Two young brothers age 6 and 4 are talking one night in their bedroom. The older brother says “You know, I think we are old enough to cuss.” The four year old says “I think you are right,” nodding his head in approval. The older brother says “tomorrow at breakfast I am going to say ‘Hell,’ and you should say ‘Ass.’” The younger brother agreed with enthusiasm.
The next morning the two brothers came to the breakfast table. The mother asked the older one what he wanted for breakfast. He replied, “Aw, Hell Mom, I think I’ll have Cheerios.” WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear with every step. You could hear the wailing all the way to the kitchen.
In a matter of seconds, the mother returned and said to the younger brother, “And, exactly what do YOU want for breakfast?” The younger brother being a little sharper than his brother "I don't know," he blubbers, “but you can bet your FAT ASS I not gonna ask for Cheerios!”
The story isn’t true as far as I know. I received this joke in an email. But the story is strikingly similar to one which occurred when my brother and I were exactly the same age – six and four.
On Friday nights, Dad and Mom played bridge with Denny and Janet. I am not sure it was every Friday night, but at least it was once a month. One night we would be at their house, and every other time we would all be at our house. It was a great, cheap evening of entertainment with friends – family. It was regular – you could count on that evening being roughly the same every week.
I was a smart young lad. I learned to read and write (even in cursive) before first grade. And, I know many of you won’t believe this, but at the time I felt pretty “high on myself.” At six my ego was rather big.
The first day of first grade I rode the bus home, sitting directly in front of two third-graders. One of them tapped me on the shoulder and asked what grade I was in. “First.” “Can you read?” I replied, “of course!”
“What is this word?” as he unfolded a scrap of paper. "F#&ker.” “What? Say it louder.” “F#&KER.” They both laughed and I knew I had been had. I didn’t know exactly what I said, but all the kids around me were laughing – and I knew it was bad.
One Friday night, right after dinner, Dad said “you have to go to bed, and you can’t get up once I close the door.” He continued, “go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. You can’t have any water, or get up to go to the bathroom once you are in bed. Someone is coming over.”
Greg and I, being the obedient – yet somewhat curious, mischievous imps we are – proceeded to get ready for bed. We certainly weren’t tired – it was only 7 o’clock.
Lights were out and we were in our bunk beds. Our bedroom wall abutted the couch in the living room, 3 feet from the front door. Greg and I discussed who could possibly be coming over. It couldn’t be Denny, Janet, Kurt and Kathryn. We knew them. We would have gotten to stay up and play! It had to be someone else and we had to find out who it was!
The door bell rang, and we heard Dad answer the door. WHO IS IT? What could we do to find out? We knew we couldn’t get out of bed – but – maybe, just maybe, we could get one of us out to see who it was. I shouted “Daaaad, I have to go to the baaathroooom.” “No, I told you had to stay in bed,” came Dad’s reply.
I told Greg I didn’t know if this would work, but he should ask for some water. “Daaaad, can I have some waaaterrr?” “I said NO, you have already gone to the bathroom, and you have already had water. You need to stay in bed and be quiet.”
Greg said to me he didn’t think there was anything we could do. But – being the older brother, I knew different. I knew I could get that door open. I told my four year old brother, “Dad will let us get up if you yell F#&KER.” “Really?” “Yep,” I said with the confidence of an older brother.
“F#&KER!!!” Greg yelled.
My father isn’t the tallest man in the world, but when the door slammed open, I saw the silhouette of “The Hulk” – a monster of a man – green eyes piercing the darkness like lasers. Greg and I disagree over who got spanked – whether it was me, him or both of us. I only remember three distinct things: the light never came on; we were both crying, and we never found out who came over that night.
- Craig
The next morning the two brothers came to the breakfast table. The mother asked the older one what he wanted for breakfast. He replied, “Aw, Hell Mom, I think I’ll have Cheerios.” WHACK! He flies out of his chair, tumbles across the kitchen floor, gets up, and runs upstairs crying his eyes out with his mother in hot pursuit, slapping his rear with every step. You could hear the wailing all the way to the kitchen.
