Jim Jones and the Yield Sign Bandits
(Subliminal Influence is Easier when Drunk)
“I figure if I put myself on the liver transplant list right now, I’ll be up for a new one when I’m 35 and in need,” said TheHamster, sipping a Keystone Ice.
“You’re genius is astounding,” Buckle said, tossing another handful of popcorn into his mouth.
“Yeah, so is your ability to keep your pants on – where’d they go?” Waffle asked.
TheHamster glanced around the room, over his shoulder, out the window, and gave up.
“Beats me.” He shrugged and continued drinking. How this man got be twenty-two and still have all of his limbs intact has baffled some into madness. The three of them were lounging around Spot’s living room. Spot wasn’t home.
“You guys wanna play Crazy Eights?” Waffle suggested.
“Nah, let’s play sixes,” Buckle said.
“Did you say sexes!? Sweet!” TheHamster shouted, getting up from the couch and sitting crossed-legged on the floor.
“No, bro, we said sixe-”
“I’ll go first!” TheHamster yelled. “Frog vagina!”
Buckle and Waffle were lost for words.
“What? Frog penis?”
The door opened. Spot walked in carrying five different twelve-packs under his arms and collapsed them into the foyer. Buckle and Waffle found themselves lost for words once again.
“I thought I’d diversify my diet a little,” Spot said with a grin. He was very into his physical fitness – not counting the liver, of course.
Seven or eight well-diversified beers later they resorted to finding cheap soft-core porn on Spot’s “extra channels.” Sure, they could go online and find whatever the hell they wanted, but they knew that a crappy porno with a pathetic attempt at a story line was priceless.
“Boob shot! I see nipple!” Waffle shouted.
“Yup – here comes the hand job,” Buckle commented. “Who would watch this shit for any reason but humor?”
TheHamster was into the storyline.
(Narrator) “It was a cold, lonesome evening in Newark…her husband was away on another long weekend business trip, and Mrs. John Loretta needed some love…”
“Are you kidding me? That’s the most fucked-up shit ever!” Buckle shouted at the TV. “Hubby’s out working long weekends payin’ the bills while little Ms. Slut-Bag is at home getting her holes jammed full of -holy shit! Look at the rack on that broad!”
Buckle’s tirade was cut short as Mrs. John Loretta slipped off her ‘lonely gown’ and opened the ‘lonely door’ to find a ‘loneliness-destroying’ Italian dude with a nine-inch cock. They were just starting to get to boner-inducing action when once again the front door opened.
“Why hello Mr. Jones,” said TheHamster, “care to watch some soft-core porn with us?” Waffle didn’t know Spot’s dad all that well, so his mad dash to the TV remote stunned the others.
“No thanks – I’ll hold off till Spot’s mom gets home and nail her.”
“Dad!” Spot yelled. He turned off the TV.
“What? Don’t act like you don’t hear us,” Mr. Jones said, laughing.
“DAD!! That is so not cool!” Spot stormed to the kitchen to grab another ethnically-diverse bundle of beers.
Jim sat down on the couch next to TheHamster. He had been assistant football coach when TheHamster was in high school, and TheHamster, being the 6’4 behemoth of a star that he was, had gotten to know him quite well.
“How goes it, coach?” TheHamster asked.
“Call me Jim,” Jim said, “and I’d be a whole lot better if one of you boys got me a brew.” Waffle started to see how Spot was raised and why the parties were always at his house. Buckle reached into his cardboard case.
“No KeyStone – real beer, please,” Jim said. Waffle tossed him a cold St Pauly’s Girl. “Thanks, Waffle.”
The only thing Waffle knew about Jim was that he was a construction contractor and drove an absurdly large truck. Although Jim was into his fifties, he could still play with the boys like he was in college. Waffle was impressed. That was, until the speed drinking contest – then he was amazed.
“Alright boys,” Jim began, “you have shown me the new way of drinking games, I shall show you the timeless talent of speed-chugging.”
