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One time I was at my friends house and it had snowed so we took a walk. He lived in the boonies, so it was nice Oregon winter forest time and such. After a while we came across an area where people had been, there were bootprints all over and a couple cigarette butts, that kind of thing. What made this area different was the sheer amount of what appeared to be blood EVERYWHERE spattered across these chunks and piles of snow. We had no idea what the gently caress, so we left quickly. Later we discovered that his neighbor enjoyed the following activity (which is actually awesome): Step One: Fill balloons or ziplocks with lots of fake blood (or real blood if you have it, since its a lot cheaper). Step Two: Build snowmen Step Three: Hollow out cavities inside said snowmen and sequester the bags/balloons inside. Then cover over the holes with snow again. Step Four: Shoot em with guns. You haven't had fun in the snow until you've seen what surplus Russian military guns can do to the snow monster menace. I firmly believe that his neighbor is just a grown up version of Calvin from Calvin and Hobbes after finding this out. Also Odd: The guy was meticulous about picking up his spent casings, yet left cigarette and cigar butts everywhere.
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Apr 11, 2011 12:14
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El Estrago Bonito posted:Also Odd: The guy was meticulous about picking up his spent casings, yet left cigarette and cigar butts everywhere. He was saving money. The casings can be re-used.
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Apr 11, 2011 12:17
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The King of Gay Porn I work for a cable company, and get to meet all sorts of friendly folks in their lovely and well-kept houses. Or, more often, complete weirdos that live in poo poo holes. I had a call a few years ago for this apartment complex where it said a resident's internet was running slow. I notice he's on our economy package, so it's really not going to be particularly fast in the first place, but I at least need to make sure he's getting what he's paying for. I knock on the door, and am greeted by a guy, probably about 65 years old or so, in nothing but boxer shorts. He has triangular moobs that are pointing straight down at the floor. "YOU HERE TO INSHTALL MAH ANTIVIRUSH?!?!" he says. "I'm sorry? It just says your internet is slow", because that's a little beyond what I'm supposed to be responsible for. Also: he seems sketchy. With older folks I will try to help with basic things ("Oh, you plugged a phone cable into your ethernet port"), but you have to be careful going outside just getting their connection working or you will find yourself their de facto computer repairman for life. This guy's only said one sentence (badly) and already just screams trouble. "THEY SHAID YOU WERE GONNA INSHTALL MAH ANTIVIRUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Oh, great. So he lets me in, and I see a very, very sparsely furnished apartment. There is a little stand with at tiny TV on it, a folding tray with his laptop, and a chair. That's all the furniture he appears to have. Also: paper all over the place, like somebody just unwrapped a sheet of printer paper and threw it in the air. Oddly enough, stacked next to his chair, are about 8 cans of what look like some sort of varnish. There's a giant mound of kleenex on the other side. I've been doing this job long enough to know that nearly-naked dude + mound of Kleenex = time to pull on the rubber gloves, because I'm probably going to be touching some funky rear end poo poo. "Well, sir, first I'll take care of your connection, then we'll have a look at what I can do for your antivirus, okay?" The guy wheels his laptop around so I can look at it. First thing I see: dudes loving. No big deal, I could really give a poo poo about where people put their dicks. Not really expecting this old dude to be into that, but whatever, it can certainly happen. It would have been nice if I didn't get unexpectedly porn'd right in the face, though. Anyway, fine. I minimize that video. More streaming video of dudes loving. Wow, this guy really enjoys his porn. Minimize. More dudes loving. Ooookay. Minimize. Dudes loving. Minimize. I guess I know why his internet connection was slow. Streaming four videos simultaneously on a one meg connection on a lovely laptop is... not going to work very well. Oh, hey, what's this now. This... appears to be a black and white diagram, of a butt, basically. It's actually cutaway view of somebody's digestive system from the side, like something they might have in a gastroenterologist's office, or an anatomy coloring book, maybe? Now this is really getting pretty weird. Oh, okay, three more streaming videos of dudes loving and some sort of other miscellaneous porn site. This guy is a pro, holy poo poo. So, I ask him if he'd mind if I closed all these streaming vids, and then I load up a couple pages and sure enough now things seem to be doin' fine. I explain to hi- ARRRRRRRGH GOD I FORGOT ABOUT THE TRIANGULAR MOOBS DON'T LOOK AT THE TRIANGULAR MOOBS - that he may want to try only streaming maybe a couple videos at a time, tops, because both his (old-rear end) laptop and his internet connection will start to stress at much more than that. So now, I get to apparently put antivirus on here, which sucks, because it's really just ridiculously easy and is basically nothing but me standing there staring at his PC watching a progress bar for about 15 minutes. But "THEY SAID" that I'd do it, so if don't want this dude calling in and bitching, and therefore negatively effecting the stats my corporate masters use to see if I should get paid or not, I'd better go ahead and do it and get the hell out of here. So, I'm waiting on this stupid progress bar, and trying not to look at anything other than the football game on his television (I don't even like football), because this place is a little gross. But, I get bored. And my eyes start to wander. And I notice that the place smells like varnish or solvent. And I see that one of the cans of brown varnish is open, and there's a fresh box of kleenex right next to it. And that most of the kleenex piled around his chair appears to have what I'm hoping is varnish on it. And the papers all over the floor. There's printing on them. My brains screams DON'T LOOK AT THE WRITING AWWWWW JEEZ WHY DID YOU LOOK AT THE WRITING. All of these pieces of paper are lists. Lists of types of gay porn. Not actual porn, just lists. Man on old man. Black man with young Asian stud. Gay duo blowjob. Gay trio blowjob. This guy, is apparently, making it his mission in life to watch all the gay porn. ALL the gay porn. ALL OF IT. When he's not busy huffing varnish, I mean. Then, just as the antivirus install completes, there's a knock at the door. "OH, THAT'SH PROBABLY MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER." the old guy says. What the-? He goes to open the door, and a couple ladies enter, not looking particularly happy. They put a few bags of groceries on the kitchen counter, turn around, and leave. They did't speak a single word.  That was probably one of the most depressing things I've ever seen in person. I just left right after them, I didn't even have the guy sign the work order.
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Apr 11, 2011 12:31
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Chantilly Say posted:He was saving money. The casings can be re-used. I hadn't thought of that. Whatever that bizzaro cartridge the Nagant takes is fairly expensive.
