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I met R. Lee Ermy at an airshow when i was 10. He fake yelled and i got scared

PR0L0G wrote:- I was almost one year old, when me and my mom where waiting in a queue in front of the iceman (guy selling ice cream?), and there must have been a man behind us,
and he asked me what my name was. My answer to him was (translated into English): "This does not matter, we are all only humans." Many years later I learned that these were my
first words ever.
- I managed once to eat a whole butter cream cake (height~ 12cm) without having planned to do so...I was just hungry in the morning...
- I once stayed awake for nearly 80 hours, beginning with three whole day parties and finishing with a first aid lesson I attended, but I passed out there...
- I amputated a mutation growing out of my armpit as it started to look like a finger and almost had the size of one

Oh my God....Some one call the =][= !!!!!

Little lord Fauntleroy wrote:
I share my name with a country, a model, a fish, and an ex-formula 1 team.

Jordan or Chad. Sorry.

As for myself, I'm 100% Bosnian but I was born in Sweden. I have 2 webbed toes. Yuck. I'll probably seperate them surgically in the near future. Does that make me a mutant too?

Ediin wrote:

Jordan or Chad. Sorry.

As for myself, I'm 100% Bosnian but I was born in Sweden. I have 2 webbed toes. Yuck. I'll probably seperate them surgically in the near future. Does that make me a mutant too?

Yes. BURN THE HERETIC! KILL THE MUTANT! PURGE THE UNCLEAN!

As for me:

I've got severe arachnophobia, which my spider loving girlfriend has threatened to use against me on multiple occasions.
I was at the Republican National Convention in '08 and got to meet Guilliani, Bob Barr, Ron Paul, and Mitt Rommney
I'm scared of heights. But not of flying.
I've seen Spaceballs and Dracula: Dead and Loving it a good 20~30 times each. (The 'donkey-cave Family' scene is still my favorite out of all of them...)

I have a fake NYPD uniform from when I was a background cop extra in a law and order episode. I forgot to give it back and they never asked for it. I have contemplated wearing it out in public but I would probably be arrested.

I worked at Splish Splash Waterpark when I was a young lad, and Mick Foley the wrestler/author (a.k.a. Cactus Jack, Mankind) visited the park. He has a wife and kids and overall I thought he was a nice guy from the brief conversation I had with him.

Alrighty then, do I have something for you to beat Dakka...

My grandfather on my father's side was a German Jew, with ancestory from Hessia. However, when he was young in the jolly 1930s they moved to Poland like many other jews and settled in Warzaw. Come 1939 it was time for my Gramps and his brother to be enlisted, what with the growing tensions and all. His brother joined volontairily, and died in the coming war as one of the horsemen that charged on German tanks to buy the civilians time to get the hell out of there. Gramps, however, didn't see the appeal of war and tried to get of it. They tried to give him cholera, didn't work, so they removed all his teeth, but by this time the Polish army was happy to give away dentures as long as they got soldiers.

Come September 1st, he was stationed with infantry at a river crossing, without any kind of heavy support. So when a convoy of German tanks rolled up to them, they were all very eager to surrender. He sat in a POW camp for a while, until it was found out that he was... a communist (wait, wut?) and he were moved to Dachau concentration camp (he didn't think it sounded that bad from the name... he changed his mind later). So after sitting there for a year (without being found out as jewish... feh, what meshuggahs did they employ in that camp?!) he and two other prisoners decided to make a run for it. So over the barbed wire it went, with only my gramps surviving. After running as far as he could he strangled a german soldier and stole his clothes, his boots and his motorcycle. After that he travelled along the backroads through Czechoslovakia, Hungary and into the Soviet Union (he of course dumped the clothes and motorbike for civilian garb and a mellow bike before crossing the border... he kept the boots). So coming to the Soviet Union he felt at home, he travelled to Leningrad and there he lived happily ever after...

