What is wrong with my puppies?

Today's tale comes from a different era. The college era (snr. high) where the education system in it's infinite wisdom, teaches young terrorists what chemical compounds do what. Enter "Bugs". Bugs loved to do crazy stuff with chemicals or building stuff that was...nuts.

Anyway, one day in Chemistry class, he discovers that ethanol is basically pure alcohol. 'Cool' was his response and the crazed look of a plan forming in his warped mind flashes briefly across his face.

Up comes Guy Fawkes day, and since we live in the country and the folks are away, what better time to have a huge bonfire, and drink ourselves into oblivion whilst thinking we're cool etc etc et. al.

Of course like any party, there is the punch, and like any party the punch needs to be spiked. So what does our host Bugs spike the punch with? You guessed it. Bugs had 'borrowed' a few bottles of ethanol from the chemistry lab, and added it to the communal bowl of drink.

Around the bonfire it went, each person who drank, screwed up their face and yelled, WTF is THAT! It, without a doubt was the most 1. potent and 2. foulest drink I've ever had in my life. But hey, we're poor college students so...alcohol is alcohol right? Well...that was my thought. The witches brew was placed inside and we all continued our semi drunk (it did have a hell of a kick) playing with the bonfire and setting off fireworks (skyrockets were aimed at Bug's pet possum which was frantically running from tree to tree).

I go inside and I see the witches brew, I look around and ... meh, whatever, and take a real good drink. (Yes, it was still mostly full). But for the love of God there is no way I could take another swig. In my now inebriated state, well, logic isn't the best. I figure, we have to get rid of this stuff before we all pass out and Bug's parents come back. Nobodies going to drink it so....pour it down the drain? Well, that's what a sober person would do I guess.

Bugs had a Labrador. Hmm, Jess, I think was her name. She was lovely by nature and Bug's really loved her. So he was happy when she gave birth to a litter of puppies. We all had fun playing with them since of course, puppies are cute, inquisitive and.....thirsty.....

Morning comes, we are all passed out outside, the parents are still gone, and us young revilers are coming to. I look around me and the punch bowl is beside me, empty. Everybody is like SHIT dude! You drank all that crap?

I'm like..."err, dunno, don't remember" Then from the other side of the house we can hear Bugs wailing "WTF is wrong with my puppies!" Over we stumble to the location of the issue and there it is, all the puppies, unable to walk in a straight line, and trying to pick up the ladies with cheesy pick up lines, all drunk as hell. Turns out, I didn't drink all that crap...the puppies did!

They recovered in due time, but the story remains as does the moral. Don't borrow ethanol!

Boy those are nice goggles!

Here we go again. Who shall I pick on? Hmm, Mungo sounds like a good choice! The setting, back at primary school (elementary), it seems like the most bizzare fun things happened there. It's summer.

Since NZ is an island, ie. surrounded by water, the Government thought it a good idea to make swimming classes in NZ primary schools mandatory. Was a smart move. A stupid move was them canceling that mandate a few years after me and my contemporaries had moved on. Fast forward 10 years and bingo, drownings go up...by a lot, so the Government in their infinite wisdom re-instated the swimming programs, but I digress.

The primary school swimming pool. Ahh, so much fun, running around the pool. Jumping in the pool to see who could make the biggest splash and practicing what I later in life have found out, to be a mild form of waterboarding. So of course, when it's time for swimming class in the middle of a hot summer day with no A/C, boy, do we wanna swim! Hmm, math or swim, hell, even us country folk aren't that dense.

Of course like any other military academy (aka primary school) run by fascists (them teachers who hate kids...so why be a primary school teacher? hmmm) we have to line up in an orderly fashion. Ugh, now you know that takes forever. Finally, off we march like good little worker ants to the swimming pool area! YAY.

In we rush to the boys changing room, and get changed as fast as possible so that...we can give each other a boost up the dividing wall between the girl and boys changing rooms. Why? Because there was a small gap between the wall and the roof of the changing sheds. Builder must have been a man with a vision (or simply sucked at his job). Anyway, of course the girls would notice from time to time which would send whichever boy plummeting back to the floor, amid all of our laughter at getting busted.

On this particular day, same as usual, and once we are finished with changing and our lame attempt at perving out we are sitting on the long bench that runs parallel with the swimming pool. Can we go into the water yet? NO. Why? Because Mungo is still getting changed! Why is he taking so long? Mungo has got himself a nice pair of new goggles, which he is having to adjust for that perfect fit, because as you know, we are all deep sea divers.

So here we are, all sitting down in our swimming gear waiting for Mungo, even the teacher cracks a joke about Mungo taking so long, so when Mungo emerges from the changing room, everybody is looking on with impatient furrowed brow.

So enarmoured with his new goggles, (he is still playing with them as he emerges) it seems that Mungo forgot to do something. The class is kinda in shock, trying to take in the spectacle of Mungo walking towards us with a big smug grin, his new goggles and .... nothing else!