TheHamster and Spot almost choked.
“You may have been my football coach, but drinkin’ is one thing you can’t teach me,” TheHamster said.
Jim produced three tall glasses. He, Spot and TheHamster filled them to the brim; Buckle and Waffle were sitting this one out. Commentators, they claimed. Buckle began the count down.
“Listen up saggy-balls and not-so-saggy balls, on three. One…two…”
“You’re goin’ down old man,” Spot said. “You may have the experience, but I have the – holy fuck; where’d it go?”
Jim’s glass was spinning empty on the table.
“Done!” TheHamster yelled, breathing heavily and staring in disbelief at the empty glass next to his. Buckle and Waffle just laughed. TheHamster and Spot were silent in their defeat.
The bullshitting continued into the early a.m. hours when Jim accidentally challenged the foursome to a task he had been unable to accomplish in his youth.
“That yield sign – I hate it,” he said as if re-living an old war memory. “I’ve tried to tell people it’s facing the wrong way but no one listens! Think that if it’s there then it’s there for a reason. If you have to turn onto a road, then you yield, not the other way around!”
Waffle caught the gleam in Spot’s eyes.
“I swear it’s gonna get someone killed someday; it’s not right.”
Jim bid them goodnight and headed upstairs. They waited until he stopped rummaging around before creeping into the night, drunk enough to kick their inhibitions, but sober enough to have their wits about them. The yield sign was a half mile away next to a college campus in Spot’s hometown.
“There she is,” Waffle said, “and yes, it’s facing the wrong way – the fuck is that about?” Standing at the corner of the street in the shadow of a fence, they each waited for some one to make a move.
“So what do we do?” Buckle asked.
“You’re the scholastic genius – work something out.”
Buckle started analyzing the yield sign and its pole from where they stood.
“Well, if the base is more than three feet under ground and is indeed spherical concrete, then tipping the top end enough could crack the foundation and – hey!”
TheHamster stepped forward, gripped his beastly hands around the trunk of the sign and began heaving it back and forth with all the might his massive body could muster.
“No wonder my dad liked him as a linebacker,” Spot said.
The bolts must have been loose because it sounded like a toad being strangled into a microphone. Their eyes darted around the quiet intersection in fear of being caught. A college campus was across the road in front of them, and just to the left of it was a dark, fenced-in field called Maggie Park. Behind them were ten blocks of residences. They had plenty of places to hide if…
“Car!”
They turned around and raced into the neighborhood. Over his shoulder Waffle could see the fence they had been standing near getting brighter as the car approached. Spot ran around the side of a house and disappeared from sight. TheHamster laid on the ground behind an SUV parked on the side of the road. Buckle and Waffle ran into each other next to a fence too high to climb and too long to run around.
“Shit, what do we do!?” Buckle whisper-shouted. Waffle analyzed the situation.
“Just chill. It’s only 2am and we haven’t technically done anything wrong yet; the sign’s still in the ground.”
They grabbed their cell phones and initiated fake conversations. The lights came into sight. The car was a white, non-distinct, slightly older sedan that slowed to almost a stop before continuing. The windows were too tinted to see anything, especially in at night. Waffle heard it drive past the yield sign and up the hill, turn, and fade into the distance.
“Why was that so creepy?”
“I dunno,” Waffle answered. “Something about headlights at night when you’re on foot.”
“A guilty conscious doesn’t help,” said Spot, brushing himself off as he walked across the road to join them. “I hid under a deck; fucking Magellan couldn’t have found me.”
They crossed the road so they’d have additional places to hide if more headlights were in their near future.
Waffle couldn’t help but feel the rush of excitement from hiding. Granted, he knew they had nothing to worry about: they had TheHamster – what could anyone do? One phone call and he’d have half the football team with them.
This time Waffle joined TheHamster across the road with the yield sign. They were to pull as hard and fast as they could and only stop if Spot yelled “car.” They got their grips set and began tugging and tugging and tugging. Finally, a crack! They paused momentarily and caught each other’s excited eyes.
