The liar's bench

[S-Cackalacky]

Just an observation -

Funny how when shit happens, its usually because we choose to follow the logic of the biggest dumb-ass in the group.

Just sayin',
S-C

[Jimbo]

Just an observation -

Funny how when shit happens, its usually because we choose to follow the logic of the biggest dumb-ass in the group.

Just sayin',
S-C

haha. right.

"Bad things happen to you because youre a dumbass" -Red Forman

[Black Eye]

If you're gonna be dumb, ya gotta be tough, - Roger Alan Wade

[S-Cackalacky]

If you're gonna be dumb, ya gotta be tough, - Roger Alan Wade

"Bad things happen to you because youre a dumbass" -Red Forman

Profound dumbassedness.

S-C

[WIski]

All these stories bring back memories of growing up on the farm. All the happy and hard times all rolled into on big lifetime. My how things have changed. Being able to take from the land and provide for yourself and your family is all but a thing of the past. Those times were tough but at the same time very rewarding and that way of life built many a strong character. I remember one extremely tough year that we barely made it through the winter. Dad always made us plant extra crops in our garden to sell at harvest so we could buy our school cloths for the next year. We generally planted pickles and sold them to the canning factory in town. This year I wanted to try something new along with the usual vegetable crops as I had read an add in a magazine that was looking to buy popping corn. Since we were already planting corn for the cows I thought this was a great idea and much easier than picking acres of pickles every day. It all started one very very hot late summer day. It had been a good growing season but this week long scorching heat was unbearable. Then the unthinkable happened. It got so hot that the corn started popping right on the cob in the field. Once the husks were broken free it kept popping getting more intense by the hour. Soon the ground was covered with white popped corn and the wind was kicking up and blowing drifts of popcorn everywhere. Now the cows, pigs and chickens were in a panic and they thought we were in the middle of snow bound blizzard and they just froze to death during the night. We were left with nothing to eat. The crop was gone and so was the livestock. It was a long winter that year and Dad never let me plant popcorn again. Live and learn??

[S-Cackalacky]

All these stories bring back memories of growing up on the farm. All the happy and hard times all rolled into on big lifetime. My how things have changed. Being able to take from the land and provide for yourself and your family is all but a thing of the past. Those times were tough but at the same time very rewarding and that way of life built many a strong character. I remember one extremely tough year that we barely made it through the winter. Dad always made us plant extra crops in our garden to sell at harvest so we could buy our school cloths for the next year. We generally planted pickles and sold them to the canning factory in town. This year I wanted to try something new along with the usual vegetable crops as I had read an add in a magazine that was looking to buy popping corn. Since we were already planting corn for the cows I thought this was a great idea and much easier than picking acres of pickles every day. It all started one very very hot late summer day. It had been a good growing season but this week long scorching heat was unbearable. Then the unthinkable happened. It got so hot that the corn started popping right on the cob in the field. Once the husks were broken free it kept popping getting more intense by the hour. Soon the ground was covered with white popped corn and the wind was kicking up and blowing drifts of popcorn everywhere. Now the cows, pigs and chickens were in a panic and they thought we were in the middle of snow bound blizzard and they just froze to death during the night. We were left with nothing to eat. The crop was gone and so was the livestock. It was a long winter that year and Dad never let me plant popcorn again. Live and learn??

So, why didn't you just eat the popcorn?

Just sayin',
S-C

[Truckinbutch]

All these stories bring back memories of growing up on the farm. All the happy and hard times all rolled into on big lifetime. My how things have changed. Being able to take from the land and provide for yourself and your family is all but a thing of the past. Those times were tough but at the same time very rewarding and that way of life built many a strong character. I remember one extremely tough year that we barely made it through the winter. Dad always made us plant extra crops in our garden to sell at harvest so we could buy our school cloths for the next year. We generally planted pickles and sold them to the canning factory in town. This year I wanted to try something new along with the usual vegetable crops as I had read an add in a magazine that was looking to buy popping corn. Since we were already planting corn for the cows I thought this was a great idea and much easier than picking acres of pickles every day. It all started one very very hot late summer day. It had been a good growing season but this week long scorching heat was unbearable. Then the unthinkable happened. It got so hot that the corn started popping right on the cob in the field. Once the husks were broken free it kept popping getting more intense by the hour. Soon the ground was covered with white popped corn and the wind was kicking up and blowing drifts of popcorn everywhere. Now the cows, pigs and chickens were in a panic and they thought we were in the middle of snow bound blizzard and they just froze to death during the night. We were left with nothing to eat. The crop was gone and so was the livestock. It was a long winter that year and Dad never let me plant popcorn again. Live and learn??

