Tigers X - Number one Source to Talk Auburn Tigers Sports
The Library => Haley Center Basement => Topic started by: dallaswareagle on April 18, 2013, 02:37:20 PM
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When I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears with their tedious diatribes about how hard things were. When they were growing up; what with walking twenty-five miles to school every morning.... Uphill... Barefoot... BOTH... ways...yadda, yadda, yadda
And I remember promising myself that when I grew up, there was no way in hell I was going to lay a bunch of crap like that on my kids about how hard I had it and how easy they've got it!
But now that I'm over the ripe old age of forty, I can't help but look around and notice the youth of today. You've got it so easy! I mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a damn Utopia! And I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don't know how good you've got it!
1) I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves, in the card catalog!!
2) There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter - with a pen! Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox, and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10 cents!
3) Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass! Nowhere was safe!
4) There were no MP3's or Napsters or iTunes! If you wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself!
5) Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over the beginning and @#*% it all up! There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favorite tape and "eject" it when finished, and then the tape would come undone rendering it useless. Cause, hey, that's how we rolled, Baby! Dig?
6) We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal, that's it!
7) There weren't any freakin' cell phones either. If you left the house, you just didn't make a damn call or receive one. You actually had to be out of touch with your "friends". OH MY GOSH !!! Think of the horror... not being in touch with someone 24/7!!! And then there's TEXTING. Yeah, right. Please! You kids have no idea how annoying you are.
8) And we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, the collection agent... you just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances, mister!
9) We didn't have any fancy PlayStation or Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games like 'Space Invaders' and 'Asteroids'. Your screen guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen.. Forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!
10) You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel!!! NO REMOTES!!! Oh, no, what's the world coming to?!?!
11) There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying? We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards!
12) And we didn't have microwaves. If we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove! Imagine that!
13) And our parents told us to stay outside and play... all day long. Oh, no, no electronics to soothe and comfort. And if you came back inside... you were doing chores!
And car seats - oh, please! Mom threw you in the back seat and you hung on. If you were lucky, you got the "safety arm" across the chest at the last moment if she had to stop suddenly, and if your head hit the dashboard, well that was your fault for calling "shot gun" in the first place!
See! That's exactly what I'm talking about! You kids today have got it too easy. You're spoiled rotten! You guys wouldn't have lasted five minutes back in 1970 or any time before!
Regards,
The Over 40 Crowd
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Jeebus, someone is upset that they moved Matlock to the 7pm slot. Who can stay up that late?
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And in fifty years....
1) I mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the Internet. If we wanted to know something, we had to go to the damn library and look it up ourselves, in the card catalog!!
When I was a kid, we had to turn on the computer and search multiple internet sites! We didn't have these brain plug-ins to download full catalogs of information directly to our cerebral cortex!
2) There was no email!! We had to actually write somebody a letter - with a pen! Then you had to walk all the way across the street and put it in the mailbox, and it would take like a week to get there! Stamps were 10 cents!
There was no holodeck! We had to actually write somebody an email - with a keyboard! Then you had to hit send and wait for them to check their email to respond! Nowadays, you just beep them on the holodeck, and you both can have lunch at a simulated version of the fucking cafe in Paris!
3) Child Protective Services didn't care if our parents beat us. As a matter of fact, the parents of all my friends also had permission to kick our ass! Nowhere was safe!
You didn't always have responsible, tolerant parents! You had parents that COULD beat you and you had to rely on DHR to hopefully come rescue you!
4) There were no MP3's or Napsters or iTunes! If you wanted to steal music, you had to hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it yourself!
There were no cochlear implants that played any song you want with just a quick thought in your brain! You had to have a portable MP3 player that you scrolled through to find your song!
5) Or you had to wait around all day to tape it off the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over the beginning and @#*% it all up! There were no CD players! We had tape decks in our car. We'd play our favorite tape and "eject" it when finished, and then the tape would come undone rendering it useless. Cause, hey, that's how we rolled, Baby! Dig?
You can't even comprehend the concept of a CD or tape deck!
