Someone told me a story about a guy that I don’t know. But he must be some crazy chicken. He was drunk and found it was fun to drive through a traffic circle backwards. Around and around.
Unforseen, another car entered the circle – not assuming that someone would pace round backwards. It must have been a big BANG.
The driver called the police. Now it’s getting interesting… He told the officers what had happened: „That guy was speeding through the circle reverse and crashed here into the front of my car!“
Now, imagine you were a police officer. ‚In reverse? Is that what you’re saying? He came backwards and crashed your car?’ Finally, the cops could absolutely not believe that someone would ride the wrong way backwards in the middle of the night and tested the guy on alcohol – positive.
That means: the guy who I don’t know got away with crashing his car drunk into another while riding reverse through a traffic circle at night. He got refund from the insurance and the other poor guy had to pay fees for drunk driving, for his rugged car and had to hand in his license for at least a few months. And why? Because he had one or two drinks and what happened to him was so unrealistic that the cops would not believe him.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Darwin Award aspirant
I just remembered this incredible story which I've originally heard five years ago. I'm not sure who told me, but I think it came from a New Zealand newspaper:
A guy stepped out on his porch in the morning to grab his newspaper. Unfortunately he slipped and fell. He must have hit the ground with his head because he was knocked unconscious. He lay on the floor on his front, but his face was in his dog's water bowl. That poor guy drowned on his porch on a sunny morning.
A guy stepped out on his porch in the morning to grab his newspaper. Unfortunately he slipped and fell. He must have hit the ground with his head because he was knocked unconscious. He lay on the floor on his front, but his face was in his dog's water bowl. That poor guy drowned on his porch on a sunny morning.
Drunk on the tram
These are actually my favourite stories. When you're out somewhere with a few friends and one of them starts talking about falling asleep in the train, suddenly everyone can tell a story of himself like that.
This is my favourite, I guess. Mo was downtown with a few mates, got drunk... usual story. Then he took off alone - I don't know whether he was the only one remaining or just wanted to get some sleep.
He caught a train and fell asleep. The ride would take 20 minutes. He woke up after an hour and jumped off the train. He figured he was in the Central Station. I'm quite sure he knew that something somehow went wrong because he was obviously not where he wanted to arrive. No long discussion - a cab would take him home in no longer than 15 minutes.
The next afternoon he woke up, and randomly checked his purse. Oh, yes - "Where did all that money go???"
Mo had only little memories of the night before. He knew that he was in the Central Station and caught a cab...
What he figured retrospectively was actually too funny to believen it: He was in the Central Station - but not in Cologne, as he assumed. While he was asleep in the train, he was covering at least 30 kms between where he arrived and where he thought he was. In fact, he got off the train in Bonn, which is a completely different city, but seems to have a similar Central Station.
So, where the money went? Right, the cab which would normally have costed 20 bucks charged him more than 60 bucks because they had to drive back all the way.
This may sound really freaked out due to Mo not noticing any of that. However, he is convinced that this is what really happened because there is simply no other options how things might have went.
Don't forget to set your alarm clock the next time you're drunk on the train!
This is my favourite, I guess. Mo was downtown with a few mates, got drunk... usual story. Then he took off alone - I don't know whether he was the only one remaining or just wanted to get some sleep.
He caught a train and fell asleep. The ride would take 20 minutes. He woke up after an hour and jumped off the train. He figured he was in the Central Station. I'm quite sure he knew that something somehow went wrong because he was obviously not where he wanted to arrive. No long discussion - a cab would take him home in no longer than 15 minutes.
The next afternoon he woke up, and randomly checked his purse. Oh, yes - "Where did all that money go???"
Mo had only little memories of the night before. He knew that he was in the Central Station and caught a cab...
What he figured retrospectively was actually too funny to believen it: He was in the Central Station - but not in Cologne, as he assumed. While he was asleep in the train, he was covering at least 30 kms between where he arrived and where he thought he was. In fact, he got off the train in Bonn, which is a completely different city, but seems to have a similar Central Station.
So, where the money went? Right, the cab which would normally have costed 20 bucks charged him more than 60 bucks because they had to drive back all the way.
This may sound really freaked out due to Mo not noticing any of that. However, he is convinced that this is what really happened because there is simply no other options how things might have went.
Don't forget to set your alarm clock the next time you're drunk on the train!
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Turkey Breast
No. I couldn't believe it. Daniel was home alone for a week or two, because his parents were on vacation. Nothing unusual so far - Daniel is 20 and actually able to take care of himself.
