Paul Simon sang — “When I think back on all the crap I learned in high school it’s a wonder I can think at all. And though my lack of education hasn’t hurt me none I can read the writing on the wall.”
I’m not exaggerating when I say my high school years were the worst four years of my life. Most everything I needed to learn I learned in kindergarten, picked up a thing or two as late as 8th grade, but I didn’t learn Jack Shit in grades 9 through 12. I had few friends. It was so bad, as you will see in the pictures below, not even Da Gooberment tried to protect me!
What they tried to teach me was mostly a Big Pile Of Bullshit. Here, let Pete Seeger ‘splain it to you in under two minutes.
It’s not that I wanted a lot of government protection. Eddie Billian (actual name), a wannabe jockfuk, picked on me almost every single day. I used to daydream about cutting off his hands in shop class. I would have been happy if they let me get away with just that, a Justifiable Amputation. Even after all these years … Eddie, if you’re reading this just know that if I ever run into you, I’m going to kick you in the fuck.
Unfortunately, we now have laws governing ………. everything. Laws we couldn’t even have imagined back in my day. Somewhere along the line we gave up our right to choose even simple things, and allowed the government to impose their standards upon us. As you read this, just ask yourself one question: —–“When will we tell the government we would rather die, than continue to be their mindless slaves?”
WHEN did we say, “To hell with this?”
OK, let’s get started.
That was the extent of the warning my mom gave me. Back in my day, there were well over 200 activities that could put your eye out! But, virtually none that could kill you. How much fun can a game be if there isn’t at least a small chance of death?
So, the kids on our block played an interesting version; each of us would get one jart and at the same we’d throw it straight up in the air as high as we could, and then we’d dodge the incoming hail of plastic and steel … the idea being to wait to dodge the missile until the very last possible second. One time a jart buried itself into Angelo Falcone’s foot, and he started to cry when blood oozed through his white Converse sneakers …. not because it hurt, but because his father was gonna kill him for messing up his sneakers!
It’s been shown that the business end of a jart can land with a force of several thousand pounds of pressure per square inch. Seriously. We Boomers may have ruined America, but we surely weren’t pussies.
By my own estimate, I believe jarts were thrown about 138.4 Billion times by 1987. In April 1987, seven-year-old Michelle Snow was killed by a lawn dart thrown by one of her brothers’ playmates in the backyard of their home in Riverside, California. She should have ducked. Previously, only two other children died. So, 138.4 Billion throws … 3 dead … do the math. Mr. Snow went on a crusade and by 1989 Congress banned jarts, again, but this time forever.
In one respect, I suppose it’s nice that in America one person can still make a difference. On the other hand, one person gets their way almost always at the expense of thousands of others. Isn’t this tyranny by the few?
In the news today the town of Westminster, MA (pop: 7,000) banned the sale of any and all tobacco products ….. a decision made by a THREE MEMBER Board Of Health. Three people who don’t give a damn that the overwhelming majority of the town does not support this action. Why …. that’s almost as bad as 317 million Americans being ruled by 535 criminals in Congress.
Back in my day, it seemed like everyone smoked. Watch an old episode of Perry Mason; Perry and Paul Drake smoked constantly … murderers smoked while murdering. Doctors smoked while delivering babies. You could smoke in a supermarket, in an airplane, or any restaurant. Teachers smoked. Students smoked in the bathroom. Doctors smoked Lucky Strikes. Even Father Joseph at my Catholic school, St Peter’s, smoked while greeting Sunday parishioners.
Asking “Mind if I light up?” was a mere formality. No one dared say, “No!” for fear of being labeled a pussy. Smokers smoked and there was zero lack of concern for those who didn’t smoke. Smokers weren’t forced outside …. non-smokers were! Those were the good old days of ‘IN YOUR FACE!’. It was a world full of adults who didn’t have anxiety attacks over a thousand different “safety” issues.
Whether riding a bike, or roller skating, or skateboarding …. NO ONE wore a helmet. If you did, your social life would have been over, kaput, finito … an outcast, destined for humiliation and abuse … especially in gym class. There were only two groups that wore helmets; football players and the mentally retarded. (Our own poster, bb, wore a helmet … and he wasn’t a football player.)
