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Thread: Tocky's Tales

  1. #126
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    THAT is what you focus on? Read my first post. Seriously. You folks that have never lived with and worked with black folks stun me with the things you don't know. Do you have any idea how hot it is down here? And in the days before air conditioners? We know what each other smell like and both races acknowledge it. What is so fucking hard about that? What? You deny truth for being PC and fake and a liar? Have YOU ever picked cotton with them shoulder to shoulder? Have YOU ever done construction or hot warehouse work or gone to their house to eat and move a fridge or been the only white face in a black juke on a Saturday night? What is IS. I can't help it if you or anyone else lacks first hand knowledge and thinks I'm racist for acknowledging the truth. That's YOUR problem.

    I will say it takes about a week or so of unwashed sweating to pick out the difference and these days that just does not happen.

    Edit: a white person has a sort of sour smell to them and a black a sort of copper smell. That's the best I can describe it. It's not unpleasant or anything and one of my first memories of someone I loved.
    Last edited by Tocky; 17th Aug 2018 at 11:35.

  2. #127
    Previously Important
    Registered: Nov 1999
    Location: Caer Weasel, Uelekevu
    That is what I focused on, yes. Like a hair in my sandwich. Sorry if that weirds you out.

  3. #128
    Member
    Registered: Mar 2005
    Location: Netherlands
    Beautifully touching story about your father, Tocky. I bet he'd be proud of you for living your life like this and remembering him like that.

  4. #129
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Thanks Harvester. I don't know if he would be proud but I think maybe amused at my life. He knows I settled down and took care of my family and most importantly I let him know I remember everything about him and how much I appreciate him for all he did.

    As for sandwiches, I just pick the hair out no matter the race and keep eating. That may weird some folks out. It does remind me of a racist joke though-

    A Frenchman, a German, and a Scotts walk into a bar and each order a whisky. When it arrives each shot has a fly in it. "Sacrebleu", says the Frenchman,"I cannot drink this!" and puts it back down untouched. The German just thumps the fly out and downs the shot. The Scottsman picks the fly out by the wings and holds it over glass saying "spit it out ye bastid!"

    I'm sure we are all a touch culturally biased or even bigoted, me included, but I know what I smell. Your dog does even between individuals. Maybe I can't pick out a Finn from a Serb but I don't hang out with them. I know the difference between the branches of my family just by walking into their perfectly clean houses in winter but perhaps others are not so offlatorally blessed. I did lose a lot of my sense of smell from years of smoking and ten years on from quitting have only gained maybe 60 or 70 percent back. But if you smoke then don't kid yourself others can't tell. You smell like pepper. That's an easy one.

    Me and Beth used to sit in the Abbey downing draft and discuss the difference in smell between men and women too. Even with no cologne or perfume there is a difference. I don't think that makes us sexist either. We both preferred the woman smell btw.

  5. #130
    Member
    Registered: Dec 2000
    Yeah that was really great Tocky. I feel the same way about my old man, iíll never really measure up to him.

    By the way, if you ever felt you wanted to extend or develop these writings and stories, iíd really encourage you to find another outlet for them (should you so desire.) Theyíre really too good for the fag end of a ttlg.

  6. #131
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    I'm storing them in my computer to print out for my death book. My kids might get a kick out of them when I'm gone like I did the one my dad did. Meanwhile I often go back and read them just to relive them. I guess that's kind of pathetic, I mean it's not like my life now isn't real damn good and I'm still making out like a bandit on this life stuff, but one memory leads to others I haven't written and likely won't and that memory to another that maybe I will but... I can't shake the feeling I missed something I was supposed to learn and all the bits add up to the answer somehow. I don't know. You ever feel like that?

    Here is me and my big catfish-


    I have a trunk full of pictures. I always knew one day I would dig through those. I didn't quite expect the pang of nevermore they would elicit though. Heh. Still haven't taught those damn crows at work to say that word and I've been feeding them for nearly a year every day. Maybe crows aren't as smart as we think they are. Maybe me either. I'm the one still feeding them and stupidly saying nevermore.

  7. #132
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2000
    Location: Portreath Cornwall UK
    Great read Tocky, great memories, fabulous pic of lilí you big fish.

    Didnít realise I had been hanging out in the fag end of ttlg!

  8. #133
    Member
    Registered: Dec 2000
    As in, Keating to Bob Hawke; Ďyouíve left me with the fag end of a prime ministership.í Unfortunate double meaning of fag.
    Look ttlg was great in itís heyday, but the decline is real, no? Iíll shut up now.