6) We didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting! If you were on the phone and somebody else called, they got a busy signal, that's it!
We didn't have a holodeck to have a family reunion with family from all over the world without leaving the comfort of our home! Dag-nabbit!
7) There weren't any freakin' cell phones either. If you left the house, you just didn't make a damn call or receive one. You actually had to be out of touch with your "friends". OH MY GOSH !!! Think of the horror... not being in touch with someone 24/7!!! And then there's TEXTING. Yeah, right. Please! You kids have no idea how annoying you are.
Back then, when you wanted to get laid, you had to actually talk to a girl and woo her! Now, you just fire up the ole holodeck and program the lady of your choice who will do whatever you want!! You spoiled hornball!!!
8) And we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who it was! It could be your school, your parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug dealer, the collection agent... you just didn't know!!! You had to pick it up and take your chances, mister!
And we had to rely on Caller ID to know who was contacting us! Now, we have social networks where we plan out our entire day for the whole world to see what happens next!
9) We didn't have any fancy PlayStation or Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics! We had the Atari 2600! With games like 'Space Invaders' and 'Asteroids'. Your screen guy was a little square! You actually had to use your imagination!!! And there were no multiple levels or screens, it was just one screen.. Forever! And you could never win. The game just kept getting harder and harder and faster and faster until you died! Just like LIFE!
We had to play video games on a TV with a system! Not no fancy schmancy holodeck!
10) You had to use a little book called a TV Guide to find out what was on! You were screwed when it came to channel surfing! You had to get off your ass and walk over to the TV to change the channel!!! NO REMOTES!!! Oh, no, what's the world coming to?!?!
We used to use remotes to watch television! No no stinking voice activated holodecks!
11) There was no Cartoon Network either! You could only get cartoons on Saturday Morning. Do you hear what I'm saying? We had to wait ALL WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little rat-bastards!
Holodecks!
12) And we didn't have microwaves. If we wanted to heat something up, we had to use the stove! Imagine that!
We once used microwaves to heat our food. Now you got these replicators that just conjure up food like food is magical! We had to grow it! Now you just rearrange particles into the substance you want it to be!
13) And our parents told us to stay outside and play... all day long. Oh, no, no electronics to soothe and comfort. And if you came back inside... you were doing chores!
Back in my day when you went outside, you had pollution! Now, you can go outside and breathe pristine air at any time! And if you get tired of that, you can go inside to your holodeck which provides you with booze, blackjack, and hookers! You know what? Forget the booze! And the blackjack!
I want a holodeck....
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He speaks for all of us....over 40....err, 50.
I've said just about all of the above because I lived it. When you got home from school, you put on your "play clothes" and got the hell out of the house as fast as possible. And your parents wanted you out of the house. How was school? Great, now get the hell out of here. Find your friends and play any sport you could think of. That row of azalea bushes is a home run. Ghost runner on first. The corner of the house is a touchdown. You have to count 5 Mississippi's.
Jump your bikes off anything you could use for a ramp. Ride your bikes up to the Pak-A-Sak and see if the latest Iron Man, Spider Man or Hulk comic had come in. DC is for pussies. Throw water balloons at passing cars and use the untraceable get-away trail. Jump the neighbor's fence while they're at work and swim in their pool. Take your fishing pole and ride over to that part of the neighborhood where you can jump the fence around the country club golf course and fish in their pond. See if Sonya Vann will come out and jump on her trampoline with us because last summer, she showed us her naughty parts.
I look at mini and wonder what the attraction is with wanting to stare at a screen all day with a controller in your hand. I have honestly tried. Outside is not where he wants to be. Taking Greg Dunbar's best dip curve and sending the whiffle ball 20 feet up the neighbor's Catalpa Tree is real. Catching bumblebees in a jar and shaking them out in a fire ant bed you just stirred up is getting back to nature in it's most sadistic form. Ripping off plywood and 2 x 4's from the house being built down the street and building a fort in your back yard was real man's work. So was ripping off one of your dad's Playboys and showing it to everyone in the your little neighborhood gang.