Move over to the main seat on the bench . You just earned that position

[Truckinbutch]

Anything me and my rowdy friends got into our grubby little paws became a destructive device . Rocks : no brainer ; pick out the best ones and throw them at each other . Corn cobs : ditto . We refined the corn cobs with water soaking and the addition of chicken feathers . Also spike nails . I'll elaborate on this upon request .
Firecrackers were illegal here . They could be bought at the 'right places'. Unbraiding a package of 'Black Cats' was a tedious task . Necessary , though , to make hand grenades from green apples or sun baked clay balls.
Used up mowing machine knife sections tacked to paling strips with roofing nails became tomahawks .
All of which we threw at each other with extreme vigor and accuracy .
When we got a bit older Daisey bb guns came into play and our 'wars' got much more interesting . Cherry Bombs were real , back then . Took several pennies to get one of them , let alone enough for a battle . Launched from a slingshot they were our long range artillery for our weekend wars .
That was all fun and a good learning experience . Stood us in good stead when the federal government recognized these talents and gave many of us first string playing positions in the South East Asia War Games ....

[Halfbaked]

We used to take chestnut spiney hulls and throw em at each other, man they hurt. Felt like they had something on them that really burned as well as the spines could go through the toughest jeans or shirts. As we got older and got some fireworks, a favorite of everyone was take roman candles and shoot them at each other. I guess the kids would call it fogy paint ball now. Bottle rockets also were fun to shoot at each other if we couldn't get roman candles. Now when I was around 14 and got some real m80 now that was some fun. A guy down the road had a Johnny House. A johnny house has a 4 inch vent coming out the roof and really a good place to drop lit M80s when someone is setting inside. Trucking Butch will get all of what I am saying but prob at least half won't have a clue what I am talking about.

[goose eye]

There was one ole boy that lied so much he
made a hole in 1 an wrote down 0

So im tole

[ga flatwoods]

Someone is telling a lie! I dont know who to believe these stories all sound so real. But why the fascination with outhouses? Bunch of deviants! Folks in Georgia never did stuff like that! LOL
Ga Flatwoods

[Truckinbutch]

Someone is telling a lie! I dont know who to believe these stories all sound so real. But why the fascination with outhouses? Bunch of deviants! Folks in Georgia never did stuff like that! LOL
Ga Flatwoods

Howcome ? Didn't y'all have outhouses ?

[Tater]

Back in the 70ds when I lived in texas I sold fireworks for a fella outta a booth by the lake.Was a fair piece by the road but only little over a 100 yards by recking was a friend in another booths selling fireworks for same guy.Guy we were working for encouraged us to set few off at night to draw attention to sites.(like he needed to) .Mortars being costly we were limited to 2 a night.Now we stayed in these booths 22 hrs a day and got spelled for 2 hr of our choosing.Joe the fella in other booth and I chose 6 pm so we could chat and swim before going back to work.First night soon as it was dark I got some stones and angled my mortar towards Joes booth and lit fuse .From where I was at looked like it went off few hundred feet above his booth.about hr later heard a boom looked up and one went off what looked about 300 feet to my right.The challenge was on .Next day at break we told each other where it looked to have went off I waited for dark made some adjustments to my stone pile and set off another and got 1 back as before each of us nightly making adjustments .Sometime getting closer and with others not even close.But by the end of the week we both felt were getting dialed in.On the last day of selling on the 4th we each had 4 rounds left but we were so busy it was right at closing before we had time to set them off.1st was a miss was angled to low and 2nd was what looked like dead on flash looked to cover his booth next 2 not near as close.His first went behind my booth but wasn't close.Nor were his next 2 .Waited and watch for the oomph of the last 1 for next few minutes But it didn't happen so I went to cleaning up my booth a converted camper and didn't hear him lite his last 1 . Sure as hell felt it though when it went off .damn thing went off about 50 feet in front of my booth about 20 feet above ground .Damn concussion rocked my booth and showered it with sparks.When i talked to Joe later that night he told me mine had went off about 20 to 30 feet dead above his booth scaring hell outta him also .We both decided if we sold fireworks again we would find someone /thing else to aim at.