  9. #134
    Member
    Registered: May 2004
    Around here we called them cancer sticks. We thought we were so clever.

  10. #135
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2000
    Location: Portreath Cornwall UK
    I took the fag end to mean decline, I just think Com Chat has evolved. It is a familiar place with familiar nicks and interesting threads. Long may it continue.

  11. #136
    Previously Important
    Registered: Nov 1999
    Location: Caer Weasel, Uelekevu
    Remember that we have been lamenting the death of CommChat for fifteen years. We've always been wrong.

  12. #137
    Wow. These are really great stories, man. I'm 31 year old redneck from South Carolina so I actually relate to many of these stories(I haven't read 'em all yet).

    I had a black nanny too growing up, and spent my share of time picking watermelons in the fields, so I know that smell too. It's like you said, people(white or black) sweat where they're frying chicken in middle of summer or after a long day of honest work.
    Last edited by curseofnight; 23rd Sep 2018 at 03:22. Reason: One word too many :)

  13. #138
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Not that I particularly want to get into it but the separation waves of immigration from Africa happened starting two million years ago and in Homo sapiens seventy thousand years ago. There was some mixing of the waves as evidenced by Neanderthal DNA mixed in with Caucasian. Skin color can hardly be the only difference. Of course to mention other differences in this age of touchiness to those who don't know from proximity brings a bristling of response. I understand that. I also understand that the current rate of remixing of races will likely render any differences void before long. However, I also noted at the beginning I was going to tell things warts and all. If I have to expurgate for feelings then I haven't told the full story. It's sad things have to be so touchy one can't just state the truth without a thought given one way or the other but that is where we are currently. In another century or so there will be no differences anyway, at least if my own family is any indication.

    I was unaware the black nanny thing happened outside the sixties. Most whites in the south then had to have two jobs to support a family which left them needing child care and most blacks needed whatever sort of job which presented itself. We also worked together in the fields at the trailing end of non mechanized farming and the small family farm. My school was roughly half and half. My football team more so. My neighborhood roughly one third black. However air conditioning which became prevalent in the early seventies along with frequent bathing changed things. I don't blame those who haven't the experience with other races for not knowing things. There are lot's of things I don't know. I'm going to continue telling things as they are though. If I tell them at all. There are things which put a damper on my want to.

    As always I'm interested in other perspectives and how they got that way by dent of their culture and time so any stories anyone wants to tell are welcome. HINT HINT.

  14. #139
    HINT HINT eh? Alright, I don't really have any worldy experience though; I've only been outside of SC a couple of times - and only to states closeby - NC, Tenesse, etc. Went to Okifinoki Swamp once. Probably the most exotic place I've been, and yes I know I didn't spell it right, lol.

    Edit:
    My story was kinda depressing so I deleted it.... Sorry, but I recall you mentioning on the first page 'no bad stories' or some such. A story that ends with a four-year-old me hiding between the washing machine and the dryer crying is probably what you where talking about. A kind old black lady I barely remember(my 'nanny') was a hero in that one though.
    Last edited by curseofnight; 17th Sep 2018 at 04:12. Reason: A little too much info...

  15. #140
    Chakat sex pillow
    Registered: Sep 2006
    Location: not here
    I get it. It's the whole you are what you eat thing, right? I knew this one guy whose diet was 80% fruits and when he did a lot of physical activity, his stank was like blueberries and lye. You wanna please your gal, you best eat citrusy, gives your spunk a bit of a tang instead of that salty chowder us beachtown natives are famous for. We bathe like every three days since the humidity makes you want to strop the salt off your skin every other minute anyway, it's like living in a salt water sauna. Lovecraft's got nothing on real-ass fish people.

  16. #141
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Well damn. I hate I missed your story curseofnight. At this point I would take any story. I mean, hell, I told one of spitting out a dead mans blood. I do hate to hear of things that have hurt folks but if it's honest and a defining moment in someones life then I would like to hear it. And too it seems more than just a story of pain. Seems it may have been one of love too. But I understand if it's too personal. I have a few of those.

