Man, and all I did was squeeze a nugget of poo into my little brother’s ice cream. You, on the other hand, have fucking issues!
Ah yes, and there was the Dairy Queen that had one of those signs underneath the main logo in the parking lot where you put up the letters. Once when it advertised “Country Basket $1.99” or however much it was, we took down some of the letters in the first word and moved what was left together to where it read: “Cunt Basket.” This was late Saturday night / early Sunday morning. The sign stayed that way until well into the next afternoon before anyone changed it. They did a big church crowd for Sunday lunch, too.
We used to shoot marbles at the bus driver and use pocket mirrors to beam light in his eyes. We also rubbed Vaseline on the inside of most of the bus windows and secreted stinky bits of lunch in the crevices of the seats. But never did we think to actually take the bus apart!
I realize I’m using the word “we” in my posts…that includes my brother and sometimes my stepbrother and sister. I’m still too ashamed to fess up to things I did on my own!
The worst thing the four of us did together was to steal a golf cart from the driveway of the trailer park manager. We went joyriding through the park, including people’s yards, and then broke the windshield in an attempt to hide the cart behind a dumpster. Right about this time, we saw the cart’s owner approaching in his car, so we decided to try and outrun him in the golf cart, which we had discovered went faster in reverse… Picture four petrified brats backing up a golf cart at about fifteen miles an hour, then bumping into a fence, jumping out and fleeing for home on foot. Busted doesn’t begin to describe it.
Thanks to Google Street View, I can present evidence. See these marks on the wall of this house? That was me and my best friend throwing eggs at the wall in about 1991. Those people really need to paint their house more frequently.
For a short while we also thought it would be great entertainment to lob empty glass milk bottles as high as we could onto people’s roofs late at night. It made a great noise. Only one time did we almost get caught, but managed the old “hide, then walk back nonchalantly in the opposite direction” routine, and amazingly it worked.
We also had catapults, and used to hide in bushes at the side of the main road through town and fire stones at passing cars.
Boys are horrible, aren’t they?
[QUOTE= FoieGrasIsEvil]
Man, and all I did was squeeze a nugget of poo into my little brother’s ice cream. You, on the other hand, have fucking issues!
[/quote]
LOL, not really. My friends and I were the good kids in school. Top of our class, teachers liked us, didn’t drink or smoke, blah blah blah. It was just a rural area with little to occupy kids’ time, and idle hands really are the devil’s play things. That and we had an odd fascination with lobbing stuff into convertibles. For some reason, we really didn’t like them.
Oh, another, much tamer, thing we’d do. At Wal-Mart or grocery stores, we’d sneak an odd, semi-embarrassing (at least in our minds), item into people’s carts. Just one single item per cart, so it wasn’t obvious. Old woman walked away from her cart to get something? In goes a package of condoms. Young woman does the same? Tube of Preparation H in her cart. Some guy not paying attention? Travel-size box of tampons…
@Siam Sam: Our local greasy spoon was called D-Best. We changed their marquee sign to say
D Best
Fuck
In
Town
That was talked about for some time.
Our gang of neighborhood kids had a “war” with another kid-group from down at the bottom of the hill. We were throwing rocks, but they’d come prepared with home-made bows and fire arrows. After non-lethal shenanigans, one of the opponent group finally said “we make peace now” and jammed a burning spear into a big shock of swordgrass. Which immediately caught, turning into a flaming pillar. The whole abandoned field behind our houses went up. Some neighbor called the fire dept., and they stopped it after it burned a couple hundred ft of the field. Yes we got caught. But it was those other kids who did it! When we played with matches and gasoline, we didn’t do it next to acres of dry grass.
Out behind the houses on our street was The Mud Ditch, a drainage ditch with a trickle of water. We decided to build a dam by stealing small bucketfuls of cement powder from stacked bags at the construction site a block away. After a few days of this, workers suddenly covered the pile of cement bags with loose circle of chicken wire (easily removed.) I think they must have decided that birds? rats? were tearing small holes in the bags and stealing powder. Our dam didn’t really work; the hardened concrete could be crumbled by hand. We didn’t know that a proper concrete mixture requires sand.
Oh, now I remember one. Living on Guam was fun. None of us was supposed to play with anything found out in the jungle. WWII land mines, etc. But one of the group found a small metal hump sticking out of the dirt, and we dug it up. It was a stack of American WWII army helmets, very rusty but still solid. Underneath was a very rotted leather satchel. The only recognizable content was a collection of little glass tubes. Each one full of white powder.
We found that when you threw a tube against the road, it went “bang.” That was entertainment for a few minutes.
Looking back now, I’d have to guess that it was a medic’s kit with vacuum-sealed morphine ampules!
Other than trying to strangle my younger siblings, beat them up, throw them into the creek, or pants them in a place where they could be seen for miles around, I was pretty well behaved.
There was an incident involving a cake. My sister was baking it and she lost control of the pan to the point where it landed in the cats’ feeding area. I heard her cries of distress and helped put the cake together again. I think we picked a few hairs off but in the end I just told my sister to use lots of frosting on the broken cake that had hair and catfood on it. We wound up serving it to my father and my brother who scarfed it up, and I wrote in my diary “Cakegate was a success.”
please do!