But then something happened, that I found absolutely unbelievable. He called his parents in Mexico... Do you know what he asked his mother who was thousands of miles away?
"Hi Mum, do you know whether I can still eat the turkey breast in the fridge?"
But then something happened, that I found absolutely unbelievable. He called his parents in Mexico... Do you know what he asked his mother who was thousands of miles away?
"Hi Mum, do you know whether I can still eat the turkey breast in the fridge?"
Monday, June 29, 2009
How Jules got hit by the train.
He was out with a few friends in the evening. Alcohol may have been involved also. They were walking along a big road, split into two lanes for either direction. In between were the tracks. For some reason they wanted to cross the road at a point where cars are enabled to U-turn. The light was red, but Jules was confident to catch the train. He was paying attention to the cars around him when he just crossed the rails. „Jul, watch out!“, a girl yelled with whom he was on tour. Distracted by this he stopped on the tracks: „What’s the matter?“
Then he looked to the left and saw the train slamming the brakes and sounding the horn. He knew he couldn’t avoid the crash but he instantly took a stable stand and put his arms in the front as if he was going to stop that train like the Incredible Hulk.
Of course, he didn’t. He flew some meters and slammed on the tracks. The train stood still. Jules was not really hurt in the first place, probably due to the shock and the adrenaline. He spoke to the train driver and assured he was alright. The driver saw no reason Jules shouldn’t get on the train.
So he did. Just as he entered he stood face to face with his uncle: „Hell, some lunatic just got hit by the train! Did you see that, boy?“
I can imagine quite well what he must have felt like as he admitted:
„Well, that was me…“
Then he looked to the left and saw the train slamming the brakes and sounding the horn. He knew he couldn’t avoid the crash but he instantly took a stable stand and put his arms in the front as if he was going to stop that train like the Incredible Hulk.
Of course, he didn’t. He flew some meters and slammed on the tracks. The train stood still. Jules was not really hurt in the first place, probably due to the shock and the adrenaline. He spoke to the train driver and assured he was alright. The driver saw no reason Jules shouldn’t get on the train.
So he did. Just as he entered he stood face to face with his uncle: „Hell, some lunatic just got hit by the train! Did you see that, boy?“
I can imagine quite well what he must have felt like as he admitted:
„Well, that was me…“
Sunday, June 14, 2009
1st of May
The 1st of May in Germany is Labor Day. Apart from that, in the Rhine region, it is connected to the old tradition of May Trees. May Trees are usually birches, which you fell the night before (actually forbidden by law - you are supposed to buy one), in order to set them up in front of your girl's house. Also traditionally, this comes together with excessive drinking before, meanwhile and after.
This story is about a few guys I know who packed a handcart with beer, an axe and a ghettoblaster with no CDs but Dr. Dre's The Chronic 2001 album. For some reason they also had two CS guns and a baseball bat.
So, they started to walk, they started to drink. It wasn't long until they shot the guns for fun, probably not aware of the sound being quite close to a real gun. No problems so far. They went on walking and drinking for hours and set up one tree or another. They were on a road next to a field, where in a ditch they found some puppet. I guess they were too drunk to bother where it came from and so it was set up in the middle of the street.
Drunk like hell, they wanted some fun and hid behind the bushes to see how traffic would react. One or two cars slammed on the brakes and curved around the puppet ar walking pace. After they had their fun, Pascal suddenly had an aggressive outbreak. He tackled the puppet into the field and ripped it apart with use of the basball bat.
The third car that passed them was unfortunately the cops.
Let's summarize: These guys 1) had two stolen trees on them, 2) listened to Dr. Dre on full volume, 3) smoked pot, 4) carried two guns and a baseball bat, 5) set up a puppet in the middle of the street and 5) were incredibly pissed!
The cops got out of the car. "We heard someone put a puppet on the street here." "A puppet? We don't know what you mean." The other cop got out his torch and examined the ditch. He illuminated the two birches but did not say anything. Short annotation: If you get caught with a stolen tree and you don't have a receipt, the fine is 500 Euro per meter. Finally he found the ripped puppet. "Oh, was that you?"
Well, that is a crucial point and you really should have a very very good excuse so you don't spent a night on the police station: "No, that was somebody else before we got here."
That was a turning point: the cops wished them a good evening and drove off.
Sometimes, you simply do everything wrong but fate won't catch you because you can't walk on a straight line anymore.