“Car!”
Excitement turned to fear. They booked it back across the road to join the Spot and Buckle who were already heading for Maggie Park. As they climbed over the fence Waffle could see familiar headlights approaching. Right as he landed on the other side of the fence the headlights breached the top of the hill. He raced after the others and slid down next to them some thirty feet inside the fence. In daylight they’d be sitting ducks in the middle of the field, but at night they were Coco Puffs of a bowl of chocolate milk.
The same car from before crawled past, going only about five miles an hour.
“That’s for sure not cops,” Spot said. “No cop with dignity would roll in that piece of shit.”
They waited for it to pass then crept back out for one last attempt. This time, TheHamster tugged on the middle of the sign, Waffle pulled just below him, and Buckle and Spot kicked their respective sides when it tipped towards them.
Team work at its finest (and drunkest).
The crack they had heard last time happened again and again until finally they pulled extra hard and the entire sign erupted out of the ground. The bottom of the metal pole was encased in what looked like a concrete bowling ball.
“I knew it,” Buckle said. “Hamster, do what you do best.”
TheHamster picked the sign up by its middle and slammed it to the sidewalk, completely shattering the concrete mold.
“Humans one, concrete mold zero.”
“Impressive,” Waffle said, “now let’s get this back to – fuck! Again!?”
The same headlights rounded the corner, but at more than five miles an hour this time. Buckle and Spot were already running for campus.
“The sign!” Waffle yelled. He and TheHamster jetted across the road, prized yield sign resting on their shoulders. They tried to follow Buckle and Spot but the sound of their own pounding footsteps drowned them out. Waffle chanced a glance over his shoulder. The car was stopped, the doors were opened.
The chase was on.
Waffle was holding the lighter end of the sign and guiding them the best he could. His vision was drunk and shaky, his surroundings unfamiliar, but his adrenaline was pumping. Drunken eyes darted left and right looking for somewhere to hide. Their feet moved swiftly across dark ground. And then Waffle saw it.
"Over there by the dock!"
They cruised left and down a bark-chip path along the water. The lake was black glass and Waffle could see their comic reflection running beside them. Up ahead were over thirty canoes set upside-down and side-by-side.
"Lay down here, in-between the canoes," Waffle whispered. They set the sign down and laid flat on their stomachs next to it. They were invisible. Dark humps against an even darker body of water. It was like camping…in a really, really shitty tent.
Only the wind could be heard; rustling the leaves, dancing across the water. The half-moon shone just enough light to see their general surroundings over the hull of the closest canoe. TheHamster was nearly underneath it.
“You see anything?” he whispered. Waffle strained his eyes against the darkness.
“No,” he answered, “and I don’t hear anything either so I think we should-” he perked up his ears, “wait – what was that crunch?”
Along the bark-chip path came two figures. They were hardly noticeable, just shifting shadows floating through the darkness. Waffle could hear them talking but couldn’t make it out. He motioned for TheHamster to be completely still and silent. After standing no more than fifteen feet away from the drunken thieves for several minutes, the two figures on the path turned around and left.
“You can roll out now,” Waffle told TheHamster. He flopped into the open on his back.
“Why don’t we just stay here ‘til morning then stroll home?”
“Carry a yield sign home in the bright of day? Brilliant. Let’s find Buckle and Spot and bounce the fuck out of here.”
They tiptoed around the far side of the docks and entered campus. Waffle pictured it teeming with students during the day. Massive lecture halls and libraries lined the paths. Trees the size of small buildings blocked the stars from view. Their calls to Buckle and Spot went straight to voice mail, and the campus was far too big to scour while drunk and carrying a stolen yield sign. They crept carefully through campus in the general direction of Spot’s house.
“Wait,” Waffle said to TheHamster. They stopped in mid-step. Waffle didn’t blink as he stared into the bushes ahead. “You see that?”
TheHamster cocked his head to the side.
