Betsy and I just played two games of Phase 10 Dice, both of which I won. As our good-natured second place finisher rose from the table, a rumble arose from her bowels, bursting forth like stinky applause, to which she replied, "Oops."
Is this the kind of sportsmanship we are teaching our children, America? Are we really saying, "Rather than congratulate you with encouraging words, I think I'll break wind. Don't worry. You're worth it."
Which brings me to my next point: Can "'til death do you part" be an amicable parting?
I'm joking, of course, but if any of you hear that I've died under mysterious circumstances in the coming weeks, maybe ominously drop Betsy's name whenever talking to the police.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
Showing posts with label True Story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label True Story. Show all posts
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A too true story.
As I write this post, one-thousand (1,000) unruly children are destroying my house from the inside out. They're like cancer, except no one wants to kill them. Well...
ANYway, the contest is going GREAT! And by "GREAT!" I mean, of course, "NOT GREAT!" But there are still two more days to win a t-shirt. All you have to do is convince people to follow this blog and then to post a comment with your name. Easy-peasy.
Uh-oh. I just realized that I haven't had a legitimate post for several days. Everything I've posted recently has been about my blog or this contest or about how no one likes my blog or my contests. No wonder I don't have any new followers. I'll do better, and I'll do it right now.
The following is a true story. I have been forced to fabricate certain things to patch the holes in my memory, but I guarantee you won't notice.
I grew up in a small town called Grabill, Indiana. It's six blocks wide and you have to watch out for horse poop. Grabill's nearest neighbor is Leo-Cedarville, but back when this story takes place, Leo-Cedarville was two towns called Leo and Cedarville.
I was a volunteer with our church's youth group when I was about eighteen or nineteen. I was not the best role model, I can tell you that.
One night, the youth pastor's wife had a few girls from the youth group spend the night. They ordered pizza and did each other's hair and all of that crap. They also decided it would be fun to call my house (I was still living with my parents at the time) repeatedly. The responsible adults in the house were getting quite annoyed with me and suggested that I do something about it.
I gathered together a smattering of friends and youth group guys and we split up in two cars. Me and a fifteen-year old boy named Josh rode with my friend Brad in his van while the other four or five guys piled into my friend Joe's tiny Dodge Neon. Joe then proceeded to race up and down the street in front of the youth pastor's house, thus attracting the attention of all of the neighbors. Brad and I devised a plan, much argued by the more sensible Josh, to break into the youth pastor's house and steal all of the pizza. For this reason, we were dressed all in black.
To insure that Brad's van wouldn't be seen from the youth pastor's house, we parked on the opposite side of a nearby church (not the one which we attended), and to allow for a quick getaway, Brad backed in... right up to the church's front door.
Before the van was even in park we were blinded by flashing red and blue lights and deafened by a voice coming from a loud-speaker. The voice belonged to a very animated police officer who had just raced his squad car into the parking lot in front of us and who was super eager to show us his gun and had it pointed straight at us. We were instructed to show our hands and not to move. Poor Josh, seated in the back, had no idea how to show his hands without moving and I think he might have peed a little.
The police officer had been patrolling the area because, a few nights prior, another church down the road had been burglarized and here we were, all dressed in black, van backed up to the front door of a church... You understand how it looked.
After an awful lot of explaining (and denying that we knew the people in the white Dodge Neon that they had received several complaints about), the officer gave us a warning and sent us home.
Later, I had to explain to Josh's father what had happened. I think I would have rather been arrested.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
ANYway, the contest is going GREAT! And by "GREAT!" I mean, of course, "NOT GREAT!" But there are still two more days to win a t-shirt. All you have to do is convince people to follow this blog and then to post a comment with your name. Easy-peasy.
Uh-oh. I just realized that I haven't had a legitimate post for several days. Everything I've posted recently has been about my blog or this contest or about how no one likes my blog or my contests. No wonder I don't have any new followers. I'll do better, and I'll do it right now.
The following is a true story. I have been forced to fabricate certain things to patch the holes in my memory, but I guarantee you won't notice.
I grew up in a small town called Grabill, Indiana. It's six blocks wide and you have to watch out for horse poop. Grabill's nearest neighbor is Leo-Cedarville, but back when this story takes place, Leo-Cedarville was two towns called Leo and Cedarville.
I was a volunteer with our church's youth group when I was about eighteen or nineteen. I was not the best role model, I can tell you that.
One night, the youth pastor's wife had a few girls from the youth group spend the night. They ordered pizza and did each other's hair and all of that crap. They also decided it would be fun to call my house (I was still living with my parents at the time) repeatedly. The responsible adults in the house were getting quite annoyed with me and suggested that I do something about it.
I gathered together a smattering of friends and youth group guys and we split up in two cars. Me and a fifteen-year old boy named Josh rode with my friend Brad in his van while the other four or five guys piled into my friend Joe's tiny Dodge Neon. Joe then proceeded to race up and down the street in front of the youth pastor's house, thus attracting the attention of all of the neighbors. Brad and I devised a plan, much argued by the more sensible Josh, to break into the youth pastor's house and steal all of the pizza. For this reason, we were dressed all in black.
To insure that Brad's van wouldn't be seen from the youth pastor's house, we parked on the opposite side of a nearby church (not the one which we attended), and to allow for a quick getaway, Brad backed in... right up to the church's front door.
Before the van was even in park we were blinded by flashing red and blue lights and deafened by a voice coming from a loud-speaker. The voice belonged to a very animated police officer who had just raced his squad car into the parking lot in front of us and who was super eager to show us his gun and had it pointed straight at us. We were instructed to show our hands and not to move. Poor Josh, seated in the back, had no idea how to show his hands without moving and I think he might have peed a little.
The police officer had been patrolling the area because, a few nights prior, another church down the road had been burglarized and here we were, all dressed in black, van backed up to the front door of a church... You understand how it looked.
After an awful lot of explaining (and denying that we knew the people in the white Dodge Neon that they had received several complaints about), the officer gave us a warning and sent us home.
Later, I had to explain to Josh's father what had happened. I think I would have rather been arrested.
Thank you,
Matt Beers
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