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Apr 11, 2011 12:32
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While perhaps not quite as horrifying as the OP, the following story has several elements that will seem less than believable. All I can say is, I swear I am not making this up. This happened back in the 90s when I'm 20, 21 years old. My friend and I are tripping pretty hard on some good acid while I drive us around at 3 in the morning. We decide to drive to Lincoln from Omaha, about an hour away. No particular reason, just for something to do. About 2/3 of the way there, we realize there's nothing to do in Lincoln at 3 in the morning and so we take an offramp and turn around to go back to Omaha. Just one of those spur of the moment decisions you make on acid. So we're driving back east, but passing by where we had just been going in the opposite direction a mere minute or two ago, when at the bottom of a long, mild hill we see a semi stopped. It's the middle of the night and there are no streetlights in this stretch of the interstate so we were wondering wtf. I slow down and we pull up next to the semi and see, beside it, a pickup truck that had flipped over. We hadn't seen it when coming from the other direction so it had clearly just happened a minute or two ago. We get out of the car to look, and we see the driver of the pickup, his head smashed between the A pillar and the concrete, smashed to a couple inches thick. His blood, black under the moonlight, was pooling around him. Now, I know what those of you who have never taken LSD before are thinking. "It's a hallucinogen, you hallucinated it!" Well, no. That's not how it works. In any event I read about it in the newspaper the next day. But back to the scene. So we're staring at it, horrified beyond belief. It'd be crazy enough to see, but when you're on a heavy acid trip your brain starts going loving haywire with the sheer awfulness, how it's a sign of your own mortality, poo poo like that that's almost unexplainable. Anyway. It's 3 AM so there's not much traffic, but still cars are stopping behind us. So the topper is when a red convertible pulls up. The pimpiest looking pimp, one who would get thrown out of a Hollywood casting call for being too cliche, is driving, with two prostitutes -- one white, one black, in full regalia -- in tow. He gets out, sees what's happening, and gets on his cell phone (this being the mid 90s, none of us had one) and calls 911 and starts hollering in the phone to get Lifeflight out there. My friend and I look at each other, still almost too horrified to speak and in a daze from the surreality of it all, and decide we don't want to be there when the police come. Just the idea of driving away from a dead man seemed so wrong, but then what could we do? The details in the paper the next day were scarce, with no details on how it happened or even the dead man's name, which I realized was likely because his family hadn't been notified yet. Strung out from the night before, that seemed like the worst part -- I, a complete stranger, knew this guy was dead before his parents did; they were probably still going about their normal routine and unaware of the horror that awaited them. Ugh, been shaking the whole time I typed this out. Just sad and horrible and mind-crushingly intense to see while on mind-bending drugs.
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Apr 11, 2011 12:32
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I used to work in an emergency admissions mental health unit. On the ladies ward; I always found that the men would just get on with being unwell but the women often liked to cause trouble. I was on duty one lunch time and was sitting with some of the more sociable patients as we ate our crappy hospital provided food. It had been a peaceful day so far, sunny outside, everyone in a good mood and so on. While one patient on my table was talking about how much better she felt when the ward was in its current peaceful state, a girl on the other end of the table started shaking (which is normal due to the high doses of meds some patients were on) She then crushed the glass salt and pepper pots in her hands and yelled "I DID NOT WANT EGGS" (which made little sense as there were no eggs on the menu that day), and with a tremendous hulk-like roar, picked up the entire table and hurled it as hard as she could. She must only have been about 5'5" and pretty skinny, but that table loving flew across the room, knocking me out of my chair on its way. The valiant student nurses vacated the room and left myself and the other member of staff to deal with the situation. A few chairs were thrown vertically, smashing lights above. Once I'd gotten up we had to restrain said patient and take her away to de-escalate. After the episode, the girl in question didn't remember it. She was usually very nice, and got really upset after she was told what happened. During the afternoon she became so upset at causing everyone such distress that she moulded some bread around a razor blade and swallowed it. I was on a double shift and ended up taking her to the main hospital for operating to remove it from her intestines that were being cut to shreds from the inside. She survived, even through the subsequent infection. I got home and thought that was an intense day.Then in the evening my girlfriend phoned me and broke up with me because she was too depressed 
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Apr 11, 2011 13:17
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regulargonzalez posted:Ugh, been shaking the whole time I typed this out. Just sad and horrible and mind-crushingly intense to see while on mind-bending drugs. I can't tell whether this was deliberate or not...
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Apr 11, 2011 13:52
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joshmx posted:I can't tell whether this was deliberate or not... Hah, not at all. I'm not that clever.
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Apr 11, 2011 13:54
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I had to stay in a hostel for a few weeks back in February and the owner agreed to let me share one of the kitchens in the building with another tenant. At first she seemed like a well-adjusted person, and even let me borrow her things and gave me food she had spare. One day, on my third week there, I brought a lot of groceries and the owner, who I came across on the stairs, told me she would help me free some room for them in the fridge. As we were moving some of the tuppers around, we noticed there were some labels on the lids. One of them read "September 2009". I had never seen so much mold, and the smell...  . Thank God I never ate the things she offered to give me. Needless to say, the rest of my stay was very awkward.
