Archive for the ‘Non fiction’ Category

Lemonade Sale

January 17, 2009

There once a boy who had a great lemonade sale with his friends and sister.  This lemonade sale was not to be outdone by anyone on the block, or in the town for that matter.  All these kids went door to door on this very hot Saturday afternoon, and they were getting all the neighbors to come out and support this local operation on Pratt Court.  The little boy, we’ll call him Joseph, was manning the distribution of the lemonade while the others went to get customers.  Well, Joseph became very thirsty on this hot Saturday, and so he poured himself a cup of yummy lemonade.  Joseph poured his glass of lemonade and proceeded to drink his lemonade until he found his reward– money!  There was glorious change at the bottom of the cup on that fortunate Saturday afternoon, and Joseph went home a happy camper!


My Childhood Games Part 4: “Mealworm Fights”

January 2, 2009


For a group of heterosexual youngsters, a sleepover was a great way to have some weekend amusement.  And when there was a sleepover at Mike’s place, you can bet there would be mealworm fights.  All participants would stand erect and ceremoniously place their sleeping bags over their fledgling and kittenish bodies.  Then the frolicking would begin.  Blind as Al Pacino in his beloved role as Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slate in Scent of a Woman, we pretend giant romping larvae would wrestle and wriggle ourselves into a silly huff until someone hurt his head on the coffee table or broke one of Marge’s ceramic lamps.  My pals and I would titter all the way to the 24-Hour Emergency Center where Darren would receive stitches in his right butt cheek.  Oh how hopelessly I crave a second youth.

My Childhood Games Part 3: “Bird Hunting”

December 31, 2008

Often after school, if we felt the time was right, we would hunt birds.  This meant we would set up a trap on my driveway and hope to catch a wild sparrow or robin.  We propped up a box with a stick, tied a string to the stick, and waited far away in a secluded vigil with the other end of the string.  Inside the box was whatever we considered to be effective wild bird bait- seed, birdy toys, or a female bird decoy that I fashioned out of Popsicle sticks.  When the unsuspecting bird entered the box, we intended to pull the string, trap the warm-blooded vertebrate, and feel like real men.  I don’t know what we intended to do with the egg-layers once caught, but as we never actually caught any, I suppose it doesn’t matter.  The hunt was the fun part, a male bonding experience probably not unlike two cops at a stakeout, only instead of being hepped up on coffee, we were sucking down Lik-M-Aid Fun Dipⓒ.

My Childhood Games Part 2: “Milk Jug Dragging”

December 30, 2008


Whenever the Johnson family finished a gallon of milk, I would exult.  When I was done exulting, I would phone any number of neighborhood cronies and begin an activity that would inevitably provide endless hours of harmless diversion.  First we would jump on the empty plastic jug, rendering it flat, and throw it onto the street.  Then one of us would mount a bicycle and, after gaining the proper speed, approach the carton with an extended right leg.  As the young shaver reached the milk vessel, he would firmly step on it and drag it under his foot as he rode the Bramble lane circuit.  This would create an annoying noise for the neighbors to enjoy, and sometimes the participant could maintain the non-biodegradable lacto-corpse under his foot for several trips around the block!  I become teary-eyed as I remember the carefree larks enjoyed during this blissful experience.

My Childhood Games Part 1: “Sprinkleball”

December 29, 2008

Oh but how I loved to invent little games and activities when I was but a piglet.  No G.I. Joe dolls for me, boy, I had an endless collection of fun pastimes in my own head that required nothing but common items.  Items that any young suburban kid could find around the house, like a tennis ball.

Sprinkleball was a summer sport that I invented as a pup.  My young male white suburban friends and I would fill up a bucket with water and grab a nice tennis ball.  Friend “A” would sit in the back yard on a lawn chair and wait for the fun to begin.  Friend “B” would remain in the front yard with the bucket and dip the tennis ball inside the bucket, saturating it with water.  Then Friend “B” would throw the ball over the house, hopefully to send it whirling over Friend “A” on the other side.  He pre-calculated the flight path of the trajectory– assuming the position of the lawn chair was constant, success would occur if the ball was thrown over the ‘2’ plate on the house front (from 325 Bramble, then my address)—Friend “A” would experience a delightful shower.  No catching is required.  No points were accumulated.  Who wins?  Everybody!  Directly after the mission, Friend “A” would run to the front, usually delighted, and reveal just how much he had been sprinkled.  What hilarious giggles would ensue!  Imagine keeping cool in the summer heat via such a novel childhood experience.  Oh how I miss pre-adolescence.

Bunny Rabbit

December 21, 2008


Milo’s trailer home sat uncomfortably close to the dirt road that led to John’s country home. Milo’s dad Harry didn’t work so he was home most of the time doing chores like cooking and cleaning. Harry was good around the kitchen.

Harry was also a transvestite who liked to wear frilly aprons, but nothing else. Harry would hang his laundry on the clothesline  butt naked.  John tried to make sure Andi never wandered over to Milo’s.

“Dad, did you see my rabbits?” Andi asked John. “Let’s take a look around,” said John to Andi.  John and Andi looked all around the yard thinking the bunnies might be hiding in the wood pile or under the porch. They were nowhere to be found.  Andi was starting to cry but John assured her they would be found.

About that time Milo came walking up the dusty dirt path. “Milo, you seen Andi’s bunnies?” John asked. “Yes,” Milo said. “They are in my dad’s freezer.”

Hello stupid-asses!

December 1, 2008

saslogo11Welcome to Stupid Ass Stories. Feel free to submit your own stories. Whether they’re made up and dumb or true stories about real life stupidity, it’s up to you. Smart is overrated.