Until June 22nd 1941. Suddenly he was conscripted again and it was time for him to be sent to Finland. There he lived out a pretty calm (yet sometimes brutal) war on the Karelen. A stalemate was reached early on and they were reduced to fighting trench to trench.

Now this, is were things get freaky. Meanwhile, my grandfather on my mother's side joined the Finnish army, to protect his country and those he loved. He was shipped to Karelen and put in a comfy trench there. On the same fething place that my other gramps was! They probably shot at eachother hundreds of times before the war was over! What the heck God? What the heck!?

So after the war (which ended in September 1944 for the finns and soviets) my trustworthy father's father used the ensuing confusion to get the hell out of there. Yup, he deserted and took the scenic route through Finland into Sweden. On the way there he had to go through the Finnish Lapland, and to his dismay, the Finns was in a bloody conflict with the remaining Germans there. As he stopped in a town to get some food and drink he was seated by the same table as some Finnish soldiers. Over the years he had picked up alot of the finnish language, and even though they were a bit suspicious of him at first, they softened up on him when he told them that he was on the run from the soviet army and was heading for Sweden. They spent some jolly days together as they smuggled him in their transports as close to the border as they could. After a dangerous swim over the Torneo River he was at last in Sweden, where he settled down and had kids.

As for my mother's father, he drove the transport on without knowing that he had just helped a man who he had exchanged shots with the last couple of years. That's right, the party that my father's father sat with and befriended at that small town in Finn Lapland was my mother's father and his friends being transfered from Karelen to Lapland to fight the Germans there. It's a small world...

Terribly small when you consider that just over two decades ago, one each of their children would meet and the result would be me. To say the least, the baptizing of myself was a strange encounter...

And that's about it. Anything more... I got an icicle in my eye once, does that count?

Vargtass wins the thread. That is sheer...just...amazing epicness?

Vargtass wrote:Alrighty then, do I have something for you to beat Dakka...

My grandfather on my father's side was a German Jew, with ancestory from Hessia. However, when he was young in the jolly 1930s they moved to Poland like many other jews and settled in Warzaw. Come 1939 it was time for my Gramps and his brother to be enlisted, what with the growing tensions and all. His brother joined volontairily, and died in the coming war as one of the horsemen that charged on German tanks to buy the civilians time to get the hell out of there. Gramps, however, didn't see the appeal of war and tried to get of it. They tried to give him cholera, didn't work, so they removed all his teeth, but by this time the Polish army was happy to give away dentures as long as they got soldiers.

Come September 1st, he was stationed with infantry at a river crossing, without any kind of heavy support. So when a convoy of German tanks rolled up to them, they were all very eager to surrender. He sat in a POW camp for a while, until it was found out that he was... a communist (wait, wut?) and he were moved to Dachau concentration camp (he didn't think it sounded that bad from the name... he changed his mind later). So after sitting there for a year (without being found out as jewish... feh, what meshuggahs did they employ in that camp?!) he and two other prisoners decided to make a run for it. So over the barbed wire it went, with only my gramps surviving. After running as far as he could he strangled a german soldier and stole his clothes, his boots and his motorcycle. After that he travelled along the backroads through Czechoslovakia, Hungary and into the Soviet Union (he of course dumped the clothes and motorbike for civilian garb and a mellow bike before crossing the border... he kept the boots). So coming to the Soviet Union he felt at home, he travelled to Leningrad and there he lived happily ever after...

Until June 22nd 1941. Suddenly he was conscripted again and it was time for him to be sent to Finland. There he lived out a pretty calm (yet sometimes brutal) war on the Karelen. A stalemate was reached early on and they were reduced to fighting trench to trench.

Now this, is were things get freaky. Meanwhile, my grandfather on my mother's side joined the Finnish army, to protect his country and those he loved. He was shipped to Karelen and put in a comfy trench there. On the same fething place that my other gramps was! They probably shot at eachother hundreds of times before the war was over! What the heck God? What the heck!?