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Apr 11, 2011 13:56
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I was a bouncer for a while, and I saw some pretty freaky poo poo, but one thing sticks in my memory as a night of "What The Christ?" moments. It started off with me happily standing by my door. A guy had just left, and then come straight back saying "I left my keys in there". No worries, I let him back in. It was a slow night. I heard tires screeching off in the distance somewhere, no biggie for the area. Then I heard them again, much closer, and again. A car came flying round the corner, skidding sideways and mounting the curb right in front of my door, missing me by a foot or two. It slewed back into the street, overcorrected, and came back, smashing between two parked cars and into the real estate office next to the pub. That's the first WTC moment. I went to look. Technically I'm not supposed to leave the doorway and I have no power on the footpath or street, but if someon'es dead or injured, I can summon help. I approach the wreck with trepidation. This won't be my first dead body, but it's never a pleasant experience. There's already oil and petrol leaking from the car. As I approach the wrecked storefront, a dreadlocked man leaps from the debris and goes running off down the street. That's the second WTC moment. I take off after him. As a bouncer, I have no special powers to apprehend criminals, but I can make a citizens arrest if I observe a crime in progress. I can't run worth poo poo, but I catch the dude on a footbridge about 250m down the street. I restrain him and start to march him back to the accident scene. As I'm doing this, he keeps saying "Why are you putting the strong arm on me man, I haven't done nothin' wrong". That's the third WTC moment. I arrive back at the scene. My fellow bouncers have summoned the police, having heard the crash from inside the pub. The police must have been right nearby, so they've arrived while I've been wrestling the guy up the street. They look at me and ask "Is that the driver?" "Yeah" I respond. "Did you bash him?" they ask. "Nah", I respond, still out of breath. "Why not?" they ask, handcuffing him. WTC indeed... I stroll over to observe the wreckage and start to think about writing an incident report. There's now a large puddle of petrol on the ground, still slowly spreading. There are a number of interested bystanders. One bystander in particular is smoking, standing in the puddle of petrol. I'm standing in it too. "poo poo", I say, "Put that loving cigarette out!". Not the wisest choice of words. The drunk bystander drops the smoke into the puddle of petrol... where it immediately goes out harmlessly. (I later found out that this is the expected behaviour for a cigarette dropped into petrol. I've seen too many action movies though, so it was definitely a WTC moment). I berate the bystander for being bloody stupid and turn my attention to the scene which is unfolding behind me. An ambulance has arrived, no doubt called by a concerned citizen, and the police and paramedics are arguing about who gets to take the dreadlocked driver away. The paramedics claim he needs immediate medical attention. The cops say he will doubtless do a runner as soon as he is away from their immediate vicinity. They almost come to blows, getting right up in each other's faces and screaming. It ends when the police say they will arrest the paramedics for obstruction, and the paramedics opine that the police better hope they don't need medical attention in the near future. WTC, I thought they'd work together seamlessly (how naive I was...) I return to my door to write up an incident report. There is a man sitting in the doorway shaking, obviously in shock. I recognise him as the guy who went back for his keys. If he hadn't gone back into the pub, he would have been just getting into his parked car when it was hit, reducing the driver's side to a mangled twist of metal. Not a very What The Christ moment for me, but imagine being that guy... That's by far not the weirdest thing that ever happened to me in that job, or the most disgusting, but it's sure as gently caress the most memorable night I've ever had. It sounds like I'm making it up, I know, but I swear it's the truth.
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Apr 11, 2011 14:49
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I was walking down the street in Erie, Pennsylvania and a young boy, about 11 or 12, sitting on the sidewalk said to me, "Papa made a mess, give him a dollar." Years later I still wonder what he meant. Did Papa make a mess so bad he needs to raise funds for cleanup? Did Papa make a mess of things financially and needs help getting out of the hole? Did Papa make a mess so spectacular he feels he deserves a dollar? Who is Papa?
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Apr 11, 2011 16:08
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shotgunbadger posted:I wanna hear about the mountain of coke, though. I want to believe in the magic of Coke Mountain. ---- About 15 years ago, I worked as a driver for one of the more well-known pizza restaurants in Melbourne (StKilda)  . Still think it was one of the crappiest yet most entertaining jobs I've had. Back then, we were one of a very few restaurants city wide that would deliver into the wee hours of the morning.It's been a long bad night and I'm pretty much sick of the crap... we get a call... lady wants a pizza and a pack of cigarettes. I roll up to the flat, and the bell-ring is answered by this woman, very pissed, wearing a kimono and sweet naff all else. She's got ten years plus on me, is a little too overwieght and well...  for my taste. There's a 750ml (what's 3/4's of a quart?) bottle of Beam lying on the coffee table, with the lid and the plastic neck-seal lying on the table nearby shouting out that the bottle had been opened and finished in one sitting. "Hi, thanks, here's the grits and ciggies..." "Shanksh... here gimmee that,`love, I'll jusht go grab me pursh." "Yeah ta... no worries" She grabs a piece of pizza, starts scoffing it between attempts to get the ciggies open and the first one lit (seemingly) before she swallows. She hasn't actually moved to grab the forementioned purse just yet, and I'm wondering if she's forgotten. "Ummm... the money darl?" "Oh... thesh no money..."  "Errrm.... sorry... say again? I need $xx.xx from you." "There'sh no money love..." "...jusht me and the pizza...""... why don't you shhhh...tay and have a piece?"As I left, most of the pizza and almost a full deck of ciggies back in hand but lacking about $xx.xx worth of give a poo poo, the plaintiff cry came to follow me down the driveway.... "Come back.... have a piece... it was a good offer.... ... come back ...come back" The way she just came out with such a cliche line still makes me wonder how long she'd been planning the deal. edited because quoting a drunk is really hard. Cable Guy has a new favorite as of 09:33 on Apr 15, 2011 |
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Apr 11, 2011 16:17
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I was parked in downtown Minneapolis enjoying a nice cigarette before I walk into my girlfriends apartment, however this would not last. A homeless man knocks on my window, and I begin to roll it down. It turns out he has 3 beheaded chickens for sale, and he would like me to buy them. These were freshly beheaded chickens. In Minneapolis. At 3PM on a thursday. I politely decline and he informs me where to get the best cup of coffee for 2 dollars before sprinting away to the next potential customer. At least he was nice...
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Apr 11, 2011 16:36
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My WHAT THE CHRIST moment took place in the aftermath of an incident in a parking garage. Normally, you insert your money/credit card into the machine after inserting your ticket, blah blah blah. But this time instead of some stupid pay booth, it was a sexy lawn gnome vending machine. The instructions read that if I wanted to leave the parking lot, I would have to feed the Mechanical Parking Garage Horse a "sexy lawn gnome". If the gnome wasn't sexy enough, the Mechanical Parking Garage Horse would spit it out and demand that I try again. I figured, this has to be some sort of weird rear end dream right? Might as well go along with it. So I paid the fee, and out pops this tiny lawn gnome that was rather sexy to be quite honest. I drove up to where the black-and-yellow striped bar would be, and sure enough there stood the Mechanical Parking Garage Horse. I drove up and held out my hand. He studied the lawn gnome, then ate it. He then walked out of the way. I figured I had succeeded. As I drove out of the parking lot, I heard a large, horsey bellow. "RAAAAAARGH! THE GNOME WAS NOT SEXY ENOUGH! COME BACK HERE AND PAY YOU FOUL THIEF!" The Mechanical Parking Garage Horse burst out of the parking garage and was chasing me. Little bits of sexy lawn gnome were dribbling from his mouth. I was scared, so I slammed on the pedal and drove away. Eventually my car reached a speed faster than the Mechanical Parking Garage Horse could run. My relief was short lived, as a Mechanical Police Horse pulled up to me. "Do you know how fast you were going?" asked the Mechanical Police Horse? "Fast enough to evade that crazy rear end parking garage horse thingy." The Mechanical Police Horse just stared at me like I had insulted his religion or something. After a while he muttered "Feed me a Sexy Lawn Gnome and I might just let you off." "What?!?" "NEEEIGH! YOU HEARD ME YOU BASTARD!" "I... I don't have anymore sexually attractive lawn gnomes. The previous horse ate it then spit it out. Go take it up with him." The Mechanical Police Horse went silent. It was creepy as all hell. He then opened his mouth to speak. "Neigh. Neigh. You might be able to pass for a sexy lawn gnome. You seem sexy enough. Let me bite your arm and you're free to go." "Okay," I said, "Enough of this poo poo." I pulled a shotgun out of the glove compartment, and blew the Mechanical Police Horse's head apart. Then I put the gun to my own head and pulled the trigger. I woke up in the middle of the night, in my bed. "What. The. Christ." I muttered...