In a matter of seconds, the mother returned and said to the younger brother, “And, exactly what do YOU want for breakfast?” The younger brother being a little sharper than his brother "I don't know," he blubbers, “but you can bet your FAT ASS I not gonna ask for Cheerios!”
The story isn’t true as far as I know. I received this joke in an email. But the story is strikingly similar to one which occurred when my brother and I were exactly the same age – six and four.
On Friday nights, Dad and Mom played bridge with Denny and Janet. I am not sure it was every Friday night, but at least it was once a month. One night we would be at their house, and every other time we would all be at our house. It was a great, cheap evening of entertainment with friends – family. It was regular – you could count on that evening being roughly the same every week.
I was a smart young lad. I learned to read and write (even in cursive) before first grade. And, I know many of you won’t believe this, but at the time I felt pretty “high on myself.” At six my ego was rather big.
The first day of first grade I rode the bus home, sitting directly in front of two third-graders. One of them tapped me on the shoulder and asked what grade I was in. “First.” “Can you read?” I replied, “of course!”
“What is this word?” as he unfolded a scrap of paper. "F#&ker.” “What? Say it louder.” “F#&KER.” They both laughed and I knew I had been had. I didn’t know exactly what I said, but all the kids around me were laughing – and I knew it was bad.
One Friday night, right after dinner, Dad said “you have to go to bed, and you can’t get up once I close the door.” He continued, “go to the bathroom and get ready for bed. You can’t have any water, or get up to go to the bathroom once you are in bed. Someone is coming over.”
Greg and I, being the obedient – yet somewhat curious, mischievous imps we are – proceeded to get ready for bed. We certainly weren’t tired – it was only 7 o’clock.
Lights were out and we were in our bunk beds. Our bedroom wall abutted the couch in the living room, 3 feet from the front door. Greg and I discussed who could possibly be coming over. It couldn’t be Denny, Janet, Kurt and Kathryn. We knew them. We would have gotten to stay up and play! It had to be someone else and we had to find out who it was!
The door bell rang, and we heard Dad answer the door. WHO IS IT? What could we do to find out? We knew we couldn’t get out of bed – but – maybe, just maybe, we could get one of us out to see who it was. I shouted “Daaaad, I have to go to the baaathroooom.” “No, I told you had to stay in bed,” came Dad’s reply.
I told Greg I didn’t know if this would work, but he should ask for some water. “Daaaad, can I have some waaaterrr?” “I said NO, you have already gone to the bathroom, and you have already had water. You need to stay in bed and be quiet.”
Greg said to me he didn’t think there was anything we could do. But – being the older brother, I knew different. I knew I could get that door open. I told my four year old brother, “Dad will let us get up if you yell F#&KER.” “Really?” “Yep,” I said with the confidence of an older brother.
“F#&KER!!!” Greg yelled.
My father isn’t the tallest man in the world, but when the door slammed open, I saw the silhouette of “The Hulk” – a monster of a man – green eyes piercing the darkness like lasers. Greg and I disagree over who got spanked – whether it was me, him or both of us. I only remember three distinct things: the light never came on; we were both crying, and we never found out who came over that night.
- Craig
2 comments:
I did not know what it meant that night, but I sure found out not to say it again. However, my cussing was groomed by my favorite relative, my uncle Dwight. I never heard my dad swear much, but sit around and hear someone swear that looked just like him was cool. I could even swear around uncle Dwight and not get in trouble. That was cool. Thanks
I too tried out the f-word. I heard in somewhere, probably in our shop, and tried it out in front of my grandfather. He swatted me across the mouth and told me in no uncertain terms that that was NOT a swear word. He said it USED to be a beautiful work, but it had been ruined. When I was older I learned why he said itwas once beautiful. By the way, Grampa could curse for five minutes straight without ever repeating himself, but he never used any sexual or bodily waste words. Lots of Hell and Damn, and other inventive phrases like "that's a cross-threaded idea" and "you must have a rotten leather in your pump" and "you are as sharp as a chain saw in a steel mill."
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