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Posted on 4/2/17 at 11:59 am to Scruffy
The Phil Collins I Can Feel It Coming In The Air Tonight deal was one I can remember.
Phil supposedly wrote this song after watching another man watch someone drown. He was too drunk/stoned to help himself. The other man apparently could have done something to save the drowning person, but didn’t.
One version of this story even has Phil doing detective work to find the identity of the bystander, inviting him to a concert for free (without revealing why), and then humiliating him in front of a huge crowd. The guy’s wife divorces him, he loses his job, etc. (1994)
Phil supposedly wrote this song after watching another man watch someone drown. He was too drunk/stoned to help himself. The other man apparently could have done something to save the drowning person, but didn’t.
One version of this story even has Phil doing detective work to find the identity of the bystander, inviting him to a concert for free (without revealing why), and then humiliating him in front of a huge crowd. The guy’s wife divorces him, he loses his job, etc. (1994)
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:11 pm to Scruffy
Satanists would break into Catholic churches on Halloween and steal the eucharist for black masses that they would have at cemeteries
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:18 pm to Salmon
Harrells Ferry Road and The Glass Mansion off Highland Road were devil worshiping locations.
This post was edited on 4/2/17 at 5:04 pm
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:21 pm to Tiger Ugly
quote:
Phil supposedly wrote this song after watching another man watch someone drown. He was too drunk/stoned to help himself. The other man apparently could have done something to save the drowning person, but didn’t.
Haha I remember that too. But as a divorced older dude, I think it's really just a metaphor about a dude who fricked his wife and later on possibly needed his assistance/favor in music industry. He be like "hell nah"
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:32 pm to mikelbr
quote:
Harrells Ferry Road and The Glass Mansion of Highland Road were devil worshiping locations.
Growing up in the Harrell's Ferry area...the devil worshiper urban legends were definitely floating around in the late 70's-early 80's era. At the end of Harrell's Ferry road past White Oak Landing.
This post was edited on 4/2/17 at 10:09 pm
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:35 pm to Carnac
quote:
I saw a mountain lion in Choctaw county Alabama while bow hunting in a small grass patch.
See guys, they can't help themselves. Guess lying about the size of that buck that was *just out of range* isn't good enough
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:37 pm to mikelbr
quote:
Haha I remember that too. But as a divorced older dude, I think it's really just a metaphor about a dude who fricked his wife and later on possibly needed his assistance/favor in music industry. He be like "hell nah"
He addressed this in his autobiography. He basically said the crazy rumors were untrue, it was essentially like you say, a metaphor about someone having problems.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 12:50 pm to Scruffy
The fat woman who flushed the comode while she was sitting on it and her fat had sealed off the lid and the suction created by the water draining out sucked all of her intestines out of her bung hole.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:01 pm to Carnac
quote:
I saw a mountain lion in Choctaw county Alabama
quote:
I saw a mountain lion in Choctaw county Alabama
No, you didn't
quote:
I carried them to the patch the next day and we found the tracks in a sand bed where he walked out of the patch
No, you didn't
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:27 pm to Scruffy
Drug dealers putting LSD in Halloween candy to get you "hooked on drugs"
This post was edited on 4/2/17 at 1:28 pm
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:28 pm to CrimsonTideMD
And yellow 5 shrinking your weiner
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:28 pm to CrimsonTideMD
quote:no , that ones true
And yellow 5 shrinking your weiner
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:40 pm to Codythetiger
quote:More amazing is that he only does it on the OT. Posts often on the Poliboard and never does it there. Impressive.
How do you always manage to refer to yourself in 3rd person?
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:42 pm to Scruffy
There is a Haunted house downtown that is five stories. If you make it through you get your money back. Its really scary and people have died there. I think this was spread everywhere.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:46 pm to Napoleon
Everyone had a friend that had a mom's cousin deliver the twin boys, Lemonjello and Orangejello.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:46 pm to mikelbr
quote:This.
Harrells Ferry Road
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:50 pm to Napoleon
Ha I remember that haunted house one.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 1:50 pm to Scruffy
It wasn't the urban legends that scared me
It was the REAL monsters
Not the movie monsters mind you, but the personal ones. The ones that lurked in your woods or haunted your neighborhoods.
