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Funniest, Hardest, Or Wierdest Car Breakdown Story


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I thought it would be funny to tell some stories of where and how we have all broken down, and maybe learn a few things as well. I have plenty of these stories, but I will start out with this one.

My dad had a '77 Ford truck. It was his work truck and he was hard on it. I am not even sure he changed the oil. By the time I started driving in '84, this thing was a mess, but it was the only car we had, so I had to drive the thing on dates and stuff. Well, one of the problems was one of the engine mounts was broken, so if you went over a bump to fast the engine would jump, and the fan would hit the hood. I know, hard to believe, but true.

My dad had warned me about bumps, after he had a problem and showed me how to fix it, but I was a teen and did not heed his advice. I was out on a date and went over a railroad track to fast, the engine jumped, the fan hit the hood, and the clutch pedal slapped to the floor. This was a three speed column shift.

You see, when the engine jumps out of place too much it pulls the clutch pedal assembly apart. What you have to do then, and what me and my girlfriend did, was get out in the street and look for a little pin, which can take a while, especially in the dark. Finding that little pin somewhere in the road is the hardest part of the repair. Once I found it, I got under the truck, pulled the two pieces back together and inserted the pin so the clutch would work again. My girlfriend did not even flinch. She was used to it dating me in that truck.

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Driving down 77 in rush hour my heater core burst open instantly filling the inside of my car with white steam from the radiator. I couldn't see a thing, none of the cars around me I was doing a good 75 when it happened. I was in the fast lane so the wall was to my left and all the traffic was to my right. I just hit the blinkers, rolled down the window and stuck my head and shoulders out just to see. the smoke started to clear after a bit and I made to the trouble lane without wreaking but dam that was a rush.

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I didn't latch the hood of my car properly after replacing the wiper fluid at home, so when I hit +65mph on the highway, the hood flipped up and slammed into the windshield, shattering it, and bowing both the metal hood and glass windshield into the car.

As my passenger screamed, I calmly turned on my signal and pulled the car to the side of the road - completely blind to the road and traffic around me. (figuring correctly that all the other cars will move out of my way on their own, and hoping that the road remained straight.)

P.s. To this day, I'm most proud of the fact that I used my blinker.

Edited by Doozer
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Sometime around December 1996 I took my two year old son to visit my mother, his grandmother, in the old hood I grew up in off Simpson Rd, now Boone Drive in Dixie Hills. It was a cold, rainy night and an ice storm was just starting when we left her place to return home. As we approached Lincoln Cemetery the dashboard lights started dimming. Just when we reached the entrance to the cemetery the car shut down and I coasted into the cemetery to get off the road. As soon as we came to a complete stop my son started boohooing because he knew this wouldn't be good. I said don't worry son I have my trusty cellphone, we'll just call grandma and she'll pick us up. The cellphone was an old bag phone with the big five pound battery. It was dead as a doornail. Then I said don't panic we'll just walk to Simpson Woods and find a payphone. So we got out and I mean it was cold, windy with freezing rain starting to come in sideways. I pull out my umbrella and the wind just blew it to hail. Long story short we walked down Simpson in the dark, in the ghetto, in the freezing rain to a security guard's shed at the apartments and called my mom who picked us up. I had to drive her car back to the cemetery to wait for AAA who took three hours to get there because all the wreckers were busy with the ice storm. Try sitting in a cemetery in the ghetto for three hours around midnight. Not fun at all.

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We got my buddies blazer stuck in the middle of the crossplains outside of Carrollton one night while mud boggin. Went over a hill and bottomed out. It was balancing on the frame on the very top of the hill with all 4 wheels off of the ground. Ended up having to walk miles to the nearest store and call friends with a bigger truck to come pull it out. Pulled it off of the top of the hill and bent the rear axle in the processlaugh.png

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About 10 years or so ago I made a complete *** off myself. I had recently bought a new SUV and was about to leave town the next day for vacation. We were all going to take my car so on the way home I stopped and filled up my gas tank. After filling up I take off but only make it about 25 feet or so. This happened around 2 blocks from the dealership that I purchased it at. I had it towed there and started basically cursing the people out for selling me a piece of **** and demanding a rental car. Well the rental car shop was closed and one of my friends said we could drive his car when we head out on vacation. I get a call while I'm on vacation and they said I put diesel fuel in it. I felt like a complete *** when I went to pick it back up, also out about $1200.

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The camping trip from ****. Blown tires on the way there and back , a Carolina Skiff being destroyed and impaled on the trailer, a 5-mile walk to ******* Walmart, and a goose with a federal wildlife tag on its ankle being shot in the head and eaten just to survive.

I'm snitching!

