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Discussion Starter #1
I discovered in my collection of books (only 5 bookcases full) somehow I have 2 of the same so the newest copy goes to the best yarn spinner. Any kind of story: funny, tear jerker, sad, love story (oops, already covered that one under sad & tear-jerker), heroic, fiction... it can even be about another forum member (I guess that would come under heroic, right?). If you don't want the book you can still tell a story & if you win name whoever to get the book in your place. Let's give it until New Years Day & I'll take a page out of the book of Azmick & pick a winner by whoever gets the most 'likes'. Now I suppose you want to know the name of the book: 1222131455.jpg
 

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That book is a good read. Best yarn spinner? Leaves me out, but from what I've read here you might just be sending it back to yourself! Nice gesture Injunbro.
 

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This is a re-run, but I like that book.

How Iggy got his name.

I got a call about a fight in a rural bar, and a crazy man had run everyone out of the bar and was in there alone.

Bar fights weren't usually my beat as a Highway Patrolman, but I was the only LEO available in the county right then.
Being forewarned by the patrons and bar owner about what was going on, I put on my riot helmet and grabbed a riot baton.

When I went in, he had a pool cue and we went to war. He was too drunk to be very dangerous but he weighed 295 and couldn't feel any pain.
I split his forehead open,(that really pissed him off) I broke his collar bone, and a couple of ribs, before he quit.

Iggy was a lone wolf mountain man type.
On the way to town, he said, "Damn, you're nasty with that stick!"

While he was in the hospital I was his only visitor.
When he was released from the hospital, I took him to court and to jail. He got 30 days.
I was his only visitor.

When he got out of jail, I took him back to his mountain.

When he treed the bar again, they called me.
He would be on the fight until I walked in
He would say "Aw hell, I can't fight you, you're my friend." He would grin and hold out his hands for the cuffs.
From then on when Iggy got into trouble, they would call me on or off duty and I would go get him.
Over the years we became good friends.

I told him if he got drunk and killed someone in a car wreck I would never forgive him.

One day I was called to investigate a wreck on the mountain. It was Iggy and he had run off the road and wrapped his car around a tree. He was pinned in the car. I crawled in the car with him.
He looked at me and said, "Chip, I didn't kill anyone else."

I said,"Yeh, Iggy, I know" and he died.

I was the only one at his funeral and I spread his ashes on his mountain.
People couldn't understand why I went to all the bother with someone like that.
All I could tell them was," Aw hell, Iggy was my friend."
 

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Discussion Starter #4
I ain't gonna give any likes on this thread lest I sway things unfairly but I like Iggy's story even if it's a re-run.
 

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Three Last Names

Okay. Mine's a rerun, as well.

Some time ago, I had the good fortune to make a business trip to Taiwan. We visited the North and South ends of the island, staying in Taipei and Kenting Park, respectfully.

We were in Taipei for most of our time there and stayed in the Grand Hotel. Some of you may know that the Grand Hotel was built by Mrs. Chiang Kai-shek, Soong Mai-ling. But, anyway, you can read about it from the link.


As most travelers do, I wanted a souvenir and a gift for my wife. The wife was easy – a traditional qi pao (chi pow) dress.




But, figuring out my souvenir was difficult. I wandered into the hotel gift shop and a cute little sales girl bounced up to me and asked if I needed help. She was smiling so widely, I couldn’t see her eyes. I admitted that I did need help because I couldn't find a souvenir to take back to America. She asked me a series of questions and finally asked, “You have chop?” I paused for a moment and then remembered a chop is a Chinese name stamp that was traditionally used to sign formal documents. I smiled and said “No, I don’t have a chop.”

The little sales girl’s face just beamed from her smile and I still couldn't see her eyes. She said “We make you chop. What you name?” I told her my family name is Bruner. Her face went from beaming to scrunched up and I still couldn't see her eyes. She repeated “Bwu nuh, Bwu nuh” several times, shook her head and said “We no have Chinee calactuh for Bwu nuh. What you udder name?”


