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Eric

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38 minutes ago, crockett said:

I'm rooting for the bunny!! 

The neighbors had these little german wire-haired weiner dogs (Hanzel and Gretyl).  Their legs were 2" long. They could scamper around and run! on their  itty bitty legs.  Like caterpillars.

One day, they caught the neighbor's cat,  in between the houses.  I don't know what they were bred for,  but they went full-off pack wild.

That can't be unseen, either.

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1 hour ago, crockett said:

I'm rooting for the bunny!! 

We were once 1/4 mile down the backyard,  in the jagger bushes,  with our bb guns.  And a rabbit needed shot.  Pow.  Right behind the ear.  Or the middle.  Or whatever.

And the rabbit bolted!!  Uphill!!  We chased him up!,  passed the side of the house!,  into the front,!  where the street was!

And Mom and the neighbor wives and all the toddlers were hanging by the mailboxes,  having a pleasant chat.

And a screaming, blood-spewing rabbit ran right into the middle of them,  and did a spastic flipping-flopping kicking death.

And we were right behind, running, out of breath,  all carrying guns.

Mom had slapped and hit  me before.  She used fists and elbows this time.

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In high school we had three little mix breed lap dogs and a golden retriever-husky mix I brought home. Our neighbor had chickens to keep the grubs out of her lawn. Her chickens would just sit on the fence tormenting my dogs. 
 

One day a hard gust of wind blew some of the  chickens into our yard. It was a massacre. She called the cops and wanted my dogs killed. The cops turned it over to animal control who cited her for keeping livestock in the city and took the rest of the chickens. They made sure my dogs had tags and rabies shots and apologized for the inconvenience.

If she had not pushed to have my dogs taken and killed the county would have continued to look the other way over a few chickens none of the neighbors cared about  

The odd thing was the north side of our yards was the boundary between the city and unincorporated county. The field on our north side had sheep in it. 

She was beyond pissed. 

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I smarted off to Mom 1000 times.

Somewhere, around, what?, Junior? Senior? year?

She'd hit you with a bottle,  or frying pan.  Like, not playing, hit.

She once bricked my best friend, Ed,  I had all my hockey equipment by the front door (stanky as it was),  with a stick.

Like, smack, in the head / neck.  I don't remember what he / we did.  But we didn't do it again.

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And "The Kibosh",  which was easily avoidable by not doing whatever you were doing.

The Kibosh involved knocking your heads, really hard, together.

Your brother / sister / best friend were always susceptible to the kibosh.

By the time you got the kibosh,  it was too late to avoid it.

So you didn't do it again.  Because he did it really hard.

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17 minutes ago, Huaco Kid said:

I smarted off to Mom 1000 times.

With me it was “Again”. She would pick a fight and say something like “Well, you’ve ruined Christmas” then start to walk away, turn and say “Again!”  It got to where she would accuse me of ruining the day and before she could say it, I would yell “Again!”
 

It was worth the inevitable beating. 

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My best friend's Polish grandmother would come to visit each year.  She didn't talk English.  She brought her own hotwheels track.

Now, really,  where would a really mean old Polish Mema, get track.  And why?

For doing nothing,  except walking in and sitting on the couch,  you'd get hotwheel'd in the head / face.  While she was screaming at you.  We didn't even know what she was saying.

"She doesn't like your haircut."

Slapslapslapowowowslapslaprunaway.

We found out that she'd put a piece of track over each doorjam, for easy beating access.

So we'd send her for tea,  and hide all the track.  Which is must Mema hell.

So she'd hit you harder, later.

 

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Hot Wheels track was so much worse if they left the little connector in the end. 
 

Mom used anything at hand. Dad never used anything. He only hit me a few times with his hands. He was more into psychological fights. But when I was 14 we got into a fistfight. He hit me so hard I flew half way across the kitchen, hit the wall then the floor. 

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5 minutes ago, Huaco Kid said:

Why would anyone even know this?

OW!MEMA!OW!MEMA!WHATEVER!WEDON'TEVENHAVEAFIREPLACEBU!TILLGOCHOPWOOD!"

First, using them to “Sword Fight” with friends. 
 

Second, mothers who could no longer grab us. I think they share this sort of info on smacking at distance. 

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When I was very little, Mom had the slappy-paddle-rubber-ball-band-ball toy.  But it had no ball and band.  it was just a paddle.

She kept it on top of the refrigerator.

I don't think it ever really hurt.  But could be stingy as hell.  We hates it.

Sometimes,  if you knew you fucked-up big,  the first thing you do is run into the kitchen and hide the paddle.

I don't remember what came next.  You just had to take it.

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One time,  my brother and sister talked me into putting paper in the fan, so it'd make a "brrrrrr!" noise.  Even though Mom had already said, 100 times, to not do that

(back then,  fans were as big as helicopters.  they'd take your finger off.)

I don't really remember how bad I got beat,  but can still hear them LOL'ing, in the other room,  the whole time.

They still jag me on that.

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When I was 5 (?),  on Christmas Eve,  I was sound asleep,  and my brother and sister ran into my room, jumped all over the bed,  and yelled, "CHRISTMAS!CHRISTMAS!SANTA!SANTA!SANTA!TOYS!TOYS!TOYS!GO!GO!GO!"

And I bolted downstairs!!!! like lightning!!!!, a rocket!!!, into the living room!!!!!!!

But. 

It was, like 9pm. 

And Dad (likely slightly imbibed)  was putting stuff under the tree,  and yelled,  "Get the F out of here!"

Not only did it short-circuit my brain,  and give me life-long mental problems,  but my siblings still think it's hilarious.

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The one year,  when my daughter was very little,  we put the presents under the tree.

But then I took my work boots,  dipped them in the mud outside,  and made big tracks, back and forth,  from the fireplace to the tree.

And then we said nothing.

At first,  she just gushed all over Christmas. 

Then she notice it.

We just sat there and watched her brain fizzle.

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One time,  my brother totally did it. 

The yard was full of tiny nieces,  all running around.  Someone gave them popsicles. 

And the girls brought back the sticks.  "Here." 

My brother said, "Stick them in the dirt.  Like a tree.  We'll grow new ones."

So they all jammed their sticks into the dirt hole,  where the dog dug out, to sleep.

I didn't even see it coming.

As soon as they ran away to play,

My brother ran in, got new popsicles,  and jammed them into the dirt.

And we said nothing.

After a little bit,  they ran back.

The smartest one (she's a neurosurgeon now),  noticed the popsicles.

The look on her face was priceless.

Unfathomable disbelief.

You could actually see her brain shorting-out. fizzle.

"Wait....  wha?  wha?"

They didn't ask anything.  And we didn't explain anything.

They just harvested their new popsicles,  and went on their way.

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