“See what? Those bushes? They’re an end-zone away; you know I can hardly make out the ‘E’ in the vision tests.”
TheHamster tried to continue walking but Waffle pressed a hand firmly to his chest.
“Two white dots, about halfway up; kind of bobbing…”
“Wait - I see them,” TheHamster said. “What are they? And why are they…moving?”
One of the white dots shifted violently, rustling the bushes around it. Waffle’s vision seemed to zoom in as the white dot floated around the edge of the bushes and emerged into the open.
“Hey!” Shouted the police officer, only his white face visible atop his navy blue uniform. They turned and fled, flying drunkenly around corners and across dewy fields.
“Waffle!” said a voice that seemed to come from heaven, “up here!”
Against the sky he made out two figures atop a building waving their arms like banshees. His heart could have exploded with hope. He had never been so happy to see Buckle and Spot. The four of them could hide atop the building until the cops were gone then escape back to Spot’s house and show Jim their prize. But TheHamster had his own plans.
“You climb up – I’ll take the sign!”
Before Waffle could reason otherwise, TheHamster had lifted the sign from his shoulder, heaved it across his back and disappeared into the night. Waffle turned his attention back to the massive, four-story brick building Buckle and Spot were on top of. It was under construction with scaffolding growing like weeds.
Fuck it.
He bounded up the steps and scaled the building as fast as he could, grabbing on to whatever metal pole was in reach and heaving himself up as high as possible with each pull. He had just reached a bed-sized plywood platform on the third story when the heavenly voice spoke again.
“Shhhh – look!” Spot’s voice whispered from above. Waffle flattened himself against the plywood. It shifted ominously. Along the path to his left came the two officers. He turned his head away from them and let his other senses do the work. He heard one officer mention “climbing” but the other one shot the idea down. Then came the flashlights.
“What’s that?” Waffle heard one of them ask. “Up there, on the landing.”
He almost laughed at his poor luck.
“I see it, but it’s pretty high up; maybe a bag of something? A roll of tarp?”
Waffle praised the cop for his logical yet incorrect insights.
“I guess we could ring the on-call manager and ask him about it,” The officer said. Waffle revoked his blessings.
“No…on the third story…platform, wood…really...hmmm…that’s odd…”
Waffle’s once hopeful heart dropped like an erection after the tenth shot of whiskey.
“Let’s get up there; check it out,” the first officer said. Waffle didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet and climbed like fucking Spiderman.
“There’s he goes!”
In his desperate state of mind the usually dull gray and brown scaffolding lit up like those annoying little neon-colored sticks kids get at the 4th of July. He was zeroed in. Spot and Buckle whispered words of encouragement. None were needed. He reached the top of the scaffolding and ran to the middle of the building.
“Where’s TheHamster?”
“With the sign somewhere – he’s fine. Any other way down?”
“There’s more scaffolding around back. Not as much, but if we hurry we could make it.”
As soon as Waffle heard “scaffolding” he was barreling towards the building’s backside. He peered over the edge and saw two things: beautiful, evenly spread bars and platforms, and the bright beam of an officer’s flashlight making its way towards him. He dived backwards just as the spot light would have hit his eyes.
The renegade trio army-crawled to the edge and saw the two officers circling the building from opposite ends. When they were farthest apart they’d have a two minute opening at best.
“At least we don’t have the sign,” Waffle said, picturing TheHamster sleeping somewhere with it until morning. He could pass as a construction worker, right?
“We go on their next pass,” Buckle said. “Then we’ll have the fatter one chasing us.”
They waited along the edge of the building with bated breath. Sure enough, the skinny cop was making his round and the fat cop would be up next. Waffle had to clench his teeth to keep them from chattering. The skinny one was almost around the corner, soon to disappear from sight. Fatty would emerge in 120 seconds.
“Go time, gentlemen.”
