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The old fashioned bottle rocket in the anus trick

I expect that in-house counsel for insurance companies will now require fireworks manufacturers to print an additional warning label stating "bottle rocket is not designed to be shot from rectum -- serious injury or death may result". They may also require fraternity houses in W. Va. to post warning signs stating "warning - be on lookout for bottle rockets being shot from anuses -- serious injury or death may result".
 
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BoogityBoogity said:
I expect that in-house counsel for insurance companies will now require fireworks manufacturers to print an additional warning label stating "bottle rocket is not designed to be shot from rectum -- serious injury or death may result". They may also require fraternity houses in W. Va. to post warning signs stating "warning - be on lookout for bottle rockets being shot from anuses -- serious injury or death may result".
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Not sure if you read the article, but the plaintiff was simply an ONLOOKER! He wasn't even the guy who had the bottle rocket blow up in his anus. He was watching the scene unfold and fell off of the deck. AKA, this guy was a complete buffoon. I hope the defense wins and gets atty fees.
 
Man! Does this thread ever bring back some memories. It was the summer of '74 and, as I recollect, it was hot as blazes in the Dash.

The Hebrew Hammer had gotten himself into a wee bit of trouble with the authorities over the Memorial Day Weekend. Winston was more pastoral back then and the Hammer, who never turned down a dare when he was 3 sheets to the wind, had agreed he'd introduce the Provost's goat to some kosher salami. The Hammer was no fool so he wrapped it up, refusing to go bare back. His giant throbbing baloney pony all lubed up in a magnum jimmy hat that still only made it 3/4 down the shaft of his semitic schmeckel. As luck would have it, the area was under police surveillance for some prior unrelated fraternity indiscretions--so the Fox had to hightail it out of there halfway through completion, running for the getaway car with his shorts at his ankles and his full masted bobby dangler bouncing back and forth like a geriatric's head at a Miami old folk's home. He would have gotten away with it of course, except for the damning piece of evidence he left behind: a slicked up, nappy rarely used "red" merkin. Campus police posted pics of Ricky's tonsil tickler toupee, and in no time he was anonymously fingered, for you see, the Hammer, while indubitably a campus legend, had made some powerful enemies along the way.

Anyhoo, this story isn't about Memorial Day weekend, though Rick's tent pole shenanigans certainly led to what happened on July 4, 1974, a day, as they say, that will live in infamy.

I gotta run, but will finish the story later or maybe moonface or Harv can take it from here....
 
Behooves a man to tread carefully when it comes to matters of his keister. I’ll tell ya, Ricky used to get a real kick out of seeing what he could fit up there and it’s fair to say he earned himself a respectable amount of cabbage from the rest of us Raiders for the things he managed to successfully boof. Neither length nor circumference proved to be obstacles for the Fiesta Fox – car keys, tuna cans, ice cream scoops, crucifixes, entire packages of those little drink umbrellas with the chinese newspaper inside – each of those insertions earned Foxy a handful of quid.

Wasn’t just bettin’ though that got Foxy sticking things in his ham flower. We didn’t call him Foxy for nothing – the fella loved playing pranks. Had a few moves that he considered classics – sneaking into Davis Chapel and leaving fudge slugs on the pews, busting into the ladies’ society lounges and pleasuring himself onto their flatware, that sort of thing. But Ricky’s real go-to prank was the old Bead Gag.

Ricky had this string of anal beads that Cube Steak had left behind in the Barn before she got shipped off to the joint. Mind ya, I don’t have much experience with those sorts of bedroom toys, so I don’t precisely know what constitutes a typical size for your run-of-the-mill bead. But to my eye this seemed like a rather imposing string, as I reckon that each of the five purple beads was damn near the size of a tennis ball. Anywho, Ricky would cram that sucker in his back end, leaving only the string dangling out, like the whimsical tail of the most deranged goddamn kite any kid ever flew. He’d then put on a pair of running shorts, take a couple of quick puffs of catnip, and make his way up to the Quad.

When he got there, he’d do a few laps until he found a proper Good Samaritan who would alert Ricky that he seemed to have a rogue piece of fabric hanging from his shorts. Ricky would play dumb and make a half-hearted attempt to get the string, before finally inviting the prankee (always a female) to help Foxy out by pulling the string herself. The bird would give the string a tug and out from Foxy’s shorts would pop the entire string of purple beads. Boy, I’ll tell ya – there was nothing like seeing the shocked looks on those broads’ faces when they registered the sight of all those beads laying on the sidewalk, covered in a translucent film of Ricky’s juices. Hilarious.

