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The Perfect Crime and Other Childhood Memories - Tommy

posted 7/28/2008 7:49:51 AM |
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Beyond being a cry baby, my brother was also a big time tattle tale, snitch, stoolie, squealer and in the slang vernacular of the time, a fink (now there’s a word you haven’t heard in decades). I often wanted to take him out back and discuss the matter with him. But if I did, he would squeal and the old man would have a piece of me. At the time, my dad was a 6’3” 230 pound high school football coach. It goes without saying that there was no upside in the tradeoff.

Then one day a light came on. “I’ve got it!” It was ingeniously simple and guaranteed to work. “That little whiney fink is going to get what he deserves.” I said to myself. It was simply a matter of being patient and waiting for the right time. Over the course of a month I would grin continuously imagining him getting worked over by my mom when my plan went into action.

My late sainted mother was a supermom. Look up meticulous in the dictionary and you will see her picture next to the word. One Saturday morning it was raining and she loathed that, as she had to put up with us being in the house all day. I don’t recall where my dad was, but he wasn’t around. She was not in a good mood and I didn’t know why. But I knew to stay out of her way because she was marching around the house, not walking. You know the mother’s march, it’s the gait that they have when they are coming after you and just about ready to beat your ass for something you did that they just found out about. She wasn’t mad at either of us, yet. But all of that was about to change!

[Now let me tell you, people, as I type this, I am still laughing my ass off 45 years later]

My room was at the end of the hall. Halfway down the hall was my brother’s room and directly across from it was the bathroom. My mom had went in to clean the bathroom. I could see my brother in the hall doing that dance that kids do when they have to pee. “You can wait, damn it!” Ooh, cursing! Lovely! This is it! It was my lucky day as a few minutes later the phone rang. She marched to answer it in the kitchen and my brother shot into the bathroom to recycle some Kool Aid. I walked towards the kitchen and could tell it was my grandmother on the phone. Perfect, that will give me five to ten minutes. I then heard the toilet flush.

I noticed that my brother was in the corner of his room with his back to the doorway. He was completely immersed in his tinker toys. I quietly slipped into the bathroom, grabbed the proverbial water glass, filled it about halfway with water, then I sprinkled it on the toilet seat and floor. I dried the glass off with the hand towel. I stuck my head out of the doorway and listened. She was still on phone and a quick glance into his room revealed that he was still in the corner. Justice being administered was only a few minutes away.

Now let me pause the action to explain that my mom was what we termed a syllable slapper. Now, I don’t know if you have had the pleasure of encountering one of these creatures or not. Basically, you get bitched at while you are being slapped. One syllable equals one slap. Swear words result in a much harder slap.

She finished the phone conversation then marched down the hall and turned into the bathroom. In two seconds she marched out of the bathroom, across the hall, and into my brother’s room. He didn’t hear her coming. I leaned out of my room just as the first blow rained down upon his head from behind without warning.

“I (slap) work (crack) and (smack) slave (slap) and (crack) no (smack) body (slap) ap (crack) pre (smack) ci (slap) ates (crack) a (smack) GOD (WHACK) DAMN (WHACK) thing (slap) I (crack) do (smack)….” As I recall, the woman had quite a bit to say.

I finally couldn’t take it anymore and had to go into my closet and shut the door. It was just too much humor for me. I didn’t care to hear that old, “You think it’s so funny, I’ll give you something to laugh about” routine.

Within a year, the same sort of justice would be administered. But how I set him up this time was to put a Kleenex in the pocket of a pair of dirty pants of his that were in the hamper. It was even better than the last one as she was cussing like a sailor when she was working him over.

I told him this story about 20 years ago and he got pissed and recalled it quite clearly. He never knew in either case what he had “done”. After all, you certainly didn’t want to ask what it involved even if you didn’t know.

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Jul 28 @ 7:51AM  
I was probably thirteen and my brother (the ultimate cry baby) was ten. I had looked at the TV Guide and saw a movie coming on at 8:00 that I knew my dad would want to watch. My brother and I were laying on the floor in front of the TV. At around 7:45 I said softly to my brother, "There is a movie coming on channel nine and it is all about you."

Just before the top of the hour I said, "Hey dad, what do you want to watch now?"

"Well, let's see." He picked up the TV Guide. "Oh, there is a good movie coming on channel nine."

"Oh really? What's it called?"

"The Ugly American"

My brother jumped up. WAAAAAAA! "It's rude to call somebody ugly!" He then ran off to his room. My parents looked at one another puzzled. I turned the TV to channel nine with a smirk and we didn't see my brother the rest of the night.

Jul 28 @ 9:29AM  
This story is still so damned good.

Jul 28 @ 9:49AM  
I am glad I didn't have you as my brother

Jul 28 @ 11:18AM  
That is so funny! I leaned forward in my chair laughing my ass off and the frikkin' chair rolled out from under me and dumped my ass on the floor! Oh well, it was worth it!

Being the youngest of 4 kids I got the brunt of their pranks many times with a sister next to me in age who was extremely adept at getting away with murder and leaving me the fall, kid. It's funny as hell now...wasn't then...

You can't know how glad I am that I had no brothers...

Jul 28 @ 11:32AM  
Here is another one from about the same era. I had a knack for thinking up something that I would find funny, then either saying or doing it later when I could or it was appropriate. As I recall, I got the basic idea from an episode of Bewitched where at a dinner, someone removes a lid from a serving dish and it revealed the head of Uncle Arthur portrayed by Paul Lynde.

