not a tag

Quoted: I really enjoyed the SEC stories. I miss the SEC Thanks for the great threads Piccolo and for compiling them GENESMITH.

I started sending them to everyone at work.


I'll send one per week.

So far, everyone loves it.

Gene

Best thread ever...or a tribute to the best thread ever...
thank you for posting those stories...

Quoted: Best thread ever...or a tribute to the best thread's ever... thank you for posting those stories...

thanks for compiling them. My sis got to read them last night.

OST, because these are great stories (and for some reason the TAG button does not always work for me)

Quoted: thanks for compiling them. My sis got to read them last night.

I was a little worried you might not like that I did this.

Glad you approve.

Thanks again for writting such good stuff.

Am I missing any of them?


Gene

OST

Quoted: Am I missing any of them? Gene

 


I'd have to dig around and check.


Although I HAVE wriien a number of other things about fishing in AK, life at sea, my childhood and day to day life.

I AM the type of guy that would try hornswoggle someone to let me drive their Ferrari, and I once DID get a train engineer to let me drive a train several years back.





ETA: IMHO, the SEC stories don't hold a candle to Treetop's flaming backpack story or the tale of Ryan's Steakhouse.

My second favorite Piccolo story is the time he tried to join the Rangers.

Quoted: My second favorite Piccolo story is the time he tried to join the Rangers.

Is this the one where he took the musket?

Quoted: Quoted: Am I missing any of them? Gene   I'd have to dig around and check. Although I HAVE wriien a number of other things about fishing in AK, life at sea, my childhood and day to day life. I AM the type of guy that would try hornswoggle someone to let me drive their Ferrari, and I once DID get a train engineer to let me drive a train several years back. ETA: IMHO, the SEC stories don't hold a candle to Treetop's flaming backpack story or the tale of Ryan's Steakhouse.

I've been reading your posts / stories for a while now, (and enjoyed them all), just never read any of the SEC stories.

Perhaps I'll have to go back and put together a bunch of your other stuff as well.

"Flaming backpack story"?  

hhmmmm, guess I'll have to search the archive for that one...


I was a member here for a while before I discovered GD, so I missed out on a lot of stuff.


Gene

Quoted: Quoted: My second favorite Piccolo story is the time he tried to join the Rangers. Is this the one where he took the musket?

yup

Anyone got the link to the thread with the cat pictures w/ the funny phrases on them?

I looked at it the other day, but now I can't find it.

tagged for posterity

tagged for posterity

Hey,

Did I miss the story where Piccolo beat the shit out of that kid who tried to kick the SEC?

Kevin "Unless I dreamed that."

Quoted: Hey, Did I miss the story where Piccolo beat the shit out of that kid who tried to kick the SEC? Kevin "Unless I dreamed that."

I missed that one, too.

Took me a few minutes of searching the archive, but I found this post. Apparently mr.wilson had it saved on his hard drive and re-posted it.

I figure this is a good a place as any to re-re-post it.