My dad’s first two cars didn’t have seat-belts. My first car, a 1958 Pontiac Chieftain, didn’t have seat-belts. When we did get cars with seat-belts, we didn’t wear them. They were a pain in the ass. Belts were made to hold up your pants, not bind you up in a seat. Child seats? Never heard of them. When we brought my new baby sister home from the hospital, my mom just threw her in the back seat … with me. I did put a Teddy Bear on the edge of the seat to keep her from falling off.
Sure, I’ll agree that seat-belts save lives. But, that’s not the point. It should be a PERSONAL decision … not one forced upon you. Besides, the gooberment doesn’t give a rats ass about your life …. otherwise they wouldn’t have sent 100,000+ young men to their deaths in various adventurous wars since WWII. Nosiree. “Click-it or ticket” is all about extracting more money from your wallet into theirs.
In case you didn’t read the ad … you must;
“Tanfastic lets the sunshine in. It’s not loaded up with sunburn protection like old folks and kids want. Tanfastic’s for you 15-to-25 year olds who can take the sun. Especially if you want to get superdark. Superfast.”
Got that? Back in my day we did NOT try to BLOCK the sun. Oh, no!! The goal was to AMPLIFY the sun’s rays. Get dark, baby .. real, real dark!! Screw that sun-screen shit. The only people who went the sunscreen route were those with medical conditions … like, albinos. My sister (I swear!) used to smear herself with butter. Other women (like, Nancy Pelosi) used Crisco. I swear that’s true. Back then few ever asked, “What could go wrong?” If it feels good, do it, and being a Darkie felt reeeeal good.
Sadly, that’s the world we live in today. I’ve seen parents hook up their children with what looks like a dog leash. A few weeks ago we went out to eat with Ms. Freud’s son and family. It was a nice day, so we ate outside in the patio area. As it so happened her grandson, Andrew, wandered off …. a few feet behind another table … when his mommie started freaking the fuck out … “WHERE’S ANDREW!! WHERE’S ANDREW!!!!!!”. It was so goddamn embarrassing, you have no idea.
During summer vacation from school, somewhere around 9AM I would proudly announce, “I’m going out to play!” Mom’s only response, “You better be home by dinner!” …. which was 6PM. Yeah, nine hours of unsupervised activity. Oh, you should know … I lived in Newark, NJ. I would wander literally MILES from home … either to Weequahic Park (a two mile walk), or to my best friend’s house in Irvington (a five mile bike ride … no helmet). Sometimes my dad would take me shopping to the lumber yard, hardware store, etc., and if I was a pain in the ass, meaning, I’d pester him to buy me shit, well … he would just leave me in the car once we arrived at the destination. Sometimes that happened during 100 degree weather. BOTH my parents would have been arrested, dozens of times, in today’s environment. I think it was Pogo who said, “We have met the enemy, and it’s us.”
That’s what my dad said when he was teaching me to ride a bicycle, and I was doing just fine, and then the sumvabitch let go, and then I freaked out, and then I fell, and then I scraped my elbow and hand badly enough to draw blood, and then I cried, and then yeah he said “Quit being a baby!”, and then mom came running and spit (yes, spit) in a hanky and then tied it around my arm with her kerchief (yes, kerchief), and then I got my (then) skinny ass back on the bike and then learned to ride it THAT very day. Our “first aid” kit consisted of Band-Aids and a bottle of iodine.
See the kid in the picture? He’s about to have his nuts rammed by a goat. See the adults? They think that’s funny as shit. We were tough back then.
Do you know the nutritional value of white bread? I’ll tell you. Less than zero. In other words, eating it actually extracts needed minerals and vitamins from your body. Wilson’s Mor was originally named Wilson’s Moron … cuz you gotta be a retard to eat it; pig’s head, snout, cheek meat, and even tongue. Their motto is “everything but the squeal” Yummy!!
As a child, I did not know one single adult, ever, who was concerned about getting this or that vitamin, or this or that mineral … except in commercials. We ate some of the crappiest “food” ever invented. Yet, we survived, and even thrived.
Compare yesteryear to Moochelle’s Mandated gooberment lunch. Below is a picture taken earlier this week by Darrel Bunch, a senior at Haskell High School in Oklahoma. WTF???
And Lastly …
Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It was better that way. And that’s all I have to say about that.