    Hmmm not sure about the what you eat thing as per races. Individually yeah, I recall we had to stop giving my son vitamins because it made him smell funny. And I've heard about the pineapple thing. Why not tell a beach story, Sulphur? I'm sure there are a few that sum up aspects of life there. I recall smelling the Gulf miles before we got there. The little fish that wash up when dolphins are feeding off shore. The fishing boats heading out at first light. The waves of jelly fish that swarmed the shore sometimes. The waves, constant and steady, like breathing. The ever present gulls. Every so often you would see something extraordinary like a huge sea turtle from a pier. Tell me about that stuff. Tell me about the people who are drawn to it.

  17. #142
    El Shagmeister
    Registered: Jul 2000
    Location: Under your fingernails.
    I went to a town once, to visit a relative. A distant one, like the town he lived in. It wasnít more than a stretch of dirt and the least amount of effort to slap some lumber, some bricks, and voila, a house, or two, or three, a few more. They were lined up, like ducklings in a row, Iíll give them that. My relative, I think they were a cousin, offered coffee, but I told them I did not imbibe the swill of others. After all, why else do I carry my bottle? They seemed to give me those eyes, Iíve seen those eyes before, whenever I asked why people had to shake their teeth to speak, but they simply shrugged and sat down. It was a small place, full of small thoughts and smaller words. We didnít say much, and that was good. The sun inched away over the window, until the first stars began to poke. I said my thank yous and so and so, making my way out of that line of dirt. No one had come out, they were all probably sleeping. Theyíd be better off dead.

    <3

  18. #143
    @ MrDuck - Sounds like home. We're not related, are we? :P

    @ Tocky - Neither of my parents where abusive, to me or my big bro, or each other. I don't want to give the wrong impression. It was just an agument I witnessed between my Dad and Grandpa(his dad, not mom's) and my mother at her house a couple years after they split. I didn't see my mom again for several years.

    Edit:
    I was re-reading Duck's story and it reminded me of something...

    When I was a kid, a classmate of mine made a joke about how my family tree didn't fork. There was more to it than just that - a whole joke leading to that punchline - but I don't recall it.

    What I do recall is a few days later; I'm having dinner with my great-grandma and I tell her about what my classmate said. She just screwed up her face and jabbed an angry finger at the full plate sitting in front of me and said 'Forks is for supper, and family don't grow on trees!'
    Last edited by curseofnight; 18th Sep 2018 at 23:18.

  19. #144
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Ducky, I think we can all learn from others, even the most downtrodden. Humility is something we often have to relearn.

    When I was thirteen and my sister Debbie dating her young man from school I learned some. Paul was so good natured. He was witty and quick but never in a snide or hurtful way. He was easy to get close to. I thought he was a bit beneath my sister in looks but quite tall and charming. I saw why she liked him. He was always humble and respectful but he didn't miss a thing looking down or when he was being self deprecating. He always saw what you thought of him but was too nice to let on he did. He was poor. The clothes he wore were sometimes too tight or the pants too short from his growth. When the bus dropped him off he would wave at my sis and then trudge on to a shack that looked like some share croppers had abandoned it. I don't think I was ever ashamed of him but I was ashamed for him at times.

    Ah but the boy worked hard and often and bought a Plymouth Road Runner, which is a damn fine car if you go by what the Dukes of Hazard think. I do. My brother and I often went on their dates as chaperones in that car. Some chaperones we were. He knew to pick some horror or something which would hold our interest in the front seat. They could have had an orgy with monkey's back there and we wouldn't have known. He loved that car. He would wash and wax it often. I helped. I've never shied from work and I liked him a lot. I liked being around him and hearing him quip about this or that thing and I think I made a good back board for him to bounce his humor off of.

    One day we were off together and he wanted to go by his house. I think we were waiting for my sis to be done with something or other so we could go pick her up. We went in that shack and it was as bad as I thought. The floor swayed and there was a bad spot where water leaked during rains which had to be avoided. His dad was violent and drank often spending his check on things other than family most weeks. He wasn't there. I doubt I would have been invited in if he were. His mother was a sweet lady though. A smile quick and sincere though not many teeth in it. I liked her immediately. Just sitting there making small talk I realized a lot about him. His mother was a lot like him. She knew how things looked but she did her best to offer hospitality in her humble way. She wanted us to stay and eat. I didn't feel hungry but I knew to turn her down would be wrong. I would be belittling her and what she had to offer. It wasn't much, beans and potatoes, but I saw how empty the cabinet was when she opened it. Honestly she wasn't much of a cook either but I cleaned my plate. She followed us onto the porch and smiled and invited me back when we left.

