Best Ever: I can’t believe I’m not in prison story

8 Jun

cops-arrest-clown

Alright you lovely net-jobs (get it, it’s a play on words). For the first topic I have decided to make it one that I know many,  if not all of you are familiar with; A run-in with the law. Now, I know that is a pretty broad topic, but I want you to submit one of your amazingly ridiculous, laugh out loud stories that I’m sure you have stored up in the ole noggin. Be creative, help paint a mental picture of what you went through before, during and after the event. This is a chance for you to show the world how stupid bad ass  you are.

You have until the end of the week to submit your stories. Now do it or you’ll be found in your closet with a rope around genitals (too soon?).

Criteria:

  1. Who were you with
  2. Where were you when it happened
  3. What was going through your mind before, during and after
  4. Would you do it again
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6 Responses to “Best Ever: I can’t believe I’m not in prison story”

  1. Aceezee 06/11/2009 at 3:20 PM #

    so i was in Delaware visiting some idiot and we were down at the beach puffing after teaching a bunch of locals how Canadians drink beer by finishing their keg for them when the bike cops show up hollering “so whos smokng the weed? The guy who’s house we were visiting answers “we were *cough* but its all gone”. After giving the police 13 id’s between the 5 of us and finding out one had an outstanding weapons charge accompanying it we had to tell the cops that the joint they had “found” but really tried to plant on us was way smaller than the one we were smoking. breathalizer challenges, near vomiting on police, escaping from handcuffs and several underage drinking tickets later, it was 7am and time to go home.
    thanks Schreibz funnest night in jail to date.

  2. Traybid 06/11/2009 at 5:45 AM #

    So it was just another thirsty Tursday in college at good ol West Chester Univ. I had skipped class that day and was drinkin/smoking/hollaring at innocent peeps walking by to class…you know, the usual. Next thing I know “that guy” (the one who you don’t really know that well, but just stops by your house and wants to party) shows up with an old friend, Popov vodka in hand. Before you know it, we’re playing vod pong on the front lawn for clothing and I end up missing so many shots I was down to my bra and sneakers, wrapped in a bed sheet from their shiesty house. In the meantime, my friend Kevin is on his way to pick me up, unbeknownst to me… I had totally forgot I had agreed to go to an AND 1 tour game in Jersey with him earlier that week. I get a call that he’s on his way so I started to run (only like 2 blocks) down Matlack St. Lucky for me there was a UPS truck on its way down and I had the bright idea to jump on the back of it, right in front of Jake’s bar. (Mind you that I’m still wearing a bed sheet, looking real classy). I remember so vividly laughing and waving to my friends like I was invincible… And I was. I managed to get myself together in some new clothes, but still kept the sheet on overtop because it was a crowd pleaser and I had a good story to tell Kev when he picked me up. So Kev and I are cruising down 95 looking for somewhere to stop to go to the bathroom (excuse me, *washroom), and we get to this hotel that looks a little run down. It just so happened that the washrooms were right next to the bar and conveniently, there was no bartender in sight. Me, being invincible and all, snuck behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of Skyy and jetted out like I imagine only female superheroes, or super idiots do. Long story short, by the time we get to the game I’m so in the bag I can’t even see out of it. Kev manages to drag me out of the car just in time for me to pick a fight with a security guard, who calls for backup. We were in Central Jerz, of all places, where there is no “Real Housewives” just hood wives that don’t want any trouble! Apparently I couldn’t decipher how to pick my battles and I resisted arrest, only to punch a state trooper square in the nose. Fortunately for me, I was too intoxicated and they couldn’t take me to the slammer. They agreed to let me go with a warning and a fine for public drunkenness, as long as I could prove that I had a sober driver and agreed to leave the premises. This night really worked out in my favor because when they searched my purse, they had taken all the information down from my fake ID. Till this day I’ve never heard anything from the New Brunswick Police Dept. I’d really like to know how that poor soul, who’s ID I had, explained that one when the fine came in the mail…… Moral of the story: If you’re going to do something really fucked up on a casual Thursday, like punch a cop in the face, make sure you have alternate identification on you, so its not your problem.

  3. Traybid 06/11/2009 at 5:42 AM #

    So it was just another thirsty Tursday in college at good ol West Chester Univ. I had skipped class that day and was drinkin/smoking/hollaring at innocent peeps walking by to class…you know, the usual. Next thing I know “that guy” (the one who you don’t really know that well, but just stops by your house and wants to party) shows up with an old friend, Popov vodka in hand. Before you know it, we’re playing vod pong on the front lawn for clothing and I end up missing so many shots I was down to my bra and sneakers, wrapped in a bed sheet from their shiesty house. In the meantime, my friend Kevin is on his way to pick me up, unbeknownst to me… I had totally forgot I had agreed to go to an AND 1 tour game in Jersey with him earlier that week. I get a call that he’s on his way so I started to run (only like 2 blocks) down Matlack St. Lucky for me there was a UPS truck on its way down and I had the bright idea to jump on the back of it, right in front of Jake’s bar. (Mind you that I’m still wearing a bed sheet, looking real classy). I remember so vividly laughing and waving to my friends like I was invincible… And I was. I managed to get myself together in some new clothes, but still kept the sheet on overtop because it was a crowd pleaser and I had a good story to tell Kev when he picked me up. So Kev and I are cruising down 95 looking for somewhere to stop to go to the bathroom (excuse me, *washroom), and we get to this hotel that looks a little run down. It just so happened that the washrooms were right next to the bar and conveniently, there was no bartender in sight. Me, being invincible and all, snuck behind the bar, grabbed a bottle of Skyy and jetted out like I imagine only female superheroes, or super idiots do. Long story short, by the time we get to the game I’m so in the bag I can’t even see out of it. Kev manages to drag me out of the car just in time for me to pick a fight with a security guard, who calls for backup. We were in Central Jerz, of all places, where there is no “Real Housewives” just hood wives that don’t want any trouble! Apparently I couldn’t decipher how to pick my battles and I resisted arrest, only to punch a trooper square in the nose. Fortunately for me, I was too intoxicated and they couldn’t take me to the slammer. They agreed to let me go with a warning and a fine for public drunkenness, as long as I could prove that I had a sober driver and agreed to leave the premises. This night really worked out in my favor because when they searched my purse, they had taken all the information down from my fake ID. Till this day I’ve never heard anything from the New Brunswick Police Dept. I’d really like to know how that poor soul, who’s ID I had, explained that one when the fine came in the mail…… Moral of the story: If you’re going to do something really fucked up on a casual Thursday, like punch a cop in the face, make sure you have alternate identification on you, so its not your problem.

