The Most Moronic Thing You’ve Ever Done
- Thread starter dctune
- Start date
SmokingPipes.com Updates
Watch for Updates Twice a Week
PipesMagazine Approved Sponsor
Site Sponsors
PipesMagazine Approved Sponsor
PipesMagazine Approved Sponsor
PipesMagazine Approved Sponsor
PipesMagazine Approved Sponsor
I'd tell you, but I don't believe that the statute of limitations has expired on it yet!
The statute of limitations is merely a defense to be raised in court, not necessarily a shield protecting you from the legal system.
Some things should be taken to the grave.
Most moronic thing I've ever done? This morning I decided to run for President. 
After a meal, I want to throw the food remainings of a plate to the trashcan. I press the pedal, the lid opens, I push the remainings with a fork, they start to fall. Then, I realize that perhaps I don't push the pedal strongly enough, the lid starts to close, the remainings will fall on the lid instead in the trashcan. So, I press hard. But the remainings are already on the lid, which now opens again fast and throws them everywhere, on the walls, the floor e.t.c.
Nice, ha?
Nice, ha?
I worked 3rd shift at Amazon in DuPont, WA for about 9 months. Awful job. I was in 53' trailers for 10-14 hours a night stacking thousands of packages all night long, as quickly as I possibly could.
Because we had to go through a metal detector in order to leave the building on lunch (I liked to sit in my car and smoke) there were lockers for you to store your keys or whatever you had so you wouldn't have to have them on you all shift. The locker rooms would be packed and going through the metal detectors, then having to go to the crammed locker room would eat up 10 or 15 minutes of your lunch break (there was a winning class action lawsuit over this) so I would just keep my keys in my pocket all night.
It was a constant worry of mine that I'd loose my keys in a semi trailer, and the keys would be buried under thousands of boxes and sent across the country. I had them on a carabineer clipped to my belt loop, but even still I constantly patted my pockets to make sure I had my keys.
After several weeks of 14-15 hour shifts around Christmas, I was so razzed and tired that things stopped making sense. Third shift never agreed with me.
I got in my car on my last day before a few days off and began my drive home on I-5 at 6am. I got about halfway to Tacoma before I patted my pockets to feel for my keys.
Good God! My KEYS ARE GONE! MY WORST NIGHTMARE HAS COME TRUE MY KEYS ARE GONE!
I turned around in an emergency turnout, illegally. I hammered the gas, passed and weaved through the morning traffic like a madman. I remember hitting 90mph in my 2004 4Runner, the fastest it's ever gone.
And then, a moment of clarity.
I'm driving my fuckin car. The keys are in the ignition.
I got off at the nearest exit, reentered the highway, and drove home at precisely the speed limit. I got home, showered and went to bed and slept for nearly 20 hours.
Dumbest thing I've ever done.
Because we had to go through a metal detector in order to leave the building on lunch (I liked to sit in my car and smoke) there were lockers for you to store your keys or whatever you had so you wouldn't have to have them on you all shift. The locker rooms would be packed and going through the metal detectors, then having to go to the crammed locker room would eat up 10 or 15 minutes of your lunch break (there was a winning class action lawsuit over this) so I would just keep my keys in my pocket all night.
It was a constant worry of mine that I'd loose my keys in a semi trailer, and the keys would be buried under thousands of boxes and sent across the country. I had them on a carabineer clipped to my belt loop, but even still I constantly patted my pockets to make sure I had my keys.
After several weeks of 14-15 hour shifts around Christmas, I was so razzed and tired that things stopped making sense. Third shift never agreed with me.
I got in my car on my last day before a few days off and began my drive home on I-5 at 6am. I got about halfway to Tacoma before I patted my pockets to feel for my keys.
Good God! My KEYS ARE GONE! MY WORST NIGHTMARE HAS COME TRUE MY KEYS ARE GONE!
I turned around in an emergency turnout, illegally. I hammered the gas, passed and weaved through the morning traffic like a madman. I remember hitting 90mph in my 2004 4Runner, the fastest it's ever gone.
And then, a moment of clarity.
I'm driving my fuckin car. The keys are in the ignition.
