re: GOAT Story On Page Three Of This Thread

Hmm.

Greco?

Correct, that's my last name.

My older brother was in L-1, but I'm not corps material, so I'm afraid the line stopped there.

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Correct, that's my last name.

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Well, I wasn't gonna out that part. My more sensitive old lady did it. I am innocent!

I'm still not sure who your dad is, as I haven't kept up with the older two and never met the youngest. The oldest two were remarkable athletes. They were probably the fastest white boys I've ever known. I'm talking Ryan Swope-fast. The oldest was a big reason F-1 won the university championship in flag football my sophomore year. They could both fly.

Door bombs aren't really much of a clue, as that happened A LOT. I really thought at first you were an Urban from Corpus Christi. Middle kid in that trio was a classmate and truly an evil genius at pranks.

I do have a very good and disgusting story about retaliating against the oldest, but I'm not sure the statute of limitations has run out on that yet. So I'll save it for another day. If you tell him this much, he'll immediately know what I'm talking about. It was monumental and exceptionally disgusting. But he deserved it.

No such person in my family exists, I'm afraid

I'm a software engineer.

Your father and the "intimidating as frick" uncle were really, really fast. We had good QBs (SafetySam was one passing to your dad) but really, and this isn't meant as a slam against the QBs, it didn't matter. They were both so damn fast they could catch up to any ball or juke any defender. They were both very fun to watch.

Since it wasn't your dad, I'll confess. Your uncle was '78, SafetySam and I were '79. Our freshman year was hellacious, but by the end of the year most of us were in good enough shape that we had a "bring it on" attitude. The next year, we thought we had arrived. No more hundreds of pushups in the morning or pissheads in our face all day long. We thought. Your uncle and his roommate, though, decided we weren't done. And they seemed to enjoy being assholes about their power over us. After a few months our class had had enough, got together and chose the two Cleburne ne'er-do-wells to fix the problem. DP (I call him DP because that was his name) and I would blow up a peanut butter bomb inside their room in the middle of the night. (A blob of peanut butter with several firecrackers in the middle. The result is a fine mist of peanut butter covering the entire room.) As juniors, it was not yet your uncle's privilege to lock his door, so we knew we had access. So as the hour is approaching, DP bursts into SafetySam's and my room with a look of utter joy on his diabolical face and says, "Not a peanut butter bomb. A shite BOMB!" My best friend from all the way back and the one thing I remember best about him is that look on his face. There was no denying the brilliance of his plan, so at the appointed hour he took a huge dump on a sheet of cardboard, we inserted firecrackers, and the rest is history. Clothes, books, bedding, everything covered in DP's shite.

And the moral of the story is that although we were never caught, your uncle and his roommate never, ever fricked with us again. THE END.

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That is most certainly a new one. I'm bringing that up over beers this christmas, and I can't wait. Thank you so much for sharing

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You're quite welcome. One of us is dead, but I'll happily accept full responsibility. Like I said, he deserved it.

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I blame my mom.

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Yeah, what's her problem?

I don't know about the youngest but I'm not kidding about your dad and oldest uncle. Those guys could absolutely fly. I've always thought they both should have at least tried out for the A&M football team as walk-ons. They were both probably undersized, but damn could they run!

I brought the poop bomb story up to my pops, he responded with something about the 5th amendment, ATF, and statute of limitations

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Since it wasn't your dad, I'll confess. Your uncle was '78, SafetySam and I were '79. Our freshman year was hellacious, but by the end of the year most of us were in good enough shape that we had a "bring it on" attitude. The next year, we thought we had arrived. No more hundreds of pushups in the morning or pissheads in our face all day long. We thought. Your uncle and his roommate, though, decided we weren't done. And they seemed to enjoy being assholes about their power over us. After a few months our class had had enough, got together and chose the two Cleburne ne'er-do-wells to fix the problem. DP (I call him DP because that was his name) and I would blow up a peanut butter bomb inside their room in the middle of the night. (A blob of peanut butter with several firecrackers in the middle. The result is a fine mist of peanut butter covering the entire room.) As juniors, it was not yet your uncle's privilege to lock his door, so we knew we had access. So as the hour is approaching, DP bursts into SafetySam's and my room with a look of utter joy on his diabolical face and says, "Not a peanut butter bomb. A shite BOMB!" My best friend from all the way back and the one thing I remember best about him is that look on his face. There was no denying the brilliance of his plan, so at the appointed hour he took a huge dump on a sheet of cardboard, we inserted firecrackers, and the rest is history. Clothes, books, bedding, everything covered in DP's shi

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Now THAT is a funny story.