Childhood confessions.

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Monty417, Mar 13, 2010.

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  1. Raise age of criminality.

    The post I made on that Thread made me think back to when I was a kid and some of the things we used to get up to. Whilst bearing no resemblance to the thuggery today, I suppose we weren't little angels and it's perhaps worth confessing to some of it here. This has to be, say, pre 14yr stuff. I knew quite a few kids from good families who were a pain, but the majority turned out fine. Here's a small bit of mischief, bullying I suppose, if so, it was mild to what used to happen.

    I gave a few examples on the above 'Raise age' thread, but just to mention another....we always had to suffer some bullying and complete 'dares' usually made up on the spot when bored, to become a fully fledged fuckwit 'gang' member.
    I remember one kid having to climb a tree which entailed shinning up the first branchless 14ft or so. The kid did this and was showing off, doing his best Tarzan impression on the first branches...his success pissed us off greatly, so we picked up loads of the old dried on top soft underneath cow pats and flung them against the tree trunk. This meant he had to slide through the shit or jump down from about 15 ft. To help him decide, we hurled the cow pats at him as well. In the end, he was so covered in cow shit, that he just slid through it down the trunk, with a slushing sound. We all fucked off then, with him dragging behind asking if he'd passed, getting replies of 'fuck off, you stink of cow shit.'

    He was then urged to jump in the canal to clean off as phase two of the test, we all lyingly swore that we'd had to do it, which he did, but he stunk worse than ever. Was I punished when mummy came round to my house dragging the little grass along, you bet I was.

    Sorry if this has been done before, I did a search, couldn't find anything.
     
  2. Kids can be so cruel. Sadly, by the time I got around to being a child, the outdoors had been replaced with the joys of pokemans and ninetendos.

    Just a shameless bump; didn't want to see such a promising thread slide into the obscurity of page 2... Share those stories....
     
  3. When I was about 12 I stumbled across a very scary man dressed as a women passed out in the hedge, I went and got a cup of petrol and splashed it on the guy and set him on fire. Looking back on it now I do feel bad for the bloke as the scream he made was pretty lady like, The big give away was the mighty beard he had.! It turned out to be a guy that worked for my old man and wasnt to injured in the process.
     
  4. Lots. including being arrested for repeated ding-dong-dashing of an italian man named Silvio. Poor swine.
     
  5. We had a local bobby who used to ride round the village on his pushbike, complete with a handlebar moustache.
    Think i was around 11 and my best mate of the time and i decided to smack stones about with our tennis raquets.
    I picked up a beauty of a stone, well it was more like a large piece of housebrick and whoooomph, hit it as hard as i could with my raquet......just as he rode round the corner on his bike, where my stone smacked him straight up the side of the head, dislodging his helmet.
    Have you ever had a thrashing with a tennis raquet off your mam? It bloody hurts, trust me. :lol:
     
  6. It must have been pretty shit to be my little brother. He can't be that badly psychologically scarred though as he still talks to me occasionally.

    I was chuffed to bits when he arrived but he bored the shit out of me for the first couple of years, but once he was up and about walking and talking I had a dogsbody, accomplice and guinea pig all rolled into one.

    By the time he was 3 or 4 I'd told him Father Christmas didn't exist and there was no Tooth Fairy or Easter Rabbit. Harsh you may say but he was going to need this mental conditioning to survive the rest of his childhood.

    How he isn't blind I have no idea, as I can't remember how many times he was made to stand in the garden with an apple on his head as I tried to knock it off with a rubber sucker arrow.

    As I got older my imagination became more warped and the lethality of my toys increased. I put him in a dossbag and dropped it down the wooden staircase to see what would happen.

    Thump thump thump thump thump thump BANG sob cry wail. If anyone's curious.

    I once took him down to the canal to test if the ice was thick enough for me to walk on, I accurately gauged that it wasn't as he crashed through the surface after about three steps.

    His problems really started when some mug gave me an air pistol for Christmas. I shot him in the arse with one of the darts at near point blank range. He screamed and screamed I realised he wasn't going to shut up unless I acted quickly. What would SSgt Barnes from Platoon have done? That's right grip the front of his T-shirt with both hands and hiss through gritted teeth "Take the pain" until he stopped crying. I put in the best performance of a war ravaged late 60s US soldier ever attempted by a 10yr old Welsh boy, even if I do say so myself.

    I managed to shut him up and kept the pistol, unluckily for him. Next I decided to try my hand at manufacturing body armour. It can't be that hard I thought and in 10 minutes I had him nicely wrapped up in several layers of bubblewrap.