The Flaming Backpack story~

Originally posted by mr. wilson: Saved this off from the old TREETOP thread. Time: middle of June, 2001. Situation: Stopped at inspection in Burbank Airport. Before I moved my Fiancée out here to Arizona, I was living alone out here preparing our future, and she was still living at the house we shared in California. We wanted to make sure that AZ was going to work out for us, and find a way to transfer her job out here. We took turns traveling to see each other, every other weekend or so. Usually I would fly out there with no extra complications at all. I packed very light every time, always bringing only a backpack as carry-on, and no checked baggage. I like to be at the airport for as little time as possible, and don't like waiting for luggage. Plus I've had bad experiences before where luggage never shows up. This particular trip, I had decided to do some work on her car that I'd been neglecting, so I brought out a few tools with me. I was planning on adding an alarm system to her car, and brought mostly electrical tools (at the time I worked with mobile electronics for a living). I just brought the stuff out in my backpack like I always do. After a good weekend together, the time came for me to fly back to Phoenix. We arrived at the airport a little behind schedule (bad traffic); said our good-byes; and I ran through the hallways hoping to get on the plane, relax, and get home. By the time I got to the gate area, it was getting pretty close to my departure time. I've missed flights before, and I was praying it would all work out this time. When walking through the gates, I did everything exactly as I always do. I put my backpack on the conveyor belt, emptied my pockets into the little basket, and took off my belt buckle to put in the basket too. My belt buckle always sets off the metal detector for some reason, so I've gotten used to just tossing it in with my pocket stuff. The attendant made me turn off and on my cell-phones, to show that they were real or whatever (I had 2 at the time, one with my old CA number, and one with my AZ area code). While I was simultaneously putting my belongings back in my pockets, showing that my phones were real, and trying to keep my pants from falling down since they had no belt buckle, the commotion started. Three or four security officers were speed-walking to the gate area, and the attendant watching the x-ray monitors started wigging out and pointing at the screens to security and all the other airport employees in the area. I figured someone had tried to smuggle something through, or there was some questionable objects in someone's bag. It turns out they were looking at my backpack. Everyone was serious as could be, and freaking out. At first I was wondering if a rat had crawled into my bag or something, not having a clue what they were freaking out about. Just then 2 guys corner me, and one of them grabs me by the arm to pull me aside. Anyone who knows me would know not to grab me by the arm and try to tug on me, but these guys didn't know me from Adam, and tried to muscle me out of the path of other people. Bad Idea. My instinct was to pull away from them, and free myself from their grip. I was immediately successful. They were telling me (excitedly) to calm down, and I was telling them to keep their hands OFF of me. I think they understood, because they didn't touch me again after that. I'm asking them what the heck was going on, because by this time they've got a couple other guys coming over too. The other people coming through the gate area are being held back, and I realize it's just me and a bunch of security guys and airline employees in the vicinity. The guy who looks like he might be one of the higher-ups starts walking to a counter, holding my backpack out very carefully, like when you take a dirty diaper to the trash. He actually looked frightened. Another guy comes up to me and asks me "Is that your backpack?" "Yes, what's the problem?" “Has anyone else had access to it, or held it for you?" "No and No," I responded. "What do you have in your backpack?" "Some clothes, some tools, and some other stuff. What's the problem?" "Tools, huh?" "Yes, tools." "Do you have a hammer in there?" "A hammer? No. Why?" I couldn’t see where this was going. "Are you sure you don't have a hammer in there?" "Yes, quite sure." I couldn’t understand why a hammer would be reason to hold back a plane, or what they saw in my pack that would look like a hammer. One of the guys rummaging through my backpack then starts walking to the man questioning me, looking like he just happened across the mother-lode. He's holding a brown plastic East-German AK buttstock out at arms length, practically shouting "Look what was in there!! Look what was in there!!" Everyone starts wigging out at this point. The man questioning me says "What's this??!!!" I say "It's a buttstock for a rifle. It's a harmless piece of plastic." The fat white guy who originally was monitoring the screens stepped in all hero-like and butted in: "I'm not new to this. I've seen those before. It's a survival rifle that comes apart and folds up inside itself!!!" He was as proud as could be, like a guy who single-handedly smashed a drug cartel. Unfortunately for him, he was more mistaken than even Miss Cleo ever could be. He'd mistaken a plastic AK Buttstock for an AR-7(a medium sized .22lr rifle which breaks down and packs neatly inside itself, designed for camping or backpacking-it’s about 3 times the size of the small plastic buttstock I had with me)! I explained that it's NOT a "survival rifle", or anything remotely close to that. I explained that it was an almost non-functional piece of a rifle, that I was bringing it with me to replace a stock I had at home. It was truly the only gun-related thing I had in the backpack, except for the new issue of Shotgun News that was with my other mail. The question guy said forcefully “You can't bring this on the plane." "WHAT?? It's just a piece of plastic!" I was sure he would understand if I explained it was harmless. "I'm sorry; you can't bring it on the plane. It's a gun part." "Why not? It's a harmless six dollar piece of plastic!" "Well, we don't know if you have the rest of the gun somewhere on the plane already." This is when I just about lost it the first time. I tried my best to keep my cool, and asked "So you're accusing me of trying to build a gun on the airplane??" "Well, not exactly, we just don't know if you are or not." "If you're accusing me of something, you’d better be sure of what you're talking about. I'm a regular citizen just like everyone else trying to get on this plane, and you're making me out to be a terrorist or something. I'll say it again. IT'S A HARMLESS PIECE OF PLASTIC!!" "I'm sorry; you can't bring it on the plane. You can check it in your checked baggage if you want." "I don't have any checked baggage." His tone got even more serious as he asked "Why not?" "Man, this is past ridiculous, bring over somebody in charge". "I'm in charge of this area. I could bring over my boss, but you won't be happy with that." "Bring him." He talks on his walkie-talkie for a second, then sneers and says "He's on his way."(giving me that "You'll be sorry" look.) By this point I'm frustrated as hell. They're holding up my plane and still making everyone else wait. On top of my embarrassment was my irritation. I just wanted to get home. By now I was thinking more rationally and trying to find an end to the whole thing. I then asked "Can I just have you throw this thing in the trash and be on my way?" "You mean you don't want it?" "Of course I want it, but I'd rather spend the $6.00 for a new one later than deal with this BS now." "Well, I guess you could do that. You can't bring guns on the plane." I explained that I've brought similar gun parts on an airplane before, never once having an issue. He didn't believe me. I figured that maybe I could find a way to keep some of it and asked "Can I take the metal parts off of it and keep them before throwing away the plastic?" "Yes, can you do that?" I start looking through my backpack for a small screwdriver to remove the buttplate and sling swivel, and something catches the other security guy's eye in there. I start removing the parts from the buttstock when I realize something. "Why is it that I can't bring the plastic part on because it's a gun part, but you’re letting me bring the metal parts on the plane when you know that they're gun parts also???" His reply had nothing to do with my question. "What's that guy holding up?" (pointing to the other guy digging through my backpack AGAIN.) "That's my soldering iron. I told you I had some tools in there." "I know that's not a soldering iron. I've seen soldering irons before, and they don't look like that." "It IS a soldering iron. It's powered by butane rather than electricity." [The Blue-Point(Snap-On) soldering iron is the one I used when working on cars, because it's a lot more convenient than bringing over my whole soldering station from the workbench.] "What? Butane? You can't bring that on the plane either!" "What do you mean?" "You can't bring anything with compressed fuel in it on the plane." My phone starts ringing. I grab the wrong one at first, and then answer the right one. It was my Fiancée; I told her I'd better call her back. The guys interrogating me looked at me like I'm a freak for having two phones. I'd just gotten done removing the metal parts from the buttstock, handed the plastic part to Mr. smartypants, and was about to put the screwdriver away when I started smelling smoke. I looked over, and my backpack had FIRE coming out of it... Apparently a female employee inspecting the soldering iron had screwed around with it, turning it on before placing it ON TOP OF MY MAIL in my backpack. I start smacking the backpack, trying to get the fire out, and the woman starts SCREAMING. She was yelling "That's FIRE!! You can't bring fire on the plane!!" I was seriously ready to strangle someone. I got the fire out, with minimal melting to the backpack. She was still frantic, yelling about how I tried to smuggle "fire" onto the plane. I was very upset, done thinking clearly, and started yelling back. "You stupid woman, YOU did this!" "No I didn't. It just happened by itself!" "It couldn't have happened by itself. It was turned off, with the adjustment at minimum. It's now on at full blast, where I've never had it before!" "I didn't do it, YOU did it!!!" Of all the things I hate, and there are a few, one of the worst is being accused of something I haven’t done. Especially by the person who’s actually at fault. At this point I’m pretty sure I was shouting. "Don't accuse me of things I didn't do! You turned on my soldering iron, and you caught all my stuff on fire!!!!!" She practically burst into tears, and was escorted away by some other guy, still yelling at me about how I tried to burn down the plane. By this point there's no fixing the situation, and almost no escaping it. I thought I was going to jail for sure, for disturbing the peace, if nothing else. I took a moment to catch my breath, and talked directly to the head honcho who'd I guess been witnessing most of this fiasco. He was at least calm with his words: "I can't let you take the soldering iron on the plane. You'll have to leave it here." "Can I just check (what's left of) my backpack as luggage, and put it in there?" "No, you can't even put something in checked baggage if it contains pressurized fuel. Not even a cigarette lighter." I was so depressed at this point. I wasn’t about to throw out a $95.00 soldering iron that I’d need the next day at work, and I was just hoping that they weren't going to have me carried out by the Police. I did some quick thinking, and asked if I could have someone come and pick up the soldering iron, and the buttstock, and just mail them to me in AZ. The guy said yes. I called my Fiancée and asked her if she could do that, and she said sure. She'd already been driving towards home for 20 minutes at least, but she turned around to come back. I was finally allowed on the plane, I was the last one on board since they'd been holding the plane for me, and I had to sit in between 2 more idiots. I was sweating like a whore in church, and I had no cash on me for a drink. I was SO exhausted. I called my Fiancée when I landed, and she'd gotten my stuff. Problem was the guy who gave me the most trouble was HITTING ON HER! She asked where the counter was that I'd told her to go to, and the guy told her he'd show her for $10.00. Very professional. He was hitting on her some more, and being a total smartass. If he’d known her temper, he wouldn't have done that. She laid into him something fierce, and said that “if they didn't have such incompetent morons working there, that she wouldn't even have to be wasting her time there”. The guy finally left her alone, she went home, she mailed me my stuff, and there's the end of the backpack story. Looking back now, there are definitely some things I should’ve done differently. For starters I should’ve been more aware of the laws and restrictions regarding what can be brought in carry-on luggage. I’d never even considered that a soldering iron would be a threat or a danger to anyone. This was before the terrorist attacks on the twin towers, and security was quite a bit more lax back then. I’d hate to see what would happen to someone attempting to board an airplane with those things these days! E.T.A. - note: I had nothing to do with this situation, just simply copy/pasted it off to a Word.doc file for future chuckles and days like this..... Mike

