The 'wack Off
Saturday, December 10, 2005
Happy pre-grade school summer memory
Thanks to seppo and eingy for inspiring me to revisit this dusty blog...
Anyway...
I'm not sure I can go back as far as "pre" grade school as most of those memories are fuzzy peaches and not particularly notable. A couple of days spent with undressable Batman figures (why not dressable?) and kicking a ball without a goal (as the rules of even the most simple of sports did not make sense to me until at least 3rd grade).
But during the summers, EVERY summer before 6th grade, my mother would drop my brother and I off at our grandmothers while she worked at a bank. My grandmother worked nights, so she slept all day on the couch (she refused to sleep upstairs in the bed my grandfather slept in). My grandfather, retired from the Postal Service and with all day to spare, drank 12 packs and passed gas on a chair that was about three feet from the couch that my grandmother slept on. My grandmother would've had the upstairs bed to herself, but out of protest continued to sleep three feet from the man she couldn't stand. Either that or she just loved to bask in my now dead grandfather's farts.
Anyway, My brother and I and both of our cousins (who were also subject to being left behind at the house of eggs and farts) had to amuse ourselves all day long in a giant house full of garbage. My Uncle Wayne jokes every year, like clockwork at this point, that the next edition of "Survivor" is going to be filmed inside of my grandmother's filthy house. My grandmother also speaks in the third person ("Brian, you're grandmother has fluid in her knee" or "Did you know your grandmother was quite the artist herself when she was younger?"). The house was big and three of the four upstairs bedrooms belonged to uncles who had moved out at least five years before I was in first grade. My grandparents never bothered to turn their rooms into anything other than the mess their sons had left behind.
So each and every day during the span of five or so summers, all four of us would walk upstairs and explore the rooms of my emancipated uncles. One uncle was into comic books and we shredded through issues of Sgt. Fury and other crappy characters that I wasn't aware of. The one issue of Submariner he had was like the holy grail of his comic book collection (which we of course shredded). Two of my other uncles, twins, shared a room and an obsession of the Beatles. We used to draw all over their posters still left hanging on the wall. The last room, which belonged to a seemingly hobbiless uncle, is what still sticks in my head to this day.
The room was small and yellow and was surprisingly clean for the house. The laundry was only piled in two corners of the room. The entire house smelled like gym socks, but that room in particular reeked of it. We used to avoid the room as it had nothing to offer and it wasn't until one day in second grade (when we ostracized my brother once again) that the little bastard reached between the bed and the wall and discovered what would end up being wallpaper for our fort downstairs (which was the entire livingroom).
My little brother, no more than 4 at the time, discovered the single largest collection of porno magazines I've ever seen (to this day). And although most of the names escape me, I'll never forget the word "Cherry" because my uncle must've had forty issues of the magazine.
My brother, forgiven for whatever we had accused him of doing or being, became a hero that day. And while my grandmother slept in the den and my grandfather drank himself into an alchoholic daze, we covered the living room walls with boobs, butts, and more boobs. I can remember that we were disgusted by the sight of the "other" part of the girl as the publishers of Cherry were quite detailed and offered the most intricate of spreads. It seemed to be mandatory for every vagina in picture to be pried open with an invisible crowbar and two pairs of hands. My cousin Cindy still has nightmares about it (Did I mention that one of the four was a girl?).
That summer, surrounded by porno, we played games, watched cartoons, and threw towels over our backs pretending we were the Superfriends. My grandmother, oblivious to it all, still swears that it never happened. But trust me, for an entire summer (I don't remember ever taking the pictures down, but I don't remember them outside of that 2nd grade summer either) we played innocent games to the backdrop of some of the dirtiest porno imaginable. Somehow, in a totally twisted way, I've always considered that a happy memory. ¶ 9:44 AM 2 comments
Anyway...
I'm not sure I can go back as far as "pre" grade school as most of those memories are fuzzy peaches and not particularly notable. A couple of days spent with undressable Batman figures (why not dressable?) and kicking a ball without a goal (as the rules of even the most simple of sports did not make sense to me until at least 3rd grade).
But during the summers, EVERY summer before 6th grade, my mother would drop my brother and I off at our grandmothers while she worked at a bank. My grandmother worked nights, so she slept all day on the couch (she refused to sleep upstairs in the bed my grandfather slept in). My grandfather, retired from the Postal Service and with all day to spare, drank 12 packs and passed gas on a chair that was about three feet from the couch that my grandmother slept on. My grandmother would've had the upstairs bed to herself, but out of protest continued to sleep three feet from the man she couldn't stand. Either that or she just loved to bask in my now dead grandfather's farts.
Anyway, My brother and I and both of our cousins (who were also subject to being left behind at the house of eggs and farts) had to amuse ourselves all day long in a giant house full of garbage. My Uncle Wayne jokes every year, like clockwork at this point, that the next edition of "Survivor" is going to be filmed inside of my grandmother's filthy house. My grandmother also speaks in the third person ("Brian, you're grandmother has fluid in her knee" or "Did you know your grandmother was quite the artist herself when she was younger?"). The house was big and three of the four upstairs bedrooms belonged to uncles who had moved out at least five years before I was in first grade. My grandparents never bothered to turn their rooms into anything other than the mess their sons had left behind.
So each and every day during the span of five or so summers, all four of us would walk upstairs and explore the rooms of my emancipated uncles. One uncle was into comic books and we shredded through issues of Sgt. Fury and other crappy characters that I wasn't aware of. The one issue of Submariner he had was like the holy grail of his comic book collection (which we of course shredded). Two of my other uncles, twins, shared a room and an obsession of the Beatles. We used to draw all over their posters still left hanging on the wall. The last room, which belonged to a seemingly hobbiless uncle, is what still sticks in my head to this day.
The room was small and yellow and was surprisingly clean for the house. The laundry was only piled in two corners of the room. The entire house smelled like gym socks, but that room in particular reeked of it. We used to avoid the room as it had nothing to offer and it wasn't until one day in second grade (when we ostracized my brother once again) that the little bastard reached between the bed and the wall and discovered what would end up being wallpaper for our fort downstairs (which was the entire livingroom).
My little brother, no more than 4 at the time, discovered the single largest collection of porno magazines I've ever seen (to this day). And although most of the names escape me, I'll never forget the word "Cherry" because my uncle must've had forty issues of the magazine.
My brother, forgiven for whatever we had accused him of doing or being, became a hero that day. And while my grandmother slept in the den and my grandfather drank himself into an alchoholic daze, we covered the living room walls with boobs, butts, and more boobs. I can remember that we were disgusted by the sight of the "other" part of the girl as the publishers of Cherry were quite detailed and offered the most intricate of spreads. It seemed to be mandatory for every vagina in picture to be pried open with an invisible crowbar and two pairs of hands. My cousin Cindy still has nightmares about it (Did I mention that one of the four was a girl?).
That summer, surrounded by porno, we played games, watched cartoons, and threw towels over our backs pretending we were the Superfriends. My grandmother, oblivious to it all, still swears that it never happened. But trust me, for an entire summer (I don't remember ever taking the pictures down, but I don't remember them outside of that 2nd grade summer either) we played innocent games to the backdrop of some of the dirtiest porno imaginable. Somehow, in a totally twisted way, I've always considered that a happy memory. ¶ 9:44 AM 2 comments