Well, I didn't want to get into this, but there I was. I told her that actually I have three last names. Her face clouded up because, in China, it was considered disrespectful to name a child after an ancestor. I explained that in America, it was common to use family names for children. In my case, I continued, I am named after my father and that makes me a Junior and he was named after my maternal great-grandmother’s family, the Strongs and the Guytons. I told her my name is Strong Guyton Bruner, Jr., but I am called “Guy.” Her face began to brighten up. She said “So, you name Strong Guy?” I said, yes, some of my co-workers sometimes called me that. Her eyes flew open and I could finally see they were light brown with jade flecks. She said, “I know exact calactuhs for you chop. We make. Come back in tlee day.”


So, three days later I went back to the shop and she had my chop ready for me. She said, “See, you chop made with bull for yeah bohn (year born, ed.). You name is “chong juh.”





So, I thanked her and took my chop. Since none of us on our business team could speak Chinese, we had an interpreter named Tony L. with us. He knew I had been looking for a souvenir. On our bus trip out to our business meeting, he asked if I had found one. I said, yes, I had purchased a chop. He smiled and said that was a good choice and could he see it. I handed him my chop and his face scrunched up so much I couldn’t see his eyes. He kept mumbling something about “old calactuh, old calactuh.” Then, his eyes flew open so wide they were almost occidental. He exclaimed, “OH, you name Supa Man!


 

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Well I have no delusions of topping "Ole Iggy" but thought about this the other day out of the clear blue, so I will share it.

This involves my Son, one of his buddy's, and our Family Cabin.

My Grandparents built a cabin in Michigan's Upper peninsula on Lake Michigan in the early 50's. It is a very rustic cabin, they is no electricity, or indoor plumbing. (part of the charm as far as I am concerned)
We have a gas stove & refrigerator, and gas lights. There is a pitcher pump next to the sink. So as you can imagine being deep in the woods, and when the lights go out it gets very dark. There has been more than one person that has had the daylights scared out of them. I have been going up there all my life and am somewhat of an expert in the scaring game.



Now enter my Son and his Friend, they were both 14 at the time and of course knew everything there was to know. For the first few days did everything in their power to scare me. All Mrs. RD would tell them is "You are messing with the Master and to be prepared" Of course they didn't listen.

Now comes the baiting;
I mentioned a 3 or 4 times how I could feel the presence of my Grandmother when at the cabin and sometimes would see here sitting in her old oak rocking chair reading a book.

The setup;
While they were out on the beach playing I tied a piece of mono-filament fishing line to the rocking chair and ran the other end through a knothole in the wall to the our bedroom.

Springing the trap;
Everything was set, we all got ready to turn in, the two boys in their sleeping bags on day beds in the living area, Wife and I retired to our bedroom, lights out and DARK! I start pulling the line and the rocker starts making a little noise. I hear them ask each other what the noise was and shined their flashlights around the cabin, I would stop the rocker. As soon as the flashlights would go out I would start the rocker. This went on 3 or 4 times and could hear the fear mounting in their voices. So after starting the chair rocking, when they turned on their flashlights I kept rocking the chair, that did it I had two rough and tough teenagers reduced to whimpering cowards. :D

Epilogue;
The next morning I overheard my Son's Friend say "We have to get your Dad Back" to which he responded "YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN!"

Mission accomplished.
 

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Discussion Starter #8
Y'all ain't all storied out already are you? No tall tales or ramblins or blonde jokes or Injun tricks or... ???????????????
 

