Just last year Harris and I stole a two-seat F-16 demo fighter and went joyflying up and down the West coast in it. Normally we only go after commercial planes but the LSD-crack-meth combination we scored that morning was SUPER good. Especially on top of the dozen or so Tequila shots we'd had for breakfast.
Anyway, when an entire squadron of F-22's surrounded us and said they'd shoot us down unless we landed, well, we landed. Thought we were dead then, right?
Except we jumped out before coming to a complete stop and hoofed it into the trees alongside the runway. Hadn't gone 50 feet into the forest when a grizzly bear started chasing us. Thought we were dead then too...
But we got away from the bear, made it to an Interstate highway overpass, and jumped onto the roof of a semi-trailer as it went underneath. We both almost fell off the back edge because of the sudden speed change, but caught ourselves at the last second and pulled ourselves back onto the roof with one arm, Charles Bronson-style. At 70 mph and with another truck right behind us, we thought were boy howdy super dead, then. Like, extra-messy style.
But we didn't fall off. We did---stupidly---climb down without looking when the truck stopped somewhere in Texas, though, where they were having a rattlesnake roundup. Jumped straight into a pit with hundreds of Western Diamondbacks. Yup, more "We're dead now!" thoughts, but once again somehow got out without getting bitten.
Then Harris' wife called him on his cell and he said, "Well, it's been fun but gotta go. She Who Must Be Obeyed wants me home. Says I gotta stop messin' around, and to grab some ribeyes for the grill on the way or she'll kill us BOTH. And brother, THAT'S no joke. C ya!"
True story. Every word.