Category Archives: Retired Hooligan

pyromania – the death of my toys

When my brother and I were old enough to stay at home without supervision, our parents set up rules for us to follow:

  1. Karl (my bother) is in charge.
  2. Spend an hour practicing both piano and trumpet.
  3. No Nintendo.
  4. No TV (didn’t really matter – dad was anti-cable TV).
  5. Must clean the house every day (probably why I am a clean freak).

My brother and I had our own set of rules:

  1. Practice piano & trumpet for 15 minutes (combined).
  2. Karl can play Nintendo all day, if Kurtis can play with fire…

Yup, I had recently discovered fire. I would play with my action figures outside, pour gas on them, light them on fire, and giggle like a madman! The only toys that survived my wrath belonged to my brother, which I recently acquired…

Casey Jones

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oh rats!

There are several different kinds of pranks – some destructive to property, others not so much – the main goal usually shoots for a certain level of shock effect on the people that experience it.

An acquaintance of mine pooped on a paper towel in the high school bathroom, and placed it in the vending machine. The unsuspecting victim accidentally grabbed his turd while blindly searching for the candy bar she just purchased…not cool. Pranks like that are just plain gross.

The one I came up with was harmless. My plan was to release a few rats in the cafeteria during lunch, and watch people scatter…

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Train Ride

My friends and I were a bunch of thrill seekers in our younger years – always searching for new exciting adventures to take part in. How we all survived some of the shenanigans without harm is mind baffling to say the least…

One summer evening I received a phone call from my friend Jon while I was eating dinner with my family. The missed call was quickly followed with two text messages:

“Drive to thus and such location and wait by the train tracks.”

“Be there in 5 minutes.”

It was common for each of us to send/receive odd messages from one another from time to time – pretty much guaranteeing some form of juvenile entertainment.

Full of curiosity, I jumped up from the table and ran out the door. The location was fairly close to where I lived and I got there with time to spare. The short wait was excruciating, as my head was filled with several possibilities as to what was going to happen…

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Crank Yankers

Boredom is a breeding ground for trouble. Growing up in a small rural town in southern Minnesota pretty much guaranteed that most days wouldn’t be very exciting. However, this provided a great opportunity for kids to be creative with their time. I, for one, never had difficulty coming up with ways to entertain myself and others.

The day I discovered how to block my phone number is memorable – three ultra egos were born.

Rupert is my gangsta pimp ultra ego. When people answer the phone, he says “Yo, yo, yo, dis be Rupert, you got ma monies?” Lonnie is my ‘special’ ultra ego. He has a tendency to ask girls to go to his school dance, though it takes him a while to ask because of his stutter – every girl who ever dated any of my friends received a call from Lonnie. Anthony, my gay ultra ego, is my favorite and most used. Anthony had a tendency to call the parents of my most conservative friends…

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Is that a dollar sign for the S?

Eighteen year old kids seldom make wise choices – at least I didn’t. The shenanigans I took part in gave my parents the unique opportunity to meet with each principal I ever had at every school I attended. You see, my friends and I were good kids but we loved to have fun, which usually meant trouble.

My friends describe my father as being like Mr. Rodgers – soft spoken, soothing voice, similar fashion sense, and never angry. The similarities are pretty much dead on. For fun, I would do things just to keep him on his toes…

One night I decided that it would be a great idea to get my name tattooed on the inside of my lip – which was kind of perfect timing, because my friends and I were already on our way to the tattoo parlor.

We had convinced our friend to get a tattoo of a flagpole on his butt, with the number 19 on it (the 19th hole) – all we had to do was pay for it. I would show a picture, but I’m guessing nobody really wants to see a tattoo coming out of the inner crevasse of my friends butt cheeks.

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What’s Got Your Goat?

For some reason or another, people enjoy being pet owners. I certainly do. While most prefer cats and dogs, some folks would rather have snakes, rats, alligators, or spiders. To each his own I guess. Fortunately, there are city ordinances to limit the number of pets allowed in each household. Personally, I think it’s an attempt to prevent the crazy cat ladies out there from hoarding too many kittens…

Yup, that's a cat...

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Let’s be honest, farts are funny (unless you are on the receiving end of a ‘Dutch oven’ or a ‘fart biscuit’). Everyone does it. For some reason or another, society has deemed farts to be something we should be embarrassed about. Not this guy. I have fond memories of hanging out with friends, where someone would inevitably announce the roaring explosion that was about to occur in their pants…we would stand-by grinning with lighters in hand, ready to see how big the explosion would really be…many times it would result in a shart (shit/fart), but that’s a different story altogether.

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