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Apr 11, 2011 16:36
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Working 3rd shift at a local Meijer can give you plenty of these moments. One that I can think of off the top of my head was when I was working alone one night and I had a lady come up to me and complain about an odor coming from the Men's clothing department. I just wrote it off as some spoiled meat someone kindly left over there after deciding they don't want it, as that happens frequently. I page for maintenance to look for a package of meat and go on with my normal duties. Well, as the hours go by I guess the smell got worse. People were coming up to me left and right complaining about the smell. Finally, figuring that maintenance just kind of ignored my request I had a customer take me back to where they smelled the odor and I was prepared to grab the meat myself. I'm overwhelmed with an odor that I can't really describe. It's most certainly not meat, I worked as an apprentice in a meat department prior to this and I'm familiar with the 'bad meat smell' and this certainly was not it. Following the strength of the odor, we're eventually led to the fitting rooms. I grab the key and start opening the doors. 1st door, I don't find anything. 2nd door, a few clothes articles on the floor..and...'wtf there's something leaking from the next room...' I open lucky door number three and I'm hit in the face with a full dose of the smell, along with the visual of what was causing it. Someone had gone into the fitting room and proceeded to poo poo all over the floor, as well as the wall. There were about 6 shirts in there, we're guessing they were used to wipe as they had poo poo stains all over them and were promptly tossed onto the floor. As for the poo poo on the walls, either this person had some serious projectile making GBS threads skills, or they picked it up and smeared it everywhere. To this day I won't go into the fitting rooms at that Meijer. Think of this story next time you're in a fitting room and there's a huge stain on the floor. It may be from where someone spilled a pop, it may be from where someone got mad at the establishment and shat all over the fitting room floor. Funny side to this, the next week maintenance was cleaning the men's room at 3 in the morning, which takes about 45 minutes. In this time they close the bathroom and we just say 'sorry for the inconvenience'. Well one old man didn't want to take that lying down, so instead of waiting to use the toilet he just lifted the lid off of the garbage can and poo poo in that. I walked by to see him sitting on the can and he quickly said "YOU ALL ARE CLEANING THE loving BATHROOM." All I could think to say back to him was "Why couldn't you just use the fitting rooms like everyone else?" I have other stories about working there, that one just sort of stuck out. I'll post more later.
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Apr 11, 2011 17:08
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Similar to this, I used to work at KFC and every other day we'd find a poo poo on the floor of the men's toilets inside the cubicle. Eventually we figured out it was a driving instructor who'd use our carpark to teach his pupils parking skills and the take a dump on our toilet floor. One of the girls who worked there saw him walking in and shouted "There's the man who poos!" and he about-faced and left, never to return.Hydrogen_Otter posted:Stuff
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Apr 11, 2011 17:35
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Once as a kid, while at the Golden Corral, I had finished eating and went to the bathroom. It was really crowded in there, so I had to wait for a second. What I never expected to see when I turned around, however, was this fat old guy with his pants down sitting on a urinal, apparently taking a dump with his junk in full view of everyone. That was.. yeah. Pretty hosed up. I don't think we ever went back there.
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Apr 11, 2011 17:38
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Waffnuffly posted:Once as a kid, while at the Golden Corral, I had finished eating and went to the bathroom. It was really crowded in there, so I had to wait for a second. What I never expected to see when I turned around, however, was this fat old guy with his pants down sitting on a urinal, apparently taking a dump with his junk in full view of everyone. I think you may have been in a YMCA locker room.
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Apr 11, 2011 17:59
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My three roomates and I decided to go out drinking two nights ago but didn't decide to stop. After we'd gotten back home all four of us were at one point vomiting at the same time. Having only two bathrooms one of my roomies snagged a garbage can. I personally decided to sit down in the kitchen and have a cig when we got back and by the time I realized I was going to be sick the sink was as far as I could make it. Cue the sink getting three-quarters-filled with partially digested stir fry, many shots worth of goldschlager, orange juice, vodka, energy drink... the list goes on. I heard a bathroom door open and stumble-bounced through the house to get there while that roomate made his way to the kitchen to smoke. I could hear him hollering about the pukesink behind me as I made it to the bathroom and promptly passed the gently caress out. At some point in the night one of my roomates dragged me halfway into my bedroom and was kind enough to bring me a small garbage can. I know this because I woke up to my head in said garbage can, and the smell of the worst vomit ever seemed to permeate my being. What's worse is that it wouldn't loving go away no matter how much Lysol and Febreeze I sprayed. After my attempts at freshening my room seemed to fall flat I walked into the bathroom and upon looking in the mirror uttered, "What the Christ?" I've been growing a full-on beard for the last few months after having been clean shaven for five years or so. I don't know why, just to have it I guess. It's by far the most (and longest) facial hair I've had at any point in time and I'm still not really used to it. When I looked into the mirror I saw why I couldn't fix the vomit smell - my entire beard was matted with vomit. I ran the sink and splashed it on my face while I continuously dry heaved for about 15 minutes. It was the worst stomach cramping I've ever felt. Afterward I hopped into the shower and scrubbed my face for another 20 minutes. Despite three showers and well over an hour total of beardscrubbing between yesterday and today I can't get rid of the smell. I'm 99% certain that it's psychosomatic at this point. I get the feeling I'm going to have to shave my face to get the smell out of my head...
