Well , it's almost here so I was wondering if anyone would want to share some crazy shit that happened to them during this holiday.

I'm going to try this on someone if I get the chance:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w8A2f9me ... ks%20prank

When I was growing up in Chicago, we had this huge war going on with our neighbors. And not just one set of neighbors, I'm talking four different households.

Anyway, long story short, we spent one 4th shooting bottle rockets back and forth across the street hoping to do some damage.

I'm gonna suck your toe-thumb.

One 4th of July weekend a bunch of us guys were shooting bow and arrows at each other. Hilarity ensued when one guy got "shot" just below the clavicle. Amazingly, he was fine afterwards as no major organs were punctured.

Real life arrows? Dude, that's nuts.

I've been set on fire in a bottle rocket war, but I ain't dodging no arrows for fun.

Yeah, they were metal tipped but "blunts".


This is the kind of thing you have no objections to at age 17.


Arrows?! Fuck yes, let's do it.


Remember though, it's only funny until someone loses an eye.

then it's a professional sport.

i don't want to incriminate myself. *halo over head*

not on July 4th, but a few friends and i shot bottle rockets towards the baby jesus statue in someones front yard during Christmas. nailed it too.

on acid.

This is a long one...

Fourth of July, 1999:

The ex and I started at Grant Park where we watched Cheap Trick and Poi Dog Pondering. We hopped in our car to drive to the Paul Simon/Bob Dylan show in Milwaukee at their Summerfest. Around the Lake Forest oasis, we got a flat tire and for whatever reason, we didn't have a spare. We talked to the state troopers that were getting lunch at the oasis for some help (ride to a gas station, maybe?) and one of the guys looked at me and said, "And what do you think we can do for you? Drive you around?" I was like, uh... well, we are stuck in your asshole of a suburb, so yeah. Instead, I said, "That would be nice..." and he said no. Because of the holiday and because we were in the wayout suburbs, no gas/service stations in the area were even open. Then, we went over our minutes on the cell phone calling around for help, and our cell phone died. I started crying because that's what I do when I'm frustrated and the girl who sells lottery tickets said, "Can I help?" She had a spare tire that would fit our car and although her boyfriend told her over the phone to get $200 from us for the spare, she settled for $40.

On the road....

We made it to Milwaukee and realized that Simon was going on last and that we'd missed Dylan... the real reason we wanted to see the show. We were hot and dehydrated and sat through his set before going back to the car.

While trying to turn out of the lot, a van cut us off. We didn't think anything of it because it is a parking lot and that shit happens all the time. (Side note: we were driving a 90's Cavalier with Georgia plates - a gift from the ex's dad) The driver of the van got out and started yelling about us hitting his van. The ex was like, "yo, this brother's crazy." and that was that. Then another guy got out and another and another. They surrounded our car, put those 55 gallon garbage cans in front and behind us, put bottles under our tires and were screaming about us giving them money for the "damage". They were trying to open the doors and really, it was probably one of the scariest moments of my life. So, for the second time of the day, I started crying. We were basically blocked in this parking lot, everyone was blocked in because three shows at the festival had let out at the same time, and people are looking at me like, "oh my god, we're calling the cops, sorry we're too afraid to help you." (another side note: my ex, who has been balding since 12 years old, chose that summer to shave his head to the skin. that combined with the out of state plates, might've given these fellows a different idea of who we were) Finally, after about 15 minutes of this craziness, two older guys walked over and the gang of van dwellers turned their attention to them. I freaked out and was thinking, "oh man, we're all going to die now." Turns out the two older guys were undercover cops and of course the van dudes ran like little girls. We unblocked our car, I hyperventilated for a little while and then we drove home in silence. I hadn't been back to Summerfest until yesterday. And don't think I wasn't a little nervous walking back to the car last night.

For that summer, I hated black people. Like, seriously hated almost all that I came in contact with, including my black friends that I've had since I was a baby. That was a bad summer.

That was definitely the feel good story of the summer.

damn, red...and here i was hoping for another story similar to your "baseball field" one

No kidding. Damn.

haha... it was a softball field. get it right. i have a similar story which took place outside of my condo at the beach, but that was the wee hours of july 5th, not the 4th. and i'll save that for chat.

hey, "crazy shit" equals getting mobbed by a bunch of dudes in a parking lot in my book.

here's a less depressing story:

when i was a kid, my parents took me to the hoffman's house out in the far south suburbs. my dad worked with papa h. and it was a party full of drunken garbagemen, so that right there is mildly amusing. papa h. used to speak in a hilarious, weird voice for the kids and when he was setting up the fireworks, he was doing something like a tutorial in the funny voice. when he finally lit one (i don't remember what it was), on it's way up to the sky, it caught his hair on fire. he didn't know it and he kept doing the voice, so we're alternately laughing and screaming about his fiery head. finally, he figured it out and started screaming in an even funnier voice. dude's bald on top with long straggly hair in the back and a zz top beard and he lost a good portion of hair in the back. (he was okay, by the way)

I guess mob violence is slightly less depressing than watching someone burn alive. I can't wait to hear what happens tomorrow!

Wait, what's the softball field story?

Prolly involves lesbianism.