Family codes and rituals
Freddy Woo writes, "as a child we used to have a 'whoever cuts doesn't choose the slice' rule with cake. It worked brilliantly, but it's left me completely anal about dividing up food - my wife just takes the piss as I ritually compare all the slice sizes."
What codes and rituals does your family have?
( , Thu 20 Nov 2008, 18:05)
Freddy Woo writes, "as a child we used to have a 'whoever cuts doesn't choose the slice' rule with cake. It worked brilliantly, but it's left me completely anal about dividing up food - my wife just takes the piss as I ritually compare all the slice sizes."
What codes and rituals does your family have?
( , Thu 20 Nov 2008, 18:05)
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Oh, the holidays
It was always the first Saturday in December - Uncle Lou would put on the leopard print peep toe heels and throw a roast in the oven. As the house filled with the smells of dinner to come, Lou would get on the CB radio and put out a call to any truckers in the signal radius.
"Surf's up," was all he would say, and while the sound of distant static sounded empty and far away, it was never more than 20 minutes before ruddy-complected men with sweat-stained ball caps showed up at the door.
I'm not sure if it was the dog collar or the honey that made me feel humiliated more, but Lou would chain me to a clothes pole in the yard, spray paint "Slut" on my back, and connect my nipples with a chain of safety pins and paper clips.
The first year, I protested, but Lou's charm and cheerful, "But I insist," always made me cave in. Besides, unless there was an early snow, it wasn't really that uncomfortable.
Aunt Peg was a wet nurse for Local Boilermakers 776 with wonderful, thick, chaffing teats. It wasn't until I got a little older that I was able to appreciate the fact that she could shoot a mouthful of breast milk more than six feet - 12 feet if she had a running start.
Anyway, while it was bitter, that milk was great for soothing fresh tattoos. Lou would always ink me up with some funny phrase like, "Put it in my ass, that's where I put everything else," or "I'll fist for donuts." Peg would shoot her stuff over these tats, which not only soothed them, but kept my mind off the hornets that always came after the honey that Lou dripped all over my back and chest.
After several hours, the truckers went home, and we would have a family read-aloud of "120 Days of Sodom," with just the close family.
Other than that, things are pretty much like everyone else's posts...
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:16, 3 replies)
It was always the first Saturday in December - Uncle Lou would put on the leopard print peep toe heels and throw a roast in the oven. As the house filled with the smells of dinner to come, Lou would get on the CB radio and put out a call to any truckers in the signal radius.
"Surf's up," was all he would say, and while the sound of distant static sounded empty and far away, it was never more than 20 minutes before ruddy-complected men with sweat-stained ball caps showed up at the door.
I'm not sure if it was the dog collar or the honey that made me feel humiliated more, but Lou would chain me to a clothes pole in the yard, spray paint "Slut" on my back, and connect my nipples with a chain of safety pins and paper clips.
The first year, I protested, but Lou's charm and cheerful, "But I insist," always made me cave in. Besides, unless there was an early snow, it wasn't really that uncomfortable.
Aunt Peg was a wet nurse for Local Boilermakers 776 with wonderful, thick, chaffing teats. It wasn't until I got a little older that I was able to appreciate the fact that she could shoot a mouthful of breast milk more than six feet - 12 feet if she had a running start.
Anyway, while it was bitter, that milk was great for soothing fresh tattoos. Lou would always ink me up with some funny phrase like, "Put it in my ass, that's where I put everything else," or "I'll fist for donuts." Peg would shoot her stuff over these tats, which not only soothed them, but kept my mind off the hornets that always came after the honey that Lou dripped all over my back and chest.
After several hours, the truckers went home, and we would have a family read-aloud of "120 Days of Sodom," with just the close family.
Other than that, things are pretty much like everyone else's posts...
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:16, 3 replies)
How long did it take you to put that together?
It sounds like something Dylan Moran might say.
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:30, closed)
It sounds like something Dylan Moran might say.
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:30, closed)
the marquis
wishes he was that hardcore. He just wrote about the things he wished he'd done. Sad fat little shit.
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:47, closed)
wishes he was that hardcore. He just wrote about the things he wished he'd done. Sad fat little shit.
( , Sat 22 Nov 2008, 0:47, closed)
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