This story is about a few guys I know who packed a handcart with beer, an axe and a ghettoblaster with no CDs but Dr. Dre's The Chronic 2001 album. For some reason they also had two CS guns and a baseball bat.
So, they started to walk, they started to drink. It wasn't long until they shot the guns for fun, probably not aware of the sound being quite close to a real gun. No problems so far. They went on walking and drinking for hours and set up one tree or another. They were on a road next to a field, where in a ditch they found some puppet. I guess they were too drunk to bother where it came from and so it was set up in the middle of the street.
Drunk like hell, they wanted some fun and hid behind the bushes to see how traffic would react. One or two cars slammed on the brakes and curved around the puppet ar walking pace. After they had their fun, Pascal suddenly had an aggressive outbreak. He tackled the puppet into the field and ripped it apart with use of the basball bat.
The third car that passed them was unfortunately the cops.
Let's summarize: These guys 1) had two stolen trees on them, 2) listened to Dr. Dre on full volume, 3) smoked pot, 4) carried two guns and a baseball bat, 5) set up a puppet in the middle of the street and 5) were incredibly pissed!
The cops got out of the car. "We heard someone put a puppet on the street here." "A puppet? We don't know what you mean." The other cop got out his torch and examined the ditch. He illuminated the two birches but did not say anything. Short annotation: If you get caught with a stolen tree and you don't have a receipt, the fine is 500 Euro per meter. Finally he found the ripped puppet. "Oh, was that you?"
Well, that is a crucial point and you really should have a very very good excuse so you don't spent a night on the police station: "No, that was somebody else before we got here."
That was a turning point: the cops wished them a good evening and drove off.
Sometimes, you simply do everything wrong but fate won't catch you because you can't walk on a straight line anymore.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Musical Premiere
It was a Saturday evening as Max called Chris and Arthur. They were hanging out and drinking beer when Max told them to come on over to the after-show-party of the Monty Python musical premiere: "Yess, drinks are for free!"
So, what would you do? Exactly, the two recovered their good suits from somewhere in the back of their wardrobes and got on the way. It had to be quick so they jumped into the car, without a thought of what to do with it, when they're going to be too drunk to walk.
They showed up, and it turned out that nobody wanted to check their invitations, as well as the drinks really were for free. Funnily enough, I have an exact imagination of Chris carrying approximately 15 bottles of beer under his arms. "Alright, let's drink." This supply of alcoholic beverages naturally led to drinking behavior beyond limits of control. Retrospectively, none of all three could actually tell which of the soap stars they tried to hit on. It's not surprising that there was no success.
When the party was coming to an end, they decided to move on. I can't tell what gave them the idea of doing a visit to Europe's biggest brothel across the city. You may guess their level of drunkenness, so they didn't have any idea of how to get there. They were drivin on a four-lane street with a stripe of green separating the two directions in the middle. They caught up with a cab and yelled for the direction to "Pascha". Somehow the cabdriver could make them clear, they were going the wrong way and had to move the other direction. Easiest solution here: pull over the grass strip including the two curbs at 30 mph.
Finally they arrived at the club late at night. Unfortunately the doormen found they were too pissed for either the strip club and the brothel. Max sped off to the etablissement next door and returned after half an hour. Meanwhile Arthur was getting a hold on a phonebooth. Then they found it was time to go home.
The last thing Arthut knew of this night was how he took the A 4 from Bocklemünd wich is miles from where they started and wanted to arrive. Arthur woke up in the early morning from a snapping noise which turned out to be a not cheap flower pot which Max moved to the floor rudely while ripping the windows open in the corridor. Arthur's father wondered what Max was doing there, but he was not able to convey that yet. Instead he turned around and went to bed again.
As Arthur woke up at noon, he noticed he was still wearing his suit except for the shoes and pants. Another unpleasant discovery was the huge dent in his car's fender: "No idea how that happened... "
So, what would you do? Exactly, the two recovered their good suits from somewhere in the back of their wardrobes and got on the way. It had to be quick so they jumped into the car, without a thought of what to do with it, when they're going to be too drunk to walk.
They showed up, and it turned out that nobody wanted to check their invitations, as well as the drinks really were for free. Funnily enough, I have an exact imagination of Chris carrying approximately 15 bottles of beer under his arms. "Alright, let's drink." This supply of alcoholic beverages naturally led to drinking behavior beyond limits of control. Retrospectively, none of all three could actually tell which of the soap stars they tried to hit on. It's not surprising that there was no success.
