Bodysurfing at Ocean City

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I have always loved to swim in the ocean.

Last summer I went to Ocean City. 

I went swimming on a cloudy day when there weren’t many people on the beach.  The ocean was making me feel invigorated, and I made the risky decision to body surf.  The next wave was a big one, and as it approached me, I started to swim and then let it take me. 

It carried me about fifteen feet, then it flipped me putting my head in the sand.  I lost my breath, gulped in salt water, then I sort of finished the flip and ended up standing on my feet in about six inches of retreating water as the surf went out.  I was standing in front of two young girls, and one was pointing, the other giggling. 

That’s when I realized my bathing suit was around my ankles. 

The cold water had caused shrinkage, and my manhood looked like a thimble on top of a walnut.  I thought that in any other place but the surf I could be charged with indecent exposure.  I quickly gained my composure, and pulled my trunks up.  I turned around and headed out to sea. 

I hoped the girls would quickly forget what they saw and still have a good day at the beach.

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Confessions of a Fourth Grader

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It was required by all fourth graders at St Johns Elementary that we go to confession every third Friday of the month. We had to go into a dark booth where a priest would slide back a small door, hear our sins, and give us our penance.
You had to have your sins ready before you went in.

One visit I didn’t have them ready so I made some up.
“Father, I was looking up Katy Snoots’ dress, I jabbed a pencil in the teachers rear end, and I waited for a quiet moment in class and farted.”

The penance was quite tough: thirty hail Marys, thirty Our Fathers.
To leave the church without saying these prayers was a mortal sin. Getting close to the last prayer I had a tremendous urge to pee. I was the only one kneeling at the altar and not wanting to wet my pants I pulled down my zipper and let it go. A puddle formed at the feet of a statue of Mother Mary. This sin was never told.
One day I may enter the fiery gates of hell.

Young, Wild, and Hungry

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I once lived for two weeks in a tiny Ford Festiva.
Everything in my life had gone bad: no job, no home, no money. I still had my car, and at that young age I was not worried. But, when my food ran out I did get a little wild.
I went into a bar called, The Old Town Tavern. I sat next to a very large, round woman. She had more rolls than a bakery. She was chugging beers, and doing shots of tequila. She invited me to her apartment. I looked at her and thought, “there has to be a lot of food there.”

While I was looking in her loaded refrigerator, she had gone into the bathroom. I was shocked when I walked into her room. I think she had taken some drugs and she’d put on a small black teddy.
She said “I’m messed up and I want to fool around.”

I was younger then, I was hungry, and, unbelievably, I had a boner. I climbed on top of her and gave it my best for about 2 minutes.
As I was getting up and off, she asked me, “is it in yet?”

I said “I’m not sure.”

Then I went to the kitchen, grabbed two bagels and a box of Velveeta, and ran out the door.

Oh to be young again!

Worst Birthday Ever

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On my 9th birthday, my mother bought me a baseball bat that was so large, Babe Ruth could not’ve swung it.  We went outside and I told my brother to pitch me a ball.  Not knowing my younger brother was standing behind me I swung the bat as hard as I could.  I missed the ball, but, with a hard follow through, hit  Kenny in the temple. 

I turned around to see him lying on the ground with a gash in his forehead with what looked like a piece of steak hanging out of the cut.  I was certain I had killed him and that piece of steak was his brain.  I ran to my room and cried like a baby, and I could not be consoled.  Five hours later , Kenny came into my room and showed me his stitches.  That was my worst birthday ever.

He Ain’t What He Used to Be

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In my prime I could eat six tacos with hot sauce, then do cartwheels and summersaults with no ill effects.
Now, if I were to eat six tacos with hot sauce, I would have to do three things:

  1. Call 911 and scream, “I’ve been poisoned!”
  2. Make sure there is a clear path to a bathroom with working fan.
  3. Spend the rest of the evening lying down, except for when I am sitting (see #2).

Sister Eventia

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Sister Eventia was my third grade teacher at Saint Johns elementary school. 

She would crack you on the head with a heavy wooden ruler if you misbehaved. 

My mother gave me a note to get out of class earlier than normal, 1:00pm sharp.  At 2:00pm I realized the note was still in my pocket–I had forgotten.  I stood up from my desk.

Sister said, “Where do you think you are going?”

I yelled, “New York!” and ran out the back door.