The things that bumped ever so palpably in your nights?
Here's mine.
We called him Mr. Hungry. In the very back of the woods where on my grandparents property there was a thicket. Deep and dark and overgrown, with heavy woods all around, too thick to venture in to. Always dark, so clustered and shaded that you couldn't see far into it at much at all.
That was where Mr. Hungry lived.
We'd bring all the carcasses there. Rabbits, squirrels, fish, anything that bled. It was always the kids job to bring the entrails there, a long walk through a wooded corridor, back to the thicket...the thicket where Mr. Hungry dwelt, always watching, and always, always hungry.
That trek, eerily quiet when you reached it, it seemed. Like the birds would quit chirping there, and all you would hear is the wind...the wind, and the faintest whisper of utter silence, and that feeling of hidden eyes crawling over your skin.
So many times we'd bring the bloodstained bucket of steaming guts and skin and fur and bones and heads.
You'd walk slow there, eyes darting to and fro, watching for movement in the woods. And sometimes, sometimes you'd swear you'd see catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye, some darting shadow moving swift just outside of your field of vision, and always when you'd turn towards it...nothing. Nothing but the feeling that you were not alone.
It was always better to feed Mr. Hungry with someone else. A sibling, a friend, a cousin. It made the walk easier, and the mad dash for home right after you threw the foul mix into the thicket a breathless race, almost fun.
But sometimes, you had to go alone. Alone to that place where there were never any bones or skulls left from previous visits..And you would swear, when the wind died, that you could hear the faintest whisper of heavy breath. Heavy, hot, and always so very, very, hungry.
But we made damn sure that there was something to bring when we visited, because if he didn't get fed...well, he might start looking. And maybe he'd leave that foul place where the brambles grew close as kin and ground was always wet, and if he did, he might be hungry for something...fresher.
It was the REAL monsters
Not the movie monsters mind you, but the personal ones. The ones that lurked in your woods or haunted your neighborhoods.
The things that bumped ever so palpably in your nights?
Here's mine.
We called him Mr. Hungry. In the very back of the woods where on my grandparents property there was a thicket. Deep and dark and overgrown, with heavy woods all around, too thick to venture in to. Always dark, so clustered and shaded that you couldn't see far into it at much at all.
That was where Mr. Hungry lived.
We'd bring all the carcasses there. Rabbits, squirrels, fish, anything that bled. It was always the kids job to bring the entrails there, a long walk through a wooded corridor, back to the thicket...the thicket where Mr. Hungry dwelt, always watching, and always, always hungry.
That trek, eerily quiet when you reached it, it seemed. Like the birds would quit chirping there, and all you would hear is the wind...the wind, and the faintest whisper of utter silence, and that feeling of hidden eyes crawling over your skin.
So many times we'd bring the bloodstained bucket of steaming guts and skin and fur and bones and heads.
You'd walk slow there, eyes darting to and fro, watching for movement in the woods. And sometimes, sometimes you'd swear you'd see catch a glimpse out of the corner of your eye, some darting shadow moving swift just outside of your field of vision, and always when you'd turn towards it...nothing. Nothing but the feeling that you were not alone.
It was always better to feed Mr. Hungry with someone else. A sibling, a friend, a cousin. It made the walk easier, and the mad dash for home right after you threw the foul mix into the thicket a breathless race, almost fun.
But sometimes, you had to go alone. Alone to that place where there were never any bones or skulls left from previous visits..And you would swear, when the wind died, that you could hear the faintest whisper of heavy breath. Heavy, hot, and always so very, very, hungry.
But we made damn sure that there was something to bring when we visited, because if he didn't get fed...well, he might start looking. And maybe he'd leave that foul place where the brambles grew close as kin and ground was always wet, and if he did, he might be hungry for something...fresher.
Posted on 4/2/17 at 2:46 pm to Eightballjacket
quote:
Mikey from the Life cereal commercials died from eating Pop Rocks.
That was the first one I thought of.
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