Hey there, boys and girls. Let me tell you about the time that Uncle Bob was fighting in Vietnam. Well, it just so happened that he was flying his plane over North Vietnam, and for some reason or another, he was forced to bail out. He ejected, with only his gun, a knife, and a flask of liquor, for emergencies. On the way to the ground, he drinks the contents of the flask and discards it. When he lands, he finds himself surrounded by damned near sixty Viet Cong. Well, immediately, he blows away twenty of the basterds, leaving forty. He whips out his knife and kills a second set of twenty. Only twenty left, right? Well, good ol' Uncle Bob, he figures he'll take on the rest of the jackasses with his bare hands. The moral of this story is: Don't mess with Uncle Bob when he's drunk.
Now, take us back to Grampa's homepage, little girl...
(Note: I am not Grampa Matt; I'm merely an impostor, RØB, acting in his stead--at least, until he is able to post stories on his own--like any good loyalist to the loser's cause would. This is an actual Grampa Matt story, however, and my version as posted here captures the essentials of the original version, and the moral is the same. Continue to visit, and you'll see the real version of this and several other stories. Hope you liked it anyway.)