Saturday, July 21, 2012

I'm a Bad, Bad Boy ~ Part 3 (Final Installment)

My sweet sister Peggy has reminded me of several more "episodes" wherein I seemed to be in fine form.

I gotta tell you that I feel a bit embarassed about reliving these little gems, (really!) but here goes...


If I remember correctly, I was home on leave from the Coast Guard and had taken my sisters and nephew to lunch at a local pizza joint. The place was called "Numero Uno Pizza" and served a really great pizza with a thick soft crust and topped with delectable cheeses, meats and veg... well...

Anyway, our waitress was an attractive young lady  who was abnormally endowed in the upper chestal area. It was obvious that there wasn't much between her skin and her "Numero Uno" T-Shirt ~ and it must have been chilly inside because her shirt was, well, puckered in spots (2).

The waitress was fully responsible for what happend next. If she hadn't asked me what I would like, this would have been a non-event. I simply replied that I'd take Numero Uno AND Numero Dos (number one and number two) while staring pointedly at her chest.

She had a good sense of humor and giggled and jiggled herself back to he kitchen. If someone did that today, they'd be arrested. I imagine. Peggy seemed a bit embarassed to be in the same room with me. Her big brother! Go figure?


Another time, I think I was much younger - around nine years old or so. and it was just after Christmas if I remember. I had gotten a nice (toy - or so I thought) bow and arrow set. My sister Peggy who was around four got a stick horse. (Times were simpler back then before video games were invented)

We were out playing in the backyard. She with her stick horse and I with my bow and arrows. I got the idea to have Peggy stand still against a wall with an apple on her head and I would shoot it off with a cleverly placed arrow a' la William Tell...

Can you see where this is going? Yeah, I thought that you could.

I lined up the shot and took it, the arrow whizzing toward my poor, innocent and patently gullible little sister who was standing with a bright red apple on her head. The arrow found it's mark - right in the shaft of the stick horse which she had leaned against the wall. The stick horse broke in two.

Actually I was really aiming for the apple but I was a crappy shot at that age... My Father's hand subsequently found it's mark and I was sent to bed, never to play with my bow again. Drats! I'm sure with a little practice I could have made that shot...


Another time I was home from the Service driving my brand new 1967 Volkswagen Beetle. Dark green with white simulated imitation leatherette seat covers. It was a thing of beauty! I had paid just over $3000 for it right from the showroom floor. I was proud of it. It was my first car! So I took Peggy for a ride. If you've ever ridden in one of the older Bugs, you know that they were practically air-tight - and small. According to the advertisements, they would actually float! In real water!

At that time in my late teens and early twenties (and in the military), I thought that it was high humor to fart in public, loudly and with as much odor as diet and concious thought would allow. Had Peggy known this, I'm sure she wouldn't have ridden with me. BUT she did!

We were going down the boulevard and I farted. (see description above) I had been eating chili and hard-boiled eggs. She started to gag and I started to laugh. She reached for the window crank as did I. She to roll down the window and I to prevent said rolling down of the window. I won! She lost! Boy, did she lose... Picture: tears and crying-gagging sounds.

(If you are under the age of 30, a window crank did what the window up-down button does in modern cars).


This next Bon Mot is my all time favorite (at least until she reminds me of some more - my memory isn't what it used to be). Peggy has recently told me that on a scale of one to ten, this ranked at 100! High praise! Maybe because she wasn't the target, so to speak.

We were at the grocery store - this was in the pre-supermarket days - Mom and Dad were shopping and Peggy and I were looking to see what trouble we could get into. More precisely, I was looking to see what trouble I could get HER into.

We wandered toward the butcher counter where a nicely dressed woman was inspecting a whole chicken. No it wasn't the whole chicken. It was dead and it's innards and feathers and head and stuff were all gone. Back then they actually let the customers touch the goods, unlike today when everything is wrapped in a hermetically-sealed cocoon of styrofoam trays and plastic wrap.

Anyway, the lady was standing next to a fully-loaded shopping cart. Probably $20 worth of goods at the prices back then (early 1970s) Today the price would be closer to $350 bucks!