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Apr 11, 2011 18:07
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Hydrogen_Otter posted:Working 3rd shift at a local Meijer can give you plenty of these moments. Haha holy crap, I was about to post my own Meijer third shift stories. I worked there for about eight months between high school and college, and had many surreal experiences. One night really stands out. I got a call from one of the cleaning guys hissing in a whisper to get our asses to produce, but to hide. There was something like three of us in the cashier/customer service area, and as it was about 2 AM we all just sneaked over. A young couple was in the produce department. The girl was in a miniskirt. The guy had a banana. That's right, he was loving his girlfriend with a banana in the middle of Meijer. All we could do was stare. She er finished rather noisily, and then as an added touch of class, the guy dropped the banana back into the bin. Once we all recovered, the cleaning guy said "Well, that's a writeoff" and pulled on rubber gloves to dispose of the banana and any other bananas it could have possibly touched. The couple came up to the cash registers about an hour later. They bought only a lacy black bra and a kielbasa sausage. I literally had to dive behind the customer service desk after I finished ringing them up so I could collapse on the floor laughing.
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Apr 11, 2011 18:14
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ShaneDaBassMan posted:I was parked in downtown Minneapolis enjoying a nice cigarette before I walk into my girlfriends apartment, however this would not last. As someone in the cities, I can appreciate this. For anyone that doesn't know, downtown Minneapolis is very much "big city".
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Apr 11, 2011 18:28
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This is nowhere near the caliber of some of these stories, but I think it belongs here. Several years ago during the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college, I subletted an apartment from a friend of a friend. We'll call him Keith. The guy was nice enough; clean, friendly, quiet. One day I came home and he was very visibly excited. He just found out that he had tracked down a sister he had never met before. In fact, he hadn't known about her up until about a year prior, when his mom finally told him. Anyway, she was in Boston and he asked my opinion about her coming to stay with us for a couple of weeks because she was down on her luck and was looking for a change. I said I didn't mind. About a week later she arrived. By "she" I mean the skeleton of a meth addict that looked somewhat like a female. Her hair was stringy and greasy, she had visible sores on her face, neck and arms, and looked about a week away from death. Keith assured me that she was going to get her life back on track and not to worry. E: She also smelled the way your piss smells when you eat a lot of asparagus. Not kidding, exactly like asparapiss. Apparently, "getting my life back on track" means "becoming an escort on craigslist" and "quitting drugs forever" means scarfing and smoking anything that could produce a high. She slept on a dirty mattress in our living room (I'm still not sure how that mattress got there either). She slept all day and only moved around at night, taking calls from guys and coming in and out loudly. I can only imagine what her "customers" thought when that corpse showed up. I tolerated this at first because I was young and stupid and didn't know better, but when I came out of my room one morning and went to the kitchen, I started to lose it. She had completely eaten everything in the fridge by tearing open boxes and cartons like she was a bear. I'm serious, my box of cereal looked like Wolverine got drunk and tried to open it. There was food everywhere. I looked in the living room and she was passed out semi-nude on my couch. God drat it. I confronted Keith and told him she had to go. There was no way I was living with a meth-addicted hooker who eats all of my food. He again assured me she would be gone and that he would replace my food. He did, so I was somewhat satisfied. She started disappearing for days at a time, which was fine by me at that point and things calmed down for a week or so. She came back with a fury though. One morning I woke up and went into the bathroom to take a shower. I felt something under my foot and looked down to find that I was standing on a syringe with a god drat dirty needle in it. I flipped poo poo. Of course she wasn't home to kick out so I called Keith at work and told him that his crack whore sister need to go NOW, or I would be gone before he got home. He couldn't talk but said we'd meet that night to discuss. I wasn't happy, but was even less happy when I pulled back the shower curtain and found that the sister had taken an enormous god drat dump in the shower. This was our only shower and I need to clean up to go to work. At that point I said gently caress it, called my boss and told him what was going on. He told me to take the day off and figure things out, and not to worry. I was going to be moving out in a couple of weeks anyway, so I called the place I was moving to and asked if I could push the lease date up a bit. They said no problem, so I moved the hell out of the place that week. I never spoke to either of them again, except when we got a bill from a cleaning company that Keith wanted me to split. It was for "fire damage." I was always curious as to what that was from because when I left there was nothing that could be considered burnt by fire. SixPabst has a new favorite as of 18:43 on Apr 11, 2011 |
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Apr 11, 2011 18:40
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I used to work at a gas station on a busy intersection in my town, so we always got a lot of foot traffic (especially in the summer months since we're close to the lake, and guys would come in to fill up their boats or gas up and get some snacks for the beach). This particular story happened, unfortunately, in the peak of summer when it was 80-90 degrees every drat day. Like I said we had a lot of people coming and going, and of course people would need to use the bathroom. We had one guy who was a homeless cross dresser that had an Elvis hairdo. Like Elvis in the later years. (And yes, while being homeless and broke he still found women's purses/shoes and skirts and blouses to wear). He would come in and buy something cheap, like coffee, and then proceed to use our microwave to heat up food he found in the loving dumpster. We didn't notice he was doing this until he did it one day during a slow part of the day and we walked over near the microwave to check on something. Once we realized what the gently caress he was doing we had to explain to the guy that he couldn't microwave his dirty rear end dumpster food in our store. Did I mention that this guy was also incredibly mentally ill? And obviously not taking his meds? We would see him sometimes walking down the street yelling at no one (that we could see) while suprisingly keeping his balance in his purple heels and short skirt. When we told him not to cook his trash cuisine here he flipped out. We got a new 3rd shift girl a week or so later, and when we relieved her she mentioned seeing some weird guy come in and described She-Elvis to a T. She also mentioned that she gave him the bathroom key that night. Uh oh. So in the middle of July, in sweltering heat our drag queen of the streets took a massive poo poo and wiped it EVERYWHERE. He literally painted the entire bathroom with poo poo. What we still can't figure out to this day is how he did it without getting totally covered in it, because she said he didn't look any different when she gave him the key back (the key was on a big retangular piece of plastic) and the key wasn't smeared either. All I know is I didn't have to clean that up, that was my day off  2 weeks later that fucker did it again. We promptly threw the bathroom key into the waterway that ran near the building and locked the door, and put a big sign on it with OUT OF ORDER. We lied to our manager about the key and said someone stole it. It got so bad in there when they got it opened up that they had to call in a professional cleaning company to spray it down with bleach and hopefully fire.
