Star Trek-style matter replicator/recycler. Just imagine being able to empty a garbage dumpster into a bin, shut the lid, press a button, and an hour later you get stacks of industrially useful metals & materials, bolts of cloth, and sacks of fertilizer.
Like Abe Lincoln always said, take anything you see written online with a grain of salt and, until you see conclusive evidence otherwise, assume it’s a creative writing exercise.
Same. Keeping the details purposefully vague even though the statute of limitations has long since expired.
I was out with friends having fun and actually stayed at the bar until they turned on the lights at closing and kicked us all out. I knew I was drunk but figured I should hit up the Taco Bell on the other side of the parking lot and eat in my car. Surely that would soak up enough alcohol to sober me up, right? I recall taking the most direct route possible to get back home, keeping my speed just below the limit. No cruise control so I had to focus as much as possible when it’s late, you’re tired and drunk and have a stomach full of grease.
The middle portion of the drive home was on a single long major arterial surface street. Luckily there weren’t any red lights since I doubt I could’ve stopped in time. The most terrifying moment was when I saw a cop car approaching me from behind. As I had a mild panic attack, he passed me up, didn’t turn on his lights, and went about his evening.
The rest of the trip home was uneventful. I got home safely, swore to myself I’d never be that stupid again, went to bed, and woke up the next morning probably still reeking of cigarette smoke and booze.
This is the single thing I am most ashamed of that I’ve ever done in my entire life. It’s more shameful than the time I lost my cool and shouted the n word at a kid when we were in middle school. It’s more shameful than the time I walked around high school with an unknown to me giant rip in my pants that let everyone see my sponge bob undies. It’s more shameful than when my dad caught me beating my meat to a Runner’s World magazine because I couldn’t find a Playboy.
I am very lucky that the cop just passed me by. I am very lucky that I didn’t have to drunk call my family at 4am to come bail me out of jail. I am very very lucky that I didn’t hurt myself or someone else.
True to my word, I’ve never done it again. I don’t drink at all any more, and even when I still did, I had a very strict two drink limit for myself if I was driving.
I don’t think I’ve ever even mentioned this when I’ve been in therapy. I’ve been in a relationship for over a decade and I’ve never even told my partner about it.
So yeah Lemmy. Learn from my mistake. Please. If you plan to get fucked up, have a safe ride home that doesn’t involve you driving.
While on a school trip, I ate a lot at a greasy buffet, then we went to a theme park. After one ride I managed not to barf but I wound up spending the remaining time in the park laying down on a bench trying to control my nausea.
I totally didn’t see this somewhere and start writing it on the walls in middle school:
Those who write on shithouse walls
Roll their turds into little balls
Those who read these words of wit
Eat those little balls of shit