Showing posts with label Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

It's Like Dodge Ball But SURPRISE! It's A God Damn Dart In Your Face

One of the coolest things about growing up on a large plot of land in the middle of a forest surrounded by other forest dwellers, besides treating my parents going grocery shopping as the worst thing in the world, was the fact that my father worked over seas. Weird, right? That the best part would be that my father would be gone over seas for one month gone and one month back because wouldn’t that lead to some type of daddy abandonment issues that may or may not show up later in life in the form of an internet blog where there may or may not have been a post about having sex on something your parents had sex on? In reality it was mostly awesome. While my father was away it was six kids against one mom. The kids fucking ruled the place. Except, for like, when my father came back and it was a month of punishment to make up for all the horrible things we did while we were gone.
One of the things my father liked doing when he was around for the month was teach us all manners of awesome stuff to make it easier for him to babysit us because he had a life too, ya know? And who wants stupid, stinky kids running around like a bunch of frenzied pack animals looking for love and approval. Like the time he taught me how to knock the wind out of my older brother when I complained too much that he was a bully, or how he taught was that it’s fucking impossible to catch a cat on an acreage for two dollars. He was the master of showing kids cool stuff to do and if that stuff just happened to distract us and make us leave him alone, who cares because they were awesome.
Except for the time he taught my older brother and sister that it was possible to make darts at home because all you need to do is take your mothers sewing needles and thread and tie them to tooth picks, cut up some cards to make the end and holy crap you’ve created a death machine for your younger children but who cares because guess what? Month is up, time to go back to Kyrgyzstan!
I’m not sure what he was thinking when he taught a bored older kid how to make homemade weapons because you just know they weren’t going to use a dart board when they’ve got three younger moving targets and a toddler who thought everything was hilarious.
One of the crueller games that came out of Weapon Craft Time With Daddy was sort of like dodge ball but instead of a ball you had darts and instead of playing in a gym you played in a basement with no windows with the lights off as the walls and younger siblings where covered in glow in the dark stars and it was up to older brother to play a game called “Let’s just convince the little ones this is awesome because it involves stickers and I’ll just randomly throw the darts until I hit someone in the face or something.”.  And of course when you are little you think these things are awesome as you are hiding amongst the other stickers and you hear your little sister start freaking out because she got hit with a dart and you don’t think your giggling will make you next , because it totally does, and then the game fucking sucks because you just got a dart in the face.
Another game my older siblings like to play with these darts was to drag Womb Mate and I out of bed in the middle of the night to go down into the basement and pretend that it was some type of shoddy bar downtown where all the patrons drink beer and smoke cigarettes. And when I mean “patrons drink beer” I totally mean “drink pop” and if you replace “smoke cigarettes” with “make the younger two kids stand against the wall and have a dart free for all to see how close you can get the dart to them without actually hurting them but it’s a lot more fun if you actually hit them with it”.
I couldn’t ever figure out why they had such shitty aim during this game and I was sometimes left with several darts sticking out of my arms until I was eventually forced to pull them out to give them back just so the game could start over again.

Monday, November 21, 2011

It's Like Fear Factor But Someone Always Gets Punched In The End: Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week

For some cruel twist of fate the universe decided that I needed five siblings and it wasn’t even going to make sure that I was born the oldest so I’d have all the power or the youngest so I’d get all the awesome stuff and never be blamed for anything. No, it decided that I was going to be a middle child.
With my experience as a middle child I’ve come to the conclusion that God must hate middle children because we get the shittiest end of the stick, always. And we aren’t even allowed to wear gloves to handle that shit stick because that honour is reserved for the oldest and the youngest never gets to handle shit because that’s gross.
Growing up we lived on a nice size of land outside of a small town that was basically in the middle of a forest and the only way you were going to interact with anyone who didn’t live in the forest with you was if your parents drove you to town to have fun. And SURPRISE! Your parents hate you so they never drive you to town to have fun. Because of this lack of readily available entertainment my Older Brother got bored a lot.
Unfortunately for us, he had four younger siblings that he could easily terrify into doing anything and I mean anything he wanted. When my parents would go grocery shopping we would beg for them to take us with them and save us from the horror we knew was going to come. And what would our parents do? They’d laugh at us and drive away still laughing because there was no way in fuck they were going to ruin their own chance for escape by bringing us along. If we got tortured in their absence, who cares? Because they got to have a kid free day.
My older brother had a game he’d play and it was sort of like being in the Military, in his mind, because if we didn’t do what he said he’d beat us until we cried, begged, and eventually did what he wanted. This game just so happened to be called “Eat whatever horrible thing I can make on demand” and he’d line us up and attempt to poison us with creativity.
Basically anything he found in the fridge and could be mixed in a cup to look like liquid vomit is what he created. We all had to drink it or die. But the youngest? Nah, he got cookies and pudding and stuff because he was just a toddler and it’d be wrong to do something to him. Oh, and when older brother was feeling generous, yeah the toddler would get to make food we’d be forced to eat.
I’m sure when my parents got home from grocery shopping and we were so overjoyed to see them that sometimes we’d sob and beg them never to leave again they totally figured it was because they were awesome parents who have mastered this whole crazy parenting thing and patted themselves on the back later.
When, really, we were just so god damn happy to have been saved from the Tyranny of older brother.

Friday, November 18, 2011

Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb Week


I’ve got a shit ton of siblings because at one point my parents must’ve decided that not buying condoms was an awesome idea and that children are the joy in the world that prevents cancer.

Growing up there have been multiple times in my life where I totally wished my first act after being born was to completely and utterly destroy my mothers womb to prevent the birth of anyone after me – I’m totally looking at you Womb Mate.

To just mangle it so badly that it was left unfit to grow new life and anything that attempted to grow in there? Would become mutated and eventually just abort itself because even it couldn’t handle how it was developing into a freakish monster.

But then I realize I would have needed a lazar eyes to accomplish this.

And then I get sad because I wasn’t born with lazar eyes.

Then I think how awesome it would be if babies were born with lazar eyes.

And then I get afraid that if babies were born with lazar eyes they’d decide to take over the world and since they are just babies no one would want to punch them in the face to save the world. Oh, and they’d have those eyeballs that shoot deadly, radioactive lazars.

And then those babies would shoot us with lazar eyes.

But then they’d eventually get radioactive and die.

And then the world would be awesome.

But I’d still have shit tons of siblings.

But then I wouldn’t be able to kick-off “Why I Should Have Destroyed My Mothers Womb” week where I share all the horrible stories of my childhood that made it really fucking kickass.
 
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