re: Tell us something that happened to you that is next to impossible.

When we went through Mom's stuff after she died, I found a beat up pocketknife with a name crudely carved into it. I'm assuming it is a knife my Mom took up when she was teaching.

I did some research and found the owner, who was dead. So, I called his nearest relative and was told, in nicer terms, that they didn't give a shite.

I was in Juarez a few years ago to meet friends at the Kentucky Bar...at 1 PM. My cell phone died while I was milling around town and I didn't know the time. There was an old man with a donkey painted like Zebra (he sold pictures to tourists next to the donkey - that was the donkeys day job, this being a family oriented website I won't mention what the donkey did for a living at night but some of you have probably seen similar shows in border towns). The old man was sitting on his arse taking a siesta. I asked him for the time and he reached up and lifted that donkey's balls and said "its half past 12". I was amazed. I walked off thinking about it and finally had to ask again. Again, he reached up, lifted that donkey's balls and said "Its 10 to one". I was dumfounded. I asked him "How do you tell time by lifting that donkey's balls"? He reached up and lifted them again and with his other hand pointed between the donkey's legs and said "see that clock on the wall over there......"

I’m married a hot chick way out of my league

Pickwick Lake. Family vacation. Fishing with my two boys. Not a lot of action. Mostly sight seeing. Visit Shiloh, etc.
Last full day at our condo there is a mayfly swarming spawn. We are fishing empty boat slips in the public dock. Using some artificial lures with a little success.

My oldest boy, about eight, grabs a handful of mayflies out of a spider web and hurls it into the water of an open slip. It looks like piranhas.

He says heck with lures. He cuts his rapala off his line with his nail clipper puts on the tiniest hook he can find, adds a tiny lead sinker about a foot above his hook and somehow gets a mayfly on his hook and heads back to the piranha pit.

I’ve decided he’s got a better idea and I’m saying to him I’m right behind you buddy, and begin to duplicate his makeshift rig.

Before I can tie on a small hook I hear Dad, Dad, DadDadDad! Urgent calls for help. I look up and he’s bent over being led around the open slip by something he’s caught.

I rush over to keep him from being pulled in, grab the line and pull up a very nice small mouth. As I lift it out the water to swing it to the deck, it drops off the line, the hook having come undone. My son had, in his haste and inexperience, tied a poor knot. I’m telling him sorry, these things happen, consoling him, but he’s 30 feet away already at his tackle box reloading. I go back to mine to finish rerigging mine.

I haven’t gotten much more done than previously, and I hear Dad!Dad!Daddaddad!
Same, same as before he’s dancing around the deck, line taut, with a decent fish on the line. Again I rush over to help. Grab the line, pull up the fish, this time securing him under his jaw, and get him over the deck.

When I open his mouth more to extract the hook and line, we all see, almost next to the hook I’m trying to remove, a single, shiny, brand new hook of identical size.

He’d caught the same small mouth twice.

When I was 14 years old, by a little over a couple of weeks, I drove myself 45 miles to my very first dove shoot. Pay shoot on opening day...big event, lots of people there. I have my one and only shotgun, a Mossberg pump gun with a 28 inch barrel. I had never shot a dove in my life. I walked to my assigned spot on the field. There was someone standing along a fence line about every 40 yards or so...all grown, adult men, fully decked out in camo while I am wearing jeans and a tee shirt that was not camo. I felt out of place to say the least. Season started at noon and it sounded like a war zone. Birds everywhere but none near me. About 10 people from me a dove entered the field and everyone along that fence row to my right unloaded on it...3 shots each for the most part. It kept coming. Never wavered. I had never shot a dove in my life and I am watching these grown men unload on that crossing shot without cutting a feather. The guy next to me shoots a couple of times and misses and its my turn. I shoulder my gun, squeeze the trigger.....and that bird folds up deader than a door nail....and starts falling toward me. It seemed like it took about half an hour but it was only a second if that....that damned bird fell from the sky and I caught it, one handed, without moving an inch....just stood there and reached up and plucked that bird out of the air. I looked to my left and right and it was obvious the men on either side of me were duly impressed....one of them said "nice shot"....another said "thats the way to do it, don't even have to walk out and pick it up". I could barely breath...I was shaking like a leaf. As soon as I recovered I picked up my shite and walked to the far side of that field, far enough away from that spot as possible. I did not cut a feather the rest of the day....3 boxes of shells, one bird LOL. Despite my youth and lack of experience I knew full well that, having impressed that group of grown men, there was no chance that I would do anything other than prove to them I had no idea what I was doing....I also knew, intuitively, that the best plan was to leave them with the impression that I was dead eye Pete and caught all of the dove I shot.....

my first kiss in middle school was with a girl who had recently moved from Canada to Houston

We shared the last name and people said we looked alike. Common enough last name and we are both average honkies with brown hair. We "dated" for a few weeks.

In casual conversation, I found out her dad wasn't around cause he worked the Canadian oilfield and she had an older brother who had the same birthday as my older brother and the same name.

she wasn't my sister and confirmed her dad was different than mine but it was a little too roll tide for the relationship to last.

During the peak of the Covid pandemic, I had the last time slot of 5:15pm to get my 2nd round Covid shot at Ochsner Hospital at Oneal/ I-12. They told me that the doors lock 5:20 and not to be late.

As luck would have it, i had to work late and left my office on Choctaw at 5:05. I called to notify them I was running late and was reminded that at 5:20 the doors lock. I broke many traffic laws & speed limits along the way.

Now it's 5:16pm, I'm 3 red lights away and can see Ochsner (next to I-12) off in the distance. I also see blue lights from a Sheriff deputy coming up behind me. I'm first at the red light. The Sheriff Deputy pulls up to my driver's side, and i see his passenger side window is also rolling down.

All I can think of is that I'm going to jail.

I'm not sure what he saw, but i know he is going to be pissed off. My only chance is to be the first to speak and I roll down my window.

He leans over, looking through his passenger window and as we make eye contact, I immediately tap my left arm with my fight hand, point to Ochsner and say, "I'm trying to get to Ochsner (I think this is all he heard) for my Covid shot"

He replies: FOLLOW ME!

The officer, with his blue lights already running, turns on his siren and gives me a police escort through the 3 red lights and at the entrance of Ochsner, pulls his police car to block traffic in both directions. As I made the left hand turn, I gave him a thank you wave and looked back in the mirror as he gets back into his vehicle and drives away.

This outcome has Divine intervention written all over it.

Was playing golf a few summers ago when a guy in my group topped his drive very very hard. There were a group of ducks hanging out about 20 yards in front of us by the women's tee. Before his ball hit the ground, it hit not one but hit TWO ducks, one right after the other. It had so much top spin that it smoked the first in the head then skipped about 10 feet and hit the 2nd in the neck. Killed the first on impact and paralyzed the 2nd one. The silence in our group was incredible

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I have driven almost 1,000,000 miles in 30 years and have hit two deer. I hit both of those deer within an eighth of a mile of each other. Years apart.

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Pretty much same here - I was driving from St.Louis to Leesville LA back in early '60s. I had a 1960 Ford Galaxy 500 and they had little round circles of yellow colored light about 3 inches above the fenders just behind the headlights.

While coming thru some small town in Arkansas, an owl attacked the light on the right and ended up tumbling on the side of the street. Later that night in another small town closer to the LA border, another owl attacked the left hand light. Don't think it was the same owl cause there were some miles of highway speed in between.

THEN - several years later, I had moved to NASA near Houston and an owl hit one of those lights again in our subdivision.

Got one more owl story but it would break the internet.