Saturday, February 28, 2009

Do You Tell Your Kids About Your Past?

My Stupidest New Year's Eve by Kerrie

So for New Year’s Eve 1997 Aron and I apparently had nobody better to go out with that night than this lame-o aspiring goody two-shoes chick (who slept around and had a couple of kids already and was psycho to boot) and her latest boyfriend.

Aron and I are pretty much pyromaniacs and had a brick of firecrackers in my car. As I drove around the corner from Broadway to Westport Road (which was packed with people), Aron lit the brick and threw it out the window. It was after midnight, so we figured fireworks were fair game.

Think again.

Some cops thought we were SHOOTING at the crowd and ran in front of my car to stop me from driving any further. Did I mention they had guns pointed at my FACE?

They’re yelling at me to put my hands up and get out of the car, so I hit the gas and got the hell outta there.

Just kidding! I put my hands up and got out of the car. Aron and I have our hands on the roof of my car and are facing each other, talking with our eyes. We were saying, “We are so going to jail. I can’t believe we are so moronic!”

Me, being the fast talker, explained things and apologized PROFUSELY to the cops and promised never to do such a thing again.

I hope I’ve already told my dad this story. If not, I am in for a major grounding! As long as he doesn’t make me pick up sticks in his yard …
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