You'd better bring your own personalized whiffle ball bat or be able to pop a wheelie for more than 25 feet. Otherwise, get the hell off my lawn.
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He speaks for all of us....over 40....err, 50.
Jump your bikes off anything you could use for a ramp.
The longest jump and the baddest wipeout won the day.
Now on the wipeout the following would happen:
1: Cops called by parents of the wipee.
2: lawsuit filed by said parents against the following:
Parents of who's yard you were in-Parents of who's yard you ended up in.
The bike manufacture.
The tire manufacture of the tires on the bike.
The city for not regulating this sporting event.
The parents of the kids watching-(For not stopping the jump)
The Ramp maker (See some kids parents)
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The longest jump and the baddest wipeout won the day.
Now on the wipeout the following would happen:
1: Cops called by parents of the wipee.
2: lawsuit filed by said parents against the following:
Parents of who's yard you were in-Parents of who's yard you ended up in.
The bike manufacture.
The tire manufacture of the tires on the bike.
The city for not regulating this sporting event.
The parents of the kids watching-(For not stopping the jump)
The Ramp maker (See some kids parents)
Pffft....you know squat. The kids watching said wipeout have a claim for the trauma of being in the "Zone of danger." Punitives apply here.
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Pffft....you know squat. The kids watching said wipeout have a claim for the trauma of being in the "Zone of danger." Punitives apply here.
Only someone who cares would know and would worry about that.
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Only someone who cares would know and would worry about that.
I'm on your side.
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He speaks for all of us....over 40....err, 50.
I've said just about all of the above because I lived it. When you got home from school, you put on your "play clothes" and got the hell out of the house as fast as possible. And your parents wanted you out of the house. How was school? Great, now get the hell out of here. Find your friends and play any sport you could think of. That row of azalea bushes is a home run. Ghost runner on first. The corner of the house is a touchdown. You have to count 5 Mississippi's.
Jump your bikes off anything you could use for a ramp. Ride your bikes up to the Pak-A-Sak and see if the latest Iron Man, Spider Man or Hulk comic had come in. DC is for pussies. Throw water balloons at passing cars and use the untraceable get-away trail. Jump the neighbor's fence while they're at work and swim in their pool. Take your fishing pole and ride over to that part of the neighborhood where you can jump the fence around the country club golf course and fish in their pond. See if Sonya Vann will come out and jump on her trampoline with us because last summer, she showed us her naughty parts.
I look at mini and wonder what the attraction is with wanting to stare at a screen all day with a controller in your hand. I have honestly tried. Outside is not where he wants to be. Taking Greg Dunbar's best dip curve and sending the whiffle ball 20 feet up the neighbor's Catalpa Tree is real. Catching bumblebees in a jar and shaking them out in a fire ant bed you just stirred up is getting back to nature in it's most sadistic form. Ripping off plywood and 2 x 4's from the house being built down the street and building a fort in your back yard was real man's work. So was ripping off one of your dad's Playboys and showing it to everyone in the your little neighborhood gang.
You'd better bring your own personalized whiffle ball bat or be able to pop a wheelie for more than 25 feet. Otherwise, get the hell off my lawn.
Holy hell...I didn't realize we grew up in the same neighborhood!
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Pffft....you know squat. The kids watching said wipeout have a claim for the trauma of being in the "Zone of danger."
I think Lana stays there.
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I think Lana stays there.
Thats it I am so going to make you eat a bowl of spider webs.
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He speaks for all of us....over 40....err, 50.
I've said just about all of the above because I lived it. When you got home from school, you put on your "play clothes" and got the hell out of the house as fast as possible. And your parents wanted you out of the house. How was school? Great, now get the hell out of here. Find your friends and play any sport you could think of. That row of azalea bushes is a home run. Ghost runner on first. The corner of the house is a touchdown. You have to count 5 Mississippi's.