So after the war (which ended in September 1944 for the finns and soviets) my trustworthy father's father used the ensuing confusion to get the hell out of there. Yup, he deserted and took the scenic route through Finland into Sweden. On the way there he had to go through the Finnish Lapland, and to his dismay, the Finns was in a bloody conflict with the remaining Germans there. As he stopped in a town to get some food and drink he was seated by the same table as some Finnish soldiers. Over the years he had picked up alot of the finnish language, and even though they were a bit suspicious of him at first, they softened up on him when he told them that he was on the run from the soviet army and was heading for Sweden. They spent some jolly days together as they smuggled him in their transports as close to the border as they could. After a dangerous swim over the Torneo River he was at last in Sweden, where he settled down and had kids.

As for my mother's father, he drove the transport on without knowing that he had just helped a man who he had exchanged shots with the last couple of years. That's right, the party that my father's father sat with and befriended at that small town in Finn Lapland was my mother's father and his friends being transfered from Karelen to Lapland to fight the Germans there. It's a small world...

Terribly small when you consider that just over two decades ago, one each of their children would meet and the result would be me. To say the least, the baptizing of myself was a strange encounter...

And that's about it. Anything more... I got an icicle in my eye once, does that count?

HI this is hollywood we would like to buy the rights to this movie

Vargtass wrote:Alrighty then, do I have something for you to beat Dakka...

My grandfather on my father's side was a German Jew, with ancestory from Hessia. However, when he was young in the jolly 1930s they moved to Poland like many other jews and settled in Warzaw. Come 1939 it was time for my Gramps and his brother to be enlisted, what with the growing tensions and all. His brother joined volontairily, and died in the coming war as one of the horsemen that charged on German tanks to buy the civilians time to get the hell out of there. Gramps, however, didn't see the appeal of war and tried to get of it. They tried to give him cholera, didn't work, so they removed all his teeth, but by this time the Polish army was happy to give away dentures as long as they got soldiers.

Come September 1st, he was stationed with infantry at a river crossing, without any kind of heavy support. So when a convoy of German tanks rolled up to them, they were all very eager to surrender. He sat in a POW camp for a while, until it was found out that he was... a communist (wait, wut?) and he were moved to Dachau concentration camp (he didn't think it sounded that bad from the name... he changed his mind later). So after sitting there for a year (without being found out as jewish... feh, what meshuggahs did they employ in that camp?!) he and two other prisoners decided to make a run for it. So over the barbed wire it went, with only my gramps surviving. After running as far as he could he strangled a german soldier and stole his clothes, his boots and his motorcycle. After that he travelled along the backroads through Czechoslovakia, Hungary and into the Soviet Union (he of course dumped the clothes and motorbike for civilian garb and a mellow bike before crossing the border... he kept the boots). So coming to the Soviet Union he felt at home, he travelled to Leningrad and there he lived happily ever after...

Until June 22nd 1941. Suddenly he was conscripted again and it was time for him to be sent to Finland. There he lived out a pretty calm (yet sometimes brutal) war on the Karelen. A stalemate was reached early on and they were reduced to fighting trench to trench.

Now this, is were things get freaky. Meanwhile, my grandfather on my mother's side joined the Finnish army, to protect his country and those he loved. He was shipped to Karelen and put in a comfy trench there. On the same fething place that my other gramps was! They probably shot at eachother hundreds of times before the war was over! What the heck God? What the heck!?

So after the war (which ended in September 1944 for the finns and soviets) my trustworthy father's father used the ensuing confusion to get the hell out of there. Yup, he deserted and took the scenic route through Finland into Sweden. On the way there he had to go through the Finnish Lapland, and to his dismay, the Finns was in a bloody conflict with the remaining Germans there. As he stopped in a town to get some food and drink he was seated by the same table as some Finnish soldiers. Over the years he had picked up alot of the finnish language, and even though they were a bit suspicious of him at first, they softened up on him when he told them that he was on the run from the soviet army and was heading for Sweden. They spent some jolly days together as they smuggled him in their transports as close to the border as they could. After a dangerous swim over the Torneo River he was at last in Sweden, where he settled down and had kids.