Gene

WoW, just Wow.

I found the famous McUzi rant..

Re-re-posted here for your reading pleasure.

**note, I removed the victim's name from thread, so as not to get my own thread locked**

Quoted: This...The Infamous McUzi "Rant": -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- **Name removed** , your incessant posting of sanctimonious bullshit and self righteous nonsense proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that indeed sometimes the slowest sperm does fertilize the egg... While you may fancy yourself some sort of an “executive”, I am sure most people would gleefully leap off the nearest bridge in order to disassociate themselves with your holier-than-thou crap. All I can think of when my eyes are burned with the continual lack of quality content of your annoying e-mails, with the painfully self righteous, chest-thumping horseshit, and staff ass-kissing is that another 4 minutes of my life could be potentially wasted should I make the mistake to read whatever you have written. You have dirty clothes, BO, bad breath, and I am quite confident that should one open your top dresser drawer, it would contain skid-marked underwear. Your children will grow to be nothing more then felons or beggars due to their genetic lineage. Likely, even your car is a smog machine, and pollutes the earth like you pollute this site. You are a festering infected boil on the ass of humanity and the world; with the apparent intelligence of an autistic gnat with Down’s syndrome. You are the type of weenie that causes people of mutilate themselves, trying to escape the emotional pain that people as worthless as you even exist. The fact that a man who can’t even grasp the insane hypocrisy that exists in your constant barrage of self-sainthood is allowed to own an implement of destruction is a fucking social calamity, and needs to be stopped. You cry like a woman, and you have a night-light to fend off boogie men. You dress in drag, and you listen to disco. I am guessing that early in life, Hitler encountered the Jewish version of “**Name removed**”, thus explaining his future actions. I wish you nothing less then painful pancreatic cancer, stones in your shoes on long walks, and blisters on your ass as you sit down to shit. Sleepless nights, broken hearts, hurricane damage to your home, sadness, pain, misery, “Out of the Closet” outspoken homosexual children, traffic tickets, loss of loved ones, felony convictions for crimes you didn’t commit,weight gain, stubbed toes, sprained limbs, damage to the transmission of your car on the ONE DAY you really needed it, always having “something in your eye”, having to smell other peoples farts in elevators, long waits at traffic lights, getting laid off from your job, medical bills, holes in your socks, underwear that’s too tight, sexual impotence, limb amputation, or any other possible iniquitous event that could harm you as bad as your mere presence harms humanity as a whole. I believe elimination of inutile cocksuckers such as you could bring everyone on this planet of differing views together, for the sole purpose of your eradication. You are living proof that humans can impregnate rodents. I fucking hate you. McUzi -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I laughed so hard I darn near pissed my pants. I so appreciated this nut's writing, I saved it on the spot. THIS is the real deal...from about 2001.

Nice.

Gene

Quoted: Quoted: Hey, Did I miss the story where Piccolo beat the shit out of that kid who tried to kick the SEC? Kevin "Unless I dreamed that." I missed that one, too.

Found it and added it to page one.

