If it means we don’t have to dance, I say go for it, big time.
Tell Me A Kid Story
- Thread starter Dana Jean
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If it means we don’t have to dance, I say go for it, big time.
Odd that a Republican has two left feet.........
Damn you republicans, always have your hands on stuff that ain't yours!
Can't take the capital out of the capitalist I guess.
(Psst! Dana Jean. Ask him about the beer tickets from the carnival.
)Hey, Dio! How ya doing?
Peace.
I've still never been to a dance. When it came to that kind of stuff I was total geek. I couldn't have asked a girl to dance if they'd spiked the punch with speed. Pathologically shy.
Maybe why we’re accused of not being in rhythm with the rest of the people. But hey, at least I’m not two-faced, cause if I were it would make it hard for people here to decide which face to slap first.
Doing okay, even with the natives here being quite restless as of late... or is that relentless? Good thing I love them all.(Psst! Dana Jean. Ask him about the beer tickets from the carnival.
Hey, Dio! How ya doing?
Peace.
How about you?
When we were kids, my brother and I loved trying to scare each other......actually, we enjoyed scaring each other as adults, too....but when he was little, Mark also loved being told stories. It didn't matter if you made it up as you went along, he hung on every word with bated breath and eyes as big as saucers.
So, at Christmastime, when I was 12 and Mark was 8, Mom and Dad went out for about an hour do to a little shopping, leaving me and Mark home alone for the first time ever......I had just baked us some peanut butter cookies and sat them on the kitchen table for us to snack on while we waited for Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer to come on tv.....
Just as we were sitting down at the table, Mark starts...."Sissy, tell me a skeery story....pleeeeease"..... I was happy to oblige.
I wanted to scare him really good, so I took ideas from Poe's Hop frog, and combined them with some ideas of ghosts, plantations, and Southern tradition, and began my tale..... for the better part of a half hour, I spun a yarn about how the site of our house used to be an old plantation, and how they used to throw the most elegant parties, and how this one man was always left out, and one day took revenge by setting fire to the place during the most popular Christmas party ever thrown at the plantation.....I gave detailed descriptions of the property, the clothing of the people, and how badly the plantation owner had treated the one poor man, etc.....my brother's eyes grew larger with each sentence....when I got to the climax of the story, I suddenly spun around in my chair and made the ugliest scary face I could imagine, and yelled "I'm possessed!"...... My brother turned fifty shades of pale white, put both hands over his eyes, screamed like a little girl, and slapped me so hard that I fell out of my chair......all in about 0.02 seconds.....and then sat down and cried. Our parents came in just about the time the crying started.....they saw me sitting in the floor laughing like a demented hyena and Mark crying his eyes out.....it took a while to explain what happened. Mom yelled at me, Mark wouldn't stay in the same room with me to watch Christmas cartoons.....and all Dad had to say was "You should be ashamed of yourself for making your brother cry, here at Christmas".....Then, I got sent to my room.....not for scaring the crap out of my brother, or for making him cry.....but because I started laughing and asked what difference there was in making him cry at Christmas or any other time of the year.....
So, at Christmastime, when I was 12 and Mark was 8, Mom and Dad went out for about an hour do to a little shopping, leaving me and Mark home alone for the first time ever......I had just baked us some peanut butter cookies and sat them on the kitchen table for us to snack on while we waited for Rudolph the Rednosed Reindeer to come on tv.....
Just as we were sitting down at the table, Mark starts...."Sissy, tell me a skeery story....pleeeeease"..... I was happy to oblige.
I wanted to scare him really good, so I took ideas from Poe's Hop frog, and combined them with some ideas of ghosts, plantations, and Southern tradition, and began my tale..... for the better part of a half hour, I spun a yarn about how the site of our house used to be an old plantation, and how they used to throw the most elegant parties, and how this one man was always left out, and one day took revenge by setting fire to the place during the most popular Christmas party ever thrown at the plantation.....I gave detailed descriptions of the property, the clothing of the people, and how badly the plantation owner had treated the one poor man, etc.....my brother's eyes grew larger with each sentence....when I got to the climax of the story, I suddenly spun around in my chair and made the ugliest scary face I could imagine, and yelled "I'm possessed!"...... My brother turned fifty shades of pale white, put both hands over his eyes, screamed like a little girl, and slapped me so hard that I fell out of my chair......all in about 0.02 seconds.....and then sat down and cried. Our parents came in just about the time the crying started.....they saw me sitting in the floor laughing like a demented hyena and Mark crying his eyes out.....it took a while to explain what happened. Mom yelled at me, Mark wouldn't stay in the same room with me to watch Christmas cartoons.....and all Dad had to say was "You should be ashamed of yourself for making your brother cry, here at Christmas".....Then, I got sent to my room.....not for scaring the crap out of my brother, or for making him cry.....but because I started laughing and asked what difference there was in making him cry at Christmas or any other time of the year.....