    A few months later I was rip roaring around on my minibike when I whipped around the corner of the house and saw too late that Paul had parked his Plymouth next to the house while he cleaned it. The door was open against the house. If I could have hit my brake in time I might have just made it but I was too stunned. I hadn't expected him to be there. I traveled beside his car in that narrow channel all the way to hit hard into the door shouting "I'm coming! I'm coming!" then BAM! He helped me up and made sure I was okay then he said "you had to come around this side of the car?" I teared up. I couldn't help it. I knew how much he loved that car and all the work he had to do to get it and I had just put a huge dent in the door and sprung the hinges. He then smiled and said, "hey, hey, it's just a car, it's not like you broke my leg, I mean you tried, but better luck next time". He knew how to make me laugh. We both still laugh at that "I'm coming I'm coming" shout sometimes even now.

    These days he has a really nice home in a great neighborhood in Memphis and has been a rock for my sis to lean on. He hasn't lost his sense of humor though it does take a dark turn at times what with being an EMT and all the things he sees. He is one of the best people I know and I'm so glad my sister saw that and not the house he came out of to get on the school bus.

    LOL. I think I like your great grandma, curseofnight.
    Last edited by Tocky; 18th Sep 2018 at 23:33. Reason: stuff and things

  20. #145
    I never had a nanny when I was a kid(hence the quotes the second time I mentioned her). I had a babysitter. She was a kind, elderly black woman who lived in a brick house and owned the trailerpark where my mom lived then.

    I've never refered to her as a nanny before and I'm not sure why I did then. Perhaps because I had just read your first story Tocky and I was... a little emotional( OK, I cried reading it, remembering stuff but nevermind! :P)

    Nanny suits her though. To me, the word 'nanny' conjures imagies of someone who is more special than just a babysitter; more loving, more caring, more maternal. She was all that and more.

    As I mentioned before, I don't remember her well. I don't remember what she looked like or even her name. What do remember is the smell of bacon in the morning and chicken in the afternoon. I remember being held in the crook of a strong arm as she cooked in the kitchen. And a kind face smiling down at me.

    I remember watching old reruns of Batman & Robin BANG! and POW! their way to justice on a huge black & white TV with foil 'rabbit ears'. It had a wooden frame with a built-in cabinet where I kept my treasures - mostly rocks and GI Joes, heh.

    According to my older brother, there where lots of us kids around; kids from the trailerpark, the houses nearby, and her grandkids and she loved us all.

    All of my memories of the other kids are hazy, at best. I do remember sitting on her couch once, looking through the window blinds behind me. I see a school bus stop at the end of a dirt driveway. I jump up, laughing, and run out the front door to greet my friends. I don't make it. My legs are too short and I'm running too fast and go face first into the dirt, lol.

    Years later, when I was a teenager visiting my mom, I had a chance to speak to her on the phone, before she passed. I didn't. I didn't think much of it then but it bothers me now.

    Perhaps one day I'll get the chance to say 'I'm sorry' about that, and 'Thank you' for so much more.
    Last edited by curseofnight; 19th Sep 2018 at 23:21.

  21. #146
    El Shagmeister
    Registered: Jul 2000
    Location: Under your fingernails.
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    Ducky, I think we can all learn from others, even the most downtrodden. Humility is something we often have to relearn.
    'Twas fiction, my lord, and nothing more. <3

  22. #147
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    Ah but the boy worked hard and often and bought a Plymouth Road Runner, which is a damn fine car if you go by what the Dukes of Hazard think. I do.
    Years ago at the plant where my dad worked they held a charity event. The top prize was the General Lee. Not the actual one, of course, just the same make and model, red with a rebel flag on top.

    The catch was you had to buy a top dollar raffle ticket (50 bucks, big money in those days) and place your hand on the car. Whoever could stand the longest got the keys.

    I'm not sure how long my dad lasted but it went on for a day or two.

    The way my dad always tells the story, the fella who won was wearing white pants; but by the end they where yellow in the front and brown all over!
    Quote Originally Posted by Tocky View Post
    LOL. I think I like your great grandma, curseofnight.
    Her name was Grandma Spell. Theres a story behind that name, too. She was country, bred in' fed.

    All my memories of her are sorta like that - her putting me in my place, so to speak. I wouldn't want it any other way.
    Last edited by curseofnight; 21st Sep 2018 at 19:22. Reason: Grandma Spell....

