true stories about that time you stole a car or stole a kiss

authors retain full ownership of their stories.

storylog is updated once a week.

storylog is noncommercial. we don’t like ads. we don’t make money.

feel free to send us suggestions or comments or stories!

Highest Rated Stories

• How My Start-Up Failed
• Alison (A Photo Essay)
• Twelve
• Vietnam: Four Ways
• TIME FOR SOME STORIES (davesecretary)
• The horror of blimps
• Swimming Pool
• Changing Skies

Who Created StoryLog?

my name is david. I was born in San Diego > I grew up in Boston > I dropped out of college in Annapolis > and now I’m back in Boston

some things that I enjoy doing: reading, watching, listening, writing, talking, staying up late, and dreaming…

Further Reading!

1. Unburdened: Anonymous Confessions
2. Brevity: Concise Literary Nonfiction
3. Post Secret
4. Storg: Here Be Stories
5. Fray: The Quarterly of True Stories
6. New Yorker: Reporting and Essays
7. Common Ties
8. Ask Metafilter Popular Posts
9. Storyscape Journal
10. The Way of Chuck
11. Everything2

Some of the better confessions from Unburdened.net:

Confession 548, Confession 792, Confession 311, Confession 871

Inspiration

Worthy of its name, lowbrow.com used to have an archive of more than 50,000 shameless experiences.

I would click “reload” all day long, reading random excerpts from the lives of outcasts, crazies, and anarchists:

Air hockey is frighteningly similar to real life: Whenever I really, really want it, I play like shit. But when I couldn’t give a fuck, I score like crazy.

One thing I really loved about living in a trailer was when people would ask me where the bathroom was. Where the fuck to you think it is, through the foyer up the back stairs and third door on the left around the corner past the den? It’s down the fucking hall.

Traveling tip: When crossing the U.S. border into Canada, and the Custom’s officer asks you “Do you have any firearms?”, do NOT reply with “Why, what do you need?

Last weekend, at about 11AM, I was running down the street, trying to catch my dad driving off. Middle of winter, I’m wearing just a bathrobe, and carrying a stack of Neil Diamond records. Surprisingly, there is actually a reasonable explanation for the whole thing, but what am I supposed to do, go door to door explaining it to each one of my neighbors?

I’ve decided that if given a choice between world peace and getting instant gratifying revenge on everyone who has ever wronged me or pissed me off, all you fuckers are going down.

etc!

monarch butterflies are delicious — link