Virginia Gun Owners Forum - VGOF

Don't forget to mark your calendars.

As you may already know, it is a sin for a Muslim male to see any woman other than his wife naked. He must commit suicide if he does. So next Saturday at 4 PM Eastern Time, all American women are asked to walk out of their house completely naked to help weed out any neighborhood terrorists. Circling your block for one hour is recommended for this anti-terrorist effort.

All patriotic men are to position themselves in lawn chairs in front of their house to prove they are not Muslims, and to demonstrate they think its okay to see nude women other than their wife, and to show support for all American women. Since Islam also does not approve of alcohol, a cold 6-pack at your side is further proof of your anti-Muslim sentiment. The American government appreciates your efforts to root out terrorists and applauds your participation in this anti-terrorist activity.

God bless America!

A guy calls a company and orders their 5-day, 10-lb weight loss program.



The next da y, there's a knock on the door, and there stands before him a
voluptuous, athletic, 19-year-old babe dressed in nothing but a pair of
Nike running shoes and a sign around her neck. She introduces herself
as a representative of the weight loss Company. The sign reads, 'If
you can catch me, you can have me.' Without a second thought, he takes
off after her. A few miles later huffing and puffing, he finally gives
up. The same girl shows up for the next four days and the same thing
happens. On the fifth day, he weighs himself and is delighted to find
he has lost 10 lbs as promised.



He calls the company and orders their 5-day, 20-pound program. The
next day there's a knock at the door and there stands the most
stunning, beautiful, sexy woman he has ever seen in his life. She is
wearing nothing but Reebok running shoes and a sign around her neck that
reads, 'If you catch me, you can have me'. Well, he's out the door
after her like a shot. This girl is in excellent shape and he does his
best, but no such luck.



So for the next four days, the same routine happens with him gradually
getting in better and better shape. Much to his delight on the fifth
day when he weighs himself, he discovers that he has lost another 20 lbs
as promised.



He decides to go for broke and calls the company to order the 7-day,
50-pound pro gram. 'Are you sure?' asks the representative on the
phone. 'This is our most rigorous program.' 'Absolutely,' he replies,
'I haven't felt this good in years.'



The next day there's a knock at the door; and when he opens it, he finds
a huge muscular guy standing there wearing nothing but pink running
shoes and a sign around his neck that reads, 'If I catch you, your ass
is mine.' He lost 63 pounds that week.

Why we should not flirt!!!!!!!

A couple was invited to a swanky family masked fancy dress

Halloween party. The wife got a terrible headache and told her

husband to go to the party alone. He, being a devoted husband,

protested, but she argued and said she was going to take

some aspirin and go to bed and there was no need for his good time

to be spoiled by not going.



So he took his costume and away he went. The wife, after sleeping

soundly for about an hour, woke without pain and as it was still early,

decided to go to the party. As her husband didn't know what her costume was,


she thought she would have some fun by watching her husband to see how

he acted when she was not with him.



So she joined the party and soon spotted her husband in his

costume, cavorting around on the dance floor, dancing with every nice

'chick' he could and copping a little feel here and a little kiss there.



His wife went up to him and being a rather seductive babe herself, he

left his new partner high and dry and devoted his time to her.

She let him go as far as he wished, naturally, since he was her

husband.



After more drinks he finally whispered a little proposition in

her ear and she agreed, so off they went to one of the cars and had

passionate intercourse in the back seat. Just before unmasking at

midnight, she slipped away and went home and put the costume away and

was sitting up reading when he came in, so she asked what kind of time he
had.



'Oh, the same old thing. You know I never have a good time when you're

not there.' Then she asked, 'Did you dance much?'

He replied, 'I'll tell you, I never even danced one dance. When I

got there, I met Pete, Bill Brown and some other guys, so we went into

the spare room and played poker all evening.'



'You must have looked really silly wearing that costume playing

poker all night!' she said with unashamed sarcasm. To which the

husband replied,



'Actually, I gave my costume to my Dad apparently he had the time of his
life.

