This page is meant to be a repository of all the weird stuff that happens to me or to my friends.  I put it up not because I think you're dying to hear my stories, but because I think people in general like good stories.  If you have some, send them to brandolonhill@juno.com.

• My roommate John and I were driving around Durham, NC trying to find Jewpac Kippur's hours. We were terribly lost, so we stopped at a BP. The clerk was an Indian guy and we asked him how to get to such-and-such street. He walked over to the door and pointed at this guy cleaning off the parking lot with a leaf-blower. The clerk said, "You should ask that man." Then the clerk says, "That man was born in Durham, and he will die in Durham." John and I just sort of looked at each other and we left the gas station very quickly. The leaf-blower guy did give us good directions though.

• From Beau - My girlfriend's brother and a few of his university student mates were driving down the road when they came upon a car driving quite normally except with its hazard lights on. They were in the presence of the car for sometime and realized that the hazard lights were on by mistake. Their response was to asume a position up along side the car and screamed "Hazard" as loud as possible and speed away.

• From Method Mayonnaise - [Over New Years] my family went on a trip to Myrtle Beach.  During one stroll on the beach I mentioned the high volume of useless crap to be found at the white trash Mecca of the South.  I was, of course, referring to "South of the Border."  If you're not familiar with South of the Border, imagine Las Vegas except trashier, smaller, and straddling the North/South Carolina border like I straddled your mom last night.  So being true rednecks at heart we stopped there on our way back to Greensboro (even though it was quite out of the way) for an hour of fun.  We went into a store, and if you've been to one you've been to them all.   It's just miles and miles of junk.  In other words, paradise.  After a couple on minutes we noticed a section of the store in the way back, the dirty old man shop.  Yes that was actually the name.  So we made a few jokes about it and went about our business.  Then my father said, "well I'm gonna go check it out."   We started laughing and the realized he was serious. Then, much to my mother's surprise, he entered the dirty old man shop (this is even funnier if you know my dad).   After a few minutes he emerged and greeted our bewildered stares.  I asked him how it was.  "Dirty" was his reply.

• In 12th grade, I decided to forgo all the usual yearbook crap.  So I got a stamp made that said "Dear ______, I enjoyed having   ______ class with you.  Have a good summer."  A lot of people seemed hurt that I didn't want to take the trouble to hand write the exact same thing.  I still have the stamp and I'll scan in what it looks like sometime.  I'll also give it to someone who is still in school.  Just let me know if you want it.

• This one is true.  I swear to God, although you may have a hard time believing it.  When I was a Boy Scout we went on a camporee (get it?   Like jubilee but with the word camp!) and some of the Webalos came with us.   We were also sharing a camp site with another troop because we were a very small troop.  I go to bed and wake up the next morning to the sound of all these people yelling and making a racket.  I get dressed and go out, and it smells like poop.   REALLY STRONGLY.  I look behind me and there is a pair of briefs covered (covered!  Totally brown and caked on) stuck in a tree.  Plus the backdoor bandit (it turned out to be one of the Webalos) put his wipings in a pan that the other troop had to use.  So that other troop had to wash it out and eat from it.   Boiling water or no, I don't think I could do that.  So, just to show you what type of person I am, I got a long stick and caught the briefs and prepared to drop them into the camp fire.  My Scoutmaster saw me and threatened to break my neck if I took another step.  In retrospect, I kind of wish I had called his bluff.

• When I was in third or fourth grade, I used to ride my bike a lot.  There's a park 2 blocks from my house, so me and my friend were riding around down there in the parking lot.  We noticed the windows were steamed up in one car and there seemed to be two people in it doing something.  We were obnoxious little kids, so we kept riding right by it and belching and tapping on the windows and stuff.  Eventually the couple gave up and drove away.