Yep, Mungo forgot to put on his swimming trunks. Here is Mungo, starkers! And he still doesn't know! 'Handy' Andy yells "Mungo" and points down frantically at the same time. Mungo looks down and "OH SHIT" covers himself with hands, turns tail and runs for it while the whole class, teacher included explodes into peels of laughter.

I've never seen somebodies face go so red, so fast! Nice goggles Mungo, nice goggles.

Second Time Lucky

I frequently am telling stories of 'back home', so why not put them here for all to share the laughs. Of course, the memory is fading (I blame the booze), so the stories over time have probably changed and grown more, umm, colorful? No doubt my friends who were actually there as well when it happened would have a different account on the events that took place. Well, tough :P. Here is another story.

Back in primary school (elementary), we went to a small country school. About 100 kids, hence the boys my age, well, we were, still are a close knit bunch even though we only talk to each other once a year (if we're lucky). So of course, we would always encourage each other to 'push the envelope'. When something broke, ok...now we know the boundary of doing that! I believe after a couple of years of incessant phone calls to our parents "Sorry to tell you, but your son has been in an accident", rather than the normal panic and fretting that would accompany it, there would have been a rather nonchalant reply of 'oh, again. Yeah, I'll come in after I've finished mowing the lawns'.

During our lunch break, you would find our 'what crazy thing can we do today' group, out in the playing field doing something we shouldn't be doing. On this particular day, we were engaging in one of our favorite activities. Walking across a 3-chain bridge, from one high point to another. But we would never get to the other side. You see, we would let go of one rope (so now it's a 2-chain bridge), and swing out, let go, fly through the air and land on a large circular platform, (about 1m high, which is bloody high for a 10year old). We would all do it with glee, barring one friend, lets call him...Mungo. Mungo wouldn't jump. We would cheer him on, cajole him, even tease. All to no avail. But for some reason, on this day, Mungo threw caution to the wind and he went for it. We all went first, to show, even though it had been raining, it was still as easy as pie. Then it was the moment of truth. Mungo let go, swung out, let go, gracefully flew through the air and landed on the platform. YAY. But (ahh, you knew that was coming aye?), he didn't land quite right, and he slipped. Fell backwards. Now remember about 1m high. Mungo outstretches his arm behind him to help break his impending impact with the ground. Then we hear, the oh so familiar of a bone saying, 'ahh, no. Sorry, I'm not supposed to bend that way nor support that much weight'. Crraccck.
Of course we are concerned for our friend (cue wailing and crying), but...well, we can't stop laughing. We felt guilty, concerned and at the same time found it highly amusing. So inbetween our uncontrollable laughter, we are also trying to be concerned and serious in saying "Mungo, are you alright mate?".
Ahhh. But the story doesn't end there my friends, oh no. It takes about 6 weeks for a bone to heal. So Mungo is a school, very happy with his new 'weapon' and graffiti arm. 6 weeks later on Saturday, Mungo's cast comes off. Monday. First day of school with no cast. And where are we? Out swinging off the 3-chain bridge. And along comes Mungo. "Comon man, do it again. The worst is over now! You can do it!" Fearlessly Mungo, tries again, to great applause and respect from his 10year old peers. Mungo lets go of one chain, he swings, lets go, flies though the air, lands, slips, CRAaaaaaCCKKKKkkkkkk.

Poor Mungo. He never did try again.

Were you doing anything stupid?

Story one of many of my childhood memories. I'm sorry, I didn't have a shitty childhood like so many movie characters. At times it was lonely, but boohoo. For the whole it was great. I didn't have a pedophile as an Uncle. Mum wasn't an alcoholic, and I wasn't beaten senseless by a deranged Dad.

As kids we loved to do, well not dangerous shit, but shit that was fun and 'could' cause a lot of self inflicted pain. Here is one of these stories.

Primary (Elementary) School. We have ourselves a 3 storied tower to play on. (When last back in the area the tower has been dismantled, deemed too dangerous by modern standards. HEY, nobody died!). There is a fireman's pole running from the top down to where it was fastened in place with an old tire filled with concrete. We would have fun sliding down as fast as you can and breaking at the last possible moment. It was even more fun when we went head first.

On this particular day, it had been raining before so the fireman's pole was a bit more slippery. So Jethro decides to go head first. Down he slides faster than ever. But...his hand brakes work not on a slippery surface. Up comes the concrete filled old tire at full speed. He can't strech is arms out to lessen the impact as that would make him fall faster. So using his face as a cushion...WaaHUmmmPP.

Oh boy did he cry. Blood was everywhere. His lip was split right through by his teeth. Blood nose like a fountain. Front teeth chipped. So off he wanders to the sick bay, with a throng of eager classmates wanting a look at the spectacle.

Out comes the principle to check on the commotion, more like a school parade to the sick bay and I can still hear the words to this day which still make me laugh.

Mr Dunn: "Now Jethro, were you doing anything stupid?"
With blood stained mouth and tears in eyes, gasping for breath between wails of pain...
Jethro: "Sniff, sniff, Nooooooo"

Ahhh, schooldays.