    I detected fear as I looked down the pistol's crude sight, beads formed on his brow as he stood stock still 5 metres to my front. Conscious that I needed to make this a well aimed shot in order for the armour to spare him injury, I carefully aimed at the centre of his body mass and gently squeezed the trigger.

    BANG!

    My aim was true but something had gone wrong!

    My brother was lying on the floor screaming, somehow the pellet had torn straight through the protective layers of bubblewrap and into his soft 6 year old flesh.

    Oops!

    I don't recall shooting him again after that (well apart from the time I shot him in the leg as he rode past, on his bike causing him to fall off, but he had provoked me by gobbing off) so he didn't have it all bad. I do remember being caught by Mother in the garden having tied him to a washing line pole. I was in the process of covering his bare feet in jam when caught and was intending to see what the wasps and ants would make of him.

    I think he breathed a sigh of relief when I left home.
     
  7. Christ, Spaz, and I thought I was a cunt to my little brother when I was younger.
    Picture the scene, Mum gets up and her 2 pride and joys are both in the front room, slaughtered, funny you might think, prob was, that I was 6 and little bro was 3 and I'd force fed him alcohol and had a fair bit myself (that'll teach my parents to leave the booze cupboard at an accessable height for young hands). So, yours truly gets the belting of his life when Dad gets home and little brother gets all the hugs he needs. Strangely enough, he's never forgotten that and still doesn't to this day drink for some unknown reason. He will get his own back one day and when he does, I'm in for a whole world of hurt( I'll give him his due, after 5 yrs in 2 REP, I thought he would have seen me off by now)
     
  8. Talking of guns, someone stupidly gave my brother an air pistol. 4 years my junior(and 12 at the time) he had an accidental discharge into my disabled friends face, despites protests about it's probable loaded state. What followed was his first encounter with guilt. He was 12 and he'd never felt it before.

    ..Somewhat unsurprisingly he's now an infantryman and everyone mentions what a good match that should be.
     
  9. Most of my mothers family are farmers, this led to me having some cracking holidays as a kid when I became too much of a pain in the arse at home. I remember watching with interest as my uncle sprayed the farm's markings onto the new born lambs and where he put the can afterwards.

    Now I'm not sure but I believe I must have been watching one of the WWII classics before my visit. What I am positive about is that he wasn't best pleased later that day when he drove past the field and noticed his sheep were now adorned with big fuck off blue swastikas on their sides. If my memory serves me correctly, that particular visit was cut short for some reason.
     
  10. I was 13 (so not really a child) but my family are also farmers, There was a very pregnant white cow in a field just by the house and I spray painted on its barrel like midrif "Sarah :heart:'s c0ck" Sarah, my cousin then spent the day making sure the heaving bovine was facing away from the house so her dad didn't see it whilst she tried to remove the grafitti.
     
  11. Does she still love it?
     
  12. Absolutely brilliant! That's right up there with some of the 'Fight Club' stunts. 'Fertilising' your lawn with used motor oil, bird feed all over the Mercedes forecourt...
     
  13. Yeah I'm always a little bemused as to why these people still talk to me. :D
     
  14. Speaking of farm animals and paint...

    School trip paintballing many years ago (who'd let 14 year olds paintball!?). Next to one particular area, there was a farmer's field with cows in. Probably would have left them alone had it not been for a sign saying 'do not shoot the cows'.

    Cue a field full of yellow and orange cows.
     
  15. Little did I know that a mere discression as a child would lead to the downfall of a nations high street favorite.

    As a 11 year old lad I was well into fishing. Nothing too serious jus the odd Saturday down the local gravel pit. This particular weekend I needed to replenish my meagre collection of fishing tackle with some hooks. As I entered the wide-eyed emporium of Woolworths in search of said hooks I realised that I also needed some weights to accompany them. I didn't have enough pocket money for both.

    Do I get one or the other legally or pinch one and pay for the other. Doing a store detective recce (even in those days I was switched on) I decided for the latter. Secreted the weights into my pocket and paid for my hooks at the check out.

    Years passed and was still nervous about entering Wollies in case some archaic footage of theft was still knocking about.

    On the collapse of the store I was blaming myself for the destruction of the nations favourite and nearly attempted to send a cheque for £1 to cover the cost. Thankfully Chief of Domestic staff called me a silly cunt and stopped me in my tracks.

    Not on par with Ronnie Biggs and the great train robbery I know.