Awesome Stucky. We drank raw milk from our own goats (4-H), sprayed currently banned pesticides on own own vegetables, mowed the lawn with a lawn mower that had no safety gadgets, climbed as high as you could in trees, wandered around in the woods for hours on end, drove farm equipment, ran cement mixers, handled power tools and machinery, and ate damn near anything we wanted. All of these I and my three brothers experienced by the age of 12. They are all still alive, over 50, still married to their first and only wives, have healthy well adjusted children who all have jobs. Maybe we were just lucky, you know white privileged, but I don’t think so.
Bob.
Stucky –
Dropped on by the BP while I kicked back a mo’ with a cuppa joe. Great job, man!
I grew up the same way in Chicago. Being attracted to hazard, and a bit of klutz, the most common parental reaction to my return from unsupervised play was:
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, what did you do now?” Immediately followed by:
“No, stay in the kitchen on the linoleum – I don’t want you messing up the carpet.”
I fondly recall the true love and affection in that attitude.
Thanks again!
DaP
Florida fish and game taught riflery with .22s at summer camp when i was 10 or 11. The safe hunter certificate they gave me qualified me for concealed carry years later. We rarely left the house without our bb guns or bow and arrows. Our idea of fun was fighting with roman candles and garbage can lids. We weren’t quite pussies.
My favorite games as a kid were as follows (in order):
1) Rock wars – There was a construction lot nearby full of dirt clods and gravel. We would throw them at each other as hard as possible while pretending to be soldiers or cowboys and robbers (nobody wanted to be a cop or an indian)
2) Sink the can – Throw an empty can into the creek or pond. Throw rocks at it or shoot with bb guns until it sinks. Rinse, repeat. Bonus points awarded for accidentally hitting someone with a rock.
3) Dam it! – Build a dam across the creek and play with turtles/frogs. Bonus points for luring in an adult with your swear words “Lets play ‘Dam it'”. Points withdrawn if you got your ass paddled. All good kids should be a clever enough smartass that dad lets you get away with the occasional swear word. “But Dad, I was building a dam!”
4) Timber – We chopped down trees using hatchets and rope. Frequently this crossed over into “Dam it” and almost always led to #5 on our list.
5) Sword fight – “Fence” with sticks. Pretty much just beat the shit out of each other with big sticks. Willow switches also worked.
Oh yeah, I should’a died long ago! Everyone I knew growing up in the bayou country of south Louisiana should’a died too. We swam in the polluted waters of Lake Pontchartrain and ate the fish we caught from that lake. We rode bikes without helmets up and down huge piles of clam shells that used to be dredged up out of the lake and were used for road building. If you fell off when plummeting down one of those piles, yeah, you could get pretty chopped up and we did. Our moms did like yours, patched us up with iodine and bandaids. If we weren’t bleeding it was ususally, “You’re okay, go back out and play!”
Wow – I can agree with SO MUCH here! I grew up on Long Island, and our favorite place to ‘hike it’ was the woods inside the easement fence near the parkway – accessible through two holes that you had to be initiated to find. Gone for hours at a time with enough chang to buy a drink and a Bonomo’s taffy bar (they lasted the longest) at the candy store across from the elementary school. Home by dark. Playing kickball in the street was fun, too – all sides retired to the curb when a car would come by – using garbage can lids for bases. Too much traffic resulted in a fierce game of Dodge Ball on someone’s front lawn, which made it easier to fall down. The only time I remember an injury resulting in a doctor visit was when I fell off my two-wheeler bike – I ran into the house asking to go to the doctor because I had just broken my arm, Every other injury was greeted with “what now?” and treated with Bactine (which, contrary to the ads, DID sting) and bandaids – and I was then told to go back outside and be more careful. Helmets? Knee pads? We didn’t need no stinkin’ helmets!
@ Stucky and all the other posters…
God bless all y’all… 🙂
Made me smile for the first time today. Thanks.
Jarts! Man, we loved Jarts! We quickly learned that throwing them overhand at stuff – including each other – was pretty good fun… if you got hit? Well… ya shoulda ducked.
I miss my Big Wheel… anyone else have a Big Wheel?
[img
[/img]
Our old house was at the bottom of a steep hill (it’s Kentucky… what are the odds?). We’d all get together and push our various rides to the top of the hill and then race to the bottom. No brakes. You’d be surprised how fast a Big Wheel will go. Didn’t give a shit about a car coming the other way, either… had to ditch a couple times and ended up under a parked car or two, but whatever…
You could jam the pedals and use the front wheel as a brake, but that would throw you into a flat spin. Plus, over time, you got a big flat spot on the front wheel, which just rattled the shit out of you when going down that hill… and it was loud as hell, too. Didn’t care for the tassels, so I tore those off. Too “girly”.