I got off at the nearest exit, reentered the highway, and drove home at precisely the speed limit. I got home, showered and went to bed and slept for nearly 20 hours.
Dumbest thing I've ever done.
I’ve surely done some other moronic things that had more profound consequences, but this event comes to mind immediately:
When I was in high school (well before keyless car fobs), I was driving and I had a momentary freak out because I checked my pocket to see if I had my keys (something I still do periodically when I’m out and about) and my pocket was empty.
Honorable mention: looking for my glasses while wearing them.
When I was in high school (well before keyless car fobs), I was driving and I had a momentary freak out because I checked my pocket to see if I had my keys (something I still do periodically when I’m out and about) and my pocket was empty.
Honorable mention: looking for my glasses while wearing them.
Statute of limitations has wiped this off the official books.
I was young and really dumb. Now I’m old and equally dumb although wisened comes to mind.
The neighbor across the street was a welder and we would fill balloons with oxygen and acetylene. Tie them off and use a rag for a wick.
We’d put them in mailboxes and boom. No more mailbox.
The real moronic part came when we dipped the wick in diesel and let it rip. We’d had one or two wicks self extinguish.
So it blew up before we could get too far away. I still have the scar on my shoulder and shrapnel in my thumb.
We spent the entire summer working to pay back the seven owners who lost mailboxes.
Fun fact, I’m currently a fire and explosion investigator.
I was young and really dumb. Now I’m old and equally dumb although wisened comes to mind.
The neighbor across the street was a welder and we would fill balloons with oxygen and acetylene. Tie them off and use a rag for a wick.
We’d put them in mailboxes and boom. No more mailbox.
The real moronic part came when we dipped the wick in diesel and let it rip. We’d had one or two wicks self extinguish.
So it blew up before we could get too far away. I still have the scar on my shoulder and shrapnel in my thumb.
We spent the entire summer working to pay back the seven owners who lost mailboxes.
Fun fact, I’m currently a fire and explosion investigator.
I made quite a string of very stupid decisions in my early-mid 20s that put me behind the 8 ball, legally speaking.
Wish I could go back in time and slap the stupidity out of myself.
Wish I could go back in time and slap the stupidity out of myself.
I went to a 4th of July picnic party in 1984 at a co-worker's house who lived in the semi-boonies a few miles outside town.
Someone there was filling balloons with acetylene and having no end of fun making crack-booms with them.
Fun until one went off unexpectedly a few feet of from girl's head by accident and completely destroyed her right ear, that is.
If the damage is severe enough there's virtually no recovery / healing.
Drinking and bangy things are a bad combination.
Undergraduate was so easy for somebody like me raised to read like all Cambellite boys were in the Ozarks were in the sixties and seventies, I could attend the first class of any of the easier classes, get the syllabus, and maybe not show up again until mid terms and the final. I’d read the books the night before, and study with some poor schumk who took notes.
I swear, for forty years I’ve had recurring nightmares I forgot a final and have to retake the class again as a grown man. Why I abused my reading and testing skills that badly still haunts me, but I had a good time in college.
Finals week of May 1979 was torture. I had five easy classes and I’d blown off all five, and by Friday I’d not slept a few hours all week. At about noon Friday I’d finished my last final, and fired up my Vega GT confident I’d aced all five, and headed towards Humansville from Kansas City. It was just about a two hour drive to heaven.
My mother was in Erverton with my penultimate step father, so I had the house to myself.
At about two thirty I slept the sleep of the saved and thankful, in my bedroom where I could see Bug Tussle just a little more than a half mile North.
Then I awoke, and in the darkness heard clearly
I wonder where he’s hiding?
He’s got to be there somewhere, good buddy!
Panicked I grabbed my Sweet Sixteen and ran to the living room and called the Sheriff at Bolivar.
They answered, but as I explained my desperate situation I heard
Yeah Breaker One Nine, anybody see that bear by the Humansville exit, come back
I’d realized I’d left my CB radio on full blast outside the house.
I explained there was no pending home invasion, it was only about ten o’clock, and I headed off towards a dance at Caplinger Mills.
There was a dark eyed girl there who could dance like a honky tonk Queen with long locks of raven black hair. She invited me to go to her grandparent’s home when the dance ended.