I know.....I'm awful.....I still laugh when I think about it. I remember every detail, just like it was yesterday, and I can vividly see my brother's little face.....and yes, I can still feel the slap.....but I can't help it, I still laugh like a loon at the memory.
Mark was 16 before he would stay home alone with me again......How long was it until you two were left alone again?
Sally Star was a good friend of my next door neighbors growing up. When I was a little tyke, Sally occasionally babysat for us when she was up from Philadelphia visiting. Her show was my favorite at the time and I always tried being on my best behavior for her. I recall thinking she looked so much different out of her cowboy suit and was quite a different person in person. One time she told us a story about banshees, and she was a great storyteller. I sat there terrified but kept this stupid smile on my face as I didn’t want her to think I was a wimp... and I was in the presence of greatness. To this day I can still envision the ghost like lady with a flowing white dress swaying in the wind, hovering over the old stone bridge, faint traces of far off lightning illuminating the countryside, waiting to trap small children wanting to cross at night. That night my parents had to deal with me screaming in my sleep from nightmares all night. The next day they told me... That’s it, NO MORE Sally Star!
Mark was 16 before he would stay home alone with me again......
What became of the peanut butter cookies......
Mark and my Dad ate most of them while watching tv that night......while I sat laughing in my roomWhat became of the peanut butter cookies......
It's kind of funny, but never once did my parents forbid us from scaring each other.....
I have a similar story that I've posted before about how I convinced my little brother that we had caught an alien and stuffed it in a pillowcase. When I handed him said pillowcase, which contained our cat, the cat's claws popped out through the bottom of the pillowcase and ripped out the seam. The cat spilled out on the floor and took off. My brother let out a scream and ran in the other direction! Woke up the whole house. I almost gave myself a rupture I was laughing so hard.
SwiftDad was not happy as he he had just gotten in from working a graveyard shift. He did give me points for originality though
My brother is still pi**ed at me about that incident. Especially when I told my niece how her Dad screamed like a girl
This is great! Love it and I really think that's cool that your school actually taught you some kick ass skills. I also love that you are still friends with this guy. Thanks for sharing!I've posted a bunch of stories in one or two of the previous threads that included, but were not limited to, hitting police cars with eggs, maiming my little brother with a moped, incredible exploding microwaved eggs, friends falling down stairs after an AC/DC concert, urban surfing, petty vandalism, drive by paintball attacks and other misadventures in adolescent stupidity.
Don't think I've told this one though. It involves me and my buddy R.
I went to a regional vocational-technical high school. Votechs at that time still had somewhat of a stigma as being a place for the not so bright and as a landing spot for those doomed for failure. Totally not the case as neither I, nor the majority of my classmates were idiots, deviants, criminals, or hopeless burnouts. Sure there were some kids like that at my school. But there are kids like that at just about every school. Basically, the student body was made up of normal kids from seven or eight middle to upper-middle class suburban towns.
I was in the electrical shop and I'll tell you it wasn't a walk in the park or just a place to pass time until graduation. We had to take electrical theory from 9 - 12th grade on top of our regular math classes. And we did actual electrical work. We learned about residential and commercial wiring, motor controls, low voltage systems, etc. It helped prepare me for the working world and was a major factor in shaping my work ethic. I learned to juggle academics and work early on. Anyway, we basically spent one week in shop and then one week in regular classes over the course of the year. This story takes place the beginning of my Senior year. So this was September of 1990. Way back when I was still a SwiftPup.