As for my mother's father, he drove the transport on without knowing that he had just helped a man who he had exchanged shots with the last couple of years. That's right, the party that my father's father sat with and befriended at that small town in Finn Lapland was my mother's father and his friends being transfered from Karelen to Lapland to fight the Germans there. It's a small world...

Terribly small when you consider that just over two decades ago, one each of their children would meet and the result would be me. To say the least, the baptizing of myself was a strange encounter...

And that's about it. Anything more... I got an icicle in my eye once, does that count?

Epic. Win. You, sir, are a German-Jewish-Polish-Russian-Communist-Deathcamp Escape Artist-Finn-Swede. Respect.

Vargtass wrote:Alrighty then, do I have something for you to beat Dakka...

My grandfather on my father's side was a German Jew, with ancestory from Hessia. However, when he was young in the jolly 1930s they moved to Poland like many other jews and settled in Warzaw. Come 1939 it was time for my Gramps and his brother to be enlisted, what with the growing tensions and all. His brother joined volontairily, and died in the coming war as one of the horsemen that charged on German tanks to buy the civilians time to get the hell out of there. Gramps, however, didn't see the appeal of war and tried to get of it. They tried to give him cholera, didn't work, so they removed all his teeth, but by this time the Polish army was happy to give away dentures as long as they got soldiers.

Come September 1st, he was stationed with infantry at a river crossing, without any kind of heavy support. So when a convoy of German tanks rolled up to them, they were all very eager to surrender. He sat in a POW camp for a while, until it was found out that he was... a communist (wait, wut?) and he were moved to Dachau concentration camp (he didn't think it sounded that bad from the name... he changed his mind later). So after sitting there for a year (without being found out as jewish... feh, what meshuggahs did they employ in that camp?!) he and two other prisoners decided to make a run for it. So over the barbed wire it went, with only my gramps surviving. After running as far as he could he strangled a german soldier and stole his clothes, his boots and his motorcycle. After that he travelled along the backroads through Czechoslovakia, Hungary and into the Soviet Union (he of course dumped the clothes and motorbike for civilian garb and a mellow bike before crossing the border... he kept the boots). So coming to the Soviet Union he felt at home, he travelled to Leningrad and there he lived happily ever after...

Until June 22nd 1941. Suddenly he was conscripted again and it was time for him to be sent to Finland. There he lived out a pretty calm (yet sometimes brutal) war on the Karelen. A stalemate was reached early on and they were reduced to fighting trench to trench.

Now this, is were things get freaky. Meanwhile, my grandfather on my mother's side joined the Finnish army, to protect his country and those he loved. He was shipped to Karelen and put in a comfy trench there. On the same fething place that my other gramps was! They probably shot at eachother hundreds of times before the war was over! What the heck God? What the heck!?

So after the war (which ended in September 1944 for the finns and soviets) my trustworthy father's father used the ensuing confusion to get the hell out of there. Yup, he deserted and took the scenic route through Finland into Sweden. On the way there he had to go through the Finnish Lapland, and to his dismay, the Finns was in a bloody conflict with the remaining Germans there. As he stopped in a town to get some food and drink he was seated by the same table as some Finnish soldiers. Over the years he had picked up alot of the finnish language, and even though they were a bit suspicious of him at first, they softened up on him when he told them that he was on the run from the soviet army and was heading for Sweden. They spent some jolly days together as they smuggled him in their transports as close to the border as they could. After a dangerous swim over the Torneo River he was at last in Sweden, where he settled down and had kids.

As for my mother's father, he drove the transport on without knowing that he had just helped a man who he had exchanged shots with the last couple of years. That's right, the party that my father's father sat with and befriended at that small town in Finn Lapland was my mother's father and his friends being transfered from Karelen to Lapland to fight the Germans there. It's a small world...