[Rastus]

back in the days when i stayed at grampy and grannys farm they grew everything and made most all of the foods that was usable out of the fields and garden they had a patch of corn out between the last hay field and the sagebrush. we worked hard even as kids we had a pile of chores, fixin fences and making hay, weeding gardens in the hot summer sun, Grandmas kitchen was a literal processing plant... how i miss those days, the smell of grandma's kitchen.
one year back in the fall i was determined to hunt deer they loved to come in to eat at the corn field out in the back section. so i got the old 30-06 cleaned up and was getting all prepared cause i had been seeing a nice large muley buck that was coming down out of the coulees in the early evenings to munch at the corn. well i started digging for ammo, and it seems that it was all gone just empty brass. well , i started digging around in the shed where gramps did some reloading found a keg of powder and the large rifle primers but no 30 cal bullets... DANG whats a 14 year old boy to do... i kept thinking about that buck and really wanted to make the family proud and also i love that venison sausage. So i started thinking hard bout it, and i thought i went to the canning cellar and i took a jar of canned cherries popped it open and ate a bunch and spit the pits out to a bowl then after i had enough Pitts i took em over and washed and dried them ever so carefully... seems they fit in the mouth of the '06 brass good enough with a tight crimp. so i loaded up a box of 20 and got my gear ready for the next day as it was opening season.
well i worked on my chores that next morning and went off to school it was about a hour bus ride home and all i could think was getting out to that field as soon as i got home so i could wait for that old buck.
when i got to the house i ran in and got my boots on grabbed the rifle, was an old 1903 Springfield, put on my jacket and started walking to that corn patch out in the back field, seems it took forever, and that rifle was getting heavy so about half way out i loaded up my "make do" ammo, but i knew i needed to hurry as it was getting late. After i got loaded up i hurried up the rest of the way out the dusty tractor trail. i was starting to keep a little cover as i approached the field this old buck had been dining at, but as i approached i didnt see nothing, so i settled in and found a good spot to sit down and wait. and wait, it was getting darker by the minute when i thought i saw some movement on the other side of the field. as it approached i slowly lifted up the old '06 and tried to get a good aim through those old peep sights it had on it hard to see clear but i was sure it was that old buck, when i thought i had aim right in the middle of his forehead, i slowly squeezed it and BANG the old rifle fired off recoil wasnt too bad either, i could see him jump straight up and flop to the ground, so i figured i had it nailed. well i got right up to him and and all of a sudden he jumped up on all 4's and ran off in what seemed 20 foot leaps some flashing of that old buck running off in the gathering darkness was all i could see. so i started to walking over and see how far he would go before he dropped.. i walked and walked never could find him i was sure i hit him square and good, but man it was getting late and the folks would always start worrying if i was not back at a decent time... so after a few hours i gave in to the darkness of night and went home to ashamed to tell anyone what happened. next morning i got up extra early and ran back out to the field to see if daylight would reveal the final resting spot of that old buck. never did find him.
well next few years i felt so ashamed i didnt even think of deer hunting. was about 3 years after i decided to give it a go again, so i made sure i had good ammo this time, and out of habit i walked up to the same place of my defeat years prior, this time it was a little earlier in the day, i sat down and watched, and waited. wasnt long before i noticed some motion, in the distance. at first i couldnt tell what it was bobbing and bouncing just on the horizon so i sat still and waited to get a clear identification ... as i sat and waited i was a little confused so i lifted up my new binoculars for a better view. To my astonishment it was something of the likes i had never seen before or after, there was that Old buck i swear it had to be him or his ghost, standing at the other side of the field, magnificent rack he was clearly fat and ripe for the harvest this time, but i was so stunned cause i realized that night years ago i had a deadly aim indeed, for right in the middle of his forehead was growing a cherry tree .... i was so astonished i groaned out some kind of noise and next thing i know he bolted.. in a flash he was gone again.
I never did see him again.

