Skunked At The Skunk Hunt Part III

We all remained perfectly still as the officer approached our car and began inspecting it with his flashlight. Luckily we had taken the beer and guns with us, but we still weren't sure how we were going to explain what we were doing. We all decided to hold tight and see what happened next.

Our hope was that the police officer would simply run our tags and go on with his patrol. The officer returned to his car, but didn't move from his post on the other side of the gate. After about fifteen minutes, we decided that we needed to “bite the bullet” and go talk to him.

Just as we were about to make our move we saw another vehicle approaching down the maintenance road.  This one was a large SUV, also from the City of Florence Police department. This officer repeated the routine of inspecting our tactical Camry with his flashlight. After some brief discussion, the two officers returned to their respective cars and sat in idle patience.

This time we all decided it would be best if we talked to them. Chad and I left the comfort of our hide in the brush, and approached the car of the officer closest to the gate. We were about ten feet from the back of the first car when the officer in the SUV spotted us and jumped out of his vehicle.

“Hold it right there! Get your hands against the vehicle!”  The guy screamed.

I can’t say that I was surprised by his reaction, seeing two guys walk out of the dark wearing full camouflage.  It didn’t take long for the second cop to jump out either. 

“What the hell are you guys doing out here?” said the second cop, asking the million dollar question.

That’s when Chad came up with what ended up being a million dollar answer.

“Hello officers, I actually work here at the golf course, and my supervisor said it would be ok if we came out after dark to play capture the flag. You see, it’s a game we've been playing since we were kids and, we didn't want to disturb anyone in town.”

It seemed like an eternity had passed before the second officer replied to our obvious excuse for being there.  He knew we weren't telling the truth, but was going to give us the benefit of the doubt. He had another surprise up his sleeve for us.

“Ok, well, we will just need you guys to come up here to the club house. The course supervisor is on his way out here and he can confirm that for us.”

“…….Shit!” We both thought to ourselves.

We explained to them that we still had two friends out in the field somewhere,  needed to go get them. Leaving the beer, guns, and other gear in the field, Karen and Trailer joined us in the back of the patrol car.

They drove us up to the club house where we waited for another eternity for the supervisor to show up and sentence us to certain arrest, jail time, and execution from our families and girlfriends.

After about twenty minutes the supervisor showed up. By this time it was about 2:00am and he was not entirely thrilled about being called out of bed.

The officers spoke with him for a while, and then asked Chad to come over while the rest of us waited in the back of the patrol cars. Finally, Chad and the officer came back and got back in the vehicle.

“Well, it looks like you guys are off the hook. I’m taking you back to your car. I want you guys to go home and not come back out here.” Said the officer looking back at us through the cage that all police cars have.

He returned us to our vehicle. Relieved, we hopped back in the Camry and took off. It turned out that the supervisor was not the guy Chad had arranged the hunt with, but he knew Chad was a good guy and didn't say anything to the cops.

Although we didn't get to hunt skunks that night, we also didn’t go to jail. A fair trade I think. But before we went home there was still one problem. Our guns and gear were still in the field at the end of the dead end road, and the cops weren't leaving. We had to get them back. We had to get them back, before the cops found them…

-To Be Continued

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt Part II

Having briefed me on the mission details, Chad and I agreed to commence “operation skunk” on the upcoming Friday evening after the golf course closed for the day. I knew that if this mission was going to be successful, I needed a support team. So I called on my two cousins, Karen and Traylor. We all agreed to meet at Chad's house in Florence. 

That Friday, in the living room of Chad's apartment, we inventoried our gear to make sure we had everything we needed. Our inventory included:

• 3 - .22 caliber rifles
• 100 rounds - Conical Ball Cap Low Velocity .22 Rifle Ammo
• Full camouflage dress for all four people
• 2 - 1,000,000 candle power spot lights
• 1 - night vision monocular 
• 1 - hand held gps receiver
• 4 - hand held flash lights
• 1 - 30-pack Bud Light

We loaded our gear and jumped into Chad's tactical issue Toyota Camry, and drove to the staging area. 

The golf course sat just below a lake dam. It had a main drive that ended at the club house, which then turned into a dead end, gravel, and maintenance road. The maintenance road went around the back side of the course, ending at an adjacent field next to the course’s maintenance building. 