The Cowboy, Indian and Muslim


Three strangers strike up a conversation in the passenger lounge in Bozeman, Montana, while waiting for their respective flights.

One is an American Indian passing through from Lame Deer, another is a Cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show and the third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at Montana State University from the Middle East.
Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon, the two Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim and the conversation falls into an uneasy lull.
The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face, and lights a cigarette. The wind outside is blowing tumbleweeds around, and the old windsock is flapping; but still no plane comes.

Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and softly he speaks, 'At one time here... my people were many... but sadly, now we are few.'

The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans forward,
'Once my people were few,' he sneers, 'and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?

The cowboy removes his cigarette from his mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says in a smooth drawl...

'I reckon that's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet,
But I do believe it's a-comin'.'

A young man moved from his parents home into a new apartment of his own
and went to the lobby to put his name on his mailbox. While there, an
attractive young lady came out of the apartment next to the mailboxes,
wearing a robe.

The boy smiled at the young woman and she started a conversation with him.
As they talked, her robe slipped open, and it was obvious that she had
nothing else on. The poor kid broke into a sweat trying to maintain eye
contact

After a few minutes, she placed her hand on his arm and said, 'Let's go to
my apartment, I hear someone coming.

He followed her into her apartment; she closed the door and leaned against
it, allowing her robe to fall off completely. Now nude, she purred at him,
'What would you say is my best feature?'

Flustered and embarrassed, he finally squeaked, 'It's got to be your ears.'
Astounded, and a little hurt, she asked, 'My ears? Look at these breasts;
they are full and 100% natural. I work out every day and my butt is firm and
solid. Look at my skin - no blemishes anywhere. How can you think that the
best part of my body is my ears?' Clearing his throat, he stammered ....
'Outside, when you said you heard someone coming.... that was me..

An interesting letter in the Australian Shooter Magazine, quote:

"If you consider that there has been an average of 160,000 troops in the
Iraq theater of operations during the past 22 months, and a total of 2112
deaths, that gives a firearm death rate of 60 per 100,000 soldiers.

The firearm death rate in Washington, DC is 80.6 per 100,000 for the same
period. That means you are about 25 per cent more likely to be shot and killed
in the US capital, which has some of the strictest gun control laws in the US,
than you are in Iraq.

Conclusion:The US should pull out of Washington."

haha I like that one - and will find a good place to use it

Regardless of how you feel about gun laws you have to love this! This is one of the best comeback lines of all time.

In a portion of an ABC radio interview between a female broadcaster and General Cosgrove who was about to sponsor a Boy Scout Troop visiting his military Headquarters.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER:
So, General Cosgrove, what things are you going to teach these young boys when they visit your base?

GENERAL COSGROVE:!
We're going to teach them climbing, canoeing, archery and shooting.


FEMALE INTERVIEWER:
Shooting! That's a bit irresponsible, isn't it?

GENERAL COSGROVE:
I don't see why, they'll be properly supervised on the rifle range.

FEMALE INTERVIEWER:
Don't you admit that this is a terribly dangerous activity to be teaching children?

GENERAL COSGROVE:
I don't see how. We will be teaching them proper rifle discipline before they even touch a firearm.


FEMALE INTERVIEWER:
But you're equipping them to become violent killers.

GENERAL COSGROVE:
Well, Ma'am, you're equipped to be a prostitute, but you're not one, are you?

The radiocast went silent for 46 seconds and when it returned, this interview was over.

Doctor a Day

1. A man comes into the ER and yells, "My wife's going to have her
baby in the cab!" I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the
lady's dress, and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed
that there were several cabs ---and I was in the wrong one.

Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald, San Antonio , TX

2. At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an
elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall. "Big
breaths," I instructed. "Yes, they used to be," replied the patient.

Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes, Seattle, WA

3. One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife
that her husband had died of a massive myocardial infarct. Not more than
five minutes later, I hear her reporting to the rest of the family that
he had died of a "massive internal fart."

Submitted by Dr Susan Steinber

4. During a patient's two week follow-up appointment with his
cardiologist, he informed me, his doctor, that he was having trouble
with one of his medications. "Which one?" I asked.

"The patch; the nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and
now I'm running out of places to put it!" I had him quickly undress and
discovered what I hoped I wouldn't see. Yes, the man had over fifty
patches on his body! Now, the instructions include removal of the old
patch before applying a new one.

Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair, Norfolk , VA

5. While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked,
"How long have you been bedridden?" After a look of complete confusion
she answered..."Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was
alive."

Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson, Corvallis , OR

6. I was caring for a woman and asked, "So how's your breakfast
this morning?" "It's very good, except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't
seem to get used to the taste," the patient replied. I then asked to see
the jelly and the woman produced a foil packet labeled "KY Jelly."

Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf, Detroit , MI

7. A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room when a young woman
with purple hair styled into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of
tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered.

It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so
she was scheduled for immediate surgery. When she was completely
disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair
had been dyed green, and above it there was a tattoo that read, "Keep
off the grass".

Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the
patient's dressing, which said, "Sorry, had to mow the lawn."

Submitted by RN no name

8. AND FINALLY!!!...............As a new, young MD doing his
residency in OB, I was quite embarrassed when performing female pelvic
exams. To cover my embarrassment I had unconsciously formed a habit of
whistling softly.

The middle-aged lady upon whom I was performing this exam suddenly burst
out laughing and further embarrassing me. I looked up from my work and
sheepishly said, "I'm sorry. Was I tickling you?"

She replied, "No doctor, but the song you were whistling was, "I wish I
was an Oscar Meyer Wiener".

Dr. Wouldn't submit his name

What's difference between Michael Jackson and a plastic bag?.

One is white, made out of plastic and dangerous for kids to play with.

The other one you can carry groceries in

Farrah Fawcet died and went to heaven. God told her, "You may make one wish and I will grant it". She said, "I want all of the children in the world to be safe". So God killed Michael Jackson.

OakRidgeStars wrote:Farrah Fawcet died and went to heaven. God told her, "You may make one wish and I will grant it". She said, "I want all of the children in the world to be safe". So God killed Michael Jackson.

Actually Michael got bold and looked in the mirror. He died instantly and turned to stone so your idea of melting him down is a non-starter. Here's what he saw:



Sorry if there are any typos. I had to post this with my eyes closed.

Three men who were lost in the forest were captured by cannibals.

The cannibal king told the prisoners that they could live if they pass a trial.

The first step of the trial was to go to the forest and get ten pieces of the same kind of fruit. So all three men went separate ways to gather fruits.

The first one came back and said to the king, 'I brought ten apples.' The king then explained the trial to him. ' You have to shove the fruits up your butt without any expression on your face or you'll be eaten.'

The first apple went in... but on the second one he winced out in pain, so he was killed.

The second one arrived and showed the king ten berries. When the king explained the trial to him he thought to himself that this should be easy. 1...2...3... 4...5...6. ..7...8.. . and on the ninth berry he burst out in laughter and was killed.

The first guy and the second guy met in heaven. The first one asked, 'Why did you laugh, you almost got away with it?' The second one replied, 'I couldn't help it, I saw the third guy coming with pineapples.'