When the party was coming to an end, they decided to move on. I can't tell what gave them the idea of doing a visit to Europe's biggest brothel across the city. You may guess their level of drunkenness, so they didn't have any idea of how to get there. They were drivin on a four-lane street with a stripe of green separating the two directions in the middle. They caught up with a cab and yelled for the direction to "Pascha". Somehow the cabdriver could make them clear, they were going the wrong way and had to move the other direction. Easiest solution here: pull over the grass strip including the two curbs at 30 mph.
Finally they arrived at the club late at night. Unfortunately the doormen found they were too pissed for either the strip club and the brothel. Max sped off to the etablissement next door and returned after half an hour. Meanwhile Arthur was getting a hold on a phonebooth. Then they found it was time to go home.
The last thing Arthut knew of this night was how he took the A 4 from Bocklemünd wich is miles from where they started and wanted to arrive. Arthur woke up in the early morning from a snapping noise which turned out to be a not cheap flower pot which Max moved to the floor rudely while ripping the windows open in the corridor. Arthur's father wondered what Max was doing there, but he was not able to convey that yet. Instead he turned around and went to bed again.
As Arthur woke up at noon, he noticed he was still wearing his suit except for the shoes and pants. Another unpleasant discovery was the huge dent in his car's fender: "No idea how that happened... "
Taxi Taxi
If you live in the suburbs and go downtown on the weekends to get incredibly drunk there is four possible ways to get home:
1) you're waiting for hours for the train
2) you steal a bike somewhere and cycle if you remember the way home
3) you walk for hours, or
4) you catch a cab.
The fourth one is certainly the fastest and most comfortable option, but usually it fails because you spent all your money on your level of drunkenness.
In this case, the four guys managed to raise the money altogether - that does not mean they were any less drunk. The smallest of them sat in the front seat while in his singing-and-clapping-his-hands-mood. Daniel, who was the most shitfaced sat right behind the cabdriver.
You know what HAD to happen: Daniel was leaning against the front seat and tried to stare at one point on the floor. He became so pale, that you couldn't see any of his freckles which normally cover his entire body.
Michael, who sat right next to him, put it like that: "... and then it began..." Daniel was throwing up - not out of the window, but right behind the driver's seat. I have to note that I never met anyone who pukes with such a noise level. Sounds diverge between gagging, choking and moaning.
The problem is: if you puke into a German E-Class cab with leather interior and all that stuff, you have to pay something around 500 bucks for professional cleaning. When Michael saw that awful event right next to him, he immediately started clapping and singing louder than everybody else and advised the cab driver to turn the music up.
Just imagine it: A cab with four guys pissed as hell and one of them puking in the back while the driver is happy and humming to the music and having a good time.
When they arrived, they paid, tipped regularly and went off. Michael even ran after the cab because he forgot his gloves and wished the driver a good night.
1) you're waiting for hours for the train
2) you steal a bike somewhere and cycle if you remember the way home
3) you walk for hours, or
4) you catch a cab.
The fourth one is certainly the fastest and most comfortable option, but usually it fails because you spent all your money on your level of drunkenness.
In this case, the four guys managed to raise the money altogether - that does not mean they were any less drunk. The smallest of them sat in the front seat while in his singing-and-clapping-his-hands-mood. Daniel, who was the most shitfaced sat right behind the cabdriver.
You know what HAD to happen: Daniel was leaning against the front seat and tried to stare at one point on the floor. He became so pale, that you couldn't see any of his freckles which normally cover his entire body.
Michael, who sat right next to him, put it like that: "... and then it began..." Daniel was throwing up - not out of the window, but right behind the driver's seat. I have to note that I never met anyone who pukes with such a noise level. Sounds diverge between gagging, choking and moaning.
The problem is: if you puke into a German E-Class cab with leather interior and all that stuff, you have to pay something around 500 bucks for professional cleaning. When Michael saw that awful event right next to him, he immediately started clapping and singing louder than everybody else and advised the cab driver to turn the music up.
Just imagine it: A cab with four guys pissed as hell and one of them puking in the back while the driver is happy and humming to the music and having a good time.
When they arrived, they paid, tipped regularly and went off. Michael even ran after the cab because he forgot his gloves and wished the driver a good night.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Lost in Mallorca
In Germany, the small Spanish island in the Mediterranean is actually considered German - at least amongst bowling clubs and hooligans and stag parties. So, three of my friends took off for a few days of excessive drinking.