Didn't Pic and the SEC have a run-in at a porno store or something?

Mike

Quoted: Quoted: Quoted: Hey, Did I miss the story where Piccolo beat the shit out of that kid who tried to kick the SEC? Kevin "Unless I dreamed that." I missed that one, too. Found it and added it to page one.

Thanks.

“Nice looking cat you got there. He ain’t no guide animal, is he?” “Managed Health Care,” I said. “Bastards wouldn’t get me a dog.” “Oh, my Gawd!” he exclaimed. “Hey, half a loaf’s better’n none,” I answered.

   


Dammit, reading all this is seriously cutting into my study time.  But I can't stop.  

Quoted: www.fearthealliance.org/images/macvsec.jpg

What's the story behind that?


(aside from the obvious)

TAG!!

Thanks for that!

TAG

Haaaaa!!!

I just noticed one missing story.

The one about the anti-RKBA reporter. There was more to the story then the short posting that you did get Gene. As I recall Pic and SEC had an interview all set up with this gal until pic got warned off.

Pic joining the Rangers was a hilarious story but SEC wasn't involved this time.

Quoted: I just noticed one missing story. The one about the anti-RKBA reporter. There was more to the story then the short posting that you did get Gene. As I recall Pic and SEC had an interview all set up with this gal until pic got warned off. Pic joining the Rangers was a hilarious story but SEC wasn't involved this time.

I met the camera crew with the SEC after I had eaten lunch in the Strip District. They interviewed me and I damned near got put on TV. 5 minutes before airtime, the camera guy decided to run a google on SECs and it took him to ARFCOM. Chaos in the newsroom as they had to splice in a replacement story.

SHortly after I got an anonymous tip from some PGH LEO (I assume he was a LEO, as he used certain euphranisms) telling me to stay out of the city with the little guy for a few weeks.

Quoted: Didn't Pic and the SEC have a run-in at a porno store or something? Mike

SEC and the porn shop.


It has been about 12 hours since I got home last night and I have very mixed emotions. The whole evening was one of truly wild craziness, and Neighbor Bob is probably still shitting little green apples. He’s a pretty straight, solid family type.

When we got home, the 45 YO Registered Nurse next door had LEOs in her yard. The LEOs waved us over and we had to deny just about everything from breathing to conspiring committing long hair. I think I managed to get off the hook by admitting that I was D.B. Cooper. Whatever. As Richard Nixon said, “Deny it, even if they have pictures.”

This was not one of the local LEOs that I knew, and conspiracy to do serious bodily harm is not to be laughed at. Still, with no rehearsal, the RN and I managed to deny everything.

Earlier that night I had loaned her my chain saw as a tool to run some asshole off with whose dog was using the neighborhood lawns as a toilet. Apparently, she had chased the asshole down the street, babbling incoherently giving the dirty bastard a greater fear than that rank amateur by the name of Charles Manson was capable of on the best day of his life.

Idiot had called the cops.

After a series of dubious looks, the LEO left. Connie invited us in for a drink and an after action report. Bob, being very polite, did something totally out of character. And why not? The whole night was a Total Zoo. And it was only about 8:45 PM. Time to go out and do some serious drinking. Delayed stress was on the way. All three of us were shaking like dogs shitting peach pits.

We barged into Connie’s and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. Bob grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on, a bottle of rum and poured about six ounces down this throat. Connie stared. This was not like Bob at all. I polished off about 2 and ½ inches of Irish Whisky from the last of a jug of Jameson’s. She didn’t bat an eye. She also didn’t bat an eye when I opened her refrigerator and whipped out a knife and cut off a chunk of meat for kitty, who had been in the middle of the ruckus.

She’d seen it before. More than once. She’s been one hell of a neighbor, and is a damned good holistic nurse to boot. She knows Mrs. Pic doesn’t serve red meat and she has had me over for a steak dinner more than once.

And no, I ain’t hitting it.

She also displayed her ability to do the right thing once more; she handed us beers.

We were both still shaking. So was she.

I tossed the empty jug out and Connie told us about chasing the damned dog owner down the street with my chain saw, cursing loudly. About this time, the pair of neighbors from across the street knocked on the door and entered. Don and Dawn, Fred and Lois. Lois immediately asked if they could borrow my chain saw. I agreed.

Connie handed me back my .38. It was unfired. I checked. Thank God.

I also went into Connie’s garage and felt the chainsaw. It was a bit warm. It had been run. I brought it up and handed it to Lois. Lois is pretty competent; she grew up on a farm.

Visions of Lois chasing the owner of the Phantom Crapper Dog down the street did not bother me one bit. She has a pretty good head. I offered her the .38, and she refused.

“I got a .45,” she said. “Empty the litter box since you emptied on his yard?”

I stared. Word was out. “Today was trash day,” I said.

“Where the hell were you two, “ asked Connie.

“Out,” I said. Bob and I got up and headed to my house. Bob went straight to the reefer and grabbed each of us a beer.

Where had we been?

We had been to the porn shop with the Seeing Eye Cat.

We pulled in driving Bob’s truck. Bob held my arm and I had kitty on my leash and had my white cane and sunglasses on and in we went. This place is the epitome of a dirty bookstore, with peep shows for all types, all types of porn for every taste. The place draws weirdoes like a magnet, and here we were.

Once inside I stumbled around like Ray Charles. Bob took one look and realized he was out of his league. For certain, this place was weird.

It was also packed. The place reminded me of the song Dr Hook recorded years ago about ‘Freaking at the Freakers Ball’, or some such shit. There was a couple there, he was about 20, and she was in her mid 40s. They bore a strong family resemblance. Mother and son? I really wondered. This place was scary.

But not really weird enough for me. At least I won’t admit it. There’s really nothing here to hurt you, but this place is truly strange.