Waffle hurtled himself over the barrier onto the upper most platform and began a quick descent. Platform to platform they hopped, balancing themselves on the surrounding scaffolding, losing more elevation than a human is suppose to lose in under ninety seconds. They hit the ground and ran without looking back. Surely they’d be out of sight before they cops rounded the corner.
“There they go! Three of them!”
They underestimated fatty’s speed.
Waffle needed no over-the-shoulder glance to know what was behind him. He led his soon-to-be-felon friends through the pseudo-labyrinth of a campus, wishing Spot were in front because he knew the way out. But there was no time to swap leadership roles. Waffle thought the campus would never end. It all looked the same at night. Brick buildings, long stairs cases, large trees and…an open road?
They had come out on the opposite side of campus more than two miles from Spot’s house. They were fucked. Waffle stood on the street corner bouncing on his toes, undecided which way to turn. The others caught up.
“Where do we go!?”
“What do we do!?”
One block down the road headlights appeared.
“No way! Another cop!?” Waffle shouted. He and Buckle turned to run, but Spot sprinted towards their newest pursuer. Waffle stopped on a dime, took another glance towards the absurdly large headlights, and chased after Spot. His heart rose back up to the hopeful high it had once been on.
Jim.
Spot dove into his dad’s open passenger door while Buckle and Waffle took the bed. Lying flat, they felt the engine rumble as the truck tore off down the street. Moments from being charged with their first criminal offense they had been saved by Mr. Jim Jones. The window to the cab slid open.
“You boy’s alright? Need a beer?” Jim asked. There was no need for a response. They flew along deserted roads, attempting to numb their excited nerves with some ice cold Miller. Everything seemed fine until Jim randomly began to slow down.
“Why are you stopping?” Spot asked his dad.
“Because there’s a yield sign…what the hell? Hamster?”
Sure enough, TheHamster emerged from behind a fence holding the yield sign. Grinning stupidly, he jumped into the back of the truck.
“Hello boys – how was the Communications Building?”
“TheHamster! You made it!” Waffle exclaimed.
“Communications Building?” Buckle asked.
“Yeah, I watched you guys climb it from across the road. Just hid the sign behind a bush and sat on the curb. Cops walked right past me; seemed like nice guys.”
He grabbed Buckle’s beer and took a lengthy swig.
“Oh, and nice climbing, Waffle.”
It was almost four a.m. but none of them were tired. Waffle wondered how long it took for this kind of adrenaline buzz to wear off.
They sat in Spot’s living room admiring their night’s work, always yielding to it as they walked into the kitchen for another brew. Jim came down in pajamas.
“Well boys, I’m off to bed for real this time. Maybe we can save the next sign-stealing session for a weekend night?”
We agreed. Jim turned to leave.
“Wait, Jim.” Waffle had been too drunk and relieved to think about it earlier. “How did you know to come get us? I mean, why were you driving around at night when you have to work in the morning?”
Jim paused halfway up the stairs.
“Well boys, someday you’ll learn there’s more to parenting than just teaching your kid not to talk to strangers. You’ve gotta teach ‘em to take risks, live a little – and if you can help them do it under your supervision, all the better.”
Waffle was intrigued, but Jim still hadn’t answered his question. Then it hit him.
“You told us about that yield sign on purpose, didn’t you?” Buckle and TheHamster exchanged puzzled looks. “You knew we’d go after it; that we couldn’t resist.”
Jim crossed his arms and laughed to himself.
“You’re a pretty smart kid, Waffle.”
“Only pretty smart?”
He laughed harder.
“Well, if you were very smart you would have noticed how poorly the sign was bolted together. As if someone had put it together this morning…”
If Waffle wasn’t so drunk he’d have gotten goosebumps.
“You’re kidding me…”
Jim turned and continued up the stairs, calling back as he went.
“Who do you think called the cops?”
Moral: if your dad ever subliminally sends you on a semi-illegal search and retrieve mission and then calls the cops on you, rest assured it’s for the best. What’s life without a little risk?