In our junior and senior years, our shop classes was split into an "inside" crew and an "outside" crew. You would spend two semesters a year on inside crew and two on outside crew. The inside crew worked on electrical projects on the school grounds. We did maintenance on all the lighting, the pumps and filters for the pool, and all other types of electrical work on the campus. On outside crew, you worked on real construction projects the school was involved in. Basically, we were doing the electrical work on new houses and large residential home additions that the homeowners contracted the school to do. Pretty sweet deal if the school selected your project. All you had to pay for was materials plus 20%. You got your work done for a lot less money and contributed to the school at the same time. Our teachers were all licensed Master Electricians and they oversaw all the work we did as it was their license the permits were puled against. All of our work was inspected and signed off on by the towns electrical inspectors just like normal.
My friend R and I were both on inside crew for the first semester that year. Our job on Friday of that first week was to make sure the scoreboard on the football field was functioning properly before the first home game. Pretty sweet assignment right? We figured all we had to do was hook up the score board control box, test it's functions and make sure everything lit up. We thought the toughest thing we'd need to do is replace a few blown out bulbs. We were planning on spending the morning outside on a nice late summer day, futzing around with the scoreboard controls, all the while keeping an eye on the girls gym classes that were running the track that circled the football field. Piece of cake. Life was good
Well, we get down to the field and hook up the control box. We turn it on and nothing. No lights, no clock, zippo. Well, crap! Now we have to do some actual work. We bring our ladder down to the scoreboard itself so one of us can climb up to the fusebox and make sure the main switch is on and that the fuses are good. I'm the lucky guy that gets to climb up the ladder to the fuse box. It's about 7 or so feet up.
Up goes ole' SwiftDog. First thing I notice is that the the switch is on. OK, gotta be the fuses, I think to myself. As I'm getting ready to open the fuse box, I notice there are a few bees circling around. I don't think much of it. It's warm. We're on a field. Not unusual for there to be bees buzzing around. Well, I turn off the main switch, open the fuse box and....am greeted by an angry cloud of belligerent, buzzing, basta*d bees flowing out of the dang fuse box! They had gotten in via an open conduit hole on the bottom and built a hive inside. Luckily, they went out over my head when I opened the door so I didn't get stung. I wasn't going to hang around and wait for them to form an attack plan though. I jumped off the ladder as fast as I could and beat a path up into the bleachers.
Now my friend R is just about giving himself a hernia he is laughing so hard when he saw the bees come out and me jump off the ladder. He ran up to the bleachers right behind me so he didn't get stung either. Now we gotta figure out how to get rid of the bees. We ended up going up to the maintenance building and asking the groundskeepers if they had any insecticide. They asked us why we needed it and when we told them they just about peed themselves laughing. Hardy-Har! Jerks!Actually, I would've laughed too if it wasn't me that got bee bombed
Guess I can't blame them. Anywho, they had this kick-a** spray that shoots the insecticide about 20 feet and kills big ole' buzzy bees dead on contact.
R and I troop back to the football field with three cans of bee-be-gone and proceed to douse the hive with it. BOOYAY! Take that you blasted bees!
We wait about 20 minutes and when we don't see any bee patrols we go back down to the scoreboard. I make R climb up this time. He goes up and scoops out the hive and all the dead bees. YUCK!
We replace the fuses and get the board working. We ended up having to replace like half the bulbs as well. Luckily, there were no hidden surprises in the bulb housings. What should have taken like an hour ended up taking half the day. Of course, our instructors had heard what happened from the groundskeepers when we went back up to the shop. Our bee strafing cracked them up too.
It's funny when I look back at it now but it sure wasn't funny when I got bee bombed!
R and I are still tight. We've been friends since 5th grade. I met him when my family moved to the town I spent the majority of my formative years in. We played little league together, graduated HS together, been in bands together, got up to some utter craziness in Vegas when his sister got married and hung out with some kick-a** touring bands together. I was the best man at his wedding and am Godfather to one of his sons. We live in different states now but keep in touch.
We still crack up over this story when we talk about it
Sure, no problem!
The funny thing is I haven't worked in the electrical field professionally since I graduated. Sure, I can do electrical work around the house but I never did get my electricians license. I'm an IT project manager now for a financial company
hahahahaha
! hoheoahoehoahoeoha!! Scaring siblings (or being the one scared) is like baseball, hot dogs, apple pie and Chevrolet!
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