BB gun wars, bottle rocket fights, rock wars, climbing trees… the city hated us because we would trespass onto constructions sites and steal lumber. We used the pilfered lumber to build a gigantic treehouse that spanned the creek down near Foote Avenue… took us all summer to build. Took the city 3 days to tear down when they found out about it…
Me, Matty and Gene were fucking around in a construction site, looking for lumber and Gene hopped up into the cab of a bulldozer. Started fucking with the controls and jammed a screwdriver into the ignition… Matty pressed a button and the damn thing started… Gene abandoned the dozer just as it shoved over a pile of lumber and we hauled ass when we saw the cops coming down the service road…
Actually “got arrested” at 11 because we were pissed off the city destroyed our woods to put in a subdivision. 6 of us – Me, Nick, Rusty and a few others – were using our “Fat Albert” wiffle ball bats to smash rocks down on the construction crew…. you could take a knife and cut the end off the bat, stuff it with old rags, duct tape it back up and smash rocks really far…… apparently, the construction crew didn’t like being bombed with rocks the size of hen’s eggs… the cops came and “arrested” us…
[img
_0624.fpx?wid=365&cvt=jpeg[/img]
Last thing…
My boy and his buddies were having an “Airsoft war” in and around our barn. About a half hour goes by and my boy comes back in… he’s got this look on his face…
Me: “What’s wrong with you?”
Him: “Nothing…” (obviously something)
Me: “No, I’m not putting up with that… what’s wrong?”
Him: “I got shot.”
Me: “Yeah? So?”
Him: “Well, it hurts.”
Me: “Well duh! It’s an Airsoft war.” Where’d you get hit?”
Him: “Here.” (shows me a welt/bruise the size of a nickel on his thigh)
Me: “You want me to get your bunny slippers?”
Him: “Hey! Jacob shot me at two feet! It hurts!”
Me: “Whoopty shit. I got shot in the throat with a 9mm “Sim” round… suit up, get your ass back out there and dish out some payback!”
I’m happy to say he did…
True Story.
I was about 11 years old when my mom took me shopping to Valley Fair (a now defunct discount store). So, much to my mom’s chagrin, I’m running around the store to and fro, and just before I get to my mom, I trip over an electrical cord, and fall **SPLAT** right on my face. My nose was badly bloodied, blood everywhere, really … but not broken. The worst part was that I chipped off about 1/3 of my front tooth. A manager immediately came running to my aid, all worried and semi-freaking out …. and … and …. my mom APOLOGIZED TO HIM … that I was so unruly and made a bloody mess on his clean floor! The she gave me a damn hard smack upside the head (really) and said, “Serves you right! Maybe you learned something today!”. And I didn’t get that tooth fixed until years later …. when I was in the Air Force, cuz it was free.
[img
[/img]
[img
[/img]
[img
[/img]
“Jarts” now…
What a bunch of fags….
[img
[/img]
I wasn’t sure if this post about my silly observations would get any traction. I think I was wrong.
I am LOVING these stories from all of you!!!! Great stuff.
I hope everyone shares a story or two … even bb.
Mor!!!!!!!
Billy,
That really made me laugh.
Thanks,
Bob.
@ Stucky
“…and just before I get to my mom, I trip over an electrical cord, and fall **SPLAT** right on my face. My nose was badly bloodied, blood everywhere, really … but not broken. The worst part was that I chipped off about 1/3 of my front tooth.”
Sooo, the floor was okay, right?
Billy
First, I’m glad this post brought a smile to your face. Loved your story … especially about getting that bulldozer started. I can just imagine the looks on your faces, followed by …”OH,SHIT!!!!” lol
That plastic jart game is a great symbol of what happened to America ……….. PUSSIFIED NATION!
In the minimal research I did, I came across a poster who said he put his original steel jart set up for sale on eBay. A day later eBay removed the ad, and BANNED him for attempting to sell an illegal item. Yup, pussified to the max.
Cooking is going the way of the dinosaurs. Looks like it already has in school cafeterias.
Do they really just open boxes, bags and cans of “food” and heat it up or dump it in a bowl? That’s what it looks like to me.
My big brother unsoldered big chunky capacitors from old TV sets and charge them up on a power supply and gave them to us to play with just like Spock on Star Trek. We would climb to the top of a small birch tree on the hillside and have it cut down just for the ride. Class of 70…..
