May 2008

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When I was in middle school and living in Oregon, we would often go to the river for a picnic. One visit, after hearing a story about crawdads my Granddad used to catch in the South, I decided that I, too, would catch a crawdad. Everyone told me there were no crawdads in the river, but I went ahead anyway.

I stepped in the river, looked down and THERE WAS A CRAWDAD. "I found one! Now if I only I had a chicken bone" (I had heard they like chicken bones). Lo, and behold, a chicken leg went floating by, within reach of me. I grabbed it, put it into the water where the crawdad immediately grabbed it and held on while I lifted it up into a bucket.

I went back with my catch to show everyone. They couldn't believe I had caught a crawdad within 45 seconds of walking down the river and am still held in awe by my younger cousins.




I have a few best stories. Here's one.

In college, our senior E&M lab instructor was having trouble opening an equipment tin the size of a mayonnaise jar. Despite the man's neck-vein-bulging attempts to open the tin, the lid was well and truly stuck. 6'+, 200+ lb Body Builder #1 strides up and attempts to open the tin: no love. He returns to his seat defeated. 6'+, 200+ lb Body Builder #2 strides up and attempts to open the tin; he too returns to his seat defeated. The score so far ... tin: 3; men: 0. At the time, I was playing piano (Steinway grand with heavy action) 2-4 hrs every day and classical guitar 2 hrs every day, so I figured, "What have I got to lose?" I stepped quietly up to the front of the room, took the tin in my hands, and thought, "This will be the hardest thing I have ever tried to do." As I was thinking that thought, the veins on the backs of my hands bulged; my fingers tightened; and the lid, which really was still thoroughly stuck, slowly began to twist until ... POP! The lid came off with a recoil that sent me two steps backward. I handed the now-opened tin back to the instructor (who was too much in shock even to gape at me) and took my seat in silence. Not a word was spoken.

Did I mention that I am now (as I was then) female, 5'0", and barely 100 lb soaking wet?


who cares


Ann Patrick from Pac Bell days says hello. Reading this reminded me of Stacey's which, reminded me of Claude and Dominique’s, which reminded me of her Kir Royal and his Pheasant, which made me smile.


My best story... was with my sister, which is odd, since we never really got along. She's a lot older than me, and when I was 16, I ended up getting shipped off for my midterm break to go and help her set up horse-trails on this Kwa-Zulu Natal Game Farm in SA.

Turns out not a whole lot of tourists are keen on getting on a skittish animal with a permanent "prey" mentality, when there are four of the big 5 present, except the one day, when we were fortunate enough to have an American guy decide to come out on a ride. His family politely said, "Hell, no", and so the three of us were off.

Surprisingly, he could ride *really* well, and since the horses were kind of green, he really impressed us. We eventually get this wave over the radio to say that the two male Cheetah they'd released two weeks before had finally made a kill, and everyone was thrilled... We also happened to be about 200 metres away from one of them at the time, without realising it, but sauntered over with the horses anyway, as a fat and well-fed cheetah rarely bothers itself with you after a kill.

We got really close to him, and all was going well, our guest said he was having the experience of a lifetime, I could almost see the word "promotion" in my sister's eyes... and then the wind changed. My horse was certainly not thrilled at the scent, and started backing off at a mean speed, which immediately piqued the cheetah's interest in chasing something.

My sister, recognizing the imminent embarrassment of explaining to her boss that his source of income has just been devoured, hopped off her horse, figuring that the Cheetah, being raised by people, would recognise her shape and take off. Exactly the opposite happened. He took one look at my sister (a whopping 5ft3in) and decided he could DEFINITELY take this one out with less effort than the horse.

He got within about two metres of her, hissing and being really aggressive, before she went to kick him and got her foot stuck in a fallen tree branch. Not one to miss an opportunity, she picked up the tree branch and proceeded to beat this massive male cheetah over the head with the tree branch until he finally backed off.