Jump your bikes off anything you could use for a ramp. Ride your bikes up to the Pak-A-Sak and see if the latest Iron Man, Spider Man or Hulk comic had come in. DC is for pussies. Throw water balloons at passing cars and use the untraceable get-away trail. Jump the neighbor's fence while they're at work and swim in their pool. Take your fishing pole and ride over to that part of the neighborhood where you can jump the fence around the country club golf course and fish in their pond. See if Sonya Vann will come out and jump on her trampoline with us because last summer, she showed us her naughty parts.
I look at mini and wonder what the attraction is with wanting to stare at a screen all day with a controller in your hand. I have honestly tried. Outside is not where he wants to be. Taking Greg Dunbar's best dip curve and sending the whiffle ball 20 feet up the neighbor's Catalpa Tree is real. Catching bumblebees in a jar and shaking them out in a fire ant bed you just stirred up is getting back to nature in it's most sadistic form. Ripping off plywood and 2 x 4's from the house being built down the street and building a fort in your back yard was real man's work. So was ripping off one of your dad's Playboys and showing it to everyone in the your little neighborhood gang.
You'd better bring your own personalized whiffle ball bat or be able to pop a wheelie for more than 25 feet. Otherwise, get the hell off my lawn.
Damn city kids.
We used to ride our bikes down hill through the woods (I may have invented mountain biking, in any case it looked a lot like the speed bike scene from Return of the Jedi) with no helmets, the only thing to break your fall was the coating of mosquitoes, ticks, and chiggers. When our friend's dad put a pier on his catfish pond you can believe we rode our bikes off of it as fast as we could into the water. Somewhere in the bottom of that pond there is still a 20" navy blue Huffy. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
Go down to the creek and catch all the crawfish you could and throw them in a bucket and watch them fight. Declare one the winner and bring him home and keep him in a tupperware bowl in your room, wake up in the morning to find him missing, find him by smell three days later. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
During the summer I would stay at grandma's (no cable, no AC, but the world's best biscuits; she would take a disposable pie plate and make me one big ass biscuit that I would smear with homemade fig preserves for lunch, this was the beginning of my weight struggles). She would take me out picking up beer cans on the side of the road that I could then take to the local recycler/fireworks stand (yes, they were one and the same) where I would wait in line with my friends to trade aluminum for black cats, lady fingers, and jumping jacks. These would then be used to detonate cool whip bowls and fire ant beds and the occasional flower pot. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
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Damn city kids.
We used to ride our bikes down hill through the woods (I may have invented mountain biking, in any case it looked a lot like the speed bike scene from Return of the Jedi) with no helmets, the only thing to break your fall was the coating of mosquitoes, ticks, and chiggers. When our friend's dad put a pier on his catfish pond you can believe we rode our bikes off of it as fast as we could into the water. Somewhere in the bottom of that pond there is still a 20" navy blue Huffy. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
Go down to the creek and catch all the crawfish you could and throw them in a bucket and watch them fight. Declare one the winner and bring him home and keep him in a tupperware bowl in your room, wake up in the morning to find him missing, find him by smell three days later. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
During the summer I would stay at grandma's (no cable, no AC, but the world's best biscuits; she would take a disposable pie plate and make me one big ass biscuit that I would smear with homemade fig preserves for lunch, this was the beginning of my weight struggles). She would take me out picking up beer cans on the side of the road that I could then take to the local recycler/fireworks stand (yes, they were one and the same) where I would wait in line with my friends to trade aluminum for black cats, lady fingers, and jumping jacks. These would then be used to detonate cool whip bowls and fire ant beds and the occasional flower pot. Man did I get an ass whooping for that one.
Glad you are now over your troubled youth and well into a troubled adulthood.
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Holy hell...I didn't realize we grew up in the same neighborhood!
We all did- I grew up on the other side of the tracks-My mom would not let play with yawl. She said somethings that I thought were untrue-but now that I have met most of yawl, I see they were true.
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy Shit I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy Shit I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
My mom was strictly a belt person, For a small lady 5'0 maybe 95 pounds soaking wet-She became a belt master early in life and went on to train countless others in the art of ass whoppins.
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy shoot I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
Hell yes I had to get my own switch. And obviously the first pick usually didn't pass my mom's discerning taste in switches.
