The Flaming Hyundai of Fire

Since a lot of folks inquired about last week's mention of my having stolen a hearse, I have to mention that it was actually a mortuary limousine, and that due to *ahem* possible legal ramifications, I can't really go into detail. Let's just say that I know how to put the 'fun' in 'funeral party'.

However, on the topic of random shenanigans, Bryan and I decided it might be fun to regale you with a few other questionably sane personal stories of ours. Kind of like the ones your Uncle Bob probably used tell when you were a little kid and he was drunk on tequila at the family Christmas party. And we assure you, even though sometimes we like to pull your leg, these stories are all 100% true.


1. Bryan once dated a girl with multiple personalities who thought she was Nick Carter.

No one ever believes this one, but just out of high school I dated a girl who had a very traumatizing childhood. She was a huge homebody, and her only real friend was a guy named "Nick C." who she talked to and had over to visit constantly... yet her parents and siblings had never met him. No one seemed to think that was weird except me.

While her alcoholic parents fought and ignored her, she found solace in the Backstreet Boys and their terrible, fad-driven music. They were her world. And so it took a while for me to figure out that Nick C and Nick Carter were one in the same, and that when she was having all-night conversations with Nick C... she was really just talking to herself.

A crazy joke AND a hipster joke rolled into one! Ba-zing!

She was always a bit of an oddball, but I didn't realize she was truly crazy until I was in an upstairs room of her house and overheard her, through the vent, talking to herself... and using a slightly manly voice for Nick Carter. She was asking him about his singing, and he was telling her that he was happy to see her and she was his favorite person. All kidding aside, hearing someone talk to themselves in different voices is probably the most chilling thing I've ever heard, and it still creeps me out to this day.

Yeah, I used her real name. What's she gonna do, come find me and kill me? ...Crap.

Finally, I told her that I thought it was weird that no one could ever meet Nick except her, and that I thought she was making Nick up, to which she said nothing. And the next day, after 'having a long, serious talk with Nick' about the subject... she said that he didn't like me and wanted to kill me. And that I should watch my back.

I've never run faster in my life. After that I changed my phone number and got the fuck out of Dodge.

And now, some 10 years later, I wonder if she really IS Nick Carter... because currently, both of them are fat and unemployable.

2. Brandon made money in college backing a professional pool player.

Back when I was in school, I managed to stave off legitimate employment for a semester by stake-horsing one of the best pool players in the state. Together we ran a lot of hustles in pool rooms all over Colorado. And despite having to hang out in the smoky cesspool of the occasional seedy tavern, we had a lot of fun. It was sort of like being in "The Color of Money," except with an obnoxious, ugly, young hippie as a costar instead of Tom Cruise.


As it turned out, although he was arguably the best shooter in Denver, my partner was a notoriously bad gambler, and a drunken fuckwit to boot. As is often the case with a compulsive gambler, the guy was always broke, even though we made lots of money.

The last time I saw him was when we crashed a frathouse party in Boulder where--when it wasn't being fucked on--there was a very expensive pool table. I told my partner from the outset that I didn't want to go, but he insisted.

Luckily, the pool table was free of fornicating nubiles and we were able to set up our hustle. And everything went peachy until the fratboy in question decided to be a poor loser. He was down a few hundred bucks, didn't want to pay, and informed us that we could either exit the premises, or he and twenty of his resident "brosephs" would kick the shit out of us (and do god knows what else).

Naturally, I wasn't keen on becoming the punching bag (or plaything?) of two dozen loafer-and-sweater-vest-clad fratboys named Bradley. They're all named fucking Bradley, aren't they? Anyway, we left without being pounded into submission (or maybe submitting and getting pounded? Fucking fratboys.). But I fired my partner immediately.

Six months later I heard he was dancing on top of a bar, drunk, and fell off and broke his neck. And somehow, miraculously made a full recovery. Apparently even the worst of gamblers can catch a 'lucky break'.


3. Bryan learned Muay Thai kickboxing in Thailand, from a Major General of the Thai Army.

This could probably be a post all its own, but about 5 years ago I stayed with a host family in Bangkok, Thailand for a few weeks. They lived on an army base, and one of the coolest things I got to do was spend some time learning Muay Thai from a Major General of the Thai Army, a short, squat little man whose English was just as good as his ass kicking (both were surprisingly excellent).

My sparring partner was a 5 foot 4 inch, 120 lb 14 year old kid who called himself Pai-Pai (like pie pie), and he was a tough little sumbitch. Initially, my Western boxing skills were no match for his Muay Thai.

But it wasn't anything a little exhaustive training in 100 degree, muggy, humid weather couldn't fix. After a couple of weeks I started getting the hang of things, and I felt way too proud when I finally nailed him so hard I knocked him down and forced him to stop for the day. Take THAT, 14 year old that can barely speak English!

5 years later, I'm still active in the sport, but I'll never forget how cool it was to train authentic Muay Thai surrounded by palm trees, ancient ruins, and Buddhist temples. And should I go again--while I'll be fervently trying to avoid the host family that attempted to pawn their fugly daughter off on me--I'll also be looking for a rematch with Pai Pai... Because I'm pretty sure I can still take the lil' sumbitch.

4. Brandon and Bryan once blew up a car.


Yes, we blew up a car. Don't worry, it wasn't stolen. It'd been legally deserted a decade prior on the property of one of our friends. So, naturally, once we discovered it was rotted past any hope of repair, we exploded that motherfucker, Michael Bay style.


It's amazing what a couple gallons of kerosene, a Roman candle, and a little bit of love can do.

We were gloriously unprepared for extinguishing the blaze (Who knew a Hyundai could burn so magnificently?), and stumbled around drunkenly in the darkness seeking shovels, only to wind up scooping dirt onto the thing with our bare hands. And even though a thick black mushroom cloud hung over our small town for the better part of an hour, the fire department was never called. Thank Christ. And somehow we finally managed to get the fire put out... you know, so we could light it again.

Cheers and stay classy, folks!

-B&B, The Most Interesting Men In The World (Fuck that Dos Equis guy)

Beer: Fat Tire
Music: The Wombats