The plan was to drive to the end of the maintenance road. Then use Chad's key to open the locked gate that kept people from driving back to the maintenance building. We would then hide the car in the maintenance building, borrow a couple golf carts, and use the carts to locate and destroy the skunks. 

Just after nightfall, we drove to the end of the road, and unlocked the gate. However just as we began to pull the car through, we noticed headlights coming down the road! In a rush to remain unseen, we quickly shut off the car, locked the gate, unloaded our gear, and dove into the surrounding brush.

It seemed like an eternity as we waited for the car to creep down the gravel road toward our location. Our hearts almost stopped as we saw the car pull up and stop on the road less than fifty yards from where our car was parked on the other side of the gate.

Through the darkness we saw shadows move in front of the headlights. Then we heard the sound of laughter as four teenagers begin to set off fireworks. Breathing a sigh of relief, we grabbed our gear and started back toward our car. We were nearly back to our vehicle when Karen yelled, “Get down, here comes another car!”

Sure enough, down the lane came yet another vehicle, but this one was driving much faster than the first one had. Also seeing the other vehicle, the teenagers extinguished their fireworks, threw their beer bottles into the ditch, and peeled out of there like there was no tomorrow!

As the teenager’s car sped past the oncoming vehicle we were able to read “City of Florence Police Department” on the side. The cop quickly began to turn around to pursue the teenager’s vehicle when his headlights shined on our tactical Camry parked on the other side of the fence. The golf course side of the fence…The wrong side of the fence.

-To be continued…

Skunked At The Skunk Hunt.

Disclaimer: Names and locations have been changed to protect the innocent. For our purposes, we will name the three people involved (besides myself) Chad, Karen, and Traylor. We will also call the name of the town in which Chad worked, Florence.

The year was 2004 and I was living in Pittsburg, working as the front desk guy at my aunt's tax office, while attending college. One day I got a call from my friend Chad wanting to know if I was available for a very special mission that weekend. As a guy who hates to miss special missions,  I asked him about the specifics. 

For a few months, Chad had been working at a golf course in Florence on a maintenance crew. Lately his job had become very daunting, due to the infestation of a wild and particularly ferocious gang of skunks. It appeared that the skunks had claimed the delicate fairways and greens of this particular golf course (and many others) as their own personal foraging grounds. As creatures of the night, the skunks were not a direct problem to golfers or the the course personnel. The problem lay with how the skunks find their food. Night after night, they dug dozens of holes in the plush, maintained grass of the course.These holes were having their toll on the tired maintenance workers who had to repair them every day.

It was clear to the management of the golf course that something had to be done about these creatures that din't discriminate between rough pastures, and well manicured fields of leisure. In disgust, the grounds superintendent said that he wished someone would come out there at night, and kill the skunks once and for all! 

Then a phone call was placed that set forth an unforeseen chain of events.

Chad explained to his boss that he had a friend that possessed a very particular set of skills. Skills that he had acquired over many years. Skills that made him a nightmare for nocturnal beasts such as these. 

The grounds supervisor was quite interested in the use of force to remove these vermin. However, he was very clear that if this mission were to proceed, it could not be sanctioned by himself, the golf course, or anyone affiliated with the organization. Indeed, in any official regard, this mission had to remain top secret. This mission had to remain off the books. This mission had to remain......."Black". 

It was just the kind of mission Chad knew I would accept. 

-To be continued

Rockfest Kansas City (unofficial) Best Practices

• DO NOT wear flip-flops
• 
  
• DO NOT wear jewelry that you plan on wearing again
• 
  
• DO NOT wear sunglasses that you like and/or want to see again
• 
  
• DO NOT wear a hat that you like and/or want to see again
• 
  
• DO NOT CROWD SURF! This one I highly stress. I have seen more broken collar bones and/or concussions than I can remember. Not worth it. Don't do it. Note: This especially applies to girls. Ladies, if you crowd surf you will be all but raped. There are a ton of A-holes and Pervs in the crowd. They WILL try to violate you. If you break this rule, don't acted surprised. 
• 
  
• Crowd Surfing Exception: If you feel the need to get close to the stage (within 15 rows or so), the only chance you will have at getting out will be forward. You will have to crowd surf the final five or six rows. When you reach the front, security will grab you and help you over the fence (if you're lucky). When over the fence, walk toward the center of the stage and you will find an alley that will lead you to the back of the crowd.
• 
  
• DO NOT wait to pee. Figure on a minimum of fifteen minutes to navigate the crowd and make it into a port-a-potty. If you wait too long you will pee your pants!
• 
  