But some in the crowd knew I was engaged, and all I did was dance, and go back home.
She was so pretty, she’d probably been as crazy as my first wife was anyway.
But I remember that night, when I sing Almost Persuaded.
I swear, for forty years I’ve had recurring nightmares I forgot a final and have to retake the class again as a grown man. Why I abused my reading and testing skills that badly still haunts me, but I had a good time in college.
Finals week of May 1979 was torture. I had five easy classes and I’d blown off all five, and by Friday I’d not slept a few hours all week. At about noon Friday I’d finished my last final, and fired up my Vega GT confident I’d aced all five, and headed towards Humansville from Kansas City. It was just about a two hour drive to heaven.
My mother was in Erverton with my penultimate step father, so I had the house to myself.
At about two thirty I slept the sleep of the saved and thankful, in my bedroom where I could see Bug Tussle just a little more than a half mile North.
Then I awoke, and in the darkness heard clearly
I wonder where he’s hiding?
He’s got to be there somewhere, good buddy!
Panicked I grabbed my Sweet Sixteen and ran to the living room and called the Sheriff at Bolivar.
They answered, but as I explained my desperate situation I heard
Yeah Breaker One Nine, anybody see that bear by the Humansville exit, come back
I’d realized I’d left my CB radio on full blast outside the house.
I explained there was no pending home invasion, it was only about ten o’clock, and I headed off towards a dance at Caplinger Mills.
There was a dark eyed girl there who could dance like a honky tonk Queen with long locks of raven black hair. She invited me to go to her grandparent’s home when the dance ended.
But some in the crowd knew I was engaged, and all I did was dance, and go back home.
She was so pretty, she’d probably been as crazy as my first wife was anyway.
But I remember that night, when I sing Almost Persuaded.
I agree with Warren....on a public forum...you know the whole digital footprint and it stays out there forever kind of thing
When I was in middle school, I was a member of a neighborhood crew of four guys, all of them considerably heftier than I. We'd all seen acrobats at the circus and on TV launching one person into the air off a teeter board, with a heavier person jumping on the high end to launch the smaller person into the air.
With a large flat rock and a sturdy plank, we made a teeter board. Then everyone looked at me to see if I wanted to be the flying acrobat. It looked easy enough. I planned it as far as my being mid-air, and after that it seemed like a matter of landing on my feet. So I stood on the low end of the teeter board and a considerably heavier buddy jumped on the high end. It worked perfectly.
Until I got about four feet in the air. Then I had no plan to get my feet below me to attempt to land with solid footing. Instead I caught myself with my right hand and my wrist sent up waves of pain. I went to school with my arm in a bandana sling for two days, and finally my parents intercepted me at school and my mom took me off to the ER to meet Dr.Wasniak, a sturdy cheerful man with plaster on his shoes from wrapping plaster castes on patients.
He had me x-rayed then snapped my wrist back in place between his thumbs and other fingers. There was a surge of pain, then nothing as he wrapped my wrist in warm plaster. For weeks I wrote with my left hand as best I could and skipped my violin lessons. People signed my caste. I learned it was a good idea to review my plans before trying anything involving a possible hazard.
With a large flat rock and a sturdy plank, we made a teeter board. Then everyone looked at me to see if I wanted to be the flying acrobat. It looked easy enough. I planned it as far as my being mid-air, and after that it seemed like a matter of landing on my feet. So I stood on the low end of the teeter board and a considerably heavier buddy jumped on the high end. It worked perfectly.
Until I got about four feet in the air. Then I had no plan to get my feet below me to attempt to land with solid footing. Instead I caught myself with my right hand and my wrist sent up waves of pain. I went to school with my arm in a bandana sling for two days, and finally my parents intercepted me at school and my mom took me off to the ER to meet Dr.Wasniak, a sturdy cheerful man with plaster on his shoes from wrapping plaster castes on patients.
He had me x-rayed then snapped my wrist back in place between his thumbs and other fingers. There was a surge of pain, then nothing as he wrapped my wrist in warm plaster. For weeks I wrote with my left hand as best I could and skipped my violin lessons. People signed my caste. I learned it was a good idea to review my plans before trying anything involving a possible hazard.