In junior high, I would get home from school before my brother did. I got in around 3:30 and he would arrive around 3:45. My mom was a housewife and almost always at home. One day I came home and she was gone, but had left a note, as always, on the coffee table. It more or less said that she had to go to the store and would be back before 4:00. Cool, opportunity presents itself.

My brother's routine was always the same. Come home, go into the den and turn on the TV. As you entered the den from the living room, the kids' TV was to your right and in front of it was a rug about five feet long and three feet wide. Before entering the den, you had to take off your shoes as scuffing the floor was a felony. You also had to confine yourself to staying on the rug. To the left as you entered the den from the living room, was large desk.

I went into the kitchen and got some paper napkins and doused them with ketchup. I then went into the den, crawled into the chair well, and popped my head up from behind the desk. I placed the ketchup splattered napkins around my neck. After coming up with this idea, I had practiced looking dead in the mirror. Basically, I opened my eyes as wide as I could with a blank stare and opened my mouth slightly while sticking my neck and head as far forward onto the desk as I could.

Well, right on schedule here comes Tommy. He plops down on the rug, turns on the TV and is watching it for about a minute. Then something off to the side caught his eye. It is yours truly, Mr. Murdered. He turned his head slowly and casually, then there was a rapid double take. He then cried out with weirdest sound I ever heard from a human as he jumped up and dashed out of the den, then through the living room and I heard the front door quickly open and close. I got out from under the desk, wiped up a few ketchup droplets. Then I quickly went into the kitchen and put the napkins in the trash, exercising care to bury them so as to leave no evidence.

I peeked out the window and watched. He was on the front porch blubbering unintelligibly. I ALMOST felt bad about it, but it was just too damned funny. He finally settled down, but he would not come back into the house. He just stood there looking kind of bewildered.

In few minutes my mom drove up and I came out of the house. "Hi,mom! Need some help bringing in the groceries?" My brother started making all of these funny faces watching me but never said anything. He just went back into the house. Until dinner was served, he watched TV in the den and I just stayed in my room giggling.

After dinner, I went into the den where he was camped out and, grinning, sang him a little song that i had made up a week or so previously to commemorate this event. It was based upon the theme to the old TV show Mister Ed:

A corpse is a corpse, of course of course
You never heard of a talking corpse
Talk to Mister Head

He gave me the dirtiest damned look as I turned and left the den immediately after serenading him.

Jul 28 @ 12:06PM  
I got to where I didn't watch TV in the den very often. By the time I was in junior high we were too big to both fit comfortably on the rug. But the rug provided the potential for entertainment, because if you were in the den, you HAD to stay on the rug. He always watched TV, so he was always on the rug.

It became cheap thrills and entertainment to go in there whenever the opportunity presented itself to gas him with a greasy foul fart. I would have a captive audience as he HAD to stay on the rug if he wanted to watch his dorky show. Why waste some humor? Sometimes even when there was no fart, I would walk in there grinning and he would have this terrified look on his face in fear for his nose.

Jul 28 @ 12:15PM  
Does your brother talk to you these days...

Jul 28 @ 12:48PM  

We get along well but have little in common. He rarely calls me or my dad. I mean to the extent of even annually. He gets social security due to being classified as 100 percent disabled. But truth be known, he could work if he wanted. His wife is a jail matron and he was always Mr. Mom.

In March, I called him on his birthday. Last I had heard over a year and half before that, his daughter and granddaughter were living with them. Part of the conversation went something like this:
"How is Diana doing?"
"She and the girls are still here."
"Girls? You mean plural?"
"Yeah. She has two."
"Well, nobody told me."
Yeah, Emily is thirteen months old now."

My dad didn't know about the kid either. Strange guy.

Jul 28 @ 2:23PM  

Jul 28 @ 3:05PM  
Here are some others that are similar followed by a couple of unrelated attempts at humor that newer people might enjoy that may have predated their coming on here. Some of them probably include additional tales from yesteryear:

Jul 28 @ 4:15PM  
No wonder your brother was a basket case, look what you did to him. But it is rather funny.

Jul 28 @ 7:05PM  
Loved them when you 1st wrote them and I still do!!!

Jul 28 @ 7:53PM  
I grew up on 68 acres of property with lots of farm animals.. and a little brother who would be on the exact opposite side of the property, fall down and run to mom and tell her. . "Look what Sister made me do!" .. and yes.. I'd get the whoopin.

Til one day when he was about seven... and I didn't even have to do it man.. I tell you there is a Gawd and Gawd has a sick sick but damned funny sense of humor.

Shawn.. my bro.. crawled into his jammies... and got stung soundly .. twice.. on the NUTS! Yeah.. it's not funny.. oh fuck that .. I laughed for weeks.

Jul 28 @ 8:27PM  
Shawn.. my bro.. crawled into his jammies... and got stung soundly .. twice.. on the NUTS!
What stung him?

When I was married, a group of us headed down for some tubing on the Guadalupe River just below Canyon Lake. My buddy and I had noticed a closed down campground. It was called Camp Turkey Trot or something like that. I appeared to have been abandoned for several years and was quite large. There was a large pavilion, what had been evidently a massive cooking area, but all of the infrastructure was gone. Well, I had to poop and noticed a cistern, which is kind of a large square well type of thing with walls three feet high. I dropped my cutoffs and took care of business.

Unbeknownst to me, I had stepped in a fire ant mound. When I pulled the cut offs up, before I had even began to zip my fly, I screaming agony. I stepped out of those cutoffs and undies while setting the world record for the 100 meter dash and diving into the river. My buddy brought my cutoffs to me. But my dick, balls, crotch and inner thighs looked like they had the measles.

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The Perfect Crime and Other Childhood Memories - Tommy