The guest was surprisingly calm through all of this, calmly lit a cigarette, and said he'd have to buy us a new saddle, as his ass had bitten a hole in that one... It was right about then we realised that a whole game vehicle full of tourists had been sitting on the next rise, watching the whole thing (killing themselves laughing, no less).

I've never been so proud in my life :)


This story illustrates PRECISELY the greatest benefit of fame.

Frank Goodman, Sr.


The current series of Dilbert is a masterpiece of lateral thinking. I do it all the time but never publish a thing about it. A friend of mine, Tom Scott (MD), a Brit, explained lateral thinking to me. I recognized immediately without recourse to lateral thinking that it is what I do.

In the course of reflection upon any matter at hand, there are many glimmers of lateral images that come to mind. Some are downright ridiculous. Others make some sense, but not much. The gems of lateral thinking that carry the impact of a punch line in a joke are the ones you deal with in Dilbert. Occasionally the punch is missed because of some inherent defect in my logic or sensitivity. I used to blame others if they did not understand my humor, but now I blame myself if I don't understand yours. I hope you never blame yourself if I or anyone else does not get the message.

I deal with the humor in scripture in the same way. God certainly had a sense of humor when He created me. Not that I am funny all the time, but I am weird most of the time. I laugh at real humor.

jerry w.

You broke your business writing rules from a few days ago.

However, it's a nice story told well, bravo.

More, please.

Ascii King

You rock.

My almost best story was the time I almost met Scott Adams in an arcade. It was in Barrie, Ontario while he was on honeymoon. I saw him and his two new kids wandering around playing games. He knew I spotted him and recognized him and he smiled at me knowingly. I smiled back, but didn't want to interrupt his vacation so I left him alone.

It wasn't until the next day that I found out he was on honeymoon on a cruise ship and not in Barrie at all. Sigh.


I greatly enjoyed Kaur Kender's story.

a southern hussy

I'm not one to comment in 'celebrity' blogs (although I do like yours a great deal) but I had to comment on all the folks who are 'unimpressed' that your best story doesn't involve some huge, dramatic, life-changing event.

The rest of us are unimpressed that your life is so serious and HARD CORE that neat anecdotes don't amuse you. So what? Do you feel better now that you've put him in his place or something? Good grief, you all look like miserable fools posting such nonsense. Actually, you all look like miserable, JEALOUS fools. Don't hate the man because he's made a success out of the funny stuff in his head.

Nice story, recycled or no. Thanks for sharing :)


This doesn't involve anyone famous but is a favorite story in my family. When I was 7 years old we were camping at Lake Tahoe. It was a crisp fall weekend. My brothers and I went for a walk on a trail. This trail crossed a fast moving mountain stream and you had to walk across on the rocks. As I was crossing my foot slipped off the rock and my shoe fell off. The fast moving water swept my shoe down the stream. We looked for it but could not find it. When my dad arrived to help us look he said give me your other shoe. He asked where the first one fell off and dropped the second shoe in the river and said follow it. We followed it for about 10 seconds and then lost it. I now had no shoes. This was in the mid seventies on Labor day weekend. There was nowhere to purchase shoes and that was the only pair I had with me. I spent the rest of the weekend barefoot. Over 30 years later we still tease my dad about it. It has taken on such a life that now when anyone does anything stupid that we repeatedly remind them of we call it their shoe in the river story.


I joined the Navy back in 1982 for a 6 year hitch with electronics and sub duty. After two years of school, I got stationed on board a sub that deployed for a 7 month cruise around the world right after I got on board. During mid-cruise, we stopped at Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean - half way around the world. During one day off duty, I went on to the island and found a local bar for a couple drinks. Within 5 minutes, a marine came in the bar and sat down two seats away from me. He looked at me, I looked at him, and after we both did a double take, we simultaneously realized who the other was - he and I where friends that lived around the corner from each other and went to high school together. The world never seemed quite so large after that.