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I'll give it a go.
Old Bud and me decided to try a different wheat field from what we had been hunting looking for a big buck.
Now Bud was 102 and I was in need of both knees being replaced so I pulled the truck as close as I could to where we were going to hunt.
I opened the truck door and stepped out and so did Bud. About that same time two does and a nice, big buck jumped up out of some small cedars about 20 yards in front of us, hauling tail for the next county.
Down into a gulley they go and off goes Bud, running along the side of the gulley trying to get a shot. The old man was flat out running as fast as a college sprinter.
My jaw about hit the ground from astonishment at the speed he was moving and distancehe covered. The old man wanted that trophy.
The buck and does escaped without even being shot at.
Old Bud comes back to the truck cussing me, telling me I was dumb for pulling that close to the wheat field.
Of course I'm laughing which justs angers old Bud a bit more. (He really wanted a nice trophy buck!)
He tells me "You ain't smart enough to tell a t*rd from a tater!" Which cracks me up even more.
I finally quit laughing, looked him straight in the eye and said "I know you ain't no tater!"
Then he starts laughing.
We never did get that buck but we did laugh about that incident every time we talked about deer hunting until Old Bud passed at 106.
 

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make mine 45 acp 😎
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Trappin with the brothers..

Well i'll take a whack at it. Now, this is a true story – happened a long time ago in a place that was so very much different than it is now....

I've said before, I come from a large family and the three oldest are boys. We lived in a small city, but were fortunate that our property abutted a medium sized river that was part of government flood management system. So it was all woods and floodplain for miles up and down the river. There were a great many critters that used that swath of land, and when we were young it was our personal goal to get up close and personal with each and every one.

Somewhere along the line, we read a magazine article about making a live trap from a shopping cart. Some chicken wire over the top opening, reverse the swinging gate of the cart, a galvanized wood gate latch to keep it closed, and a wood trigger made with a hinge and some wire. All things available to certain trio of enterprising young men.

So, after a late summer day of industry in our backyard, the grand adventure was set to begin. Of course - our efforts had not gone un-noticed. I said at the start, there were 3 of us boys, but to our eternal torment, we had been followed by 3 sisters, two of which had red hair. Now God gives your sister red hair for only one reason - and that is to warn you not to have any fun when they are around, 'else they will surely tell your mother.

It was a normal course at suppertime in that house for there to be a lot of discussion of the day’s events. That particular night, the oldest and meanest of those red-haired girls, could not wait to tell daddy about the shopping cart from the A&P that had come to rest in our backyard. Now, telling Daddy about something questionable that went on during the day, was always a hit or miss proposition, sometimes literally. In this particular case, he seemed somewhat interested in our endeavor. Mother of course, was not sold on it – “But, Leo” she said, “They might get hurt”.

So daddy went out back with us after supper, and we explained how it all worked and how we were going to trap some raccoons and such and make a whole bunch of money selling the pelts. It all tickled daddy’s fancy, and we got a big laugh and a “you boys crack me up”, which of course is code for, “I’m in, but don’t tell your mother”.

So we set that trap up in the back yard, next to the garbage cans, and baited the trigger with cat food and other concoctions. Of course we caught a lot of critters, and it became a breakfast ritual to all get up and rush out to the back porch to see what we had nabbed. The possums were the most fun, we loved to let ‘em loose and chase them around and watch them stop and curl up. We even nabbed a raccoon or two, although they proved too smart for any serious pelt related industry.

And most of those days, daddy was the first one out the door to take a look at what we had caught. He would laugh and say “You boys crack me up”, which is code of course for “I’m having as much fun as you are”. Even the mean red-haired tattletales seemed to be enjoying the fun, until the morning when it all came to an end.

On that particular morning, time had progressed into fall, and there was a snap in the air and something different in the trap. At first, I thought it was a neighbor’s cat, but it was way large for that, and black and white, and making a fearsome racket, kind of humpbacked.

‘Course daddy took one look at it, and being the man of the world he was, knew right away what is was. He about busted a gut laughing, “SKUNK!, you caught a SKUNK”, and followed up with “You boys crack me up”, which of course was code for – “this is gonna be funny!” He also managed to gasp out between laughs, “one of you boys go on down there and let it out”. Of course, being the oldest, I knew right away what that meant, and who it was that was going to have to go down there and face the music.