love this thread fun stuff

Rastus

[S-Cackalacky]

All this fireworks talk is bring back some fond memories. When I was a youngun living in S. Cack, you could buy just about any bad-assed fireworks you wanted. One night my older brother and I were walking home from the store after buying two of those multi-mortar woodblocks with 3 or 4 mortars each fused in sequence. We were passing by our friend Terry's house and could see through the side window into the kitchen. Terry was just on the other side of the window washing dishes, or some such. So, we reached deep into our dumbassedness and decided to take one of the mortar blocks and put it on the ground just below the kitchen window - was sure to give Terry a good scare.

Under cover of darkness, we crawled on the ground over to the window, set the mortar in place, lit it off and hastily retreated back to the road. Well, dumbasses that we were, we didn't take into account the eve of the house sticking out beyond where we had placed the block of mortars. The mortars all went off as planned, but bounced back to the ground after hitting the eve above them. Did I mention that these were the loud explosive type mortars that are suppose to go off way the hell up in the sky? Well, these went off right there on the ground just below the window. As each one went off with a spray of sparks followed by a deafening boom, we could see Terry standing there at the kitchen sink, frozen in fear with his body quaking with each blast - must have thought it was the second coming.

We tried to keep it from him for fear of his retribution, but we gave ourselves away by busting out laughing when he began telling us about what had happened. He jumped my brother, but between the two of us we were able to hold him down and get him to cry uncle with a prolonged nipple twist.

Just sayin',
S-C

[ga flatwoods]

Truckinbutch most people in GA have had indoor plumbing for the last 100 years and the few outside were all made of brick. Ever heard the line "tougher than a brick shithouse"? -It started in GA.
I would have like to see that deer mounted Rastus!!

[Rastus]

woulda been quite the sight!
i figure theres a cherry tree growing out in the sagebrush of eastern Washington in a odd location, and if a guy digs he might just find the bones of that critter!



Best regards

Rastus

[goose eye]

Ole boys was kept in line by a God fearin ma
an a pa that didn't play. Now there cousins
was another story. They was church goin but
there was so many of em they couldn't keep track
of em. While they lived in the hills growing bacca
is different than it is on flat land. In the hills
You mostly growing burley an flat land you
Mostly growin flue cured/goldleaf. Now don't
no how many of yall been to a bacca auction
but with goldleaf you put it in burlap sheets
carry it to market. That is a warehouse where
Government graders would grade your bacca an then
The auctioneer would come by with buyers an they
Would bid on your pile. What you would do is put a
Gal of brandy in your pile all covered up an the buyers
noon it was good brandy would keep upon the bid.
Folks could tell when it was the ole boys pa bacca
By the biding wars. Likker has sold many a pile
of bacca.


So im tole

[emptyglass]

One line from goose eye is a treasure,
A story like that is priceless.
No lie.

So I'm told.

Love your work goose eye.

[Jimbo]

One line from goose eye is a treasure,
A story like that is priceless.
No lie.

So I'm told.

Love your work goose eye.

+1, thats a great story.

[Bushman]

So I've been tole

ODE TO AN OOSIK

Strange things have been done in the Midnight Sun,
and the story books are full---
But the strangest tale concerns the male,
magnificent walrus bull!


I know it's rude, quite common and crude,
Perhaps it is grossly unkind;
But with first glance at least, this bewhiskered beast,
is as ugly in front as behind.


Look once again, take a second look -- then
you'll see he's not ugly or vile --
There's a hint of a grin, in that blubbery chin --
and the eyes have a shy secret smile.


How can this be, this clandestine glee
that exudes from the walrus like music?
He knows, there inside, beneath blubber and hide
lies a splendid contrivance -- the Oosik!


