Gut Rumbles
 

May 23, 2007

Good visit

Originally published July 3, 2005

I had a good time at Mommie's house. My Uncle Virgil was there and we sat around and told a lot of good stories. I've said before that I come from a long line of good storytellers, and I'm not making that up. I laughed until my sides hurt today.

Poor Uncle Virgil. To hear HIM tell it, he was just a shit-magnet all of his life. He could be ANYWHERE, just minding his own business, and trouble simply erupted around him. It wasn't HIS fault! He was innocent, pure as the driven snow. OTHER PEOPLE stirred up that shit and he just got caught up in it.

Listen to Mommie tell the same story and you get a slightly different perspective.

For instance, today I heard the "eat your dirty socks" story for the umpteenth time. According to Virgil, he had been out playing in the snow with his two brothers and two of their friends. He was the first one back to the house. He took off his wet shoes and dirty socks and started warming himself by the fireplace. The next thing he knew, without doing ANYTHING to provoke the attack, his brothers and their friends wrestled him to the floor and stuck those dirty socks in his mouth.

Mommie tells the story slightly different. Both sides match right up to the point where the brothers and their friends arrived. But Mommie says that when Virgil's brothers told him to get those nasty, stinking socks out of the room, Virgil said, "MAKE ME! I'll stuff those socks in your mouth."

They decided to accept the challenge, and Virgil carried those socks out of that room in HIS mouth.

I wasn't there, so I don't know who is telling the truth. But I know my Uncle Virgil and I know my grandmother. Which one would YOU believe?

Shit-magnet, my ass. Virgil reminds me too much of ME.


I KNEW SHE HAD A MEAN STREAK

Originally published March 7, 2005

I read this post and thought back upon my own childhood. I have a younger brother. When I got bored, I would beat him up, just for the hell of it.

Take a rainy day, with both of you cooped up inside the house and it doesn't require much time before you decide, "I'm bored. I think I'll whip my little brother's ass." You DO IT, too, just because he's there and he's your little brother and that's what little brothers are for.

I usually got my own ass tore up by mama or daddy for picking on my brother, but the spanking was worth it. I wasn't bored anymore.

I remember two things about Dave as we grew up together. First, it was okay for ME to whip his ass, but if YOU picked on my brother, you'd better be ready to fight me, too. I'd whip his ass one minute, then fight anybody else who tried the same thing the next. That's still a complicated situation to think about today. In my mind, it was okay for ME to kick my brother's ass, but you'd better not try it unless you could kick MY ass, too.

Second, my brother wouldn't fight anybody when he was young except ME. I never understood that. He would allow people to bully him, pick on him and throw rocks at him and he never fought back. But he would tear into ME at the drop of a hat, KNOWING that I was gonna whip his ass. If he had fought those bullies the way he fought me, he wouldn't have had any bullies picking on him.

Of course, he grew up to be a high-octane attorney. Pick on him today and he'll fuck you up in court. Maybe he was planning this shit all along.

My brother is a smart guy.

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