    • schreibz 06/17/2009 at 5:27 PM #

      Congratulations on not being locked up. You are officially the winner of the first BestEverAward. Send me your email if you want a really classy certificate. ha

  4. Mark 06/10/2009 at 6:33 PM #

    I have quite a few for this topic, hahah.

    I was twenty years old living in Tempe, Arizona. It was a normal cool Arizona night, and by that I mean over 100 degrees at One am with no breeze. My friend Steve and I were at my place getting drunk out of our skulls, smoking blunts, and making beats which was pretty much our daily routine at the time. We head out to my balcony for a smoke break and find that neither one of us has any cigarettes…no biggie, I’ll just drive us to the Circle K down the street, grab a pack of smokes, and we will be back to finish off the bottle before you can say drunk driver!

    So we head downstairs to the garage and hop in the bimmer and start blasting some dipset. Just to clarify where my mind was at currently…I lived directly on one of the biggest college drinking streets in the country. The varieties of police that could be seen at once in any direction included; foot cops, bicycle cops, motorcycle cops, cruiser cops, SUV cops, and horse cops. All who’s sole mission was to arrest stupid drunk college students. Off to the smoke store!

    So I make my one turn, a left, and head the two hundred yards to the store. I safely arrive at my destination and receive my reward, a pack of newports and a pack of parliament lights. That was easy enough, time to get home and finish that track I think to myself while lighting a tasty fiberglass treat. I make the right to head back up the street. Now the road I was coming back on was an odd one. It was two lanes, each large enough that it could have fit two lanes. A turning lane was situated in the middle and was equally as wide. Somehow I end up behind a crown vic…now I know what you are thinking..undercover. Worse! Old people going one third the speed limit. Now me being rather shitfaced and driving a souped up bimmer was deciding that since the road was so wide there was no harm in just passing the car using the turning lane. Instantly I downshift two gears rocketing my car to over double the speed limit and passing the car in a couple seconds..just as a police cruiser turns the corner. Fuck! Instantly the lights and siren come on and the cop is screeching a U-turn. I instantly pull over knowing the jig was up. The cop is instantly behind me and begins walking up to my window.

    “Excuse me son, could you please roll down the window”…how can cops always ask a question but it is always in the form of an order? The smart one I am rolls down the window and before the cop can even say anything I say “Don’t worry officer, everything is ok! We are right in front of my building so I am already home!” He had pulled me over at the entrance to my complex…for some reason that just didn’t matter I guess..who knew? We have a few minutes of conversation that usually involves cuffs and a nice ride in the back of a squad car. The officer goes back to his car and is there for a few minutes while I am shitting my pants and my friend Steve is in that awkward position of knowing I was fucked and he wasn’t in trouble at all. I see the policeman returning and give up my last prayers to whoever may have been listening.

    “Son, are you aware that at the speed you were going if you had crashed it would have required a spatula like device to retrieve all your remains?” he then leans over into the window and addresses my friend. “Do you appreciate your friend putting you in this sort of position? My friend Steve gets a stupid half smile and looks at me. “No officer! No I dont! How could you put me in such a position Mark! I could have to get scraped off the road with a spatula all thanks to you!” The officer sighs, looks me up and down eyes lingering on my shirt and shakes his head. “Listen up Mark, today is your lucky day. I just got a call that makes this situation extremely unimportant but if it weren’t for that call you would be spending the next while in a lovely Arizona prison. Think about that” He then hands back my license and walks away. “Am I supposed to keep driving through the parking lot all drunk?” I ask Steve. He takes a look at me then down at my shirt and starts laughing extremely hard. “What?” I ask before looking down. The entire time I had been wearing a large light up blinking Bacardi rum pin and the car reeked of the stuff.

    “Uhhhhh, lets have another smoke…”

  5. Aceezee 06/09/2009 at 12:33 AM #

    so selling drugs was always a good source of income during my high school career. it can be very lucrative and efficient depending on how you did it. My business associates and i were very good at what we did and had a healthy clientel. This one evening in particular we were expecting a large order and were meeting our supplier at a house party. This was a fine idea as we could get what we needed and unload most of it before we even left the party. so it was time and we went to the owners of the houses’ bed room to count and weigh our product. If you had walked into the room this is what you’d see; two guys counting a pile of money surounded by zip lock bags and a thrid individual weighing out a giant sack of dope, not to mention the aroma filling the room. Amazingly this is not what the officer who walked into the room noticed! His only reaction was telling us “I don’t care what you guys are doing in here it’s time to go!” Sure enough he was right, we grabbed the cash and b lined for the car. i thought we were straight FUBARed but luckily the Oakville police force has one of the most intensive screening processes for hiring, one that does not include common sense thankfully. The other member of our crew who was dealing with the weight was no where to be found until he so ninjaly escaped the house with the product. Needless to say, that night we all retired from the drug game, well, some more than others.

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