Freakin’ kids these days have no idea how easy they have it compared to us back in the day.
The Struggle Was Real
Bustednuckles
Documenting The Death Of America
Freakin’ kids these days have no idea how easy they have it compared to us back in the day.
Cheesy joke, CederQ. Just how grate do you think we had it, anyway?
Cheesy joke, Cederq. Just how grate do you think you had it, anyway??
I wish I could have thrown my little sister down that slide.
Damn, Phil, you had it easy. Every morning we had to listen to the headmaster drone on and on, while we watched the tiny bottles of milk we were given to drink sit out in the hot sun. We were tough kids, but, still drank it.
I don’t see the natural gas pre-heater under the griddle… I mean slide. You had to wear jeans to make it to the bottom with only second degree burns up in west Texas… Not to mention the “snow blindness” from the sun shining on the butt polished metal.
Does anyone else remember taking a wad of wax paper to the playground to slick up the slide with?
Ohhh, yeah. You bet your scorched skinny little ass. What STxAR said. Come to a stop on that griddle one time and you will damn sure remember the wax paper next time.
Betcher ass! By the end of recess we were getting about 30MPH out of the chute!
Liftoff, we have liftoff!!
The school slippery-slides of my childhood were cheap, short and fairly boring, the only real entertainment when some kid amputated a stray finger by getting it caught between the support strut and the sheet metal of the slide because of fallen-out rivets.
My cousins and I lived in different houses at East Stratford on the Barron River. On the weekend we’d.climb the short cliff of Suicide Bend where the slope above had just the right angle to the smooth volcanic soil to make it fun for small kids to slide down. We used what was probably a natural water runnel during torrential downpours, during the dry a cool fast tunnel through the high Guinea grass, you really got going by the bottom.
One Saturday we again climbed up the hill, young Grant slightly fleeter than me and his brother let out a whoop as he dropped through the grass tunnel, only for it to devolve into a howl seconds later when he hit the bottom. During the week, a dog-killed agile wallaby had expired right there, or more likely been dumped there by a spoilsport.
We found the cause of the howling, Grant had exploded the maggot-infested carcass when he hit and was unsuccessfully trying to get out of the embrace of it’s stinky entrails when we got to him, covering himself more and more in the foetid gore. Brotherly love and cousinly concern were overcome by the stink of that dead wallaby, we left him to extricate himself from the mess, it getting worse the more he struggled. The wind must have been blowing the stink away as we climbed to one side, but it was sure evident now!
Oh God, you should have heard the howling, wailing and gnashing of teeth coming from one little kid, he was traumatised before finally getting clear. We stayed well clear of him on the way home, the bawling continues as I diverted to my home, they still had a couple hundred metres to walk home. I heard him crying all the way.
God knows what his mum did, she must have hosed him down in the street outside, you wouldn’t want all the dead meat, putrefaction juices and maggots that he was covered in stinking too close to your house. The agile is one of the medium sized macropods, standing barely a metre high, but the mortal remains of that particular animal were spread a long way that day.
Vale poor Grant, he recovered from that, one of many escapes of we kids, including his brother ‘shooting’ him when placing .22 rounds in the jaws of a vice and striking the rims with a hammer, the bullet velocity too low to cause much harm. Kids, ay? Grant was killed in a drunken car prang just before his wedding, some mishaps you don’t walk away from.