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Tag: Unreliable Narrator

Boy Ain’t Gonna Lie: He Chasing That Rare Sugar High

6 Min Read

Long story short, when Mom asked I said “screw it” and told her the truth.

“I fully intend to spend the evening abusing my sweet tooth…”


“Where you boys off to?” Mom asked us with a hint of suspicion–and to be fair, we probably did look like a pair of junior high boys with questionable evening plans.

“Uh, you cool if I spend the night over at Nick’s?” I asked her.

It was a Friday night, and Nick just lived down the street from us on Point Mugu Naval Base–a secure facility that we were somehow managing to live on illegally–so I didn’t think that it was too big of an ask. Even for Mom, who landed hard on the side of parenting that is the complete opposite of permissive.

“That depends,” Mom said slightly raising an eyebrow. “What do you plan on doing?”

Truth be told, we had just recently stumbled upon Nick’s step-dad’s secret candy stash, and we had been biding our time for a night when his parents and siblings would be gone most of the evening so we could dip our indulgent, grubby little paws into it. Included in that stash of high-end sweets were vintage Miami Spice Drops from 1986 (one of only two years they were ever made). Now, we had really never heard of such delicacies, but we could tell from the packaging that they weren’t your average gummy bears, so we were particularly excited to see what the presumed hub-bub was all about.

Just one problem though: all while I was growing up, Mom attempted to enforce a pretty hard no-sweets policy, and there was know way in hell that she would let me spend one more minute with Nick if she had even the slightest inkling what kind of sugary crack-cocaine was poorly hidden in his parents’ bedroom closet.

Oh, and just a second problem, too: my entire life I have been cursed with the utter and complete inability to tell a lie, especially when it come to my beloved mother. This curse bore down particularly hard on me during my 8th grade year–the year in which find ourselves now.

Nick glanced over at me kinda nervously in anticipation of our best laid plans blowing up spectacularly in our faces, on account of my stupid curse.

Thinking quick on my feet, I decided to lean hard into what I do best.

“We’re going to sit around and a sh*t-load of candy,” I said without a hint of sarcasm.

“Hah. Yeah right!” Mom replied with a half-snort. “You boys go enjoy your evening, and I’ll see you around lunchtime tomorrow, oh humorous son of mine.”

I just about had to drag Nick out the door by his ear, as he seemed to be paralyzed in disbelief that my little stunt of telling the whole, dirty truth had actually worked.

“C’mon, dude, let’s jet over to your place and get to snackin’ before you parents get home,” I said, reinvigorated by the success of my unconventional strategy.

“Bro,” Nick muttered on his way out the door, “I seriously gotta try telling the truth more often…”


“Hmmm…” Nick chewed thoughtfully on his Miami Spice Drop, investigating all the flavors and textures with his tongue and palate. “Very interesting…not what I was expecting.”

“Yeah, I agree,” I said, furrowing my brow and putting way too much thought into analyzing the flavor profile.

“First thing I really noticed was that they were unexpectedly fuzzy,” Nick said observantly.

“That’s true,” I said, holding one up to the kitchen light and inspecting it like a jeweler would inspect a diamond. “I would even dare say they look little bushes.”

“Yeah, this candy is very ‘bushy’–an interesting experience for the tongue, indeed…” Nick opined.

“Well, I guess that must of been a whole thing with fancy candies back in the 80’s?” I hypothesized.

“I suppose,” Nick said. “The 80’s in general seemed pretty obsessed with all things hair.”

“Hmmph,” I grunted, putting a period on that part of our conversation. “But how about the spectrum of flavors, eh?”

“Yeah, that was definitely way more nuanced than I was expecting,” Nick noted.

“Mmm-hmm. With most candies, it’s a single blast of sugar and a handful of flavors,” I commented. “But with these drops, I would dare say that the experience evolves in your mouth with time.”

“Oh, the unexpected depth and sophistication!” Nick raved. “That was definitely unanticipated, and was uniquely refreshing.”

“Not unlike getting squirted in the eye by one of those Old Faithful candies, I bet!” I quipped.

We both chuckled heartily at the memory of one of the other old exotic candies we had just sampled, a Gusher-like confection shaped much like a pearl featuring a juicy-filled center. The candy itself wasn’t particularly humorous; it was the bag that they came in, which featured a cartoon version of a man biting into one and accidentally squirting a nearby woman in the eye. Again, we just wrote it off as another weird-ass product of the 80’s.