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The camping trip from ****. Blown tires on the way there and back , a Carolina Skiff being destroyed and impaled on the trailer, a 5-mile walk to ******* Walmart, and a goose with a federal wildlife tag on its ankle being shot in the head and eaten just to survive.

little more of the story please lol how long where you stranded that you had to kill a goose to survive? lmao

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My wife had a 1991 Jetta. Sweet little car, but you couldn't get anyone to fix it for anything. Especially where we lived. The alternator went out, and we had a local shop fix it. Unfortunately, they didn't use a Bosch part.

So we had some friends visiting, and we drove out of town for the weekend to hang out and have fun. On the way back, we got stuck in a little pig town because the alternator belt came off (the wrong-sized pulley on the non-Bosch alternator ate it in half). We managed to use some shoestrings to get us another few exits up the road before we had to pull into a Huddle House. We tried to get a hotel, but for some reason, every hotel in this crappy little town was completely booked up. So we ate at the Huddle House, slept in the car, and then called a friend to pick us up in the morning. Had the car towed to a shop that charged me some obscene amount of money to replace the pulley and alternator belt.

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little more of the story please lol how long where you stranded that you had to kill a goose to survive? lmao

"Poaching statute of limitations" is now in my Google search history. NSA is probably having a ******* field day with the weird **** I've looked up over the years.

LONG STORY:

Buddy and me went on a fishing trip with nothing to eat except 2 potatoes, cornmeal, vegetable oil, and a tiny bottle of Tabasco because we were confident we'd catch a billion catfish like every other time we went to this spot. Tons of weed and beer, but no food. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment idea on a Friday morning when we had nothing to do, and we didn't plan it out too well.

Tire on the trailer blows out on the way there. No problem, he's got a spare. The spare looked a little rusted and warped to me, but I think nothing of it. We arrive without further incident, put the boat in the water, drop off our gear at the spot, and start fishing.

We couldn't catch a cold. Ending up eating the potatoes the first night, considered going back to civilization the next morning but said **** it and fished and drank all day. Still not a single bite.

As the afternoon wears on, hunger and desperation starts setting in and I made what might be greatest shot in history. From a moving boat bobbing up and down on the water, I fired a single shot from a crappy Ruger .45 and hit a goose right in its face from about 15 yards. The head explodes, the long neck slowly dips down into the water, and we're both laughing hysterically from heat-stroke and alcohol poisoning. Buddy nearly falls out of the boat as he uses a casting net to drag the bird in.

On the way back to the spot, the boat runs out of gas (because buddy is a ****** and left the extra gas-can with our gear) and we sit dead in the water for about 20 minutes, just broiling in the sun, until a pontoon boat full of similarly drunk teenagers comes by and bails us out. I offer them beer and weed for their trouble, and attempt to hit on one of the females, but I'm sweaty, red as a lobster, and dressed like a hobo, so it doesn't work out.

We get back to camp and it's been about 24 hours since I've consumed anything other than increasingly warm Budweiser. Mind you, we're both from inner-city ATL, never been hunting in our lives, and don't have any ******* clue how to dress a bird. Nevertheless, I take a dull pocket knife and get to work. We're still both laughing like madmen. I butchered the **** out of that goose. Managed to get a few good-sized chunks of what I presume was breast meat. I got paranoid about germs and diseases, so I overcooked the **** out it. Terrible, tough, flavorless meat coated in cornmeal and fried for like half an hour. But I ate the **** out it and ended up cutting more out of the carcass, which was splayed on a log with blood and entrails everywhere.

Wake up the next day with a terrible hangover, aching from sunburn (we didn't bring sunscreen), and still pretty hungry, and there are flies buzzing all over this poor dead bird. I guess I'm lucky a bear didn't come investigate in the night, though honestly I would've shot that *********** and eaten it too. I notice the steel tag on the ankle that reads "U.S. Wildlife Service" with a serial # or something. I get paranoid and take some fishing line to tie the goose to a big rock and throw it out in the lake.

We make a hasty exit, stopping at a gas station (no restaurants around) and gorging on junk food. We're finally on our way and the spare tire on the trailer blows at high speed, the boat's hull is impaled on the railing on the trailer, and buddy is flipping out. It was his uncle's boat.

No cell signal, can't call AAA. Several cops drive by in the time we're trying to figure out what to do, and not a one slows down. End up hoofing about 5 miles back to town on the side of the highway, taking turns hauling the ******* exploded tire because it was weird and we weren't sure what size it was, and going to Walmart for a replacement. Thankfully, a nice old man overheard our dilemma and gave us a ride back to the truck.

Replaced the tire and didn't say a single word on the way back to ATL. That was the last time I went camping.