• Claustrophobia: This is an important one. If you are the slightest bit claustrophobic, STAY BACK FROM THE STAGE. There are 55,000 people there, and they all want to be close to the stage. Simple body motions are limited. I'm talking backs to chest. Shoulder to Shoulder, pee pee to pee pee. IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH PEOPLE IN YOUR PERSONAL SPACE I'M TALKING ABOUT YOU!
• 
  
• Leave your wallet in the car. Only bring what you need. 1. Your I.D. (Can be replaced, MUST have it to drink.) 2. Cash (Don't bother with the plastic, there's nowhere to use it.)

Things that WILL happen you can't get pissed about. 

• People getting in your way. (55,000 in a small place, deal with it.)
• Waiting in line. (Potty, food, beer) be patient
• Drunk people. (Everywhere, if you can't beat them, join them. You will have a lot more fun!)
• Beer spilled on you (It dries, I promise)
• Mosh Pits: Try to stay back, you will break a nose.
• Someone rubbing against your girlfriend (Chill, there are hotter girls than her here.)
• Getting kicked in the head/upper body (If you get close there are crowd surfers, be vigilant. Look out for you neighbors and they will look out for you.)

Party Crasher

For his birthday, my buddy Burf decided to have a BBQ at his house in Frontenac, Kansas. His birthday is in August, so I doubt that he's ever celebrated indoors. Burf had a large garage behind his house that sported a beer fridge and a homemade beer pong table. This made for a pretty good spot for a celebration. About an hour into the festivities mother nature proved once again that "you can plan a pretty picnic, but you can't predict the weather." 

The rain began coming down in sheets, so we decided to move the food and twelve or so guests into the enclosed deck area behind his house to make it easier for people to move in and out without having to run through the rain.

As the evening went on, we all found a seat. and told jokes and stories about school. and the old days. It seemed to be another late summer gathering until someone walked around the corner from the front of the house. We heard a voice, and turned to see a little old lady in a dress that was soaked completely through. She walked over to where we were sitting and politely stood there waiting for us to finish our story. Needless to say, we were done with the story we were telling.

"Can I help you?" I asked the lady who was easily in her upper eighties.

"Could you call me a taxi? I really need to be getting back home."

"Sure." I said as Burf ran inside to grab a phone book. "Did your car break down?"

"No, I just walked." was her response.

Burf came back out with a phone book, and we looked up the number for the one cab company in the area. After a couple attempts, we got nothing more than a recording. So being the upstanding gentleman that I am, I offered to give the sweet little old lady a ride home.

I pulled up the car, and with a little help from Burf we helped the lady into the front seat. As I backed out of the driveway, I asked the lady where she needed to go. That's when things got a little bit strange.

"I need to go home." The lady repeated.

"Where do you live?"

"Over by the hospital."

"Wow, that's a long ways, did you walk all the way here?"

"That sure was a nice little party you boys were having."

"Yeah, it's my buddy's birthday. So what street do you live on?"

"It's just right over by the hospital."

"Ok?"

So I started driving toward the hospital which happened to be on the complete, opposite end of town. The only hospital in the area was a good six miles from where Burf's house was located. We got about half way across town and I still had not heard an actual address of where this lady was wanting to go. Furthermore, she did not want to talk about anything but the lovely party we had left. That's when I started to have suspicions about where it was that we actually needed to go. About three blocks from Burf's house was a nursing home called Sunset Manor. So I decided to ask her if that was the "hospital" she needed to go to...This was a mistake.

When I mentioned the name Sunset Manor the sweet little old lady turned into a twenty year old diva.

"If that's where I wanted you to take me, don't you think I would have told you that? Now take me to my house by the damn hospital!"

I know you're normally not supposed to give strangers rides, and for obvious reasons. I thought surely it was safe enough to give a ninety pound senior citizen a ride, but maybe this particular rule applied to everybody?


Despite her best efforts to keep me from turning around, I drove around a few blocks, took some back streets, and numerous other tactical maneuvers to confuse her on where we were going. The problem was to pull into the parking lot of the nursing home without this lady turning into Hannibal Lector. So I can up with a conversation topic that was sure to win her approval. I told her that this was indeed NOT the nursing home, but a restaurant  at which my mother was a waitress, and it just so happened that it was my mother's birthday and I had failed to tell her 'happy birthday' up to that point. Not only did the old lady think that this was a good idea, and that she should wait in the car while I went inside, but she insisted I wish her the best from her as well.