@ Stucky,
Dude… it was terrifying… but at the distance of 35 years, it’s way funnier… monkey fucking a football comes close, but not quite…
“Dude, what’s this do?”
(Dozer rumbles to life)
“SHIT! Shit! Shut it DOW-”
“I’m trying! I have no id-”
“We are so busted.”
“Shuttup! Ain’t nobody anything!”
“FU-! IT’S MOVING!”
“Don’t DO THAT! Push that thing there!”
“YOU WANNA DRIVE?!?”
“Dude, YER HEADING FOR THE LUM-!”
“I know! I know! I can’t get-”
“Just jump! Jump!”
Me, 10 years old… left alone for hours… nothing to do.
“Hey… what are those glowy thingys inside the TV?”
My father comes home to find the back taken off and all the tubes taken out of this…
[img
[/img]
The inside looked something like this… when I started…
[img
[/img]
Yes, he called the TV repairman to put it all back together and yes, he whupped my ass till I couldn’t sit… 🙂
I miss ya, Pap Pap!
Ah, broken teeth. A bunch of us kids were playing on my swing set, which had a glider (‘member those?) and I was leaning back when another kid swung high, cracking me in the head. Bloody nose, tooth broken. Yep. Then there was the power lawnmower that I pulled over my foot (well, that needed medical intervention, as I lost a toe – but I was back on my feet gingerly in about a week). Most of the time, it was (as someone else said), “What did you do this time?” or “well, if you were stupid enough to do that, you are old enough to live with the consequences.” My best friend was the oldest of eight, and the most terrifying words her mom could utter to us were, “Just wait til your father gets home” after which wed retreat upstairs to write out wills at age 13.
Anyone else have a school cafeteria that had an ice cream vending machine? Our HS Senior cafeteria did. Once in a while we had CHOICES for lunch, too.
All these stories are neat, but the point that kids today are coddled where we were paddled needs to stay out front. Even work ethics have been pussified. If I wasn’t running a tempeature, I went to SCHOOL!
If you’re a Boomer …. and, if you’re feeling nostalgic …. you will LOOOOVE this video.
BB guns,Wrist rockets, treehouse (heated by ice-fishing stove), giant jumps for our Schwinn Stingrays, Flexible Flyer dogfights, hooky-bobbing.
great read Stuck…and mighty appropriate for Throwback Thursday….brings back some fond memories, especially the Green Stamp vid…as a kid every gift I received came from the S&H wish-book which we kids spent many an idle hour pouring over. .. That said, I believe the kid about to be kicked in the gonads by the goat is actually a girl, not that I’m a bigoted gender conformist, jus’ sayin’.
[img
?oh=b23e628795530226e9f637d7e294cd28&oe=54DD64D2&__gda__=1424368056_b1c98bfa314597840b661309e77943c2[/img]
I didn’t own either of these two toys, sadly,
“Creepy Crawlers” —- kids create plastic molds with a substance known as “Plasti-Goop” and an alarmingly powerful hot plate — which could reach temperatures of 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit … while emitting toxic fumes. What could go wrong? lmao
[/img]
[img
“A.C. Gilbert’s U-238 Atomic Energy Lab” ———– went on sale in 1951 ……. contained a Geiger counter, four samples of Uranium-bearing ore and … no shit, really …. three “very low-level” radiation sources. What could go wrong? Went off the market in 1952. lol
[/img]
[img
.
This is one of the greatest things I have ever read. Thank you for venerating and enumerating all the things that used to be great in this mangina nation.
1974 – Age 14
The owner of the bakery I visited on my way to school was a pilot w/ a 4 seater plane and he held a contest for a free ride and I was one of the winners.
On the appointed Saturday morning I got up early, rode my bike out to the rinky-dink airport, met up with the baker/pilot and the other two winners [both adults] and we spent the next hour or so flying around SE Michigan.
It was noon by the time I got home, mom was up and asked where I had been, I told her about the contest and the flight and she thought it was wonderful opportunity.
Apparently I had neglected to tell her – but then neither she nor I thought much of it.
Good Stuff Stucky,
Billy you were a real ratchet ass just like me. Fun read, gave me a smile too!
true story…my favorite toy as a child was a stick..I rapped a many a knuckle , of course, only after fair warning…On Guard!
[img
[/img]
ahem..
