I'm not responsible.  

GetOffMyLawn 46M
31 posts
6/18/2006 2:04 pm

Last Read:
6/19/2006 8:04 am

I'm not responsible.


When I was a kid I lived in a house that had secret passages in the walls. You could slide down the secret slides in these passages and they would take you right to my bed in the basement. If I was about to be spanked by my mother I would hide in those secret passages and escape punishment. I spent days in those hidey-holes, dreaming of forming a company named for chilled, deceased aquatic life forms and pretending I was insane. I loved having those secret passages.

I can also remember the day I was out with one of my brothers (I only had one) and we saw a hole in the street. Being the clever boys we were, we decided it made sense to put a stick down the hole to see what might come out. Two giant ants came out and tried to attack us. I remember it very clearly, there was a red ant and a black ant and they were making a horrible clicking noise as they rushed us. (Quick insight into my actual life: Do not attempt to drink hot chocolate while sucking on a Green Apple Jolly Rancher.) Those ants were trying to kill us for shoving a stick down their hole. It is odd, but I don't remember how we got away.

The kid next door had a huge pit of quicksand in his backyard where we would play. Another vivid memory of mine is of all of us kids trying very hard not to fall into the quicksand while we colored rocks with magic markers. I had green and purple so my rocks ended up looking like some sort of mutated Barney-rock freak thing. Barney is evil no matter what incarnation. I don't remember if any of us ever fell into the quicksand, but I also don't remember any funerals for kids whose bodies could not be recovered from any of the local quicksand. I think I would remember something like that; "Little Johnny fell into that quicksand on Becker Street and they couldn't get his body out because you know how quicksand is," the parents would all be telling each other while their kids were out back of the funeral home coloring rocks they found next to the huge pit of quicksand.

I remember one of my brothers (I only have one) had a poster of that albino gorilla everyone was in love with back in the seventies. Not the regular gorilla who does sign language, but a real albino gorilla with pink eyes. That poster used to speak to me at night. "Go eat cheese," it would say to me while my family slept, looking at me with those glowing pink eyes. "No! Eat dirt!" the evil, black plastic rocking horse would respond. I hate that rocking horse, even though I used to love to ride the thing. Hey, I was five and no amount of evil was going to keep me from riding old Blacky the Insane, Evil Horse.

One final memory to share was of me climbing the cherry trees in our backyard, next to our pit of quicksand. I would eat cherries until I threw up, which was about ten minutes and fifty cherries. I hate cherry trees now.

Now here is the thing about all of these memories. I know that no matter how vividly I remember them, no matter how real they seem, there is no way that they could actually have happened as I remember them. Well, except for the cherry tree and vomit one; I have witnesses. The problem I have is that I am no longer sure that any of my memories are valid. I suspect that the passages in my house were caused by the fact that we had a laundry chute and they used to make me sleep next to the dryer with the cat. The ants were not likely to have been very big at all and the fact that a red ant was living with a black ant is just not realistic. Everyone knows that ants are the biggest racists in the whole insect world and at some point the family of the black ant would have made her give up the red ant and move back home. Stupid racist ants! As for the quicksand pits, I am guessing we had a stream - or "crick" as they called it in those days - behind some kids house and one of my brothers (I only have one) told us it was quicksand. Don't ask me about the magic markers and the rocks...I'm pretty sure that happened but I'm not too sure how to explain it. We also used to put a leaf on a rock and bang holes in it with another rock and we called that our typewriter. It made sense when I was five.

My point here is that all of my memories are suspect. I know Snowflake the albino gorilla did not speak to me and Blacky the Insane, Evil Horse did not even like dirt. But sometimes I have a dream so detailed and vivid that I'm afraid to go to work the next day because I'm not sure if I really did dance a jig on the conference table wearing only a sequined thong and those wooden shoes the Dutch don't wear but sell to us anyway as if they did wear them. Stupid Dutch shoes! You probably would feel really uncomfortable going to work if that actually happened.

So, in conclusion, I am no longer responsible for my actions because I was attacked by giant, racist ants while sinking in a pit of quicksand in my secret passage where I kept my purple and green rocks and my holey leaves. When I was five. And sick on cherries.

DIVISION77 39M  
8321 posts
6/18/2006 2:56 pm

...and this is another attempt at briding the gap from the land of grumpy to the path of enlightenment?

I never realized a Green Apple Jolly Rancher could cause such an uprising from the racist black ants.

Yes, I am standing on your lawn with no intention to get off anytime soon.

DIV

"My every move is a calculated step, to bring me closer to embrace an early death." -Tupac Shakur


rm_saintlianna 45F
15466 posts
6/18/2006 3:02 pm

    Quoting DIVISION77:
    ...and this is another attempt at briding the gap from the land of grumpy to the path of enlightenment?

    I never realized a Green Apple Jolly Rancher could cause such an uprising from the racist black ants.

    Yes, I am standing on your lawn with no intention to get off anytime soon.

    DIV
Im sorry but thats funny...


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