nice story, panic
I miss doing acid sometimes.
I remember clearly a man with a sheep's head and a robot voice selling me orange juice at a shell gas station once.

Yeah, I remember seeing bushes with eyeballs growing on the branches. I had a lot of fun with acid, but had some crappy times too. Actually, when I really consider it, I'm glad I'm not still so hard up for a good time that I have to do that shit.

Colonel Panic wrote:Yeah, I remember seeing bushes with eyeballs growing on the branches. I had a lot of fun with acid, but had some crappy times too. Actually, when I really consider it, I'm glad I'm not still so hard up for a good time that I have to do that shit.

I'd probably do some if I came across it, I have a couple friends who I'd kill to give some to

Thinkin I was 19, shortly after highschool. Met a pretty cool guy in an economics class at a tech college. We got to talkin and it only took all of a minute or two to realize we both were stoners. We then spent the next year or so going over to each others houses and doing "homework". We would meet at a mutual site and smoke pot all night while we drove around. Eventually we got sick of/paranoid of driving around and smoking all the time, so we started parking and smoking wherever. One night we pulled into a gravel drive in the middle of now where, that just dead-ended about 200-300 feet in, PERFECT! We parked the car, marched up a rough trail a little ways and proceded to get high. Bout third bowl in we notice headlights, FUCK!!!!!!! My buddy ditches the tool and we wander down to the car doing are best "do-te-do" nothin goin on here impression. The car is a fucking county sherriff. He knew instantly what we were up to. He played hard balll and we denied everythig, we made up some lame excuse about looking for a watch I had lost while eating lunch that day. (fucking pathetic excuse) The sherriff takes our ID,s and goes back to the squad, after ten minutes or so he returns with avengance, " I know you two are smoking marijauna, fess up and you'll just get a fine". We stuck to our story, he went up the trail and flashed his flashlight around while we collectively pissed our pants. He then came down and searched our car and our person, reaching into our pockets and the whole nine yards. The cop new what we were up to, but had nothing. He told us how lucky we were that there was no K-9 unit on duty that night and let us go!

Turns out we were smokin pot on DNR land.

Best part is I had the bag in my front left pocket the whole damn time, my buddy almost fainted when I told him this. We went back to his place and smoked some more in his driveway.

Not quite burning down a factory, but pretty good for Wisconsin boonies

field wrote:Thinkin I was 19, shortly after highschool. Met a pretty cool guy in an economics class at a tech college. We got to talkin and it only took all of a minute or two to realize we both were stoners. We then spent the next year or so going over to each others houses and doing "homework". We would meet at a mutual site and smoke pot all night while we drove around. Eventually we got sick of/paranoid of driving around and smoking all the time, so we started parking and smoking wherever. One night we pulled into a gravel drive in the middle of now where, that just dead-ended about 200-300 feet in, PERFECT! We parked the car, marched up a rough trail a little ways and proceded to get high. Bout third bowl in we notice headlights, FUCK!!!!!!! My buddy ditches the tool and we wander down to the car doing are best "do-te-do" nothin goin on here impression. The car is a fucking county sherriff. He knew instantly what we were up to. He played hard balll and we denied everythig, we made up some lame excuse about looking for a watch I had lost while eating lunch that day. (fucking pathetic excuse) The sherriff takes our ID,s and goes back to the squad, after ten minutes or so he returns with avengance, " I know you two are smoking marijauna, fess up and you'll just get a fine". We stuck to our story, he went up the trail and flashed his flashlight around while we collectively pissed our pants. He then came down and searched our car and our person, reaching into our pockets and the whole nine yards. The cop new what we were up to, but had nothing. He told us how lucky we were that there was no K-9 unit on duty that night and let us go!

Turns out we were smokin pot on DNR land.

Best part is I had the bag in my front left pocket the whole damn time, my buddy almost fainted when I told him this. We went back to his place and smoked some more in his driveway.

Not quite burning down a factory, but pretty good for Wisconsin boonies

What's DNR Land?

Can you expand on that "do-te-do" sentence?

I've honestly never heard a piece called "a tool." Boonies. Do you play in a band?