As the bipolar senior waited in my car, I went into the nursing home to see if I could confirm my suspicion that she had indeed escaped from there. The problem was that I wasn't real sure how to explain to the people working there how I had ended up with her in my car without them thinking I was some kind of reverse pedophile.

Luckily the nurse listened to my story without judgement, and was happy to find out that the lady was alright. It turned out that she had indeed escaped, and that they had been looking for her for about and hour and a half.

I returned to the party minus my passenger, and a new story to tell everybody over a cold beer on a rainy summer evening.

-For Julie

Til Death Do Us Part

There are few times in life when you have a friend that is not only loyal, beautiful and caring, but also can hold his breath for hours.

In March of 2011 I was visiting a pet shop with my co-worker Amy. We walked around browsing the puppies and kittens, small rodents, and reptiles. Nothing particular caught my eye until I rounded a corner and saw a fish so beautiful, it made me reflect on myself as a person. I immediately bought him and proudly displayed him on my desk for the world to enjoy.

Brian was not just a fish. Brian was a proud member of my cubicle. Every day I was greeted warmly by Brian as he waited for his daily ration of three Betta Bites.After eating he would retire to his leaf hammock and enjoy watching me work at my computer nearby.

Our relationship blossomed for nearly a year until last week disaster struck. As had become our routine, when his bowl became dirty I took him to the kitchen and put him in an old butter container while he awaited his quarters to be cleaned. The cleaning was fairly simple. I would pour bleach and dish soap into his water, after about an hour I would rinse the bowl thoroughly, add new water, and return him to his suite.

This particular day I was very busy so I put him in his butter bowl, added bleach to his glass bowl, and went back to my office to finish up some work before it was time to go home for the day.  Having much on my mind, I went home that evening having left Brian in the kitchen. Feeling bad about it I sent a text to Amy telling her what I had done. Amy offered to drive over and save Brian from the kitchen, and that's when things went terribly wrong.

Ten minutes after texting Amy, she sent back a reply that read, "I put him back in his bowl and on your desk".
She had no idea that I had left the bowl full of liquid death. By the time the weight of what her text message meant had hit me....it was too late.

As soon as Brian hit the water, the bleach began to kill him. Burning his gills, it became very difficult for Brian to breathe. It then attacked his scales making it hard for him to swim the surface for much needed oxygen. Although Brian remained strong as he always had, the chemicals in his bowl were too much for him to overcome. He gathered his strength, took one last lap around the bowl, and died.

I like to think that the last thing that went through his mind were thoughts of the day I brought him home from the pet store. Or perhaps the day Beau Ford brought him sea shells from his vacation to Florida.

The next day, people from offices all over the building came by for a private viewing of Brian. We said our goodbyes, and to a recording of Taps played on Amy's Iphone, we buried Brian at sea via the toilet in the reception room.

Goodbye Brian. We will miss you always.

"Terrel" and the Dirty, Used Underwear

I spent one year of my college career at the University of Kansas. Academically I've had better years, however socially, I excelled.  There is probably more than one story I could tell from these two semesters alone, but one tale stands out above the rest.

Ben Goodison and I lived in a tiny apartment on 6th street in Lawrence called Graystone Apartments, although better known by the people who lived there as "Ghettostone".  We had lots of friends in the complex.  There was John and Christi next door. John and Christi were the true incarnation of the modern hippie.  From their dreadlocks and Ty died clothes, right on to their authentic VW Van.  My sister Amber lived at the complex with her three roommates, and my (now) brother in law Brad and his roommates lived next to her. We all hung out quite a bit, and there was no shortage of partying on any given night of the week.

September 19, 2002 was my 20th birthday and I celebrated with enthusiasm. Like typical college kids we were drinking and partying until early the next morning.  When I finally got home I was plenty drunk and wanting nothing better than to go to bed and pass out for about twelve hours. I made it to bed, but about an hour into my slumber, there was a loud knock at the front door. I crawled out of bed and stumbled over to the front door and opened it, only to find there was nobody there. I said a few choice words and went to slam the door shut when I noticed a piece of paper taped to the door. I tore the paper off the door, flipped on the light and read:

"I will give you a case of beer for your dirty, used underwear. Leave them in a bag outside your door with a note that says what kind of beer you would like, and the beer is yours."

