If You’re Just Tucking Me In, Why Are You Holding That Pillow Over My Face?
My brothers and I were definitely mean little kids. We never caused any bodily harm (except to each other, as far as I know) but if there was something bad that happened in the neighborhood, a money making scheme going down, or any other nefarious activity in progress, you could pretty much guarantee that it could be traced back to at least one of us. We never got into anything really that bad, certainly not by today’s standards, but we did our best to cause grief (intentionally and unintentionally, depending upon our moods) to everyone around us: friend, family or foe.
A lot of the time our little plans had no more point to them than to try and get one of the other brothers beat by dad (it was the 60’s, and believe me, all punishments included at least some time with the belt). It was always an evil joy if one brother got punished for something you tricked them into doing, but best of all was if you could get them into trouble for something they didn’t even do (triple word score!).
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CARNIVAL TIME
When the Carnival came to town it was a special time around our neighborhood. No, I don’t mean those pretender Carnivals, with their Midway games, rides, popcorn and all that shit. I mean Our Carnival... the Rainbow Drive Carnival of Death (or at least some maiming at the very minimum).
The Carnival came about pretty much for the same reason we hatched most of our schemes, I mean business ventures; to make some quick cash. And if we could scare the shit out of someone in the process, all the better.
We were always looking for ways to earn extra cash. We tried the time-honored tradition of a lemonade stand (I pity anyone that drank our lemonade if you know what I mean, and if you don’t, I mean c’mon, have you been reading this book?). But really, our favorite way to make money had to be The Carnival.
THE BOOGER CHAIR
I can’t remember how it all started, but at some point while I was in the chair (probably enjoying a Saturday morning cartoon marathon), I suppose I had an uncontrollable urge to pick my nose, and I proceeded to gouge out a very large specimen. For us, blowing your nose more often than not included the use of a sleeve (or your brother’s if you could get away fast enough after the deed was done) so I’m sure the idea of actually leaving the chair to get a tissue never entered my mind. Also, to get up, even for a second, meant that someone else would immediately spring for the vacant and much coveted chair and I had no intention of giving up my primo seat to do something with this big green booger I had fished out.