All in all, it hadn't been a good day. Bad traffic, a malfunctioning computer, incompetent coworkers and a sore back all made me a seething cauldron of rage. But more importantly for this story, it had been over forty-eight hours since I'd last taken a dump. I'd tried to jumpstart the process, beginning my day with a bowl of bowel-cleansing fiber cereal, following it with six cups of coffee at work, and adding a bean-laden lunch at Taco Bell. As I was returning home from work, my insides let me know with
subtle rumbles and the emission of the occasional tiny fart that Big Things would be happening soon. Alas, I had to stop at the mall to go Christmas shopping. I completed this task, and as I was walking past the stores on my way back to the car, I noticed a large sale sign proclaiming, "Everything Must Go!" This was prophetic, for my colon informed me with a sudden violent cramp and a wet, squeaky fart that everything was indeed about to go. I hurried to the mall bathrooms. I surveyed the five stalls, which I have numbered 1 through 5 for your convenience:
1.Occupied.
2.Clean, but Bathroom Protocol forbids its use, as it's next to the occupied one.
3.Poo on seat.
4.Poo and toilet paper in bowl, unidentifiable liquid splattered on seat.
5.No toilet paper, no stall door, unidentifiable sticky object near base of toilet.
Clearly, it had to be Stall #2. I trudged back, entered, dropped trou and sat down. I'm normally a fairly Shameful Sh1tter. I wasn't happy about being next to the occupied stall, but Big Things were afoot.
I was just getting ready to bear down when all of a sudden the sweet sounds of Beethoven came from next door, followed by a fumbling, and then the sound of a voice answering the ringing phone. As usual for a cell phone conversation, the voice was exactly 8 dB louder than it needed to be. Out of Shameful habit, my sphincter slammed shut. The inane conversation went on and on. Mr. Sh1tter was blathering to Mrs. Sh1tter about the sh1tty day he had. I sat there, cramping and miserable, waiting for him to finish. As the loud conversation dragged on, I became angrier and angrier, thinking that I, too, had a crappy day, but I was too polite to yak about in public. My bowels let me know in no uncertain terms that if I didn't get crapping soon, my day would be getting even crappier.
Finally my anger reached a point that overcame Shamefulness. I no longer cared. I gripped the toilet paper holder with one hand, braced my other hand against the side of the stall, and pushed with all my might. I was rewarded with a fart of colossal magnitude -- a cross between the sound of someone ripping a very wet bed sheet in half and of plywood being torn off a wall.
The sound gradually transitioned into a heavily modulated low-RPM tone, not unlike someone firing up a Harley. I managed to hit the resonance frequency of the stall, and it shook gently.
Once my *** cheeks stopped flapping in the breeze, three things became apparent: (1) The next-door conversation had ceased; (2) my colon's continued seizing indicated that there was more to come; and (3) the bathroom was now beset by a horrible, eldritch stench. It was as if a gateway to Hell had been opened. The foul miasma quickly made its way under the stall and began choking my poop-mate. This initial "herald" fart had ended his conversation in mid-sentence.
"Oh my God," I heard him utter, following it with suppressed sounds of choking, and then, "No, baby, that wasn't me (cough, gag), you could hear that (gag)??"
Now there was no stopping me. I pushed for all I was worth. I could swear that in the resulting cacophony of rips, squirts, splashes, poots, and blasts, I was actually lifted slightly off the pot. The amount of stuff in me was incredible. It sprayed against the bowl with tremendous force. Later, in surveying the damage, I'd see that liquid poop had actually managed to ricochet out of the bowl and run down the side on to the floor. But for now, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
Next door I could hear him fumbling with the paper dispenser as he desperately tried to finish his task. Little snatches of conversation made themselves heard over my anal symphony: "Gotta go... horrible... throw up... in my mouth... not... make it... tell the kids... love them... oh God..." followed by more sounds of suppressed gagging and retching.
Alas, it is evidently difficult to hold one's phone and wipe one's bum at the same time. Just as my high-pressure abuse of the toilet was winding down, I heard a plop and splash from next door, followed by string of swear words and gags. My poop-mate had dropped his phone into the toilet.
There was a lull in my production, and the restroom became deathly quiet. I could envision him standing there, wondering what to do. A final anal announcement came trumpeting from my behind, small chunks plopping noisily into the water. That must have been the last straw. I heard a flush, a fumbling with the lock, and then the stall door was thrown open. I heard him running out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
After a considerable amount of paperwork, I got up and surveyed the damage. I felt bad for the janitor who'd be forced to deal with this, but I knew that flushing was not an option. No toilet in the world could handle that unholy mess. Flushing would only lead to a floor flooded with filth.
As I left, I glanced into the next-door stall. Nothing remained in the bowl. Had he flushed his phone, or had he plucked it out and left the bathroom with nasty unwashed hands? The world will never know.
I exited the bathroom, momentarily proud and Shameless, looking around for a face glaring at me. But I saw no one. I suspect that somehow my supernatural elimination has managed to transfer my Shamefulness to my anonymous poop-mate. I think it'll be a long time before he can bring himself to poop in public -- and I doubt he'll ever again answer his cell phone in the loo. And this, my friends, is why you should never talk on your phone in the bathroom.