  23. #148
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    Well shit. I'm drunk as hell and I've been arguing on facebook with a cousin I normally like about the Kavanaugh thing. But in the back of my mind is Mara. It doesn't seem right that she is gone. Gone where? Where the good ones go wherever that is. Do we just blink out? We weren't at one point in time. Are we weren't again? I don't know. "Where do bad folks go when they die? They don't go to heaven where then angels fly. They go to a lake of fire and fry. Don't see them again till the fourth of July." Being one of the sacrilegious bad ones I'm not comforted at all with frying in hell but I can't swallow all the crap you have to in order to go to heaven by someones definition that I also distrust. Still, I've experienced things that do make me wonder what happens. This is about Leggit. We always called Mike by his last name.

    Leggit died. But it's okay. He came back. Some background: Leggit was my brothers best high school bud but he became one of mine as well. After I was first married they would often come spend the night with us and party on the weekend. This is before I became serious about not being a drunk in front of kids. My son, who was the only kid then, survived those years and isn't a drunk now so I dodged that bullet. Anyway we would party and I'll tell of a particular party at another time but we drifted apart after that first year of my marriage once he moved to Memphis. But he came back for a visit about a year later and told me this story because I asked how he got his face scars.

    He was partying with a guy in Memphis he worked with and they had run out of beer. On the beer run some idiot crossed the line and hit them head on. Likely someone as drunk as them. That guy did die. So did Leggit. His face smashed the windshield and went through it. On the way back it cut him really bad. He fell back on the seat and bled. The blood ran into his mouth and filled his lungs. He drowned in his own blood. He died then. The paramedics brought him back. They punctured his lungs and drained blood and reinflated and all that crap. He came back in the hospital. He doesn't recall it but they told him he did. Then they gave him a drug. I forget what. He was allergic to that drug. He died again. They brought him back again. What fucking luck to die twice and come back huh? Well he was comatose for a week.

    This is the fucking weird part. When he came to he wasn't Leggit anymore. He was a world war II fighter pilot who had been shot down. He was certain of it. He recalled his wife and two girls and his life in the forties. He thought that was who he was. They filled him in on the truth and all that had happened and at first he denied any of his life to that point. He was a fighter pilot and recalled it all perfectly. He knew he was. They were crazy. He knew who he was. Eventually they convinced him. What else could he do but go along? When he told me this story he said he had accepted who he is and had even gotten back most all his memories of this life. He had come to see me to check if there were some he didn't recall. I filled him in on some stuff but most he could tell me just as it happened without hints or urging. He was his old self. Almost. He had never forgotten his past life though. He still had all those memories and feelings attached to a family he didn't know if they even existed or not. Looking in his eyes I knew he was not just Legit anymore.

    It's been decades since he came by. I still think of him and the memories we shared. I hope he is doing well and has a family now. Or has raised one like me. But what he shared he was serious about. Real life is beyond anything I could imagine and freaks me out sometimes. He was two people. He was that fighter pilot who was shot down. He was Leggit. He didn't have a choice. I don't know if the brain makes things up at death to keep from accepting reality but I knew he knew he was that guy as well. Do we get to live again? I hope so. For all the wonderful people I've known I hope so. Looking in his eyes and hearing him speak I believed it that night. Hell, he had the scars to prove it.

    I think I can sleep now.

  24. #149
    Member
    Registered: Feb 2002
    Location: In the flesh.
    I'm a dirty hippy freak down deep. Guess who was the bad influence who introduced herb to my little clique? Strawberry papers and all. Used to scrape together five bucks for a matchbox full every Friday from Bruce. I wasn't trying to dull the pain of my existence or any of that malarky. I was having fun. Those crappy drug education films they showed during study hall? Man they made that stuff sound great. Jefferson Airplane cranking White Rabbit while colors swirled and somebody "freaked out" whoa dude, that was radical. I wanted some of that. What did they say that one was? I have to write that one down. So much for scare tactics.

    I say clique as if I kept myself to one. I didn't. I had some of the straightest board dull friends too but I liked them for various reasons. Nobody seemed to hold it against me that I was weird. I never held it against them that they weren't. You want help with pep rally signs? Sure. You want to talk art, philosophy, or science? Sure. Jesus loves me? Sure. He was a decent dude. His followers are boring as shit. Billy Joel was right on the money. Only the good die young. Would Jesus swipe the music van to cut donuts on the baseball field? Likely not. He had kind of a stick up his ass too. And then they put him on one. He should have swiped the music van instead.