I threw the note down on the counter and went back to bed, not thinking much about it.

The next morning I found the note again and took it down to where some of my buddies were hanging out in their yard.  I asked around to see who the joker was that put the note on my door, but unsurprisingly nobody claimed it. Chalking it up as a joke, I threw the note away and didn't think much more about it.

Two weeks went by and not another word was spoken about the note. Ben and I had gone over to hang out with some friends and once again got home late. After a long evening we both went to bed and were asleep when BAM BAM BAM! This time I awoke to find a note taped to the outside of my bedroom window. Because there was no back door to our apartment, I had to walk clear around the building to retrieve the note. I ripped it off the window and took it inside to read:

"I will give you $20 and a case of beer for your dirty, used underwear. Put them in a bag and leave them outside your front door with a note saying what kind of beer you want, and the money and beer is yours!"

My curiosity had been peaked and I decided to find out once and for all who was playing these games in the middle of the night. I grabbed a pair of boxers out of my drawer, threw them in a bag, and wrote "Bud Light" on the bag.  However, this time instead of going back to bed, I waited by the window to see who would come back for the bag.

It was about 3:00a.m. and I had been waiting for about fifteen minutes, and was about to give up and go back to bed when I saw someone walking down the road under the street lamps. The person walked on by, stopped, turned around, and started creeping toward my door like they were trying to be sneaky. As they rounded the corner I knew that this was no longer a joke, and it was no longer funny.  In the street light there was a middle age black man, with filthy rags for clothes, complete with gloves with the fingers cut out. He looked like Ice T on the movie Surviving The Game.

The man ran up to the door, grabbed the bag, and ran off. About a minute later, he returned with the bag in his hand. He dropped it, taped a note on the door, and ran away. This time the note read:

"I see you came through. But, I asked for "dirty" underwear and these are clean. Take them and ........................................[use your imagination].............................and the money and beer are yours."

At this point I was not only creeped out, but very angry.  I ran in, woke up Ben and explained to him the situation. He jumped out of bed and we devised a plan.  I would put another bag outside, and wait for the guy to come back. When he came back, I would open the door, and Ben would give the guy a Louisville Slugger forehead tattoo.

We waited probably another thirty minutes, but the guy must have gotten a bad feeling, because he never came back to our door. We did see him one more time. He was running around looking in people's windows. The next day we showed the notes to everyone and told them the story.  After much debate, we finally called the police to file a report. When the officer got there he assured us that there was nothing he could do, and that the guy was probably a homeless man looking for "a way to pass the time". Well, needless to say, that made us feel better.

We told everyone we knew to keep an eye out for the guy that we code named "Terrel". Soon, everyone was talking about "Terrel" and our little incident. Even people we didn't know would ask us "Aren't you the guys that had that run in with 'Terrel'?" We luckily never had any more encounters with "Terrel", but we certainly had a story we would never forget.

Trains, Gloves and Automobiles

I used to play basketball on Sunday nights at the elementary school in Garnett, KS. You could set your watch to it, if it was 7:00p.m. on a  Sunday evening September-May, we were playing. The only downside to this routine was  that i never got to watch the Simpsons, but it my opinion it was well worth it.

One week just like any other, I was on my way to play basketball. It was my freshman year in high school and I could not drive yet, so Wells Unruh would always give me a ride to the gym. It must of been January or February because it was very cold outside and snowing a little. The gym was just across town and the drive only takes about four minutes so you wouldn't think that anything interesting could happen in that short amount of time.....wrong.

At the end of the street we lived on, there was a railroad track intersected by our road, and parallel to the Prairie Spirit Rail Trail, which is an old railroad track converted into a biking/walking trail. As we approached the railroad crossing we noticed through the darkness, and snow falling, a strange object on the Trail.  As we got closer we saw that it was a car sitting on the rail trail directly in front of the intersecting railroad track. Although we were a little confused at why there would be a car on the jogging trail, we decided to stop and take a closer look.

The first thing I noted about the car was that its tires were missing. There was nothing left, but aluminum wheels which the car was sitting on. The next thing I noticed was that the car had seemingly lost its shape. It looked as though someone had smashed every curved angle of the car flat until is resembled the shape of a box. Much like if you were to dent a round pop can on four sides until it was square. Other than the strange damage there was nothing else. No lights, no movement, nothing at all.