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Apr 11, 2011 18:40
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Didn't happen to me, but I heard about it somewhere... A lot of guys were sitting around getting drunk and stoned. Very stoned. One guy decides he's gonna puke and so gets up and goes to the bathroom. The rest of the guys hear puking noises, and the puker comes back out and says "How come you've got a wicker toilet?" It took them a few minutes to work out what he'd done.
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Apr 11, 2011 18:47
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StealthStealth posted:Haha holy crap, I was about to post my own Meijer third shift stories. I worked there for about eight months between high school and college, and had many surreal experiences. Hahaha! That's pretty sweet sir, wish I had something like that one come in. Although we DID have a 45-year old grocery manager who had sex with one of his 19-year old employees on top of a pile of corn. They made him buy ALL OF IT then fired him. AFAIK the girl kept her job... Here's another story. This one is a classic, not sure how I didn't think of this one first. The surprise package It was about 1:30 in the morning and I had just gotten back from my lunch (or whatever the gently caress you call your long break at 1 AM) and the general merch guys were stalking this guy around the women's clothing section. I asked one of the guys getting closer to me what they were doing and they though they'd spotted a shoplifter. So being bored, 20 and not giving a gently caress if I log back into my register on time I stalked the guy with them. Well I'm not really convinced he's a shoplifter because he's really not doing anything super suspicious, so I ask the general merch lead what gives. He looks at me like I'm insane and says, and I quote, "Really, you don't see? Look at his pants, ain't no way he doesn't have something shoved down his pants." Well sure enough I look and there's a huge bulge coming from the front of his pants. Nobody, not even the manager wants to approach him but everyone's got an eye on him. Well I guess the manager had called the police, and with him they both approach the guy to start questioning him, us watching as it all unfolds. Officer: Sir, we have reason to believe that you're shoplifting. Package: What? No dude I'm just grabbing a few things I need around the house, don't have much money and I'm weighing out what I need most, sorry if I'm putting a lot of stuff back man. Officer: Sir, we can clearly see that you have some merchandise stuffed in your pants. You need to hand over the merchandise and come with me. Package: I didn't steal poo poo, that's my dick. Officer: Sir, just hand over the merchandise and come with me. Package: I don't have anything but my dick in my pants. Officer: Sir...I don't believe that. Package: Seriously? I will show you my dick if that's what you want. IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT? DO YOU WANT TO SEE MY DICK? Officer: Look we don't want any trouble just hand over the merchandise... And with that the guy just drops his pants, and out starts flopping his huge, erect penis that puts most porn actors to total shame. He stood there, erect penis for all to see for a solid minute to let it soak in that yes, this was happening. He then looks at the manager and officer, daring them to do anything and says "Can I continue shopping in peace, now? gently caress.", pulls up his pants and walks off. Neither the officer nor our manager follow him. Shame that guy didn't come through my line. He would have definitely gotten most of his purchases marked down through the super easy to exploit discount system.
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Apr 11, 2011 19:05
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I was a warehouse manager for an auto parts chain. RIght next to the store was a mini-mart I frequented to get drinks or snacks. One day I was in there a woman and man were infront of me in line. I was waiting patiently when the lady said, "Oh no!" and then she started making GBS threads all over (she had a skirt on). She walked out the door still making GBS threads. The cashier and I  at each other in disbelief.I still bought my soda, but then I ran back to the warehouse and got on the intersom calling all my men to the front door. They came running and I was laughing and saying, "Look outside at that lady!" They did and they saw that she was still making GBS threads. One of the guys puked and the others were simultaneously laughing and gagging with me. Best day ever.
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Apr 11, 2011 19:07
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When I saw this thread, I knew it was time to dredge up the childhood memories I have courtesy of my parents. Both my mom and dad have their P.h.D. in psychology, they graduated in the 70's from Troy University, broke as gently caress, and immediately went to work for the state of Alabama. At that time, if you worked for the state, every year they would pay back a little bit of your student loans, so my parents only did this until they were debt free. They worked at a state run mental institution (I wish I knew the name) and had a lot of stories for me as a child. This is basically the #1 reason I want nothing to do with the mentally ill/retarded. They creep me the ever-loving gently caress out, THANKS MOM AND DAD. Most of the stories are short vignettes on specific people, I know some names but not most of them. I'm going to refer to people in these stories as mentally retarded, profoundly retarded, etc. If this offends you, then don't loving read my stories. Yes, I know now that the PC terminology is "people with intellectual disabilities", and that you're not supposed to say retarded because it makes them sound if they're lacking in some way as a human being. THEY ARE LACKING, that's what mental retardation is, it means you LACK IQ. But I'd still rather hang out with some of the patients from these stories than be around some perfectly intelligent human beings in this world. In the grand scheme of things, the mentally retarded are not the ones causing the big problems here. It may not be PC in everyone else's book, but its PC in mine (and it happens to follow, because my parents use these terms as, in the 1970's, it was the name of this class of disorders.) Jeremy Twitty My mother loathed him, not because he had a terrible attitude, but because the man was just plain gross. He was a retarded man with Down's Syndrome, who was rather fond of hugs from the staff. My mother always described him as a huge man, over 6feet tall, with the mentality of a usually friendly two year old. He drooled constantly, white frothy gooey drips of the stuff. I have a very hairy dog, and in the summer time she drips these horrible 6-inch long slobber things (but I still love her, I just keep paper towels on hand), and my mom always comments that Jerry's mouth looked like our dogs, just pouring spit. On top of that, he had a constantly runny nose which was, if possible, worse. My mom never knew why, but his snot was always green, and it would drip down his face over his mouth and would combine with his spit to make some sort of gross double-threat. Imagine that unstoppable behemoth coming to hug you all the time and press his face into your hair, just imagine it. The brothers First there was just the one boy, he was about 6-7 years old and was profoundly retarded. He could not move, and I think I'm correct in saying he was stuck at the stage of an infant. He was kept in an adult sized crib every day, wore diapers, was fed some sort of mush with a spoon every day. It's safe to say that his quality of life was the absolute shits. His parents were unnerved by him, they hardly ever came to visit him (though even if they had come more often, he might not have noticed). The most memorable thing about this boy was, over time, his back began to arch, but not as if he was moving it that way, as if his spine was growing bowed. Eventually, only the tops of his shoulders and his hips and legs touched the bed. It was like his body just seized in that position, all unnaturally bent like that. His mother and father saw him enough to know what his life was like. He spent most of his time wailing and screaming, flailing his limbs, and sleeping. But you know what? A few years after this boy was brought in, the parents came back again with another little baby boy. He had a lolling head and vacant eyes, and he was admitted to the institution and was given a crib next to his brother. Whatever was wrong with the older boy was clearly genetic, because his little brother developed in just the same way, same arched back, same horrible screaming all the time. My mother said she never understood why parents would give birth to a child who was so obviously messed up, and then decide to have more children afterward. Apparently, right before she left the system entirely, my mom said they came back again with another baby boy, just like the first two. No matter what the parents were told about genetics, they just kept pumping these children out and dropping them into the institution. I have more, if people are interested in reading them. I just need a break from typing right now. JibbaJabberwocky has a new favorite as of 21:10 on Apr 11, 2011 |
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Apr 11, 2011 19:22
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Iluvlortab posted:I was a warehouse manager for an auto parts chain. RIght next to the store was a mini-mart I frequented to get drinks or snacks. One day I was in there a woman and man were infront of me in line. I was waiting patiently when the lady said, "Oh no!" and then she started making GBS threads all over (she had a skirt on). She walked out the door still making GBS threads. The cashier and I I cannot stop laughing at this. It's the "Oh no!" that makes it. "Oh no!" and suddenly poo poo everywhere. I just had to read this to my boss since he was asking what the hell I was laughing at, and he's losing it too.
