Posted by Wickedpinto on January 22, 2008
Just stopping in for a quckie’esh sort of thing.
Okay first, politics.
Fred waited to flogging long
McCain will get the nom.
Hillary is a bully, as long as her fat drunk unfaithful husband can back her up with his crowd.
Edwards is a pussy “When can I talk? when can I talk?!” but of course the “impartial” media doesn’t take sides, . . . . or do they? Even dems have to wake up to last nights farce.
anyways, the thing that I actually wanted to talk about.
I’m not a loser, though that is the lifestyle I live. I’m poor though I shouldn’t be, and for some reason saturday, I started to think about some formative moments in my life, and it reminded me of something that I did a number of years ago.
My brother has a very nice house, very nice, and he has a number of neighbors who are very nice people who have very nice children. a number of years ago, while I was working the line at a feeder plant for the local ford plant, I was off for two weeks, during their “retooling” (Actually it was a complete reconception of the ford 500, or at least a way to re-market it) so I didn’t have anything to do for 2 weeks, and my brother, knowing that I like spending time with him, and the fact that my brother would like for the people that he knows to learn to know his brother (me) “invited” me over to his place.
I’m the kinda guy that I won’t take anything for free, I don’t know why, I’m poor, so actually I should be the one who takes free shit whenever it’s available, and when not available I should negotiate for even more free shit, but I don’t, ESPECIALLY when it comes to my brother.
Anyways, heres the story.
My brother allows me to store a lot of my shit at his place, and I have a pretty fair bit of shit, for storage, considering that I have never actually lived on my own. (I crash here and there, and stuff like that, even when I have had money, I prefered the bumming style of residence, sorry, thats just something I have in me. It might be an intimacy or some shit, but, I always prefer at least one roommate.)
Anyways, my bro let me store a bunch of my shit, mostly large cabinet type items, and collectibles at his place (my brother has a rather large baseball card collection, and I have rather significant comic book collection, so he was understanding, especially since I told him, that whoever has the first kid, gets the comics, and he kinda said the same thing, though he knows I won’t likely have a kid, back on point) I needed to get all this shit up into the garage attic.
My brothers neighbors have kids, and all of my brothers neighbors kids LOVED my brother. My brother is the “cool old guy who doesn’t touch me” sorta shit, and since I am my brothers brother the neighbor kids liked me too, and while I was doing this work for my brother, I took a break, opened up his garage, and embarrassed myself trying to rollerblade (don’t ask, it consists of bruises, scraps, and a number of untimely demonstrations of inertia, largely occuring when I tried a “crossover.” lets leave it at that.)
Anyways, two of the neighbor girls rode their bicycles up to the garage, making fun of my attempts at rollerblading, and said “wickedpinto? Is lameaswannabestallion(my brother) home?”
“no, he’s on vacation, won’t be back till saturday.”
the girls harumphed, but they knew that while I wasn’t as cool as lameaswannabestallion(mybrother) I was a cool guy, so the girls approached me, and started talking shit about the two boys who were riding their bikes next to the girls.
It was obvious that the boys like the girls, and that one of the neighborgirls kinda liked one of the boys, so I asked “you want me to get rid of them?”
“couldja?” one girl asked.
“be nice?” the other said
(I’m totaly paraphrasing here. and by “paraphrasing,” I mean, borderline making shit up, but the heart of the story is true)
“no problem, whats their names?” I asked the girls, they told me, and I went all “oldcorps” on their asses and called out their names, the boys came running to me like recuits who just got out of the stickers, with the “fuzzy’s” on their beans. (“fuzzy’s” is one of many nicknames for pre-indoc recruits in the corps, because your head is shaved, and you MUST remove, and then wear, and then remove, and then wear your sweatshirt, so all the loose cotton gets caught in your little scrub brush bean.)
The boys came up, and I introduced myself, and I acted like a protective uncle or cousin to the boys, asked them their intentions and all that shit.
As soon as I thought one of them was gonna piss themselves I whispered something like “I don’t know if they like you, but girls like a manly man. Just go with this, and don’t look at them okay?”
The boys went with it, they helped me carry all my shit up into my brothers attic, or rather they just made sure that if I dropped my shit, it wouldn’t break, and there ya go.
The boys got to be “men” by working with a grown man (me, though I didn’t tell them that they were helping me with my comic colection, that might have fucked up there game) the girls got to be in control of the boys, and develop an adult ally in the game of gender at a young age, and my brother got all of my shit out of his way.
Thats a four for all.
Unfortunately, the one boy that the one girl liked pissed and moaned and whined the entire time, and she decided she didn’t like pussys. the other kid would harrass my brother for a while after that, if he needed any help, and it made my brother feal a little wierd because here is this strange kid, BEGGING to do physical labor around my brothers house, and my bro didn’t know why.
Later when I told bro the story, he was kinda pissed about me conscripting kids to do my work (even though I didn’t, and I DID pay them when they did “volunteer.”) but I figured it was a formative lesson for the girls.
I don’t know where that is going, but I will likely be told not to type so loud in the next few minutes, if I don’t stop, after all, I’m still using the library.
Love, Ya’alls, thanks for the thoughts.
This entry was posted on January 22, 2008 at 3:45 pm and is filed under moral authority, news, reality, weird. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.