Couldn’t even tell you how many times Foxy pulled his patented Bead Gag – probably close to 60 if I had to wager. Shit, over one Parents’ Weekend I personally saw him prank about a baker’s dozen mothers and grandmothers. The fun ended though when Foxy caught wind of the new coffee enema fad that was all the rage in some circles. It was a miracle cure for whatever ills ya, they said. One day he decided to try it out for himself, thinking it may help fix the situation with his infertile semen, but unfortunately Rick didn’t know that you’re supposed to let the java cool before pouring it in your growler. Oh man, you should have heard Foxy howling. Second degree burns of the colon and large intestine. Took the Fox quite a while to recover from that little faux pas. Had to sleep on his stomach in the meantime and couldn’t eat Indian food for a whole month. You know how Foxy loved his curry chicken.
 
Harv said:
Behooves a man to tread carefully when it comes to matters of his keister. I’ll tell ya, Ricky used to get a real kick out of seeing what he could fit up there and it’s fair to say he earned himself a respectable amount of cabbage from the rest of us Raiders for the things he managed to successfully boof. Neither length nor circumference proved to be obstacles for the Fiesta Fox – car keys, tuna cans, ice cream scoops, crucifixes, entire packages of those little drink umbrellas with the chinese newspaper inside – each of those insertions earned Foxy a handful of quid.

Wasn’t just bettin’ though that got Foxy sticking things in his ham flower. We didn’t call him Foxy for nothing – the fella loved playing pranks. Had a few moves that he considered classics – sneaking into Davis Chapel and leaving fudge slugs on the pews, busting into the ladies’ society lounges and pleasuring himself onto their flatware, that sort of thing. But Ricky’s real go-to prank was the old Bead Gag.

Ricky had this string of anal beads that Cube Steak had left behind in the Barn before she got shipped off to the joint. Mind ya, I don’t have much experience with those sorts of bedroom toys, so I don’t precisely know what constitutes a typical size for your run-of-the-mill bead. But to my eye this seemed like a rather imposing string, as I reckon that each of the five purple beads was damn near the size of a tennis ball. Anywho, Ricky would cram that sucker in his back end, leaving only the string dangling out, like the whimsical tail of the most deranged goddamn kite any kid ever flew. He’d then put on a pair of running shorts, take a couple of quick puffs of catnip, and make his way up to the Quad.

When he got there, he’d do a few laps until he found a proper Good Samaritan who would alert Ricky that he seemed to have a rogue piece of fabric hanging from his shorts. Ricky would play dumb and make a half-hearted attempt to get the string, before finally inviting the prankee (always a female) to help Foxy out by pulling the string herself. The bird would give the string a tug and out from Foxy’s shorts would pop the entire string of purple beads. Boy, I’ll tell ya – there was nothing like seeing the shocked looks on those broads’ faces when they registered the sight of all those beads laying on the sidewalk, covered in a translucent film of Ricky’s juices. Hilarious.

Couldn’t even tell you how many times Foxy pulled his patented Bead Gag – probably close to 60 if I had to wager. Shit, over one Parents’ Weekend I personally saw him prank about a baker’s dozen mothers and grandmothers. The fun ended though when Foxy caught wind of the new coffee enema fad that was all the rage in some circles. It was a miracle cure for whatever ills ya, they said. One day he decided to try it out for himself, thinking it may help fix the situation with his infertile semen, but unfortunately Rick didn’t know that you’re supposed to let the java cool before pouring it in your growler. Oh man, you should have heard Foxy howling. Second degree burns of the colon and large intestine. Took the Fox quite a while to recover from that little faux pas. Had to sleep on his stomach in the meantime and couldn’t eat Indian food for a whole month. You know how Foxy loved his curry chicken.
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OMG I'm crying from laughing so hard! Bravo!
 
"like the whimsical tail of the most deranged goddamn kite any kid ever flew."


I studied English literature at one of the finest universities in all the land and no "master" can match the prowess of Harv. A true triumph of humanity.
 
So the dude in that story sued his fraternity brother for the pain and suffering he endured as a result of a bottle rocket going off in the bro's b-hole? He must be real liked in that fraternity. I wonder how many attorneys he spoke to before one agreed to take on that case.
 
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