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Apr 11, 2011 19:29
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AlphaDog posted:A lot of guys were sitting around getting drunk and stoned. Very stoned. One guy decides he's gonna puke and so gets up and goes to the bathroom. The rest of the guys hear puking noises, and the puker comes back out and says "How come you've got a wicker toilet?"
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Apr 11, 2011 19:38
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JibbaJabberwocky posted:I have more, if people are interested in reading them. I just need a break from typing right now. Continue, please. My only regret is I have no stories of my own- Or if I do, they've packed up and evacuated my memories, so pale they are in comparison to everything else in this thread. I can feel my faith in humanity dropping!
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Apr 11, 2011 19:41
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JoeyVapes posted:
What's up, worked-in-a-lovely-hotel-in-Alabama buddy. I have no story nearly as awesome/horrific as that, though we did find a person strung up by his neck, waist and genitals after his panicked wife/girlfriend/hooker/whatever called the front desk and begged me to help her (but not to call the cops). He had stopped breathing and the paramedics cut him down. Never saw either of them after that, would love to know what happened. I do know that someone got charged for the holes they drilled for the "harness" or whatever the gently caress they were doing in there. VVVV EDIT: I did mean waist, autocorrect 
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Apr 11, 2011 19:49
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Lareous posted:we did find a person strung up by his neck, waste and genitals after his panicked wife/girlfriend/hooker/whatever called the front desk and begged me to help her Oh god, I hope you meant 'waist'. Although the image of a guy strung up by his neck and dick with several turds on strings hanging nearby is pretty funny. dinozombiesgoRARR has a new favorite as of 20:01 on Apr 11, 2011 |
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Apr 11, 2011 19:53
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JibbaJabberwocky posted:I have more, if people are interested in reading them. I just need a break from typing right now. Yes please. I think everyone knows someone similar to Jeremy Twitty, at least I did. I know the constant horror of getting hit with slobber from a special kid  But the brothers, holy gently caress did that make me appreciate my quality of my life.
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Apr 11, 2011 19:57
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When I first started driving my ex had a terrible habit of distracting me while making left turns. He thought it was the funniest thing in the world to tickle me just as I started to turn, making my car swerve across the road. On our first Valentine's day spent together his practical joke caused me to hit the curb and get a flat tire. I had no idea how to change a tire, nor did he. Nor did my older brother who I called up from the sushi place we were eating at for our Valentine's Day dinner. But he drove over anyway and found a random stranger to help. This stranger was a toothless only wearing overalls insane redneck. Pretty impressive considering we were in the middle of one of the richest neighborhoods in NJ at the time. The four of us (my brother brought his creepy friend) stood there as we watched the insane man fix my car. Why do I say he was insane? Because the entire time he talked about how his sister died on Valentine's day five years ago and was convinced that her spirit was haunting my car. He even talked to her/the car as he worked to "appease" her spirit. Just as he finished the car's trunk closed on it's own. "See...spirits. She's in there. My dear sister's in there..."
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Apr 11, 2011 20:33
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My mom worked with the SPED kids when I was in middle school. These kids were all teenagers, and the most developed of them could use a keypad attached to his wheelchair to indicate when he needed something (pictures of food, water, diaper, etc). All of them couldn't speak, wore diapers, and were in wheelchairs. I remember Erin, who was silent, who had a large forehead, but didn't ever throw fits. There was clearly something going on behind her eyes, because if you sat and talked with her, she'd take your hand and press it to her face, and she did make eye contact. Then there was Jennifer, who had absolutely nothing behind her eyes: ever seen that video on Youtube where there's an Indian kid in the advanced stage of rabies? Screaming, frothing at the mouth? That was her. She was one of the larger kids in the group and screamed like a howler monkey all the drat time. Then there was Maggie, who was being abused in her foster home (if you raised your hand near her, she'd cower in her wheelchair and start crying and whimpering, like a beaten dog) but was more like Erin: she'd smile, she'd laugh, she'd try to hug you with these withered, tiny arms. The first WTC moment about my mom's job wasn't when she told me about changing diapers. Obviously if these kids were in wheelchairs and nearly all of them were paralyzed, then diapers were needed. What made me gag was her description of dealing with the girls when they had their periods. Because they all did. And they were synchronized together, so once a month or so, every girl needed an extra half hour or so for diaper cleanup. It had never, ever occurred to me that they wouldn't be on some kind of pill to stop menstruation. Then the thought came if they could get pregnant. My mom said it was possible. She also said in the past, employees had been fired for such things. There's a lot of poo poo that makes me wonder if Hell is really on Earth. People raping kids is one. People raping someone like Jennifer is another.
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Apr 11, 2011 20:35
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Well, this should be an interesting thread, I wonder... ...oh. Oh, my.  You are all brave men and women to still maintain your sanity after some of these tales.