If you haven't had a switching from a peach tree switch, you haven't had a good switching. And it isn't a "wear that ass out" whipping, it's on the calves and legs. I can assure you that yes, it probably causes mental issues later in life but you don't ever do the same shoot you did to cause the switching in the first place.
But, a friends dad beat him with a waterhose one time. It was in the back of his truck and the closest thing he could find. Based on his account, I'll take the switching. And it hurts to say that.
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy Shit I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
Not me. As soon as I'd walk in the door from being in any kind of trouble, my mother would chase me down the hall, wielding my father's belt; whipping me while screaming "you just wait 'till your Dad gets home!" Worst beating I ever got was when I screamed back "It won't be half as bad as this!"
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy Shit I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
I could live with that one. The bad one was when your mom looked at you and said, "Go get me a switch the whip your brother with.And bring back a good one, or you will join him".
Now what to do? You didn't want to get your brother killed. But you didn't want to join him either. Then you had to watch while he looked at you like you got the wrong switch. As if there is a right one.
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I could live with that one. The bad one was when your mom looked at you and said, "Go get me a switch the whip your brother with.And bring back a good one, or you will join him".
Now what to do? You didn't want to get your brother killed. But you didn't want to join him either. Then you had to watch while he looked at you like you got the wrong switch. As if there is a right one.
Another bonus to being an only child.
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I could live with that one. The bad one was when your mom looked at you and said, "Go get me a switch the whip your brother with.And bring back a good one, or you will join him".
Now what to do? You didn't want to get your brother killed. But you didn't want to join him either. Then you had to watch while he looked at you like you got the wrong switch. As if there is a right one.
It’s a dog eat dog world. I would have brought back many, different lengths, different widths for her choosing. Than after his beating kill every living tree in the area.
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So how many of you had to go get your own switch? I hated that. Bring back one that was too big and you got your ass beat with it anyway, bring back one that was too small and that would just piss them off even more so they beat your ass even worse when they got back from getting a real switch.
Also, my dad took me on a fishing trip on a creek up around Athens one day. I remember walking past a huge patch of cane on the way in. On the way out my dad stopped and havested a bunch of the smaller ones. My dumbass thought, well he's a dummy, those are way to small for cane poles. Holy shoot I was happy when the last of those whipping canes disappeared from the house.
I never got the switch oddly enough. It was always just belt, hand, or fly swatter. The fly swatter may sound funny, but it stung like hell across the back of your legs and calves.
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I never got the switch oddly enough. It was always just belt, hand, or fly swatter. The fly swatter may sound funny, but it stung like hell across the back of your legs and calves.
And left a funny pattern if used in the same spot.
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And left a funny pattern if used in the same spot.
You always wanted to avoid the waffle butt.
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You always wanted to avoid the waffle butt.
Sometimes thats all that was left in the club after 1:00am.
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I remember celebrating the day my dad cut down that lethal weapon known as the willow tree
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Sometimes thats all that was left in the club after 1:00am.
Sometimes you just have to make the best of a bad situation.
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Sometimes you just have to make the best of a bad situation.
Beer helps with that alot.
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I remember celebrating the day my dad cut down that lethal weapon known as the willow tree
My grandmother would turn into Indiana Jones with one of those. She also used the fly swatter and depending on how bad you were she might use the wire end. Mom and Dad always used a belt or something handy that could be used as a belt, like a set of reigns or an old leather strap that was conveniently within hands reach. Problem was I just couldn't stop myself from being a little shithead and smartass. Much like now.
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My grandmother would turn into Indiana Jones with one of those. She also used the fly swatter and depending on how bad you were she might use the wire end. Mom and Dad always used a belt or something handy that could be used as a belt, like a set of reigns or an old leather strap that was conveniently within hands reach. Problem was I just couldn't stop myself from being a little shithead and smartass. Much like now.
When everything else was out of reach and that ass whoopin just positively/absolutely had to be delivered right then, the old style flat backed hair brush was used and I swear she had Thor power with that brush, cause that thing seem to fly into her hand whenever she commanded it.