Our Lady of the Plucked Chicken was holding the bird up to her petite nose with the chicken's legs splayed shamelessly apart. She was sniffing the gaping cavity in order to determine if the late bird was indeed fresh.

Seriously, folks! Back then I had absolutely no social filter between my brain and my mouth, and now, the older I get the less it works, even today. I have no idea where the thought came from. Maybe the deep recesses of my primative lizzard-brain. In any case, I said: "I'll bet YOU couldn't pass that test".

The woman froze as if to let that thought register and then to decide on a reply. A dignified course of action. She had nothing! She turned, her face as red as William Tell's apple - and she walked out of the store. She left her cart sitting there at the counter. The butcher was, well, what's the term today? ROTFL. He thought it was amusing. My sister was like, OMG! I can't believe you said that! - Well, neither could I. Neither could I. But out it came like the hatching of a 17 year cicada on crack!

You've either got it or you don't. In some cases though, even if you got it, you shouldn't show it to everybody! Nah! Who am I kidding?

Now to tell one on my esteemed sister Peggy.


Back in the day, our family lived in Logan, Utah. Logan is still a mostly rural and college community. We had chickens and every fall we'd butcher them for the freezer (but we didn't sniff them. We just didn't - that's just wrong).

Dad had an old tree stump next to the chicken pen that he'd use for a chopping block to dispatch the chickens. (that would be a good occupation - Chicken Dispatcher: Chicken number three, chicken number three! Report to the head rooster immediately!)

Dad used an old machete. A long knife that was used to clear brush and the ever present Utah jungle vines. He'd stretch the necks of the unsuspecting chickens across the stump. I'd hold the head and he'd whack the heads off. The heads fell to the ground and the chicken would run around the yard squirting blood and bumping into things. They'd run around like a chicken with it's head cut off which is where that phrase comes from - they really do run around! They're dead but chickens are too stupid to know it. (okay, PETA, Bring it on!) Hah!

After watching this fun-time family activity (Mom and Grandma were gutting the chickens and ripping their delicate little feathers out by the roots) Peggy decided that she wanted to "Chop one". (she was around four)

Dad patiently took a chicken and stretched it's poor little neck across the stump and I held it there. Dad placed the edge of the machete on the chicken's neck and told Peggy to chop it right there.

Peggy, being the little thing that she was, couldn't lift the machete up but then and there showed us all a hidden mean streak that she'd been harboring. She began to use the machete as a saw. Back and forth went the sharp blade across the chicken's neck. The chicken started screaming. Dad started laughing his ass off. Blood was squirting EVERYWHERE! (I never knew there was that much blood in a chicken - and under such pressure!) Mom started praying. I'm sure that's what she was doing. I heard, "Oh! God! Oh my God! BOB!  We all looked like we'd been in a scene from the movie, Carrie.

(Picture Hannibal Lechter asking, "Do you still hear the chickens screaming at night, Clarisse?")

I'll bet a hundred bucks that you didn't know that chickens could scream. Oh, they can. They can!

Dad ended up finishing off the poor test subject with a well placed whack!

After that, we never let Peggy near a knife without adult supervision.

It's fun being a GEEZER! I don't even have to remember these pivotal times in my history. As long as I have my little sisters to remind me, my life is an open book. Maybe it should be closed and burned?


  1. Dear Brother - thank you for being my big brother. Now all my friends know why I am the way I am! Also, need to let you know that my husband is now hiding all the knives in the house...... has been a joy to be your that I can look back on it and you live several states away......

    Love you!

  2. Awww! I'm getting all blushy now.
    (hide the knives!)

  3. Just had an aha moment. Your sister always publishes a link to your blog on facebook. This is my first visit here... Now that I know it's you I just wanted to say "Hi Cousin!" I'll have to go back and read your blog now.


    1. This comment has been removed by the author.

    2. I deleted the above comment because I pushed the button before I proofread it. Too many boo-boos!

      Welcome. You've got quite a few minutes of reading ahead of you. Let me know what you think. Goods to hear from you!



I'd be interested to hear your comments. Thanks for reading The Geezer Guide!