    Anyway, I'm not real big on moderation. Experimentation absolutely. Better living through chemistry. I recalled one weekend we went to see Elliotts cousin who lived in a big white farm house near Sardis lake. This guy was always getting us concert tickets and some occasional smoke for them. He looked a bit like Allan Parsons with a beard. Bulgy eyes. His living room had folks lounging about like second run rock bands constantly. We all went back to the bedroom where the deals were done. It was me, Kevin, Elliott, and Frank. He had bags of stuff. We got Placidyls, Lemmon Quaaludes, Black Mollies, White Crosses, and Yellow Jackets. "Them Yellow Jackets keep the tired man from slacking" sang the band Clutch. They would too. We got way more than we needed. I could say I'm sorry and boo hoo you will think badly of me now but screw that. Back then we had the good stuff. The good stuff was goooooooooooood.

    After we had gotten all we dared everyone was leaving and I noticed a girl in his closet. Oh that's just Theresa, she is having a bit of a bad trip on window pane. Don't speak to her, just keep going. Well I can't do that. Everyone kept on filing out but I drifted over unobserved. I felt bad for her. I knew things could go wrong on acid without the proper supervision and I was fascinated about psychedelics and wanted one day to try them. I walked over slowly as she watched me with the queerest expression. She didn't know what I was. She expected the worst. That touched me. I told her roughly the following which I think I cobbled together from various sources.

    "The universe is unfolding as it should. It isn't for us to determine how it should. It is enough to just be a part of it. Life is good and you are good in it. You are a good person and that is the best thing to be. All around you responds to who you are. Everyone wants the best for you because you have a good heart. Come out into the world. It is a beautiful day. The weather is perfect. The sky is blue and there is a breeze. The world was made for you on just such a day. We all want the best for you. There is no hurry but please don't hide forever. When you are ready come join us."

    About this time Elliotts cousin came back in and started asking me what he hell I was doing and hadn't he told me not to talk to her so I left with him to keep her from freaking out over his tone. She needed calm reassurance and it wasn't in his voice. We all went back to the living room to listen to some Zeppelin. I don't recall what we talked about but I know that placidyl kicked my ass and I fell asleep on the love seat. When I woke I had that drool in the corner of the mouth feeling from a hard sleep. I noticed Theresa's hand on my knee. She was standing above me and said thank you for bringing me back. No problem. I meant it. Try as I do I can't bring her face to mind but I know it was sweet and she had a nice smile. I looked around and everyone was gone so I sat up. I asked where they were and she said they were playing Frisbee in the front yard. We joined them.

    I used to be pretty good at Frisbee. Behind the back catches and throws. That stabbing the bottom thing to get it to go straight up and then catching it on the tip of your finger as it spun. Catching it between your legs. Most of us could do all that shit. It's what heads did. We played across a huge front yard with large oaks as borders diving for bad throws and spinning to fling them sometimes as bad but sometimes miraculous. I had taken a yellow jacket and was full of energy. Not long after we left and I never saw Theresa again. Really never thought about her again. Then Kevin called me the other day and we were talking about the old days. He said how he is in AA as a sponsor now and has to be all straight for the guys he helps and how they just would not understand his having fun talking about all we used to do. I bet they would. It isn't all black and white. It was fun. You can't keep chasing that sort of fun needing more and more and getting less and less is all. Even then he was the one who asked us all we had taken when we were taking another on the beach. He feared excess the most and he needed to fear it the most. We always remind each other of stuff we have forgotten. We always feel closer after we remember. We know we can't do what we used to do. Still have fun talking about those days though.

    I wish Tom Petty had figured that shit out.
    Last edited by Tocky; 20th Oct 2018 at 03:42. Reason: Mollies not Betties

  25. #150
    Member
    Registered: Aug 2004
    When I was a kid, I used to bike around a lot, as kids do. One day I stopped at the local AM/PM. They had just released the new Super Big Gulp! (Yeah I'm old.) It was on sale, priced a few cents below the regular Big Gulp. I could tell at a glance, though, that there was no way I could carry one while riding my bike. So I went up to the counter and ordered a regular Big Gulp. The conversation went something like this:

    Me: "I'd like a Big Gulp." *hands money*
    "Get the Super Big Gulp, it's cheaper."
    "No, it's too big. I want the regular Big Gulp."
    "Well, you don't have to fill it the whole way. And it's cheaper." *hands me a Super Big Gulp and my change*

    So, unwilling to argue further, I ended up walking home awkwardly cradling a half-full Super Big Gulp while pushing my bike.

    And I'm still mad about it.

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