The scene was a little spooky. It was dark, cold, snowing, and there was this strange car smashed into a square. Wells was in favor of leaving and going back to my parent's house to call the police, but I insisted we go in for a closer look. Not the first mistake I had ever made, and definitely not the last, but a mistake nonetheless.

I approached the vehicle from the driver's side. The windows were covered in snow so I could not see inside the car. I tried the handle but the smashed door would not come open. So I decided to try the passenger side door. Although this was was bent up as well, with a little effort I was able to pry it open, and thats when I saw him.

Sitting there hunched over the steering wheel was a small Mexican man with a long gray pony tail, a mustache, and the longest goatee I have ever seen. This thing was was down to his center chest, braided, with beads intermingled throughout. I think it was safe to say that this was one of the greatest displays of facial hair I had ever seen.

"Hey man, you OK?" I said shaking the guy's arm.

"Hey, wake up!" I yelled a little louder hoping the guy wasn't dead. And that moment I found out...he wasn't!

"Arrrrhhudhgdaohsdodiosallllllllllllllllladfodidia" The guy groaned as he tried to wiggle out from under the steering wheel that had been bent over the top of him. 

"Get me the F#%K out of here now!" slurred the guy who judging by his breath, had sought much comfort from a bottle of Southern Comfort.

"Hold on" I said trying to get the guy out of the car, by pulling on his coat.

I finally got him out of the car against his best efforts. This guy was so trashed he could barely stand. He basically hung on my shoulder. After a couple of seconds he screamed

"It's too god damned hot out here!"

He then tore off his gloves and coat and threw them on the ground. I was trying to get him to hold still in case he was hurt, but he was having none of that. He kept flailing around trying to stand up but couldn't because of his alcohol induced vertigo.

Luckily about this time, the police and an ambulance had arrived, and they carried the guy off to wherever they take drunk old Mexican guys with sweet goatees, after they have wrecked their cars on the Prairie Spirit Rail Trail.

After giving a statement to the police it was determined that the guy had ran his car into the side of a moving train, which had evidently caused said damage to the vehicle.

The next day I took a walk up to the railroad tracks to see where everything had gone down in the daylight. There was big marks in the ground from the car being forced off the road sideways, and there was glass and other chucks of debris that always seems to accompany a car wreck. The car had been towed away, but laying there on the ground among the grass and car chunks was the drunk guys gloves. These weren't just old crappy gloves. These babies where wool Thinsulate gloves with the little flap thing over the fingers that can be pulled back to grab things. To put it in more simple terms, they were the most amazing gloves I had ever seen! I still wear those gloves to this day, and I still call them my drunk Mexican gloves.

The Bounty Hunters

Ashley and I were living in a 'less than awesome house', in a 'less than awesome' neighborhood in Pittsburg, Kansas. It was on the corner of Kansas and Locust streets just behind Domino's Pizza. When I say that the neighborhood was 'less than awesome' I mean to say that it was horrible. I was pretty sure that the neighbors on both sides of me were drug dealers, there was a kidnapping down the street, there was an alleged 'crack house' down the street. To top things off my house was directly across the street from where Pitt State students Waylon Boots and Stephen Hays were murdered in an arson fire (although that event didn't happen until about a month later).

One night, about one in the morning, there was a loud knock at the front door. Ashley woke me up and informed me that I needed to get up and see who it was, and find out what they wanted. With the usual groans from having been awakened in the middle of the night, I stumbled out of bed and into the living room. I chose not to turn on the light, if it was some shady character out there, I didn't want him to know anyone was up. I crept towards the window in an attempt to glimpse of whoever was at the door.

We were no stranger to shady characters showing up at the door. There was once a woman who said she would give me half a thirty pack of beer if I gave her and her husband a ride to Walmart. Another guy showed up knocking on the door at six o'clock one morning in the rain. When I didn't answer the door, he continued to the house across the street. At which point he begin to strip off his clothes. When the people answered the door, the guy began to scream and proceeded to run down the street naked.

BANG, BANG BANG! This time the knock was so hard I thought that they might break down the door.  I did not creep, but ran to the door to make sure that the dead bolt was locked. Luckily it was, because before I got there I saw the handle turning as the person on my porch tried to open the door.

"What do you want?" I yelled from my living room.

"Harold Williams, I have a warrant for your arrest!" Screamed a female voice from the porch.

"There's nobody here by that name!"