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Sometime around December 1996 I took my two year old son to visit my mother, his grandmother, in the old hood I grew up in off Simpson Rd, now Boone Drive in Dixie Hills. It was a cold, rainy night and an ice storm was just starting when we left her place to return home. As we approached Lincoln Cemetery the dashboard lights started dimming. Just when we reached the entrance to the cemetery the car shut down and I coasted into the cemetery to get off the road. As soon as we came to a complete stop my son started boohooing because he knew this wouldn't be good. I said don't worry son I have my trusty cellphone, we'll just call grandma and she'll pick us up. The cellphone was an old bag phone with the big five pound battery. It was dead as a doornail. Then I said don't panic we'll just walk to Simpson Woods and find a payphone. So we got out and I mean it was cold, windy with freezing rain starting to come in sideways. I pull out my umbrella and the wind just blew it to hail. Long story short we walked down Simpson in the dark, in the ghetto, in the freezing rain to a security guard's shed at the apartments and called my mom who picked us up. I had to drive her car back to the cemetery to wait for AAA who took three hours to get there because all the wreckers were busy with the ice storm. Try sitting in a cemetery in the ghetto for three hours around midnight. Not fun at all.

Dang man....I've been on Simpson Rd. That ain't no joke. Basically the bowels of the ghetto.

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"Poaching statute of limitations" is now in my Google search history. NSA is probably having a ******* field day with the weird **** I've looked up over the years.

LONG STORY:

Buddy and me went on a fishing trip with nothing to eat except 2 potatoes, cornmeal, vegetable oil, and a tiny bottle of Tabasco because we were confident we'd catch a billion catfish like every other time we went to this spot. Tons of weed and beer, but no food. It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment idea on a Friday morning when we had nothing to do, and we didn't plan it out too well.

Tire on the trailer blows out on the way there. No problem, he's got a spare. The spare looked a little rusted and warped to me, but I think nothing of it. We arrive without further incident, put the boat in the water, drop off our gear at the spot, and start fishing.

We couldn't catch a cold. Ending up eating the potatoes the first night, considered going back to civilization the next morning but said **** it and fished and drank all day. Still not a single bite.

As the afternoon wears on, hunger and desperation starts setting in and I made what might be greatest shot in history. From a moving boat bobbing up and down on the water, I fired a single shot from a crappy Ruger .45 and hit a goose right in its face from about 15 yards. The head explodes, the long neck slowly dips down into the water, and we're both laughing hysterically from heat-stroke and alcohol poisoning. Buddy nearly falls out of the boat as he uses a casting net to drag the bird in.

On the way back to the spot, the boat runs out of gas (because buddy is a ****** and left the extra gas-can with our gear) and we sit dead in the water for about 20 minutes, just broiling in the sun, until a pontoon boat full of similarly drunk teenagers comes by and bails us out. I offer them beer and weed for their trouble, and attempt to hit on one of the females, but I'm sweaty, red as a lobster, and dressed like a hobo, so it doesn't work out.

We get back to camp and it's been about 24 hours since I've consumed anything other than increasingly warm Budweiser. Mind you, we're both from inner-city ATL, never been hunting in our lives, and don't have any ******* clue how to dress a bird. Nevertheless, I take a dull pocket knife and get to work. We're still both laughing like madmen. I butchered the **** out of that goose. Managed to get a few good-sized chunks of what I presume was breast meat. I got paranoid about germs and diseases, so I overcooked the **** out it. Terrible, tough, flavorless meat coated in cornmeal and fried for like half an hour. But I ate the **** out it and ended up cutting more out of the carcass, which was splayed on a log with blood and entrails everywhere.

Wake up the next day with a terrible hangover, aching from sunburn (we didn't bring sunscreen), and still pretty hungry, and there are flies buzzing all over this poor dead bird. I guess I'm lucky a bear didn't come investigate in the night, though honestly I would've shot that *********** and eaten it too. I notice the steel tag on the ankle that reads "U.S. Wildlife Service" with a serial # or something. I get paranoid and take some fishing line to tie the goose to a big rock and throw it out in the lake.

We make a hasty exit, stopping at a gas station (no restaurants around) and gorging on junk food. We're finally on our way and the spare tire on the trailer blows at high speed, the boat's hull is impaled on the railing on the trailer, and buddy is flipping out. It was his uncle's boat.

No cell signal, can't call AAA. Several cops drive by in the time we're trying to figure out what to do, and not a one slows down. End up hoofing about 5 miles back to town on the side of the highway, taking turns hauling the ******* exploded tire because it was weird and we weren't sure what size it was, and going to Walmart for a replacement. Thankfully, a nice old man overheard our dilemma and gave us a ride back to the truck.

Replaced the tire and didn't say a single word on the way back to ATL. That was the last time I went camping.

lmao sounds like an awesome time. That would have made me want to go camping morelaugh.png

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