Minotaur029 wrote:

field wrote:Thinkin I was 19, shortly after highschool. Met a pretty cool guy in an economics class at a tech college. We got to talkin and it only took all of a minute or two to realize we both were stoners. We then spent the next year or so going over to each others houses and doing "homework". We would meet at a mutual site and smoke pot all night while we drove around. Eventually we got sick of/paranoid of driving around and smoking all the time, so we started parking and smoking wherever. One night we pulled into a gravel drive in the middle of now where, that just dead-ended about 200-300 feet in, PERFECT! We parked the car, marched up a rough trail a little ways and proceded to get high. Bout third bowl in we notice headlights, FUCK!!!!!!! My buddy ditches the tool and we wander down to the car doing are best "do-te-do" nothin goin on here impression. The car is a fucking county sherriff. He knew instantly what we were up to. He played hard balll and we denied everythig, we made up some lame excuse about looking for a watch I had lost while eating lunch that day. (fucking pathetic excuse) The sherriff takes our ID,s and goes back to the squad, after ten minutes or so he returns with avengance, " I know you two are smoking marijauna, fess up and you'll just get a fine". We stuck to our story, he went up the trail and flashed his flashlight around while we collectively pissed our pants. He then came down and searched our car and our person, reaching into our pockets and the whole nine yards. The cop new what we were up to, but had nothing. He told us how lucky we were that there was no K-9 unit on duty that night and let us go!

Turns out we were smokin pot on DNR land.

Best part is I had the bag in my front left pocket the whole damn time, my buddy almost fainted when I told him this. We went back to his place and smoked some more in his driveway.

Not quite burning down a factory, but pretty good for Wisconsin boonies

What's DNR Land?
Come on, really??
Department of natural resources

Can you expand on that "do-te-do" sentence?
do-te-do-te-do-te-do-do-te-do

I've honestly never heard a piece called "a tool." Boonies. Do you play in a band?

Tool= poorly crafted pot smoking device, yes on the band question.

Two friends and I won a national student architecture competition last year, the prize a trip to Venice for the biennale in November. We organised to stay at Fusina caravan park run by a guy who spends half the year in Perth. Over dinner one night we asked about the closest Palladian villa to check out on our travels.

‘There’s one in town’ he said.
‘What, in Malcontenta?’
‘Yeah its just near the pizza shop’

When we got to the pizza shop a domestic was unfolding in the street. Ten or so people trying to stop a very old mumma from riding her bike. One woman in particular, possibly her daughter, tried to physically restrain her. This is when the yelling started from the seated, yet motionless tour de Italy geriatric. People coming out of their houses to watch. In any case the old momma broke free, found her pedal and rode off. She over took us, very determined. By the time we reached the bend the woman had long since disappeared out of view. Yet the crowd were still discussing the matter 500m away outside the pizza shop.

The front entrance of the villa was closed. Only open April to October. The villa is sweet and the reason why it was build was even more interesting. Malcontenta is a temple style villa built in 1560 for Nicolo and Foscari families. The villa was commissioned to keep the lady of the house banished from Venice island in chastisement for dissolute pleasures. Therefore the front half of the villa looks very bleak and uninviting and the back half, where the owners wanted to keep her, is attractive and liveable.

After the people had finnaly broken up so they couldn’t see us and a quick jump over the mostly dried creek, we stood poised before the semi-thick trees and vines that blocked our way into Malcontenta. Pushing my way through the trees, the villa emerged some 80 metres away. Julius handed me his camera and I took some snaps while Paul and he joined me. We stood transfixed for a while. Julius and I decided to get closer. Paul was very nervous about the idea, stating:

‘Ive got a criminal record, Im not sure about this.’
You may aswell go back, I said, you’re making us nervous too.


A row of trees off to the side of the paddock led to the left back corner of the house. We followed it for shelter, hoping no pack of wild dogs come running out to tear us to bits. I was imagining some little creepy woman sitting in the villa watching, giving the order to release the hounds. I told Julius to keep taking photos so it looked like we’re interested in the architecture and not there to steal shit. (There were a lot of cops in the area due to high prostitute number and we’d already been stopped twice, checking our passports etc.) So far we saw no-one, not a soul, which made it more creepy in a way.

We made out way around to the front, past a small formal garden, the gravel crunching under us. An old man watched us from across the moat that ran in front of the villa. He knew we weren’t supposed to be in there. ‘All that could happen is that we’ll get kicked out’, I said to Julius. The dark overcast sky added to the gloom. The notion of trespassing in a foreign country added adrenaline to the concoction. Julius went up to the front column and I took a photo of him. Just then a noise of a tractor could be heard. The tractor stopped out front of the villa. The engine kept running, but I heard a door slam. Then footsteps could be heard coming around the side of the villa. We were trapped by the villa and the moat. Julius walked to the opposite side of the villa but I stood my ground, hoping that the groundsman would understand. Quite well kept, but hardened, the grounds man approached with a frown on his face. He couldn’t speak English, me no Italian. With the camera I motioned to the villa to signify some universal tourist language, saying ‘Australia, we’re from Australia, perdoni, perdoni.’