[img
[/img]
last time.[img
[/img]
I had every incarnation of creepy crawlers they made. The fright factory stuff glowed in the dark. We had another plastic trike called the chopperoo that would slide rings around big wheels. My personal ride was a yellow raleigh chopper, in my 10 year old eyes the very definition of cool. And blow up boxing gloves called soccer boppers
Mom’s only response, “You better be home by dinner!” …. which was 6PM -Stucko
Maybe she wanted you out long time was cause you was uglee. =)
I jest. Good photo essay Stuck.
Stucky , Stucky, Stucky , I loved my high school years. I had my first girl , first muscle car, first mug shot ,first joints , first LSD (kiss concert )and my first A ever in school. I like school so much I never skipped a day my senior year. Mom and Dad gave me a lot of room to be a kid and enjoy this world. In other words it was a fun 4 years. I don’t think kids have fun like that anymore.
All most forgot . Nice post Stucky. Brings back a lot of memories. GOD bless.
Went spent all day in the woods. Bikes, fights, motorcycles, fucking around in the creek and catch baby rattlesnakes, no we didnt kiss them bb. Even made a 100ft cable slide across that creek. Shoot fireworks at the police helicopter and each other.
I should have had one eyeball before I was 18.
I’m Sure it’s a great article Stucky, but I can’t get by the blonde babe with the see through pink shorts.
Hubba Hubba Hubba!
The Nanny State – because the unwashed masses aren’t going to micromanage themselves into misery and insanity.
@ starfcker,
They still make Soccer Boppers… you should have seen the epic battle between my son and his cousin – my boy with Soccer Boppers, his cousin with those big green Hulk fists…
Sorry… but this is kinda cool.. 🙂
[img
[/img]
Anyone remember Rock Em Sock Em Robots?
[img
[/img]
Two things I still got from my childhood… My old MTD 500 red wagon and my American Clipper sled…
I used to have the extended, 2-man American Clipper… until my Mom and my sister ran it down a monster hill and cratered… bent the left runner all to hell and cracked the steering bar clean in half…
The one I got now is a replacement that Dad bought me shortly after “the sled incident”… but, my son uses it, so that’s okay…
[img
[/img]
[/img]
[img
Good post Stucky.
7 boys growing up on a farm with no TV = lots of imagination. We were always trying to make bombs, started with gas and moved to oldest brothers chemistry set to make gunpowder. Used to be able to buy underwater fuse from Smiths? or something like that. What a great catalog.
Parachutes made of sheets jumping off the garage, homemade go carts…..never a dull moment. Did I mention no TV?
EF
I also think things have gone too far with the nanny state. But I have seen some of you Boomer Pudgemeisters waddling about requesting a table at your favorite chain restaurant because not even smearing butter or crisco on yourselves is going to make you fit in a booth. None of you could have waddled to the salad bar at the buffet, huh?
“We Boomers may have ruined America, but we surely weren’t pussies.”
Then why have all of these things happened since the boomers started taking over the reins of power from the WW2 and silent generations? Perhaps the boomers turned into pussies or is it the silent gen? I’m a genX’er and I remember a lot of these things and the sudden disappearance of fun in the name of safety thru the 80’s and 90’s. I never wore a helmet and still don’t/won’t. I have the scars to prove it.
What a great set of memories! In our school we had a bunch of older women that made everything from scratch. One afternoon after phy ed we snuck down to the kitchen and stole a pan of apple crisp, ran back to the shower room and snarfed it down. For some reason after that they kept the door locked to the kitchen….
” … but I can’t get by the blonde babe with the see through pink shorts.” —- Golden Oxen
Sooo … you be a big fan of …… CAMEL TOE!!
.
.
“Nice post Stucky. Brings back a lot of memories. GOD bless.” ———– bb
STOP being nice to me. It ruins everything.
I can cure you of that Camel Golden Ox.
She is now a boomer and shops at Wal-Mart on Friday night after 11pm
My dad smoked.
Actual picture of me smoking my first stolen cig …
[/img]
[img
The British call that a ‘Fag’
Wait.
I was talking about the cigarette.
All you Camel Toe people….