Smoking a cigarette, drinking a swallow of beer, and reading the previous "poop" joke all at the same time does not mix. I almost choked to death laughing.

Why did the chicken cross the road?

SARAH PALIN: Before it got to the other side, I shot the chicken, cleaned
and dressed it, and had chicken burgers for lunch.

BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change!
The chicken wanted change!

JOHN MC CAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he
recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the
chickens on the other side of the road.

HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little
chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to
ensure right from Day One that every chicken in this country gets the chance
it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.

GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We
just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The
chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.

DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?

COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the
satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.

BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your
definition of chicken?

AL GORE: I invented the chicken.

JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now
against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the
chicken's intentions. I am not for it now and will remain against it.

AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.

DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken doesn't realize that
he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes
after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help
him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems
before adding new problems.

OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why
he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn
from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give
this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live
his life like the rest of the chickens.

ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we
have not yet been allowed access to the other side of the road.

NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see
it in his eyes and the way he walks.

PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.

MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was
going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when
the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider
information.

DR. SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes,
the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.

ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.

GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody
told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.

BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be
listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heart-warming story
of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish
its lifelong dream of crossing the road.

ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.

JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together,
in peace.

BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken 2008, which will not only cross
roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your
checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken 2008. This new
platform is much more stable and will never crash or need to be rebooted.

ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move
beneath the chicken?

COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?

Hillbilly mirror

After living in the remote wilderness of West Virginia all his life, An old hillbilly decided it was time to visit the big city. In one of the stores he picks up a mirror and looks in it. Not ever having seen one before, he remarked at the image staring back at him, 'How about that! Here's a picture of my daddy.' He bought the mirror thinking it was a picture of his daddy, but on the way home he remembered his wife didn't like his father, so he hung it in the barn, and every morning before leaving for the fields, he would go there and look at it. His wife began to get suspicious of these many trips to the barn. One day after her husband left, she searched the barn and found the mirror. As she looked into the glass, she fumed, 'So that's the ugly bitch he's runnin' around with.'

Ok, I mentioned Darwin Awards in one of the other threads so I'll post a couple. Here's a good one. I'll call it smart government.
-----------------------------------------------------
(1982, Texas) At the Amarillo Fairgrounds, some buildings were in need of a coat of paint, so local contractors were hired to do the job.

Between the buildings was an angled culvert, designed to drain rainwater away from the buildings. Because of the slope, the wheeled painter scaffolding tended to roll downhill, so the painters removed the wheels on the scaffolding. They were in the process of moving the scaffolding, when the metal structure met a transformer. The painters were killed.

The story made the headlines. The town was abuzz with talk of the tragedy, how it had come to pass, and whether the city was liable for damages. The city officials decided they needed to conduct an investigation.

With much fanfare, they arrived at the scene of the incident, prepared to personally recreate the circumstances. Two officials grabbed the scaffolding in the exact same location as the two painters, began to move the scaffolding... and were promptly electrocuted.

Another Darwin Award. They called it tired ammo. I'll call it Self Defense Thug.
---------------------------------------------------------
(1990's, United States) I heard the following at work in the gun shop. The events described below (if it's not a legend) occurred in the 1990's in the southwest.