"Oosik" you say -- and quite well you may,
I'll explain if you keep it between us;
In the simplest truth, though rather uncouth
"Oosik" is, in fact, his penis!


Now the size alone of this walrus bone,
would indeed arouse envious thinking --
It is also a fact, documented and backed,
There is never a softening or shrinking!


This, then, is why the smile is so sly,
the walrus is rightfully proud.
Though the climate is frigid, the walrus is rigid,
Pray, why, is not man so endowed?


Added to this, is a smile you might miss ---
Though the bull is entitled to bow --
The one to out-smile our bull by a mile
is the satisfied walrus cow!

Anonymous

[LWTCS]

Tale of a sale
Not sayin this to boast about any particular acumen.
Only just tryin to tell it like it happened.

There was two rig venders was here and about.
One would past out tee shirts as a way to tout.

They two used to be friendly and share a type of kindred fellowship.
Evidently competition kicked in and tore down most of their relationship.

Well the new feller on occasion would wear the other's tee shirt on his back,
not really realizing the attention he might attract.

So he came away from the market curb on one day,
and in a distance from behind he heard a feller yellin "hey".

The feller was askin if I knew about the metal on the shirt I was wearin.
I tole him " yes a thing or two" but I'll leave out the swearin.

I promptly directed the man to some pictures on my phone gallery,
and the man exclaimed "that was well within my salary!".

I ain't tellin this story to brag or make no one look like a fool.
Just tellin this story about how that tee shirt turned out to be a very unlikely marketing tool.

Not tellin this story to boast about any particular acumen.
Only tellin the story the way it happened.

[S-Cackalacky]

Times have changed -

When I was a teenager back in S. Cack, myself and a lot of my friends had guns - usually a 22 rifle or a shotgun we picked up on the cheap. I had an old single shot 12 guage with a barrel that was so pitted inside that it's a wonder it didn't blow up in my face. I had to use electrical tape on the fore-stock to keep it from falling off in my hand when I fired the gun. It was a piece of crap, but it was mine and I was proud to have it.

We lived out on the edge of town and it wasn't too unusual to see a teenage boy walking down the street with a breached shotgun slung over his shoulder - headed for the woods. Nowadays the same sight would have the swat team out in full body armor. I don't know if it was the time or the place, but we had a different attitude about guns. The thought would never enter our minds to point a gun at someone else - even in jest. The grownups taught us from an early age to respect guns and use them safely.

My Daddy had a single shot 410 that he used for rabbit hunting. Sometimes he would take me and my older brother out to the woods to hunt with him. He would keep the shotgun breached open, resting across his right forearm until he spotted a rabbit. He could load, bring it to his shoulder, and fire in what seemed like a split-second. Seems like most times we went out, he would kill 2 rabbits and we would head home. Usually this would take place withing about a half hour's time.

There was a special nail sticking out of the corner of the garden shed where daddy would hang the rabbits to skin and gut them. Once cleaned, Mama would season them and put them in the oven in a baking pan. Wild rabbit meat was a special treat and sometimes the only meat for the week.

There seemed to be a greater respect for life in those days - even for the rabbits. They fed us when we were hungry. If I were to ever show disrespect toward a dead animal, my Daddy would have whupped my ass good. That's just the kind of man he was. Happy belated father's day Daddy - may you rest in peace.

Just sayin',
S-C

[heartcut]

In the early 60's, a boy riding through town with a rifle across his bicycle handlebars attracted very little attention in Eastern Washington. The police would just wave, if anythng. That was back when the police made me feel safer.

[Jimbo]

Nobody was shootin up grade school children back then either. I dont know what the fuck happened to the human race.

[blind drunk]

I was almost kidnapped by two freaky adults back in the good ole days, right in front of our house! Luckily I was smart enough/scared enough to get away. True story.

[heartcut]

I think there's always been crazy/antisocial/evil people but years ago you didn't hear about them unless they were famous. Now everyone that does something unusual is famous and the news media is a product instead of a service. You could consider it de-evolution.