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Apr 11, 2011 20:36
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Back when I was younger, I was a drunk and a violent psychopath. I also hung out with other drunken violent psychopaths. Specifically, my room-mate and best friend, John Bomber. Now, Bomber was from Texas, as tough as bad beef jerky, a farm boy and a bull rider, with almost no common sense and an appetite for adrenaline. We had a kind of ritual in my old unit. This was in West Germany, in the bad old days of the late 80's, when there were anti-American protests, anti-nuclear protests, and all of that fun stuff. But those don't really matter. What matters is that there were brothels. Lots and lots of brothels. Full of women who you could hand the equivelant of $20USD to, gently caress the hell out, then leave and not have to worry about a relationship. Since the women in our unit were outnumbered about 10 to 1 and were all as mean as rattle snakes with a sore tooth, hookers were always a better idea than they were. And to keep all the young bucks from doing stupid, we made a monthly trip to the whore houses in Frankfurt, taking newbies and whoever wanted to go. One weekend I was back at the unit for a reason known only to God and CO, and it was time for the monthly tour of the whore houses. I was about half-blasted at the time, and convinced my room-mate John Bomber to come along with me and we'd escort the newbies to the whore-house and have a good time. The drive to Frankfurt was about 2 or 3 hours, and we left about 1700 on a Friday. I was already drunk, so I slept during the trip. We had 4 cruits, the driver, Bomber, and me. It was dusk when we hit the whore houses, and the first thing I hit was the bar, John with me. A couple shots of Wild Turkey and a nice crystal wiessen and I was strak, ready to go. John hit a couple of shots, and he was ready for business. The 'cruits had vanished, probably blowing all their money on handjobs. To cut a long story short, John and I ended up wandering around the whorehouse, which was 4 stories, escorted by a bouncer and a pink haired whore that I had about half my arm jammed into. We were checking on the 'cruits, and seeing the sights. Now, for those of you who don't know, the top floor is where the whorehouses usually hide the worst of the worst. The women who cater to specific fetishes or are for the desperate. Up there are the amputees, the horridly obese, and the downright ugly. Pink hair has her tongue in my ear like she's stealing my thoughts, I've got my hand jammed in her at least wrist deep, with a bottle of Wild Turkey in my other hand, the bouncer is waving us deeper and deeper into Hedonismbot's House of Horrors, and John is tromping along behind me wearing only his cowboy boots, his bull riding belt, and his cowboy hat. His dick is waving around like a dowsing rod, and he's grumbling that he wants to see something new. Hell with all the typical whores, he wants something new. Then John sees her. She's six foot if she's an inch. She weighs easily 300 pounds. But she'd not pear shaped, she's solid the whole way, with massive arms and tree-trunk legs. She's covered in a fine layer of black body hair, from head to toe. She has a hair back, hairy breasts, hairy stomach, what looks like a 2 day growth of beard, and long black stringy hair. She's eating donuts and watching what looks like American Bandstand on a flickering black and white television from her bed covered in dirty sheets. "Ant, I gotta do that." John slurs, leaning against the doorway and staring at the bearded whore. "Huh?" I turn from where I'm paying attention to pink-hair's tits. "Tell her I want to ride her like a bull." John tells the bouncer, who gets a look like John just asked to poo poo in his shoes. He yanks out a wad of 100 DM bills big enough to choke a horse. "200 Marks to ride her, if she throws me it's another 500 Marks, and either way I get to gently caress her for another 100." The bouncer rattles it back, throwing in "Crazy American Cowboy" in there. The bearded whore's face lights up, and she sets aside the donuts and gets on all fours. I lean against the wall, swilling out of the bottle while I watch this poo poo. She stands up, and she's bigger than I thought. Built like a pro wrestler, muscle marbled with fat, she's probably an East German Olympic power lifter or some poo poo, but John's brain has shut down. He holds out his hand for my belt, and I pull my belt off and hand it to him, pink-hair's hand diving into my pants and beginning to stroke. He motions to her to get on all fours, which she does after he throws a handful of 50 DM bills on the table, and he climbs up on the bed and throws a leg over her, straddling her and loops the belt around. The bearded whore clamps her jaws on the belt, John digs in his heels and yells out "GIDDYUP!" The whore goes berserk. She bucks, whirls, trying to throw John off. I'm laughing, the bouncer is laughing, other whores are coming out to see what all the racket is. Pink hair is yelling out encouragement to the bearded whore, who's just going apeshit. John has his hat in one hand, swatting her rear end and side with it, hauling on the belt with the other, and digging his heels into her. They go crashing off the bed, onto the floor. I'm yelling at him to hold on, the bouncer is yelling for her to roll him, pink hair is yelling that she's got it, that the 500 DM are hers, and the other whores are cheering. She manages to get Bomber off rhythm, and finally bucks him off. He goes sailing through the air, cowboy hat still in his hand, crashes off the wall, and slams through a coffee table. Instead of laying there stunned, he jumps back up, tackles the whore, and fucks her right there on the floor. The bearded whore keeps the belt in her mouth, bucking and yanking away from John, making him work for every minute of it. I'm just blown away. When he's done, he peels off the money he promised, then makes it an even 1,000 DM, and staggers out into the hallway, panting and grinning, still wearing nothing but his belt, his boots, and his hat. As we're staggering downstairs, he bumps me with his shoulder. "Soooo worth it to ride and then gently caress a Bigfoot, eh, Ant?" My What the Christ! moment: Watching John Bomber ride and then gently caress a Bigfoot.
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Apr 11, 2011 20:39
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Reminded me of this:
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Apr 11, 2011 20:56
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I have a semi-lighthearted moment of what the christ to cut the scary grossness of this thread. My ex had Maine Coon cats, you know, the giant fluffy ones? The girl one was a stupid runty thing that drooled too much but the boy one was immaculate, groomed himself really well and was generally a lovely cat. Well, my ex suffered from depression and was a little addicted to an MMO, so some nights he'd sleep downstairs instead of coming up and waking me up getting into bed. One morning, I come downstairs and notice my ex fast asleep upright on the sofa. Nothing unusual there, but what was odd were these weird brown lines across the sofa. I'm pondering what the gently caress these could be when boy cat sprints up to me with the largest dingleberry in the history of cat poo poo stuck to his back leg, happily zooming round the room painting brown lines all over the place. The tell-tale marks were everywhere: not only on the sofa but on the rug, across my ex's arms and lap, pretty much every surface the cat could run across had been blessed with a chocolate streak. I shut the door so the cat couldn't get into the bedroom, went back to sleep, and woke up to my ex freaking out half an hour later. It's your cat, you deal with it.
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Apr 11, 2011 20:58
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50 Foot Ant posted:*Frankfurt whorehouse story* Tell me this was in the Marble Palace.
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Apr 11, 2011 21:00
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