In the 1970s there was a long downhill flume that carried canal water. To participate, one had to cruise around and steal some kid’s big wheel. Take that out to the flumes and ride like the wind. If you didn’t steal one, there were usually a couple of ratty ones laying around there.
I was mad at my little brother one day when I was pretty young. I drew an intentionally ugly picture of him and showed it to him with a sneering, snotty “This is YOU!”
He scribbled all over it.
I started crying and told our mother that I drew him a special picture and he scribbled all over it. (I was a master at crying on command.)
He got in SO much trouble!
As posted previously: when I was a little kid, I fed my grandfather cat kibble for breakfast each day for a week, telling him that it was breakfast cereal. It didn’t do him any harm. In fact, when I told him what he had been eating, he was able to chase me for a long time around and around the house, swinging a plastic toy lawn mower at me, threatening “I’m going to tanniazzle your backside!”
In high school, the “leader” of our group didn’t like one of the guys, so he started a campaign of sending in post cards requesting information and putting in this guy’s name. (Damn, there’s something which is completely gone these days.)
My dad worked with computers (in “data processing” as it was known) and would have hundreds of these things, so off they went with Brad’s name and address on them.
At first it was just the requests for info, but some of the guys took it too far, and sent in magazine subscriptions and other orders, and with all the requests, completely overwhelming his family’s mail.
His mother called a lot of the parents (including mine) and subsequently we stopped.
Sort of the analog version of spam.
Sorry Brad.
I played 3rd base in Little League. I had a grounder and threw home right as the kid running from 2nd to 3rd ran in front of me and I hit him with the baseball. In reality…it was quite intentional. This was the same year I walked off in the middle of the game because I was pissed at my coach.
I’d completely forgotton about this until reading the thread. When I was in about 7th grade, someone I was friends with knew about some “haunted” house that sounded pretty intriguing. So about 8 of us rode our bikes over to a neighborhood and there was a once nice house that seemed to have been neglected. There’s a way in through a window so we climb inside and lord a mercy, the place had been TRASHED inside. There’s crap everywhere, a smashed TV set, torn stuff, debris and junk everywhere, a real mess. Obviously kids had been coming into and wrecking the place for a long time.
I can’t remember what we did, it had to be something, but then we left and went home. The next day at school one of the guys started bragging about it and all of a sudden we get called into the principal’s office. Then the police get notified and then my parents get this phone call from a man and suddenly I’m in deep shit.
Turns out the place had been owned by some wealthy guy who’d been murdered, killed by three of his financial advisors that conspired against him. The man that called my folks had been the guy’s caretaker, his assistant, and he truly was devoted to the old guy. So much so in fact that he’d made it his life’s mission to expose the three murderers. He came to my house, sat with us and told us of how the three had buried his employer and poured lime on his body to help hide the crime. The man said he’d ruined each of them, I think one committed suicide, another was reduced to working in a gas station and maybe the third had spent some time in jail, I forget.
So anyway he’s really a neat man and I admired him so much for his loyalty. What he did was have all 8 of us come to my house and meet with him so he could tell them the story too and then we all had to work and raise $200 to pay for some of the damages. We hadn’t done $200 worth of damage but no matter, I think it was fair and taught everyone a lesson.
I was grounded for a month, mowed yards to pay my share and for a little while at least had a really good friend in an older, wise and admirable gentleman. Anyone would be fortunate to have had in their lives such a devoted employee.
Oh, so can girls…
We menstrual product-ed a tree once. Took pads and tampons and a red marker to make them looked “used” and wallpapered the trunk with pads and hung the tampons from the branches by their strings like demented Christmas ornaments.
I don’t even know whose tree it was; it wasn’t like someone specifically pissed us off. We just thought it was funny. :rolleyes:
Once in junior high a girl asked me if I liked her new haircut. I did and I actually had a bit of a crush on her as well. But I was shy so when she asked me I was so nervous that I just started laughing. The look of rejection on her face is something I will never forget. I feel terrible about that.
Here’s my entry for the “seeing how far I could fling stuff” category:
I used to whack the small stones in my driveway with a badminton raquet, generally in the direction of a small wooded area edging a park. God only knows what I hit in the park/woods with those little projectiles, and I definitely fell short on occasion and hit my neighbor’s roof and yard. It was years later that I realized what a careless little shit I had been.
ye gods…such an evil person…
you win the thread!
Alright.
As a teen (again, mid-70’s) I worked at a drug store that was in the same building as a grocery store. The same company owned both.
The grocery store fired my friend because a customer came in and complained he was rude to her and used foul language. My friend had no idea what the hell they were talking about when he was called into the managers office. A long time later he found out it was the Aunt of a girl he broke up with.
Anyway, the store was having a drawing for $75 shopping sprees, which was a good chunk of grocery money back then. They just had a box on a table where people would drop in their entry form.
For a week at the end of my shift when I returned some of the grocery stores carts that people had brought into our store, I’d reach into that box and grab some of the entry forms. Then my friend and I would take turns calling the people on the entries and tell them they won the drawing and to come to the store on Saturday at noon for the presentation.
That Saturday almost 100 people showed up demanding the prize they “won”. It got pretty intense. The Sheriffs department had to be called.
To me, I guess. Are you really going to argue with a 9 year old’s perception of distance, Buzz Killington?