That photo was probably taken in the early 70’s… if she’s still alive, she’s probably an octogenarian by now…
You people are deranged… 🙂
Then: those darned kids
Now: juvenile hall
Then: bactene
Now: CPS visit
Then: boys will be boys
Now: ritalin prescription
Then: summer vacation
Now: at risk youth programs
Then: sneaking a cigarette
Now: gateway drug
Then: be back by dinner
Now: gps monitoring beacon
Then: schoolyard fight
Now: assault conviction
Then: kissing a girl
Now: sex offender status
Then: a crappy school lunch
Now: Stalingrad rations
Then: childhood
Now: communal indoctrination period
Smoking should be allowed in private. Except around kids. People smoking in public need to be shot. Why should their rights trump mine?
As a kid I shot things, blew things up, burnt down buildings by accident (gasoline fire got away from us), slingshotted and blowgunned anything and anyone that got within range, had rock and iceball fights at every opportunity. Shooting each other with bb guns was not something we did, as we did know that was a good way to lose an eye. What we did with firecrackers would have landed us in Gitmo.
M-80s were our favorites. We damn near took the head off poor farmer next door with one. He was standing next to a high stack of irrigation pipes, and we were on the other side. We tossed a m-80 into the pipe nearest his head. We thought it would be cool to see him jump. Good god almighty, the boom that thing made is the single loudest thing I have ever heard – the pipes magnified the sound ten-fold. We ran like rabbits while the poor farmer held his ears and dropped to his knees.
Shit bombs on doorsteps – put a blackcat in a bag with a bunch of dogshit, ring the bell, light it and run. Never got a person but covered plenty of doors in poo.
We were very lucky to survive. Some of those folks would have killed us if they ever caught us.
Stuck – you were to big to be bullied.
I’ll have to read this at work tonight and comment in the morning. Just skimming, it looks great Stucky!
We used to make funnelators. Get very large surgical tubing, and attached two long pieces to a funnel (say five feet lengths). Ou needed three people to fire it. It could launch a water balloon several hundred yards. We could bombard crowds from very very long distance. It of course could launch other things, which we only did once and damn near killed a fisherman. We saw a flyfisher across a big Oregon river from us, a few hundred yards away, and decided, stupidly, to shoot a fist size rocket at him to see how close we could get. He was wading, about mid thigh deep. Anyway we fired the rock, and as it sailed we said, hey that is a good shot! Gonna be close! Hell, gonna be real close! Oh shit, gonna get him! And get him it did, right on the hip. Dropped him like a rock, and he completely disappeared underwater. Finally came up sputtering, looked around and spotted us scrambling like rats everywhere. But nothing he could do as he was across the river.
We used to throw stolen strawberries at cars going around a hairpin curve from a ledge around 20 feet up. They had to slow up and we would pelt crap out of the car when they did.
They were big fist sized strawberries.
A nice white car came around the bend, and we let loose a barrage. What we did not know was the guy had his window down, with his elbow hanging out, with a ciggie in his mouth. My brother let fly, and hit the poor fuck right in the earhole with one of those monster strawberries. It then got pretty exciting for the guy- hairpin turn, one hand on wheel, ciggie now in lap, and strawberry jam two inches inside his earhole and running down his face. He managed to stop and not crash, got out yelling and screaming, but we, once again, were beating feet from a safe spot.
I laugh til I cry every time I think about that one. God, I wish I had it on film.
1964 living in an upstairs apartment. I was five and my sister four. I was hanging on the doorknobs of a door that swung out over the stairwell. Great fun! My sister grabs the door gives it big push and slams me into the wall over the stairs. I fall off and down the stairs I go. When I recovered from the heap I ended up in at the bottom of the stairs presto – both front teeth……..gone. Mom says “Serves you right. You shouldn’t have been swinging on the door.”
Fast forward a few months. Once again my sister and I were tearing each other up and she ended up chasing me through the house. Remember this is a second floor apartment. Out of the living room around the corner and into the kitchen I go as as fast as I can. Mom is making dinner. I cross the kitchen and head for the open window….sister’s right on my ass. I reached the window and sidestepped quickly. She didn’t. I’ll never forget the last thing I saw. The soles of her shoes as she went out the window. Payback is a bitch!!
I thought mom was going to kill me but she was too busy running over to look out as was I. We reached the window and both hesitantly peered out. To our amazement she was laying back down on the sidewalk below looking up at us. Not a scratch! Seems she landed on a bush next to the sidewalk which gently bent over and deposited her on the concrete. We were never allowed to run in the house again.
My sister and I still laugh about those “incidents”. We had so many things like that happen that would never be allowed today.