1996 Camaro Z28 CRM
'03 Vette Ls1 swap in progress, Tubular K-Member, Poly bushings, more parts on its way... 1995 Pontiac Trans Am Dark Silver/Black
LT1, LT's, ORY, Magnaflow Catback, poly bushings, lowered, KYB's, The New DD
Summer time is our slow season. Most people would much rather be outside doing summery things than sitting inside watching TV. Which is nice for us, we can take some time off and do summery things too. It's also great because milk rots and spoils in the hot summer sun, and can STINK up a van when left in there over the weekend.
Knowing full well that Andy was going to try and get revenge for the whole coleslaw to the face thing, I decided I needed to be proactive about the situation. The nice thing about owning the vans was I had keys to his van but he didn't have keys to mine. Thursday night I got back to the shop late, and he had already taken off. He asked if he could have a long weekend to go up north to his cottage with his girlfriend, so the timing was ideal. I went in our mini fridge and took out 2 half full bottles of chocolate milk that were about to expire. Josh and I went out to Andy's van, and proceeded to remove the front seats. Our plan was pure genius.
Once the seats were out, we pulled the seat skins off. I had a box of thumb tacks from my desk, and we began to put them down in the foam, pointy side up. Once all the tacks were in place, we put the seat skins back on, and put the seats back in the van. It was perfect, you couldn't see a thing but if you pushed down hard enough you got a nasty poke. I removed the caps off the old milk, and placed the jugs under the seat. I used a zip tie through the handle to hold the milk upright, I didn't want the stuff spilling out.
That weekend was one of the hottest weekends we had all summer. For 3 days the milk sat in the van, fermenting in the heat. I checked it periodically, and by sunday afternoon you could almost smell it from the outside. It was so gross, so nasty, so... evil. I called Josh that night to tell him to come in a half hour early the next morning, I wanted to be far away when Andy and Kenny discovered the nasty skankness that awaited them. I tried to be nice, and gave Andy a short route that day.
The following morning went like clockwork. Josh showed up right went we planned, and we hightailed it out of there. After a little while my phone rang. It was Andy. "YOU DIRTY MOTHER #%$^& C$^^#$ SUCKING SON OF A B^#$^ I F%$^ING HATE YOU!!" I laughed, and asked where he was at. He was still at the shop trying to get the stankiness out of the van. Kenny had ran to the drug store to buy some febreeze and some pine trees and then they would be off. Apparently he had not discovered the tacks yet. 20 minutes later I got another, much angrier phone call. For fear of getting this thread locked I will not repeat what was said, but Andy made it clear that we were going to pay dearly for this.
Josh and I arrived at our job, which was a pretty big one. We spent most of the day there, mounting speakers, fishing wires, programming remotes, and so on. Andy called a few times to see how things were going, He informed me one of his customers had to reschedule, and that he was going to be done early. He was very interested in what time we were going to be done, which should have tipped me off, but I was trying to concentrate on getting done. 6 hours later Josh and I finished, packed up our tools, took care of paperwork, and went outside.
We walked right into it. I was standing at the back of the van loading the tool boxes up, and Josh was messing with the ladder rack trying to get it to lock. What happened next can only be described as a massacre. Out of nowhere I felt this sharp impacting pain on my lower legs. It hurt, bad. I looked down to see what looked like blood running down my leg. As I bent down something whizzed by where my head was, and smacked into the van. It was a paint. Josh started screaming, and Kenny and Andy popped out of the bushes across the street, yelling like a couple of Indians. Guns blazing, they proceeded to pelt us with paintballs.
For those of you who have never had the pleasure of getting hit with a paintball, it hurts. On bare skin, like our uncovered legs were as we were wearing shorts that day, it hurts worse. I dove into the back of the van, but not before taking several direct hits to the arms, neck, and chest. Josh didn't fare much better, he took one to the side of the face. Andy and Kenny howled with laughter as they emptied their hoppers onto our van. Those dirty bastards had gone on the computer to see where my last customer was, and came out to lie in wait.
Inside the van, we were a mess. Badly bruised and covered in paint, we were pissed. But we weren't going to go down like that. Not without a fight. Not here, not now, not anytime.
To be continued...
Bedtime
__________________ 99 C5 - 383 LS6 stroker, D&D T56, 4.10's, and every other bolt-on under the sun.
your fuckin killin me.....sounds like the broad WANTED to show you her toy collection with hopes of getting some of the real thing.....L M A OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
your fuckin killin me.....sounds like the broad WANTED to show you her toy collection with hopes of getting some of the real thing.....L M A OOOOOOOOOOOOOO
True...and the real question is...did mommy want to give you some mommy juice?
Dude, seriously, you should write a book. This is hucking filarious.
To be honest, I could care less if these are real or made up, it's the funniest thing i've ever read. (Not saying that I don't believe you) because I do.
Last edited by Mopar 440 RT; 05-17-2007 at 10:26 PM..
sorry 
*Walking out door...