A small-time hood (about to be even smaller) broke into the home of a World War Two veteran and stole, among other things, the old G.I.'s .45 automatic pistol, which he used in battle in the 1940's. The hoodlum then reported directly to a local convenience store and proceeded to rob the cashier while brandishing his new pistol. The cashier, no dummy, followed orders and handed over the contents of the register.

Our thug took the money and turned to leave, but suddenly decided he didn't want to leave a witnesses... other than the security camera, that is. He leveled the pistol at the cashier and pulled the trigger.

"CLICK!" went the gun.

At this unexpected development, the puzzled crook looked straight down the barrel of his weapon and uttered the words, "What the...?"

As it turned out, the WWII veteran had WWII vintage ammunition in his WWII vintage pistol. Priming caps over time are known to lose their "spontaneous" nature, particularly if stored improperly, causing what is known as a hang-fire: The primer smolders into a delayed ignition.

Such was the case here.

Just as the puzzled crook had the barrel pointed squarely at his own eye, the hang-fired primer detonated, sending a half-inch chunk of lead and associated hot combustion gases directly into the felon's skull at 900 feet per second.

The range was less than six inches.
The body could only be identified by fingerprints.

As the story was related to me, the police officer who responded to the original gun burglary was also at the scene of the armed robbery. He picked up the .45 and verified the serial number, then returned it to the WWII veteran.

Case closed.

This is one of my favorites and supposedly true.
---------------------------------------------------------------
(1982, California) Larry Walters of Los Angeles is one of the few to contend for the Darwin Awards and live to tell the tale. "I have fulfilled my 20-year dream," said Walters, a former truck driver for a company that makes TV commercials. "I'm staying on the ground. I've proved the thing works."

Larry's boyhood dream was to fly. But fates conspired to keep him from his dream. He joined the Air Force, but his poor eyesight disqualified him from the job of pilot. After he was discharged from the military, he sat in his backyard watching jets fly overhead.

He hatched his weather balloon scheme while sitting outside in his "extremely comfortable" Sears lawnchair. He purchased 45 weather balloons from an Army-Navy surplus store, tied them to his tethered lawnchair dubbed the Inspiration I, and filled the 4' diameter balloons with helium. Then he strapped himself into his lawnchair with some sandwiches, Miller Lite, and a pellet gun. He figured he would pop a few of the many balloons when it was time to descend.

Larry's plan was to sever the anchor and lazily float up to a height of about 30 feet above his back yard, where he would enjoy a few hours of flight before coming back down. But things didn't work out quite as Larry planned.

When his friends cut the cord anchoring the lawnchair to his Jeep, he did not float lazily up to 30 feet. Instead, he streaked into the LA sky as if shot from a cannon, pulled by the lift of 42 helium balloons holding 33 cubic feet of helium each. He didn't level off at 100 feet, nor did he level off at 1000 feet. After climbing and climbing, he leveled off at 16,000 feet.

At that height he felt he couldn't risk shooting any of the balloons, lest he unbalance the load and really find himself in trouble. So he stayed there, drifting cold and frightened with his beer and sandwiches, for more than 14 hours. He crossed the primary approach corridor of LAX, where Trans World Airlines and Delta Airlines pilots radioed in reports of the strange sight.

Eventually he gathered the nerve to shoot a few balloons, and slowly descended. The hanging tethers tangled and caught in a power line, blacking out a Long Beach neighborhood for 20 minutes. Larry climbed to safety, where he was arrested by waiting members of the LAPD. As he was led away in handcuffs, a reporter dispatched to cover the daring rescue asked him why he had done it. Larry replied nonchalantly, "A man can't just sit around."

The Federal Aviation Administration was not amused. Safety Inspector Neal Savoy said, "We know he broke some part of the Federal Aviation Act, and as soon as we decide which part it is, a charge will be filed."