Bob adjusted and started looking around. The woman behind the counter was a beefy bleached blonde with enormous tits that looked like she could beat the holy hell out of the pair of us before breakfast. She was to be feared. I think she had been the onetime rough and tumble Madame of a whorehouse that had been closed down by the state police a while back. She sure looked tough enough.

I remembered her from when I had bought something there for a bachelor party about four years ago.

I managed to halfway fool the woman, but she appeared skeptical about whether the cat really was a guide animal. She said nothing. In fact, she seemed amused. Some scabby-faced guy mumbled something about being allergic to cats.

Bob said to him simply, “There are 50,000 carry permits in Allegheny County.”

“You packing? “ he asks.

“No, I’m criminally disabled for hacking up as asshole that gave a pal of mine shit once,” he said.

“Then you ain’t carryin.’”

“No, but HE lives in Allegheny county,” he said, nodding to me.

“But he’s blind.”

“He ain’t criminally disabled,” said Bob. “ All he’d have to do is pass it to me. Blind people with Seeing eye Cats carry to protect themselves from Seeing Eye Dogs.”

“Stay away from him,” said the beefy blonde. “he’s a guide animal.” She was laughing her ass off.

He wandered off. He looked kind of shaken up.

Next thing, Bob, whose curiosity overwhelmed him, opened a box that held a 16” warty dildo and held it up. “You gotta be kidding,” he said. The beefy blonde gave him a dirty look.

“You’re not supposed to open boxes,” she said.

“It was already opened,” he said.

Kitty obviously wanted to leave.

“Give it here,” I said.

I felt my way down the leash and held the dildo under kitty’s nose. The plastic aroma made kitty snort.

“It’s been used,” I said. “Cat’s sure got a better nose than I do!”

“Someone oughta call the Board of Health,” said Scabby-face, indignantly. “That can spread disease!”

The blonde instantly threw all four of us out, Scabby face, Bob, Kitty and I. All four of us, out the door. Scabby Face hit the bricks fast. He was gone in an instant with a look of fear in his eyes.

We both laughed. A first for both of us. Kicked out of a porno shop! Weird, but not totally.

It was the parking lot that got totally strange.

Some wholesome, clean-cut guy came up to me. About 20 feet behind him was a woman dressed in an outfit that would make a stripper blush. I looked over his shoulder, appearing to be blind to him, but my eyes were popping out of the sockets.

She was in the tightest little black dress I’d ever seen, fishnets, spikes, false eyelashes and fingernails. I think the dress was actually an undergarment made to flatten a woman out. She was pouring out of it, and there was one hell of a lot to pour out!

The guy seemed pretty unsure of himself, and somewhat embarrassed.

“My wife has a fantasy,” he said. “To be pimped out. It’s gone on ever since she had a breast augmentation.”

I nodded.

“She says one time and it’ll get out of her system.”

I felt bad for the poor bastard. On the other hand, she made me pretty damned hard!

“Fifty bucks,” he said. “she’s yours.”

“Has she ever lost a child?” I asked.

“How’d you know? A couple years ago,” he said.

“Counseling,” I said. “Take her to counseling .Same thing happened to a pal several years ago. They got lucky and worked it out. Know another guy. Same thing, only he didn’t get lucky. Once wasn’t enough, she became a whore and last I heard, died of an O.D.”

“Fifty bucks’ll get you anything,” she said. She hadn’t heard her husband and I.

I grinned and pulled out my wallet.

“Don’t have fifty,” I said.

Bob hadn’t heard hubby and I, but he heard her.

“Hey, Pic, if you need money, I got some,” he said.

I gave him a dirty look, and he picked up on it. Thank God. Visions of babbling my way out of this were clouding my brain. The woman was HOT. Hotter than the 20 year old sandwich shop clerk, and the sandwich shop clerk had been dressed and designed by a professional drag queen. Ain’t NOTHING hotter than a woman that’s been dressed and made up by a drag queen! Most of them look pretty good, and when you got a drag queen designing the real thing, got good materiel to work with, things give the word ‘hot’ a new dimension. She was hotter than the 20 year old chick!

“Only got ten,” he said.

Kitty pulled on the leash and we wandered off to Bob’s truck. Praise be to God.

Behind us, the guy was stuffing his wife into the family car, and off they went. She looked pretty disappointed, but off they went.

The beefy blonde looked out the door, so Bob and I grabbed kitty and we hopped into Bob’s truck and left.

I already told you about what we came home to.

It’s been a hell of a night!

Quoted: Quoted: I just noticed one missing story. The one about the anti-RKBA reporter. There was more to the story then the short posting that you did get Gene. As I recall Pic and SEC had an interview all set up with this gal until pic got warned off. Pic joining the Rangers was a hilarious story but SEC wasn't involved this time. I met the camera crew with the SEC after I had eaten lunch in the Strip District. They interviewed me and I damned near got put on TV. 5 minutes before airtime, the camera guy decided to run a google on SECs and it took him to ARFCOM. Chaos in the newsroom as they had to splice in a replacement story. SHortly after I got an anonymous tip from some PGH LEO (I assume he was a LEO, as he used certain euphranisms) telling me to stay out of the city with the little guy for a few weeks.

Check page 1. The 1st story of my 3rd post "Reason for no SEC tales lately".

The rest of the story is also on page 1 in the 4th story in my 4th post, where the SEC goes to lunch at "Wholley’s Seafood", after lunch is when the reporter showed up.



It may be in the wrong order, but I did not realize that at the time.

Gene


ETA: I was unable to find the Ranger story. If anyone can find it and post it here, that would be great.

Quoted: My second favorite Piccolo story is the time he tried to join the Rangers.

How about the time he was on a school trip as a kid on the USS Constitution?.....