"Just come out and there won't be any trouble"

"Who are you?"

"Bounty Hunters, and we're here to serve you a warrant, Harold!"

Soon there were flashlights shining in every window of the house. There were people beating on the backdoor demanding us to open it. By this point Ashley and our six month old daughter were awake.

"I'm calling the police" I yelled through the door.

"I'm calling the police, and telling them I have a felon with a warrant that won't cooperate!" challenged the
 Bounty Hunter lady.

"knock yourself out" I thought as I dialed 911.

Things calmed down for about twenty minutes as we waited for the police to show up and sort things out. I on my side of the door, and her on her's. There continued to be lights occasionally shining in the windows but at least the banging on the doors had stopped.

By the time the cops arrived, I had time to reflect on the situation and had become extremely irritated at the entire thing. These people had obviously found bunk information, because as far as I knew there was nobody named Harold living with us. Not to mention that they decided to throw their little party at 1:00a.m.

About the time the cops got to the front steps I went out on the porch to confront these idiots who had disturbed us in the middle of the night.

"Congratulations on waking my baby up by banging on her bedroom window in the middle of the night" I barked at the lady with a badge around her neck that could've been bought in the toy aisle at Walmart.

"This time of night is the best time to catch criminals" she yelled.

"Yes I know, I've seen 'Dog the Bounty Hunter'" I said in my most sarcastic voice (a.k.a. my normal voice)

"Look buddy, these papers say-"

I cut her off. "They better say to get the hell off my porch"

The lady looked over at the officer who simply replied, "I'd be mad too."

The lady began to say something else but there was a loud whistle. At this point out of nowhere, a white ford explorer pulled up in front of the house, and no less than nine people came climbing out of the bushes, from behind the house, and off the roof,..... yes, off the roof. They all piled in and sped away, ending yet another chapter in the book of weird stuff that I have come to regard as normal in my life of random events.

Text from the unknown creeper...

One night I got a text message from an unknown number. I almost dismissed it, but thought, "What the hell?" and decided to play along for a little bit. Below is the conversation that took place. Please keep track of the time stamp, and also keep in mind that I was in bed asleep from the first message, I would wake up every so often, reply, then go back to sleep.

The conversation went something like this:

11:01 p.m. Unknown: Hey girl what up? What you dont talk to me anymore?

11:03 p.m. Brandon: Not after that whole "Seinfeld" incident...eww!

11:04 p.m. Unknown: What you mean?

11:06 p.m. Brandon: Can you just come over? I need u.

11:08 p.m. Unknown: Where you at beautiful?

11:09 p.m. Brandon: Where we first met:)

11:09 p.m. Unknown: Where was that?

11:10 p.m. Brandon: You better be jokin

11:11 p.m. Unknown: First met you at Candis right?

11:12 p.m. Brandon: Can you be here in thirty minutes?

11:13 p.m. Unknown: Just tell me where you need me to go ill be there in 10.

11:14 p.m. Unknown: Where. Ill come now.

11:16 p.m. Unknown: Leslies?

11:16 p.m. Unknown: Tell me where you are?

11:16 p.m. Brandon: Yes. Come on over. Just come on in the back door.

11:18 p.m. Unknown: ok.Everything ok?

11:21 p.m. Unknown: Are you ok?

11:21 p.m. Brandon: Yes fine. See u when u get here.

11:22 p.m. Unknown: Ok be there soon.

12:00 a.m. Unknown: Been waiting on ride walking now.

12:20 a.m. Unknown: Hey you still there i hope? Almost there.

12:33 a.m. Unknown: Im at leslies walked here? Thought you was there?

12:36 a.m. Unknown: Hey whats up?

1:12 a.m. Unknown: So what is up who is this?

Life In The Fast Lane..

While deer hunting at the family farm in Linn County, Kansas, I noticed something very strange sticking up in the road ditch out on the main road. As I approached I saw an overturned vehicle in a 10' deep ravine. It must have wrecked the night before, beings how it was out on the main road, and nobody had reported it yet. My cousin Taylor and I were a little nervous about approaching the vehicle. We were pretty sure it was too early in the morning to discover any dead bodies. Luckily the ford explorer was abandoned. After a brief search around the area to make sure that nobody had been ejected from the vehicle which had evidently rolled about three times judging by the marks in the ditch. This is all that came of the incident besides finding a full, unopened liter of Coke Classic, which I drank because I was thirsty...