And then, a quiet voice spoke up and momma said “Leo, they might get hurt”. My father stopped in mid laugh, and began to negotiate – “but, but, but” which of course is code for, “oh crap, I’m, screwed”..

For the rest of my life, I will never forget that epic battle that took place that morning – daddy using a long pole to try and pop the swing door open, and that skunk yowling and doing what it is skunks do. It was a big old mean one – and was not going to take anything from anyone. It ended with both parties beating a retreat, but not before daddy got pasted good.

Needless to say, that was the end of our trapping days. Daddy had choice words to say about our plan, and momma piped in that “she didn’t want us tormenting the poor creatures anymore”, and the evil red-heads became only more convinced of their personal calling to making life miserable for the brothers.

Truth be told, it wasn’t the end of our schemes – but looking back 50 plus years later, it may have been the most enjoyable.
 

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Well Bro, I'll tell ya a lil story, but it dont really amount ta much, n only the names has been changed, to protect da guilty. When I was an elementar skool kid, we lived next door to this big old junkyard on da Soth Side a da City, you know, where they store all the old cars n trucks n appliances n whatnot. Well they had em this big ole Bull Mastiff to protect da junk(go figger), and this was one mean , big, nasty beast of a dog. Now me n hin got along, animals always take to me more n people do, tho I cant imagine why. I'd feed him bologna, ham and such thru da fence all the time, n he'd lemme pet him thru the cracks in da gate. Well me n him bein buds n all, one day our football went over that fence, so I figger what the heck, and I climbed myself over it to get da ball. Now he was nice as can be, and I was a rubbin his noggin n such, and all was fine, until I tried to go back over that fence to me own yard. Well that old dog dinna want me to go, so he grabbed onto my leg and tried to pull me back in to play wiff him some more. Well after a few punches on top his head that dinna really hurt nuthin but my fist, he lemme go back over. Now a course my Mama freaked, went dowm to the Tranny shop on da other side the junk yard to make sure that dog had his shots n such, and they said yeah, and even paid to get me stitched up. Now heres da bad part, that poor ole dog died of rabies da day after he bit me, seems even way back then my blood was a bit on da toxic side. Still got da scar, n da dogs still dead, the end:) Mike
 

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Well Bro, I'll tell ya a lil story, but it dont really amount ta much, n only the names has been changed, to protect da guilty. When I was an elementar skool kid, we lived next door to this big old junkyard on da Soth Side a da City, you know, where they store all the old cars n trucks n appliances n whatnot. Well they had em this big ole Bull Mastiff to protect da junk(go figger), and this was one mean , big, nasty beast of a dog. Now me n hin got along, animals always take to me more n people do, tho I cant imagine why. I'd feed him bologna, ham and such thru da fence all the time, n he'd lemme pet him thru the cracks in da gate. Well me n him bein buds n all, one day our football went over that fence, so I figger what the heck, and I climbed myself over it to get da ball. Now he was nice as can be, and I was a rubbin his noggin n such, and all was fine, until I tried to go back over that fence to me own yard. Well that old dog dinna want me to go, so he grabbed onto my leg and tried to pull me back in to play wiff him some more. Well after a few punches on top his head that dinna really hurt nuthin but my fist, he lemme go back over. Now a course my Mama freaked, went dowm to the Tranny shop on da other side the junk yard to make sure that dog had his shots n such, and they said yeah, and even paid to get me stitched up. Now heres da bad part, that poor ole dog died of rabies da day after he bit me, seems even way back then my blood was a bit on da toxic side. Still got da scar, n da dogs still dead, the end:) Mike
Chuck Norris now has some one he can look up to. View attachment 26356
 

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Pop & Larry







This is Larry & his Dad Linal, everyone called him POP .