Still searching for the Ranger story on my hard drive, but here's another Piccolo classic to tide everyone over.  

    I was doing an errand a while back for my mother-in-law, who still works
     40 hrs/wk at a rest home. Seems some of the people there wanted colored
     sheets instead of white ones. I offered to make a Kmart run.

     Martha Stewart was on sale that day, do I tossed 2 dozen pastels in the
     shopping cart. To the checkout. Nosey(White) woman in front of me :"What
     are you doing with all those pretty pastel sheets?" She asks.

     First thought: Tell her I was running a whorehouse.

     I open my mouth:"I'm the Grand Dragon of the local KKK chapter, and since
     we started accepting minorities and women, we've changed our colors to
     show that we're a much kinder and friendly hate organization!"

     I glanced behind me and cringed. The woman behind me was Black. Ouch. I
     braced myself for the worst.

     The Black woman looked at me with a smirk, and asked me if I had an
     application and how her and her husband wanted to sign right up! She
     carried on about how much fun it would be to roar around Pittsburgh in
     pickup trucks at 3 AM burning crosses, etc!

     Needless to say, the woman in front of us stormed off in a huff, and we
     both laughed ourselves silly. The clerk almost peed her pants.

Another Piccolo classic.


     My dad had a pretty punk childhood, and he sure decided that ours was
     going to be at least memorable, and fun, too.

     The year that the youngest discovered the whole story about Santa is one
     Christmas I still laugh about to this day.

     We had just come in from Midnight Mass and sacked out. About the time we
     had dozed off there were two huge loud blasts, a womanly scream, and a loud
     shout.

     "I got him! I got him! And we're having reindeer for dinner, too!"

     Of course, we tore down the stairs to see what was going on.

     There was the old man holding a smoking shotgun with a HUGE grin on his
     face. The dining room window was open.

     "Some guy in a red suit with a sled full of stuff being towed by deer was
     trying to break in! I got him! Santa is dead!"

     My brother and I stared at each other and laughed ourselves silly. My
     sisters looked confused. We headed back to bed.

     My mother, of course, was throwing a conniption. My father was uncontrite.
     We overheard him.

     "I've been waiting for this for years," he said. "Just another milestone
     in the raising of children."

     We could actually hear Ma. She was so pissed off we could actually hear
     her keeping quiet.

Nothing to see here.  It was covered on the first page.

Another Piccolo story.

A kid, a soccer mom, a WW2 vet and Piccolo in a checkout line.  

Kid, looking at my flight jacket. "Were you a pilot?"

'Forward Air Controller for Colonel Roosevelt in Cuba," I said with a smirk.

Mother looks at me, probably thought of the Bay of Pigs fiasco.

Kid gives me a dirty look. Starts counting on his fingers. Looks at me.
"You have to be about 125 years old," says the kid.

"127, actually," I reply.

The old duffer behind us rolls his eyes. I wink at him. The old guy grins.

The mother looks confused.

"You don't look 127," says the kid.

"That's because I don't drink any cheap liquor. Only the good stuff." I
reply.

Mother looks TOTALLY addled.

I point at the old guy. "He's only 36, but he looks that way because he
drinks cheap whisky," I tell the kid.

Kid looks at the old guy. "You really 37?" he asks.

Old guy grins, gives me a smirk, looks at the kid. "That's right. See
what cheap liquor does to a guy?"

Soccor mom just didn't get it.

I've said it before, there are a lot of kids out there that are a hell
of a lot sharper than their parents.

Piccolo at Home Depot.

Home depot. Returning something.

A thoroughly disgusted 85 yo man tottered up to the service desk, I stepped aside, noticing his WW2 Navy ball cap.

He started to speak, but his voice was too soft to be heard well by the service clerk, so I offered to translate.

Seems he came in with his son and his son left him in hardware.

I knew what to do. I asked him his son's name, and age.

I grinned at him. "Us old Sailors gotta stick together," I said.

I turned to the service clerk. "Give me the mike," I said. "I'll do the necessary."

"Will Timothy Kozlowski please report to the service desk before he finds out that 57 years old is not too old to go over his father's knee!"

You shoulda seen the old guy's face light up.

Seconds later a red faced guy that looked in his early 60s charged up.

"Who said that," he roared.

"I did."

"Who are you?" he damanded.

"I am Captain Piccolo, and old sailor friend of your fathers, whom you ditched in hardware."

"Yeah, well....."

"Well, what!" I interrupted "If your old man needs a hand getting you over his knee, all he has to do is let me know. I'll help."I shot back. I removed my bridge and buttoned it into my pocket.

THAT got his attention. His eyes grew wide.

I turned to the old codger, "Us old silors have to stick together, don't we?"

"Absolutely," he said. His face lit right up.

I turned back to Sonny Boy. "You got one father. Treat him with a little respect. You're only a few short years from wishing you had...and wishing your kids show it to you."

I turned, picked up my exchange, turned, winked at the old guy and got a big snaggle-toothed grin in return and walked off.


Made MY day!

Gotta read more later.  Good stuff.

Thanks for posting all those MissleCop.


Anyone found the Ranger story yet?

Quoted: Thanks for posting all those MissleCop. Anyone found the Ranger story yet?

OK, this is an Internet forum. I have NO privacy here. Some questionable things happened. I will give you the gist of what happened, but I will also cover my ass.

Before I went in, I had reconnoitered the AO pretty well. I wanted the lay of the land. The recruiters was not really out in the hills, but it wasn’t in downtown Pittsburgh, either. It looked pretty good in that I could probably get away with a certain amount of mischief without getting carted off. There was also a back entrance/exit. I parked in the back, with my truck facing out to facilitate a Bonnie and Clyde exit if things got too weird.