minister for crawling around under desks plugging things back in

A lot of people’s favourite stories on here have been co-incidences, and I guess mine is as well. I was on holiday in the South of Spain with my girlfriend a couple of years ago. I guess we were both 22 at the time.
We’d saved up the remainder of our holiday cash to go to the theme park on our last night, but it was closed, so we decided to treat ourselves to a nice meal.
We’d already eaten at just about everywhere else in the little town, so we pitched up at the most expensive restaurant there, on a Friday night at half past nine – prime time for the Spanish.
I’m negotiating with the maitre’d, and a middle aged Women is eyeing me up from the other side of the room. We’re told to wait for forty minutes or so for a table to become free.
Just as we sit down the woman comes over and addresses me by my full name. No-one ever does that, least of all perfect strangers in restaurants in small Spanish towns.
“Come and sit with us, we’ve got a four person table for the two of us. It’ll be good to catch up.”
The look of complete confusion on my face registers with her. “Oh, sorry. I just knew it was you. I was friends with your parents about twenty years ago. I was at your christening. My name is Jill.”
“Ri—ight. Well ok then. How did you recognise me? You last saw me when I was what..?”
“Eighteen months or so. You just look so like your Father I knew it had to be you.”
So we sat and ate dinner together. I don’t even remember what I had, but I found out all sorts of interesting stories about my parents and their friends, most of it sounding so similar to my own life. I’d just never thought of my parents like that before. It certainly brought me closer to them (I hadn’t spoken to them in about two years, due to a falling out), and all from a chance meeting in a little Spanish town.

girl on the run

i love the first two sentences!

a good story has got to have a strong beginning. this one's the best i've read ever.



You know, I read this yesterday, and thought "Now that's a good story!" But, something bothered me about it that I just couldn't put my finger on until now...

With all due respect, Scott, are you really such a narcissist that you assume meeting you is somebodies best story? That is really telling of our society, as relatively speaking, I would not consider you so much of a narcissist, compared to other celebrities, minor or not, or even society in general.

Personally, I hope your flightmate's best story is how he met his wife, or the days his children were born.

But it is a good story, Scott.


Jeff's comment confused me too, enough that I consulted the Wikipedia, to find out how Stephen King was still publishing. Then it all became clear:

*If* the van had killed Mr. King, *then* Jeff would have been one of the last few people to see him alive. As it was, the van merely *almost* killed him, so Jeff was only *almost* one of the last few people.

Wasn't the best constructed sentence in the world, but wasn't inaccurate, either. ;-)




Yeah, It would be your best story ever. Kudos!!

I too had a similar experience while in school. It was a very important work that can be done only by students who can be trusted. The master called me as he was saying to his colleague "Sir, This work can be handled by Rajaram only, he is best guy to do that. I have heard more of his work and excellence".

He turned back to me and said "hey, go and call rajaram from class", without knowing that i am rajaram.


I have been a fan of Dilbert since my own cubicle dwelling days.

This is not my own story, but my mother-in-laws. Many years ago she was on vacation in Las Vegas and went to put a letter into a mail box. She stands 4'11" and apparently was having trouble opening the letter slot. While she was fumbling around, a "huge hand" reached down and opened the mail slot for her. When she turned to thank the stranger she almost fell over backwards trying to look up at the towering stanger - Kareem Abdul Jabar.

Tom Bossley

Okay, I concur.

Best. Story. Ever.


That's so funny! Talk about coincidence!


I always like to think my best story hasn't happened yet...

In the way of coincidence.
A friend of mine married a foreign woman. She was had language lessons, where she met an other woman and they became friends. The other womans husband turned out to be my old backdoor neigbour.

Joy Forever

I can well imagine the astonishment of that guy. However, if I was in your place, I would probably have spilled the beans much earlier.
My greatest story occurred not when I met some celebrity, but when I met a very poor and ordinary man who pulled a rickshaw in the suburbs of Calcutta. I can't write it here as it is too long, but any of you who care to know it may read it here on my blog:
Sorry for the blog-whoring.

(I hope the last line makes this shameless self propaganda look like harmless casual hyperlinking.)


Wanna know another good story (for you)? There it is: that's all the new search engine Mahalo, which is based on users' recommendations, has to say about comics:

Isn't it cool to be 100% of the known drawn world to them?

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