[Coyote]

I'll bet back in the day at my high school in a small eastern Oregon town
any given day during hunting season you could have found 20 to 30
rifles or shotguns inside lockers and another 50 to 75 in gun racks
in unlocked pickup in the parking lot.

Being seen by the principal walking down the hall with a new gun, was most
likely to get you stopped so he could admire it!! And tell you about "his" new one.


Coyote

[rtalbigr]

Geez, hadn't thought about that stuff in years and years. There was always a bunch of us with 22's or shotguns at school. We'd go bird, rabbit, or squirrel huntin after football practice. We all carried pocket knives as well, h***, even some of the girls carried knives in their purses. I've carried a pocket knife since I was five years old, feel naked without one.

So, speakin of lies and tall stories, one of the times I got in trouble in high school was photography class. The teacher liked to spend more time down the hall than in the class teachin, so some of us tended to get into some mischief now and again.

One day one of the guys brought in one of those great big German WWII banners, it was red and had this big swastika on it. The school was three stories tall and the banner went all the way from the roof to the ground. Well half the class was up on the roof holdin that banner and the other half was out in the parkin lot takin pictures. We heard this voice behind us say, Well, it looks like you boys is havin one h*** of a good time." We all turned around and there stood the principal, and believe me he wasn't none to happy.

Big R

[Black Eye]

All this gun and hunting talk is getting me all excited. Dogs been a wounded warrior for the last couple months. I can't want to get him out in the field and put up some pheasants and grouse. That right there is a day in heaven.

Which makes me think of that time last Thanksgiving. Always a tradition, I take the dog and the gun out to my favorite hunting area and we pound the brush for Thanksgiving Day Pheasants. The dog and I drive about 5 miles down this old dusty road, cross a river and steak out our spot. Late start to the morning, it was already 8:30, so there's already be heavy pressure on the birds, but I'm confident in this dog. Anyone that's hunted over a Weimaraner knows what I'm talking about, they don't quit until the job is done.

I roll up and two older retired men are finishing up hunting my spot. They have the dogs in the truck while they are sipping coffee and smoking cigars. I politely as if they are finished and they give me the nod. They tell me, " you'd be better off sitting around here sipping coffee... There aren't any birds to be found here" I smile, stumble out of the Jeep, and start digging threw my crap. I look like I just rolled out of bed, and I got my old beater Springfield Fox B side x side that my grandfather gave me. I open up the door and the dog takes off like greased lightening. They start laughing and tell me I might never catch up with my dog. I give them a smile and stumble off. I give him another couple hot laps to get some energy out and I give him a few tweets of the whistle. The dog comes sprinting over and heels right up next to me. I tell him to go hunt'em up and give him a smack on the ass and off he goes. We work up and down the hedge rows and pucker brush. About 20 minutes in I see him getting hot on a spot. I yell WHOA extra loud so they know he's on point. I look over my shoulder and they are still there bullshitting around the truck. I move in and bust up 2 pheasant roosters and a phreasant hen all packed into thick prickery mess. They come blasting out in a plume of feathers. I snap my barrel closed and pull the first trigger quick and knock the rooster down on the left. Down he goes in a heap and the dog goes into retrieve mode. I lead the other two, take a deep breath and make a quick prayer to my grandfather, all in the time I can blink. I pull the second trigger and DAMNED if I didn't knock the rooster AND hen down in a heap. The dog made quick work of the second and third bird and came back to me beaming like a child on Christmas. Closk still running, we're into this hunt about 30 minutes.

Now I'm feeling pretty damn good... as I walk back to the Jeep. I get the dog up in his seat dig out the thermos and pour myself a coffee. Limit is 2 birds in the bag per day so I take a rooster over to those two old men and tell them... " Sorry, limits only two, but the dog picked up an extra one out there in that field. Either of you guys want it?" I throw it on their tail gait, walk back on over to the jeep, pack up and finish my coffee. Back home by 9:30, before the turkey was even basted for the first time... Put my feet up and waited for Pie and Football with the dog curled up next to me on the couch.

Nothing better than Thanksgiving Day Hunt. I bet the old men are still cursing about those damn birds