I slipped in the back way. I was wearing a slouch hat, jeans, high boots, and brown canvas coat with a wide belt around the waist. The belt held a tomahawk and a knife. Over my shoulders were a possible bag and a powder horn. There was also a trench knife strapped to my right calf. I was carrying my Pennsylvania rifle in an Indian style soft leather case. But the stock was sticking out.

The local Marine recruiter was also on hand, but he was hanging next to his car, and planned to mosey on in a moment or so later, so the sergeant couldn’t put two and two together as easily.

The Marine was right. The Army sergeant was a dumb ass, which surprised me to no end. The services generally send out their sharpest as recruiters. This was a true exception to the rule. The sergeant also looked like he had been in for well over ten years, another thing about him that was questionable. When a sergeant hasn’t made staff sergeant after 12 years, he’s usually given the boot. This guy looked like he was on thin ice.

We met as I was walking in the back door and he was sneaking out for a smoke.

“You the Army guy,” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“I wanna be a Ranger,” I said, holding up my Standing General Orders.

We stepped outside and he lit up, and offered me a cigarette. I shook my head in refusal. “Smoke knick-knick, in a pipe,” I replied.

“What are those?” he asked.

“My General Standing orders when I get to be a Ranger,” I answered.

You should have seen the look on his face. I don’t think he knew whether to shit or go blind, and I bet he didn’t have halfway enough sense to simply close one eye and fart.

“ I take coenzyme Q-10 for my memory so I don’t forget nothing,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. I knew this was going to be pretty sad, sort of like taking advantage of the village idiot. I seriously thought of leaving then and there. This wasn’t very much fun at all.

“What’s your second order?” asked a voice behind me. I turned and faced what looked like a pretty squared away Sergeant First Class.

“Have my musket clean as a whistle, my hatchet scoured, have 60 rounds of powder and ball and be ready to go in a minute’s notice.”

“You’re too old to be a Ranger,” interrupted the sergeant.

“I can whip your ass,” I replied. Then I reached into my mouth and pulled out my bridgework and buttoned into my pocket. “Wanna rassle?” I asked, with a hillbilly grin.

The SFC damned near busted out laughing, and the sergeant paled. The Marine approached. He had heard the exchange and snickered.

“Know how to use that tomahawk? Asked the SFC.

I pulled it out and took 3 or 4 fast steps toward a nearby pole and let fly. The hawk turned once and stuck. It LOOKED like a perfect shot, but to a hawk thrower, it was actually a near miss. The handle was parallel to the pole, I like it about 45 degrees for penetration.

The three of them looked at me wide eyed.

I retrieved my hawk, and re belted it.

Then the SFC asked to look at my rifle.

“This is a working rifle,” he said. “Not a collectors piece. You any good with it?”

“Barked a squirrel off’n a tree a few days back.”

“Barked off?” asked the sergeant.

“Yeah. When ya hit a squirrel with a .50 caliber ball, it makes a real mess,” I explained. “Ya clip the branch he’s on and he’ll fall to the ground and knock himself out, so ya finish him off with the hawk. Better eatin’ that way.”

I looked at the Marine and winked. “See that parked car about 200 yards away? Look at the antenna. See the ball on top it?”

The Marine squinted for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

I poured maybe 4-450 grains of FF down the bore of the rifle, winked at the SFC. The sergeant saw the lead ball in my hand, and the Marine and the SFC watched me palm it and replace it with a pair of Styrofoam earplugs. It’s an old trick, makes a pretty food fireball and a huge cloud of smoke.

“What if the police show?” asked the SFC.

“Tell him it was a kid with fireworks,” I said.

I primed the pan, and shouldered the rifle, UN shouldered it, took out my glasses, re shouldered it, looked. Then I UN shouldered it, licked my thumb and wet the front sight, took off my glasses and in one swift movement, re shouldered, aimed….

“Hey, you can’t shoot….”

BOOM!

The Marine, standing well off to the side wasn’t engulfed too badly in the smoke cloud. The 2 soldiers were. The Marine looked at the car and squinted. “Got it,” he said.

The sergeant looked both terrified and astonished.

“Hmmm….” Said the SFC to the sergeant, winking at me. “Start filling out the paperwork for an age waiver for this guy. He’d make a pretty good Ranger. He seems to already be trained” He turned to me and told me to ditch the rifle. I did.

The sergeant looked really flustered.

“He’ll have to go through Jump school.”

“What’s that?” I asked, dubiously.

“Ya learn to jump out of airplanes,” he said.

“Jump out of airplanes? Really? How high are they?”

“I don’t know, maybe 2000 feet,” he answered.

I put on a scared shitless look. “I don’t know about that,” I said. “What do they teach at Jump school?”

“How to use a parachute.”

I gave a HUGE sigh or relief. “Oh, they give you parachutes to jump out of the planes with. Thank God! I guess I can do that.” I deadpanned.

“Of course,” he said, rather smugly. Both the Marine and the SFC turned to bust up.

We went inside and I gave them some information and the sergeant started filling out the paperwork requesting an age waiver. The Marine, the SFC and I headed out to the nearby shop for a cup of coffee and laughed ourselves silly.

Quoted: Thanks for posting all those MissleCop. Anyone found the Ranger story yet?

OK, this is an Internet forum. I have NO privacy here. Some questionable things happened. I will give you the gist of what happened, but I will also cover my ass.

Before I went in, I had reconnoitered the AO pretty well. I wanted the lay of the land. The recruiters was not really out in the hills, but it wasn’t in downtown Pittsburgh, either. It looked pretty good in that I could probably get away with a certain amount of mischief without getting carted off. There was also a back entrance/exit. I parked in the back, with my truck facing out to facilitate a Bonnie and Clyde exit if things got too weird.