• There is a recreation center on the grounds of the same park.  Mostly it's just indoor  basketball courts, but it also had a pool table.   I was older at this time.  Maybe 12 or 13.  One of my friends and I were playing pool, but basically we were just fencing with the cues.  So the boss (?) came in and told us to knock it off.  I had maybe forty cents in nickels and dimes and pennies in my pocket and pulled it out so it lay in the palm of my hand and then stuck out my hand as if to shake his and said, "I'm sure we can come to an understanding."   He glared at me and then I said, "I've been thrown out of better places than this."  So he got really mad and threw us out.

• Enforger, MC Emphysema, and I were standing outside of Cat's Cradle in Chapel Hill.  A guy in scruffy clothes came up to us and said in a very loud voice, "Can I have a dollar and twenty cents to buy a pound of bologna in the name of God?!"  We didn't know whether he was hungry us or wanted to make a sacrifice.  We said we didn't have any money.

• In 11th grade, I was really crazy about a girl in my physics class.  We had stayed after school for some activity or something, and we were walking back to the parking lot.  It was a cool February day.  The sun was effulgent; the sky was a flawless blue; her chestnut hair was coruscating in the light.   As we walked, she asked me what I was doing that weekend.  Of course, this would have been the perfect segue into asking for the pleasure of her company at a movie or where ever people go for romantic things.  But instead, my brain imploded and I said, "Do you know what the gas mileage on my car is?"  Yeah.  Your guess is as good as mine on what happened there.  (12-14 miles per gallon for the record).

• I don't remember much about 2nd grade, but one day while we were all standing in line for PE or lunch this girl started pestering a guy in my class.  So the guy just went straight for the jugular.  He gagged himself and vomited on the girl.  And I was in awe.  That kid, whoever he is, is one of my personal heroes.

• We have a tunnel here at NC State where anyone can paint whatever they want on the walls.  Mostly it's just advertisements for organizations, but we do have some good graf writers in the area.  I was in the tunnel last fall when a guy walked up to me wearing a cardboard box that came down to his waist (and pinned his arms to his sides) and had little eye-holes.  A friend I was with asked what was the deal with the box.  The guy replied, "It's to contain the anger I feel inside."   Before we could ask anymore questions, someone yelled out, "Hey Box-Boy!   FUCK YOU!"  Our friend in the corrugated costume then excused himself stating that "I need to go take care of this" and walked off towards the shout.

• When I was about six or seven, my father told me to come outside with him.  I walked out, and noticed he had a gas can by his side.  He poured a modest size puddle of fuel in the driveway and then threw a match on it.  The flames were as high as my head and the air everywhere was warping due to the heat.  Dad said, "Don't play with fire."

• This is a story Enforger told me.  Enforger's friend was driving home from school one day when he took a turn to sharply and caught a bit a school bus.  No one was hurt because everyone was driving at safe speeds, but still hitting a bus is pretty serious.  So Enforger's friend got out and sat on the curb thinking about how much trouble he was in.  Just then he noticed a kid in a helmet leaning out the window shouting "YOU HIT THE BUS!  YOU HIT THE BUS!" while pounding his head into the window frame.  Enforger's friend had hit the short bus.

• My parents lived on Guam for a few years while my father was in the Navy.  As a result, we have a machete in the garage that he used while on the island.   In 8th grade (when all young boys are in love with things that are sharp or things that burn), I used to "play" with it some.  I'd hack up our old jack-o-lantern or chop at some bushes just to be destructive I suppose.  Yet, I was still unsatisfied with the machete, so I decided to sharpen it.  I put it in the vice and used a file to sharpen the edge.  Then, of course, I needed to test it, but I really didn't know how to test blades for sharpness back then.  So I went inside and got a carrot of all things.  I held the machete edge up in my left hand while I swung the carrot downward with my right.  For the first times, little chunks of carrots flew off and it was neat.  Then I slammed my thumb at full force on the edge.  It cut straight through the side to the fingernail.  Not a very sizable cut, but quite deep.   I was bleeding all over the place and didn't want to go inside for fear of punishment, so I applied direct pressure and took a stroll around the block while blood gushed down my hand.  In retrospect, I have no clue why I didn't just stay in the yard rather than taking a constitutional while hemorrhaging.