At that point a smile rose on his face. He motioned for us to follow him around to the back of the villa. He turned the engine off in the tractor. Grabbing a pack of Marlboro’s, lighting one up, he went to the back door and opened it up. Julius had joined me by now seeing that it was safe. We walked through the Bacchus and Venus, The four Seasons, Rural work and Myth of Prometheus rooms. Julius saying that it is ‘a pretty shitty master plan, really.’ By the time we returned down stairs the groundsman ha d a pot of coffee on and his wife had come over from the outhouse. She could speak English. She invited us to stay for lunch. Turns out they had been looking after the villa for 18 years.
Drunk, and full, two hours later we left. Half way up the driveway we remembered Paul, who we found sitting on the side of the moat, dejected and bored.


But that’s not what actually happened. We were trapped. The groundsman and his wife cornered us. Julius tried to run to the front gate, but it was locked. As he attempted to jump the fence, the groundsman grabbed him, pulled him to the ground and sat on him. Defeated I simply stayed out the front of the villa, next to the tractor where his wife waited. I motioned to her with the camera again that we were tourists from Australia. But she didn’t understand. Soon after the cops arrived. We were piled into their cars and taken down the cops shop, passing Paul on the way past the pizza shop. The cops insisted on ringing our parents in Perth. When they rang Julius’ old man, who is a semi-famous architect in Australia, waking him at 2am, his old man was proud as fuck. ‘That’s my boy’ he told the cops, ‘his first architectural intervention is trespassing on a Palladian villa.’ We spent the afternoon in a cell, when finally some greasy cop came and let us out.


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Me and 7 other friends got trespassing tickets for driving over a guys driveway, in order to go up to the hills and play paintball. I shit you not. It was mostly a case of being in shitty cars in a nice neighborhood.

I have 970 million trespassing stories. If trespassing was a college major, I would have a doctorate.
One of my better stories is one of the many times my friends and I went looking for "treasure"(pronounced TREZ-SHA) in abandoned houses. This was a common occurence back then. We scouted places, usually old farmhouses, for weeks to see if they were truly abandoned.
We found a place that was out in the middle of nowhere and me and two friends "persuaded" the back door open. This house was pretty weird. Behind the back door was a pile of stuff that went crashing over when we "persuaded" the door open. A quick scan revealed no treasure in the pile. As we walked into the house, we confirmed our belief the house was abandoned.
The second room we entered had a bunch of fucking guns in it. There were rifles of various sizes propped randomly throughout the room. We got a little freaked but decided to load one of the guns to carry with us. The closet had a gigantic supply of ammo as well. We piled the guns together quietly and filled an old bowling bag with the ammo and decided to check the rest of the place for sleeping/dead mobsters or murderers. We entered the next room and the room was empty, save for an old style hospital bed ( the kind that cranks up) and some jars along the bottom of the wall that contained a liquid with dead spiders and lizards floating in it. This house was starting to look like a nin video.
We checked upstairs and found nothing but a few p-coats which we "persuaded" from the closet. We returned to the gun room and matched the ammo with the guns and realized that there was ammo for a pistol but no pistol. We decided to tear the place apart looking for the pistol but never found it. We loaded up the car with the guns, P-coats, some religious artifacts (I collect them) and some other odds and ends and then we left.
Thank Jesus we didn't get pulled over. We divided the guns and respective ammo and went home.

Minotaur029 wrote:What's DNR Land?

DNR stands for Department of Natural Resources. There is a lot of DNR-controlled land in Wisconsin. These are set aside areas controlled by the state of WI, which provide public access for hunting, fishing, cross-country skiing, mountain biking, etc.

There are probably thousands of these gravel/dirt roads/parking areas with trails leading off of them for these purposes throughout Wisconsin.

There are also countless miles of fire roads throughout the heavily forested areas of Wisconsin. I suppose cops could go through these occasionally looking for "troublemakers" but probably not very often. There wouldn't be much of a payoff in doing so for them.

It doesn't really constitute trespassing, since they are there for public use, unless you set up camp in one of theses areas, as that is usually forbidden.

I have slept overnight in these places many times in my vehicle however. Usually because I plan on fishing in the area early in the morning. I have never been told to move on by cops once I explained why I was there, in fact, a few times, I have been given tips on where to fish by these same cops.

As long as you're not setting up a tent, and you're not doing anything suspicious, like making a campfire in an area not designated for it, shining deer, or obviously partying, you will most likely be left alone once you've answered a cop's questions in these places.