It was one particular night in which happened this story. My three buddies of course started drinking sangria at daytime on the beach from a huge bucket with straws as every day. So, afer hanging out in the Spanish sun for hours they were already really pissed as they went back to the hotel. The only reason they went back was, I suppose, to eat and fetch another few drinks at the hotel bar. As far as I have heard, this is quite uncommon because most people prefer to head to the clubs right away - in their swimming togs and pissed as hell.
Finally they made it to the club and got even more drunk. I am not sure whether it was "Bierkönig" (German:"Beerking") or not - but this is an experience of its own. It displays everything that comes to your mind if you saw Eurotrip and think of European drinking habits. Sweaty, hairy, stinking drunks dancing on the tables and yelling schlager songs (kind of oldfashioned German pop music about drinking and partying). If you drink for twenty bucks you get a white Bierkönig shirt, for forty a green one and so on. I think the toughest guys are those with the black ones. Anyway, they got really really drunk.
So, after they hung out there they wanted to hit some other clubs but shipwrecked on the security who assured them they were way too drunk. The group landed in a club whose name noone can remember and were loosing sight. Mark, who told me this story seemed to be still a bit conscious. He said he was dancing here and flirting there (considering his condition I doubt that) and was the last to see Patrick this night.
He said Patrick was hanging out with some dodgy Mallorcines, but actually not even able to talk and walk anymore. Sometime in the early morning Mark carried Theo on bis back to the hotel, assuming that Patrick took off before them.
In fact he did, but not that he knew of. Patrick told me the last thing he can remember was these guys who offered him speed.
The next morning, as Mark and Theo wondered where Pat might be, he woke up 2 miles out of Palma De Mallorca in the ditch of a rurual road with nothing but his clothes. The funny thing is: he did neither know how he got there, nor which of the two directions to choose. It was the only glimpse of luck he had left that he walked into the right one.
After hours of walking he finally reached Palma again. In the hot Mallorca noon, three completely wrecked guys assembled in their hotel room and the only thing they could figure is this: These Mallorcine guys were trapping shit-faced Patrick, stuffed him in their car's trunk, drove out of the city, robbed him down to his clothes and threw him in the ditch where he woke.
I personally was never envious to go to Mallorca.
It was one particular night in which happened this story. My three buddies of course started drinking sangria at daytime on the beach from a huge bucket with straws as every day. So, afer hanging out in the Spanish sun for hours they were already really pissed as they went back to the hotel. The only reason they went back was, I suppose, to eat and fetch another few drinks at the hotel bar. As far as I have heard, this is quite uncommon because most people prefer to head to the clubs right away - in their swimming togs and pissed as hell.
Finally they made it to the club and got even more drunk. I am not sure whether it was "Bierkönig" (German:"Beerking") or not - but this is an experience of its own. It displays everything that comes to your mind if you saw Eurotrip and think of European drinking habits. Sweaty, hairy, stinking drunks dancing on the tables and yelling schlager songs (kind of oldfashioned German pop music about drinking and partying). If you drink for twenty bucks you get a white Bierkönig shirt, for forty a green one and so on. I think the toughest guys are those with the black ones. Anyway, they got really really drunk.
So, after they hung out there they wanted to hit some other clubs but shipwrecked on the security who assured them they were way too drunk. The group landed in a club whose name noone can remember and were loosing sight. Mark, who told me this story seemed to be still a bit conscious. He said he was dancing here and flirting there (considering his condition I doubt that) and was the last to see Patrick this night.
He said Patrick was hanging out with some dodgy Mallorcines, but actually not even able to talk and walk anymore. Sometime in the early morning Mark carried Theo on bis back to the hotel, assuming that Patrick took off before them.
In fact he did, but not that he knew of. Patrick told me the last thing he can remember was these guys who offered him speed.
The next morning, as Mark and Theo wondered where Pat might be, he woke up 2 miles out of Palma De Mallorca in the ditch of a rurual road with nothing but his clothes. The funny thing is: he did neither know how he got there, nor which of the two directions to choose. It was the only glimpse of luck he had left that he walked into the right one.
After hours of walking he finally reached Palma again. In the hot Mallorca noon, three completely wrecked guys assembled in their hotel room and the only thing they could figure is this: These Mallorcine guys were trapping shit-faced Patrick, stuffed him in their car's trunk, drove out of the city, robbed him down to his clothes and threw him in the ditch where he woke.
I personally was never envious to go to Mallorca.
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