You have 19 years to prepare, woman. I suppose I could just take him to your city for his 25th birthday, and pop him in the nose right there.
Direct violence. I like it.
The Buffistas are far too victims' rights oriented (and inclined, upon occasion, to sing Kumbayah), and although they currently recognize my extreme victimosity, who's to say they won't all be senile by then?
If they're senile by then, odds are they'll be cranky seniles. You’ll be acquitted and they’ll line up to *BAP* the Offspring.
We could open a Bronze Kangaroo Court, though.
I would so want to be a judge on THAT court.
As for the defendant, I must report that my family has had a few “what were you thinking?!?!” moments. Youngest sister, as a toddler, would stick pennies up her nose. (1+ trips to the hospital). Another sister, also then a toddler, kept riding her tricycle down the cement basement stairs (2 trips to the hospital; one visit from the social worker). Narrator!Niece stuck a kernel of corn in her ear (4+ trips to the doctor before he realized it wasn’t an infection or ear wax and had to pull it out with some medical instrument). My favorite, though, was my then-12 y/o sister who was shooting rubber bands off of a very thin crochet hook (for thread rather than yarn) and accidentally let go of the hook rather than the rubber band. The hook ended up in her thumb. It (fortunately) missed the nail and went all the way through the fleshy part of the thumb. Little blood and not much pain. The ER doctor loved it. He not only took an X-ray, he took a Polaroid and called other doctors down from other departments to see the darn thing before they cut the tip of the hook and pulled it out.
I don't know how my mother survived us.
Huh. Looks like it's starting to sprinkle outside.
Ha ha ha, Tom. I just got caught in flash-flood style rain coming from the subway. I refused to buy an umbrella, because I just bought one yesterday! Of course, I didn't have it with me, but I was on my way home anyway. I look like I just got out of the shower.
Luckily, the new modem (that was in a bag that ended up with an inch of water in the bottom) was in the top part of the box, over the cables which I didn't need to use anyway. The point is, the thing works.
Another sister, also then a toddler, kept riding her tricycle down the cement basement stairs (2 trips to the hospital; one visit from the social worker).
We had an old crib matress in our basement, which had handles on the side for easy transport. When my folks were out, my siblings and I used to use it to sled down the basement stairs onto the concrete floor. It's a miracle none of were ever hurt, but I still remember it as being one of the most fun things from childhood.
Sesame Street talk always leads me to tell the story of how Bob came to talk at our convocation when I was in college. Picture an auditorium of jaded and worldly music students, regressing en masse.
He did autographs afterwards, and a die hard jazzer admitted in front of the whole line that Bob was his favorite and asked for a hug. Very allergy inducing.
All the dumb-things-done-when-small stories are cracking me up.
When I was six, I noticed that the chewable vitamin c pills seemed to be the same size as the holes in our rotary phone. They were. Exactly. I filled every hole, and my mom had a heck of a time getting them out. I remember that shaking the phone upside down vigorously was not sufficient.
However, at least I didn't cause bodily injury. In junior high or high school, my cousin rigged up a "flying machine" that looked pretty much like Superman's cape only made of sticks and garbage bags, took a running start, and jumped off the deck to see if he could fly. He did go a fair ways from the house before hitting ground and breaking his arm.
Ooh, maybe he was there to get thrown into the castle dungeon.
With the trapdoor up on the tower!
I have none of these stories. WTF is wrong with me.
OK, then, let's do a "Most Fun Things Ever from Childhood" trip down memory lane!
For me, it was hanging with my cousins and playing at Gramma's farm. By the time I was born, all the animals were gone except for my great-uncle's old horse Dolly, who he kept boarded at the stable. So, in addition to very occasional rides on her (she was old, after all), we were able to play in the chicken house and dairy barn (with the great hay loft that had the basketball hoop set up for a pick-up game) that still had a lot of equipment that was cool to look at, climb the six apple trees and eat the apples when they got big enough (and get sick when they weren't), first washing them in the outdoor well, and in the fall pick sweet corn in the small field between the farmhouse and Uncle Ray's ranch house next door.