Go to Alex's Official Site, www.AlexBash.com
Buy The ImBible: Drinking Games for Times You'll Never Remember with Friends You'll Never Forget
alexbash1@gmail.com
Sometimes The Imbible and I watch the sunrise.
Alex Bash is author of The Imbible: Drinking Games for Times You’ll Never Remember with Friends You’ll Never Forget, currently available for pre-order on amazon.com. It hits shelves August 5th, and is not responsible for your lowered GPA and standards.
In contrast to his general belligerence, Alex works at a hospital where he saves lives, which he likes to remind people is no big deal. He can say otolaryngology in three languages and knows more about the Orbitofrontal Cortex than is necessary for someone who is not, technically, a doctor. He enjoys bubblegum toothpaste, strawberry Pop Tarts, and bench press.
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Pretty Much Daily Quote
"A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts...except slurred, deragatory, and covered in Mexican food."
~ Alex Bash, 2008
Blog
Letting Yourself be Overwhelmed
(7/16/08) Sometimes life can be overwhelming, and even all the beer in the world can't help. It's at time like these you need to let yourself be overwhelmed, even if only for a moment, and then fight back against the forces that be.
Also, you should switch to hard liquor, because it gets you drunk faster.
Growing Up
(7/9/08)Sometimes when I look back at my life and the things I’ve done and been in to over the years, I get sad because I know I’ll never possess that level of ignorance. I’ll never be able to be the young and blissful without knowing that at least part of it is an act. The silliness will never be as silly, the goofiness never as goofy, and Saturday morning cartoons will become infinitely less entertaining without the addition of either nudity or cursing.
Then again, I can now legally drink myself into oblivion by my own free will, get a blowjob in the bar’s bathroom stall, and watch the sun rise from the top of a water tower I’m finally strong enough to climb.
Maybe growing up isn’t so bad.
Drinking with my best friends: Imbible, Imbible, Imbible, and Steve.
I really wish I could remember where this was taken.
People have told me this picture encapsulates who I am. Not sure what to think of that.
My editor sent me an extra large digital copy of The Imbible. I brought it to Canada with me...eh.
When in Rome, do as a frat boy does when he has ten minutes to get drunk for a date function.
Undefeated, naturally.
Synopsis
What do you do when you wake up in an unfamiliar neighborhood hand-cuffed to a fire hydrant, clothed in nothing but socks and pink nail polish, your hand clutching a stained legal document…written in French? Celebrate! You just had a great night! And to think—it all started with The ImBible.
Praise for The Imbible
"The Imbible introduces Bash as a major new talent in the genre of 'books most likely to make you run through campus naked…'" – Officer Hernandez
"A stunning debut by that guy who kept us up 'til 4am with drunken choruses of Wonder Wall..." - The Sorority Next Door
"A moving story about a college freshman eventually finding his pants from last night." - Overpaid Lobbyist
"No, but really, the book is hilarious. He's a seriously funny author." – Guy who is taking this way too seriously
"I have not woken up before noon since Alex wrote this book. I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing." – Alex's roommate
Sample Games
Why You Should Buy The Imbible
If you feel bad buying a book about drinking, just cover up the first 5 letters.
The U.S. Marines’ first recruiting station was in a bar. The Marines kill bad people. Are you pro bad people?
Because if you don’t remember how you got the scar, you can make up as manly as story as you like.
18 games of beer pong is a scapegoat for anything.
THE IMBIBLE is guaranteed to lower your standards in 5 chapters or less!
Random Quotes from The Imbible
Emotions can definitely run high, so it's in your best interest to drink yourself numb.
Can you get a DUI riding a bike around the playground? I think not!
It’s only a matter of time before we’re boning fat chicks and singing-along to American Pie.
Note: Gold Medals do not prevent whiskey dick.
Whether you wear pants or not when you do this is on you.
I hope God doesn't count this night against me.
Pre-gaming a career fair.
Sometimes The Imbible and I do the Can-Can at 4am and then wake up in the front lawn clutching three empty bottles of champagne.