I slipped in the back way. I was wearing a slouch hat, jeans, high boots, and brown canvas coat with a wide belt around the waist. The belt held a tomahawk and a knife. Over my shoulders were a possible bag and a powder horn. There was also a trench knife strapped to my right calf. I was carrying my Pennsylvania rifle in an Indian style soft leather case. But the stock was sticking out.

The local Marine recruiter was also on hand, but he was hanging next to his car, and planned to mosey on in a moment or so later, so the sergeant couldn’t put two and two together as easily.

The Marine was right. The Army sergeant was a dumb ass, which surprised me to no end. The services generally send out their sharpest as recruiters. This was a true exception to the rule. The sergeant also looked like he had been in for well over ten years, another thing about him that was questionable. When a sergeant hasn’t made staff sergeant after 12 years, he’s usually given the boot. This guy looked like he was on thin ice.

We met as I was walking in the back door and he was sneaking out for a smoke.

“You the Army guy,” I asked.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“I wanna be a Ranger,” I said, holding up my Standing General Orders.

We stepped outside and he lit up, and offered me a cigarette. I shook my head in refusal. “Smoke knick-knick, in a pipe,” I replied.

“What are those?” he asked.

“My General Standing orders when I get to be a Ranger,” I answered.

You should have seen the look on his face. I don’t think he knew whether to shit or go blind, and I bet he didn’t have halfway enough sense to simply close one eye and fart.

“ I take coenzyme Q-10 for my memory so I don’t forget nothing,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked. I knew this was going to be pretty sad, sort of like taking advantage of the village idiot. I seriously thought of leaving then and there. This wasn’t very much fun at all.

“What’s your second order?” asked a voice behind me. I turned and faced what looked like a pretty squared away Sergeant First Class.

“Have my musket clean as a whistle, my hatchet scoured, have 60 rounds of powder and ball and be ready to go in a minute’s notice.”

“You’re too old to be a Ranger,” interrupted the sergeant.

“I can whip your ass,” I replied. Then I reached into my mouth and pulled out my bridgework and buttoned into my pocket. “Wanna rassle?” I asked, with a hillbilly grin.

The SFC damned near busted out laughing, and the sergeant paled. The Marine approached. He had heard the exchange and snickered.

“Know how to use that tomahawk? Asked the SFC.

I pulled it out and took 3 or 4 fast steps toward a nearby pole and let fly. The hawk turned once and stuck. It LOOKED like a perfect shot, but to a hawk thrower, it was actually a near miss. The handle was parallel to the pole, I like it about 45 degrees for penetration.

The three of them looked at me wide eyed.

I retrieved my hawk, and re belted it.

Then the SFC asked to look at my rifle.

“This is a working rifle,” he said. “Not a collectors piece. You any good with it?”

“Barked a squirrel off’n a tree a few days back.”

“Barked off?” asked the sergeant.

“Yeah. When ya hit a squirrel with a .50 caliber ball, it makes a real mess,” I explained. “Ya clip the branch he’s on and he’ll fall to the ground and knock himself out, so ya finish him off with the hawk. Better eatin’ that way.”

I looked at the Marine and winked. “See that parked car about 200 yards away? Look at the antenna. See the ball on top it?”

The Marine squinted for a few seconds. “Yeah.”

I poured maybe 4-450 grains of FF down the bore of the rifle, winked at the SFC. The sergeant saw the lead ball in my hand, and the Marine and the SFC watched me palm it and replace it with a pair of Styrofoam earplugs. It’s an old trick, makes a pretty food fireball and a huge cloud of smoke.

“What if the police show?” asked the SFC.

“Tell him it was a kid with fireworks,” I said.

I primed the pan, and shouldered the rifle, UN shouldered it, took out my glasses, re shouldered it, looked. Then I UN shouldered it, licked my thumb and wet the front sight, took off my glasses and in one swift movement, re shouldered, aimed….

“Hey, you can’t shoot….”

BOOM!

The Marine, standing well off to the side wasn’t engulfed too badly in the smoke cloud. The 2 soldiers were. The Marine looked at the car and squinted. “Got it,” he said.

The sergeant looked both terrified and astonished.

“Hmmm….” Said the SFC to the sergeant, winking at me. “Start filling out the paperwork for an age waiver for this guy. He’d make a pretty good Ranger. He seems to already be trained” He turned to me and told me to ditch the rifle. I did.

The sergeant looked really flustered.

“He’ll have to go through Jump school.”

“What’s that?” I asked, dubiously.

“Ya learn to jump out of airplanes,” he said.

“Jump out of airplanes? Really? How high are they?”

“I don’t know, maybe 2000 feet,” he answered.

I put on a scared shitless look. “I don’t know about that,” I said. “What do they teach at Jump school?”

“How to use a parachute.”

I gave a HUGE sigh or relief. “Oh, they give you parachutes to jump out of the planes with. Thank God! I guess I can do that.” I deadpanned.

“Of course,” he said, rather smugly. Both the Marine and the SFC turned to bust up.

We went inside and I gave them some information and the sergeant started filling out the paperwork requesting an age waiver. The Marine, the SFC and I headed out to the nearby shop for a cup of coffee and laughed ourselves silly.

I love his stories.

tag

Thanks for posting the Ranger story there piccolo.

That is a classic for sure.



Gene

Didn't read about the overgrown kid in the shopping mall incident until now.  Thanks for reposting it.

I read the "SEC at the bookstore" story out loud to my family, and all three kids were on the floor, literally rolling and laughing. Even my wife looked amused.


The kids said, "Gee, Dad, now we know why you're always at AR15.com!"


Pic, if you've still got the story, please post the one about the school field trip to the USS Constitution again. A classic!