I first got to know them about 1975 or so. They used to travel together to all the gunshows & pot shoots all over central Ca. Pop had just lost his wife about that time & kinda needed some company. Besides being a not too good a shooter Pop would win a pot every once in a while. That is when the fun started.

Pop always carried whiskey & he celebrated every win & every almost win. Even if he didn't come close to winning he would have a touch just to improve his aim. When he wasn't shooting he was telling stories & swapping guns. Nobody ever got the best of Pop when he traded & you never knew if his stories were lies or the truth.

So we are driving to a gunshow one day & Pop starts talking about one of his brothers & then another & another. Finally I asked him how many kids was in his family. He said he had 19 brothers & sisters all together.
He explained that his Dad had two wives & the first wife had 4 or five & the 2nd wife had the rest. He says the youngest was born when his Dad was 62 & he guessed there would have been more , but the guy that helped him off & on got killed in a car wreck.

Turns out to be a true story!

Pop died in 2009. Sure miss that old fart !!!
 

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Well Bro, I'll tell ya a lil story, but it dont really amount ta much, n only the names has been changed, to protect da guilty. When I was an elementar skool kid, we lived next door to this big old junkyard on da Soth Side a da City, you know, where they store all the old cars n trucks n appliances n whatnot. Well they had em this big ole Bull Mastiff to protect da junk(go figger), and this was one mean , big, nasty beast of a dog. Now me n hin got along, animals always take to me more n people do, tho I cant imagine why. I'd feed him bologna, ham and such thru da fence all the time, n he'd lemme pet him thru the cracks in da gate. Well me n him bein buds n all, one day our football went over that fence, so I figger what the heck, and I climbed myself over it to get da ball. Now he was nice as can be, and I was a rubbin his noggin n such, and all was fine, until I tried to go back over that fence to me own yard. Well that old dog dinna want me to go, so he grabbed onto my leg and tried to pull me back in to play wiff him some more. Well after a few punches on top his head that dinna really hurt nuthin but my fist, he lemme go back over. Now a course my Mama freaked, went dowm to the Tranny shop on da other side the junk yard to make sure that dog had his shots n such, and they said yeah, and even paid to get me stitched up. Now heres da bad part, that poor ole dog died of rabies da day after he bit me, seems even way back then my blood was a bit on da toxic side. Still got da scar, n da dogs still dead, the end:) Mike
Note to self: Remind little ol Miss Astrid not to bite Mike if she get's mad @ him. Linda can teach her frying pan techniques instead. :) LOL
 

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Discussion Starter #18






This is Larry & his Dad Linal, everyone called him POP .

I first got to know them about 1975 or so. They used to travel together to all the gunshows & pot shoots all over central Ca. Pop had just lost his wife about that time & kinda needed some company. Besides being a not too good a shooter Pop would win a pot every once in a while. That is when the fun started.

Pop always carried whiskey & he celebrated every win & every almost win. Even if he didn't come close to winning he would have a touch just to improve his aim. When he wasn't shooting he was telling stories & swapping guns. Nobody ever got the best of Pop when he traded & you never knew if his stories were lies or the truth.

So we are driving to a gunshow one day & Pop starts talking about one of his brothers & then another & another. Finally I asked him how many kids was in his family. He said he had 19 brothers & sisters all together.
He explained that his Dad had two wives & the first wife had 4 or five & the 2nd wife had the rest. He says the youngest was born when his Dad was 62 & he guessed there would have been more , but the guy that helped him off & on got killed in a car wreck.

Turns out to be a true story!

Pop died in 2009. Sure miss that old fart !!!
My mind reels... :D
 

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Discussion Starter #20
Don't stop now! You can tell more than one story if you think of something better than the last one. At the very least we all get to hear some good stories... otherwise I may have to do a rain dance & Santa's sleigh will get frozen in... then none of you will get that new S&W for Christmas!
 
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