn, tapped the page, and replied, "And it says right here that any similarities to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. Personally, I don't see the connection."

My professor began to bring up our discussion earlier in the quarter, about my leaving during intermission, and how that revealed my feelings regarding the real-life work.

"You mean my personal attendance to a medical emergency?"

The Professor deflated.

The counselor stepped in: "I think we still need to talk about the content of this play as it relates to the people in this room."

"Okay, " I began. "First of all, this play takes place in a scriptwriting course. I have never taken a scriptwriting course, and I'm not aware of anyone in here having taught one. Second, this play describes an obvious and egregious conflict of interest, fraudulently levied upon finacially strapped students. Are you implying that is something that happened in the course I am attending?"

"No," began the professor, "But it's pretty clear that you obviously feel..."

"Allow me to interject." I interrupted. "I have no problem whatsoever with any conduct engaged in over the course of this class, and I'm frankly unaware of any similarities between class content and this work."

"And Lawson's play?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, as a play like the one Lawson wrote does not appear in this work, but I don't see any similarity or conflict there. It's not like he personally profitted, is it? Or got some benefit from filling those seats? I personally think it was a sensible way to expose students to a work of art they might otherwise have missed at the last minute, to the benefit of the curriculum. The play in this work was the unquestioned product of an obvious hack. Are you making a connection between that and the work of Mr. Rickles?"

The others in the room traded uncomfortable and uncertain glances.

"What's more, the title of the play explicitly states that the violent actions occurred 'for no reason', not in connection to any imagined slight, even within the play's own narrative. Had one occurred. And I thought the play's content for the assignment in question was inconsequential. Was that correct?"

They shifted in their seats.

"Is there anything else you want to talk about? Because if this has all been a misunderstanding, I'd like to get back to the business of my day."

The advisor said, "Yes. You can go."

The professor slid the paper over to me. It was marked in red with the note: "I want to meet with you to discuss the content of this assignment."

The score was a 91/100.

************END**********

My confession is not to the veiled hostilites in question, nor even to whether or not this string of events actually even occurred.

My confession is that this is who I am, that this is how I operate, that these are the tools I use, every day of my life. At any moment a failure of confidence or breach of facade could have had me disciplined, expelled, or worse. It is my belief that it is vital for us all to practice our unwavering conviction, our commitment to our path, and perhaps most importantly, our cool.

Consider yourself informed.

CombatBonta-kun posted:

Basically the guy is a dick who tries to hide it by being "artistic".

Pththya-lyi posted:

Jesus Christ. Anybody who writes in such a long-winded, overblown style has some loving gall calling another person "pretentious."

Aleph Null posted:

Yeah. I reads like a creative writing assignment to write the most insufferable character you can think of.

oldpainless posted:

I hope whoever wrote those stories is dead.

CombatBonta-kun posted:

I would feel bad for being super judgmental about him and the people he associates with, but in the very, very limited exposure I have had with him, I cannot think of anything he has done was wasn't plain annoying.

The problem is that because he associates with people that are just like him, all he gets is encouragement. The majority of the comments about his Starbucks outing were along the lines of "OMG, I love you!" or "I need to follow you around with a video camera and make you Youtube famous!".


Basically the guy is a dick who tries to hide it by being "artistic".

goose fleet posted:

Boywhiz88 posted:

poo poo that should happen

Zamboni_Rodeo posted:

Of ALL of the fetishes the internet has shown us that this idiot decides to write his STDH about, he picks the absolute tamest one.

CombatBonta-kun posted:

Basically the guy is a dick who tries to hide it by being "artistic".

bringmyfishback posted:

I'm sorry, I just thought it was funny.

Here is some crap.

quote:

Another time, I was serving a psychotic feminazi. I'm talking about the bra-less, arm-full-of-hair, moustache- toting superiority complexing nitwit who makes everybody wish for her swift and painful death. Anyways as soon as I started serving her she gave me crap because I'm a bloke. I just ignored her and zoned out a bit while she proceeded to remind me that a woman would do a better job than me.

Suddenly, the phone next to me rings. I pick it up and it's the service manager.

Feminazi: Pfft, probably your manager telling you that you're fired
Me: Hello?
SM: You do realise you have the right to refuse service to anybody?
Me: Do we now?
SM: Yeah. Oh I do mean anybody by the way. Such as a giant hermaphrodite that insults male employees for being male.
Me: *nods in a business-like manner, trying not to grin*. Okay thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

Now I was good. I didn't immediately tell her to go gently caress a dick instantly. I waited untill the next insult. Whether or not I sped up the process by "accidentally" pressing the wrong button is irrelevant!

Feminazi: AGAIN! You FOOL. Cant men do ANYTHING right?
Me: That's it.
*voids transaction
Me: I've voided your transaction and I've been given permission to give you the royal boot. Get the hell outta my store.
Feminazi: You cant do that!
Me: Well...I cant physically throw you out. But that's why I've got security to do such things for me.
Feminazi: You wouldn't dare.
Me:
*calls for security to remove an unruly customer
Feminazi (whilst hurrying out the door): I'll never shop here again!
Me (calling out to it): I'm counting on it.

I love it so much when we can get our own back.