Terribly small when you consider that just over two decades ago, one each of their children would meet and the result would be me. To say the least, the baptizing of myself was a strange encounter...

And that's about it. Anything more... I got an icicle in my eye once, does that count?

Have you ever considered writing a best-selling book? Because you've got a blueprint for one right there.

Asherian Command wrote:
I am afraid of clowns, myself, and girls i like.

I am a clown. I live under this guys bed.

biztheclown wrote:

Asherian Command wrote:
I am afraid of clowns, myself, and girls i like.

I am a clown. I live under this guys bed.

Rattle your knives, let him know you're still down there.

FITZZ wrote: I was approximately 1 mile from the beach on the Mississippi Gulf Coast when Hurricane Katrina made land fall.

I play bass guitar,and have been in over a dozen bands.

I am covered in tattoos.

I once dated an extra from the film "Drop Dead Fred" for several months.

I've been divorced alot.

I'm addicted to horror films.

I make my living working on "exotic" cars,but I hate to drive.

I have two children who may be possessed.

My greatest brush with fame was meeting Joey Ramone.

I have seen "Jaws" over a hundred times

You can also add your the DAKKA rockstar lifestyle liverer.

Not to mention thats kindda cool your somewhat linked to that movie. MAN what a WEIRD flick

I once got told to "feth off!" by Paul Daniels.

I met Yakface.

Does that count as a celebrity encounter?

The Radio interviewed me when I was like 9 years old or something. They actually broadcasted that interview, and I was on the air for around 5 whole minutes.

Monster Rain wrote:I met Yakface.

Does that count as a celebrity encounter?

Totally, who the heck cares for all those other loser-celebs!

I have a fairly epic story of my grand father if anyone want's to hear it.

oh yeah, and someone in my family (don't knwo who - far side of the family I think) was a dutch soldier in WW2. He was captured somhow, and sent to stalag camp. He escaped together with some others. They were very hungry, and as they went along, they found something to eat along they way. It was burned and bloody flesh, different body parts spread along the road. They cooked and ate it. Turns out is was a human being!
(I may have to ask around in my family about this.)

yeah and someone in my family has an eye patch. Arrr!

lets hear it!

My great grand-father was in the one of the Canadian Highlander regiments in WW1. He single handedly took a enemy machine gun *one of the old big 2 man ones*

And covered a retreat when the gun finally ran out of ammo he used his rifle and eventually his handgun to keep the enemy back. He was finally lung shot by a sniper.

He played dead and about 15 minutes later when more allied soldiers showed up. They found him surrounded by enemy corpses and he knew just enough french to ask one of the medics for help.

And apparently my Great-Grandfather on the Norwegian side of the family was in the SS. But we know next to nothing about him as my grandpa *his son* passed away a few years ago and he never spoke about him.

Oh, I also have an epic grandfather story.
My Grandpa (fathers side) was a bomber co-pilot in WWII.
While flying, bullets pieced the front and the pilot was killed. My grandpa had to push him out and take control of the plane to save himself.
He got a distinguished flying cross

I can click my tongue at 100 decibels.
If I sleep, I'm tired, and if I don't sleep, I'm wide awake.
I run on 20 hrs of sleep a week.
I have put a incurable disease into remission
I broke my arm jumping over a foot high net.

Well, since we're telling grandad stories...

My Grandad died in Auschwitz.










He fell out of a guard-tower.

12 inches. That is all.

^
if that is what I think it is..... :O

that's not the kind of information you give on a wargames forum!

Vladsimpaler wrote:12 inches. That is all.

And I thought I was short.

Im a distant cousin of Georges Guynemer
In kindergarden I ran away from school, days later a ten foot fence is erected, soon after words I scale the fence and run away a second time.
There have been five different girls who asked if they could put my eyes in a jar so they could set it on their bedside...

Albatross wrote:Well, since we're telling grandad stories...

My Grandad died in Auschwitz.










He fell out of a guard-tower.

Mine died after having a guard at Auschwitz fall on him.