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The belt was the thing. My folks didn't want to wait on one of us to go get a switch. Just whip that belt off and start swingin'. BTW, comedian Sinbad has a bit about gettin' that ass whooped that had me rolling.
My all-time ass beating came when I was 15. Came home one afternoon and found my mom rearranging my room. What the hell? You're touching my stuff. She told me to grab the other end of the bed and help her move it. (This turned out to be my saving grace) I bowed up and told her I didn't want my room messed with and she could do it herself. Went to the den and here she comes after me, belt in hand. Told her she wasn't hitting me with that belt. She advised me she was and reared back to swing.
Just then, that little devil from Animal House popped up on my shoulder and told me I was a bad man and shouldn't stop now. So, I reached up and grabbed the belt, threw it across the room and told her she was NOT hitting me with that belt. I was right! SHE....wasn't going to hit me with that belt. I spent the rest of the afternoon cussing that little devil guy, waiting on dad to get home. He does...and goes into the bedroom where mom is waiting.....Remember the phone call from A Christmas Story where it starts out with, "Do you know what my son just said?.....Do you know where he heard it?"
That's pretty much how it went down. Pops comes out with a belt and starts wailing. Belt ain't good enough...he starts throwing hands and beatin' my little punk ass down the hall...and into my bedroom....where the bed is still sitting in the middle of the room. Hopped to the other side and kept it between me and him until he got tired and left. I locked the door behind him....and bled.
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I locked the door behind him....and bled.
Just do what you do now and shove a wad of cotton in it.
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Just do what you do now and shove a wad of cotton in it.
No shit. It's easier to just......
Hey, wait a damn minute!!!
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Funniest ass whopping I ever got I was also about 15 or so and was sitting in a chair in the living room, I was 15 and cock of the walk, Well my mother asked me if I knew where something was (don’t remember what exactly) so I said “Didn’t I tell youâ€? And she said no, so I then said to my sainted mother, “Well it must not have been any of your businessâ€
She then proceeded to beat me across the body with a towel that she had in her hand. I didn’t laugh but it was funny.
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The belt was the thing. My folks didn't want to wait on one of us to go get a switch. Just whip that belt off and start swingin'. BTW, comedian Sinbad has a bit about gettin' that ass whooped that had me rolling.
My all-time ass beating came when I was 15. Came home one afternoon and found my mom rearranging my room. What the hell? You're touching my stuff. She told me to grab the other end of the bed and help her move it. (This turned out to be my saving grace) I bowed up and told her I didn't want my room messed with and she could do it herself. Went to the den and here she comes after me, belt in hand. Told her she wasn't hitting me with that belt. She advised me she was and reared back to swing.
Just then, that little devil from Animal House popped up on my shoulder and told me I was a bad man and shouldn't stop now. So, I reached up and grabbed the belt, threw it across the room and told her she was NOT hitting me with that belt. I was right! SHE....wasn't going to hit me with that belt. I spent the rest of the afternoon cussing that little devil guy, waiting on dad to get home. He does...and goes into the bedroom where mom is waiting.....Remember the phone call from A Christmas Story where it starts out with, "Do you know what my son just said?.....Do you know where he heard it?"
That's pretty much how it went down. Pops comes out with a belt and starts wailing. Belt ain't good enough...he starts throwing hands and beatin' my little punk ass down the hall...and into my bedroom....where the bed is still sitting in the middle of the room. Hopped to the other side and kept it between me and him until he got tired and left. I locked the door behind him....and bled.
I was always partial to Bill Cosby's talking about the belt that hid dad threatened him and his brother with.
http://youtu.be/JPn3c_BMg_8?t=4m15s
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I was always partial to Bill Cosby's talking about the belt that hid dad threatened him and his brother with.
My wife and daughter got into it Thursday night, and I was the goalie, she'd come to me and I'd kick her back into play. And I swear, after, it was something just like out of the Cosby skit. My wife sitting there, talking to herself, "Talk to me like that, and then you roll your eyes? Don't roll your eyes at me, I'll roll that head of yours."
And I started laughing, which didn't help one bit.