“Oh, shenanigans!” he said as we went in for another round of belly-laughing at the thought of that utterly ridiculous packaging.

Right about that moment, though, we heard the garage door opening.

“Oh, shenanigans is right!” I said, perhaps dropping an expletive or two in there.

“Quick, you start making us some PB&J’s in the kitchen–we can eat them to cover the evidence on our breath, and it will also give you the chance to distract them while I run upstairs and put the goods back where I found them!” Nick ordered.

“That’s a Texas-sized 10-4, good buddy!” I said scurrying into the kitchen.

I could hear Nick’s footsteps on the upstairs landing just as the door leading from the garage to the kitchen opened and Nick’s family tromped in.

“Oh, hey B.J., I didn’t realize you were spending the night. What have you been boys up to?” Nick’s mom asked congenially.

“Oh, hi there, Nick’s Mom!” I said as casually as I could muster. “We’ve just been playing some computer games and I thought I would take a break to come down and make us a midnight snack.”

“Cool, cool” she said. “Well, you know that our pantries are always open to you.”

“I sure do, and I appreciate that so much, Mrs. Nick’s Mom. Anyways, I better get these PB&J’s up to Nick.”

I was having to spout falsehoods through my teeth, and I could tell that I was on the verge of having the wheels fall of this wagon of lies.

“But…are those just naked slices of bread?” Nick’s mom looked at my plate slightly confused.

Panic was setting in quickly, so I had to extricate myself from the situation, no matter the cost.

“Welp, gotta run! Nothing to see here! Or smell…”


“Any chance we could confer privately? ” Nick asked his step-dad.

Clearly exhausted with his fruitless interrogation of us, he acquiesced.

“Sure. You boys need to discuss whatever you need to. I’ll be waiting in here whenever you figure your shit out,” he said, though not in an angry way.

Turns out, Nick hadn’t stacked the candy back in their original location quite exactly as he had found them, and his mom had noticed this tiniest of discrepancies. It was upon further inspection that she had discovered several pieces conspicuously missing from some of the bags.

Now, I’ll never figure out why she cared so much about any of the candy being missing–I guess because it was vintage stuff they didn’t make any more, perhaps–but apparently she was accusing her husband of going and eating the candy behind her back. I didn’t get that either: it was his stash–or at least we assumed it was his–so why did she have panties all up in a wad over it.

Any how, he had quickly figured out that since he hadn’t been the guilty party, something else must be afoot under his roof.

“Okay, Nick, he’s offering to let us off the hook completely–we just have to come clean, alright?” I recapped the plea deal that was on the table.

Nick sighed deeply.

“Poor guy’s taking the fall for us, so I guess that’s the least we could do for him out of respect,” Nick conceded.

“Yeah, and seriously, my head is about to explode after denying our guilt for almost an hour straight,” I said rubbing my eyes with the palm of my hands. “I just wasn’t built to tell lies, yo.”

“Gotta, say, though,” he said, putting an affirming hand on my shoulder, “I’m proud of you for holding out as long as you did. You’re a good friend.”

“Thanks man. But maybe next time we just own up to our shit in the first place and face the music?”

I swore that living with a lie was worse punishment than anything Nick’s mom could have possibly dealt out, so it was a relief when we went back into the kitchen.

“Yeah, it was us,” Nick said with a sheepish look on his round face.

“Thanks, Mr. Nick’s Mom, for taking the blame for us,” I said gratefully, knowing that word of our little fiasco wouldn’t make it back to my own mother.

“Boys, I appreciate your honesty. Now, as you were soldiers, as you were…” he said, dismissing us, clearly glad that our hours-long standoff was finally over.

We turned to head back upstairs to where our computer game awaited us.

But right before we made it out of the kitchen, I turned with one last question for Nick’s step-dad.

“I just gotta ask, though…what was the deal with all that old candy anyways?” I inquired.

“Oh, I’m surprised it wasn’t right up your alley, boys,” he said with a wry grin on his face. “After all, don’t forget that you two little squirts are weird-ass products of the 80’s as well…”


Content created on: 6/7 July 2024 (Sat/Sun)

Candy-Man’s Secrets Of The Summer That Got Out Of Hand

5 Min Read

Who can make a boy’s wildest dream come true? The Candy Man can!

And who can trash that dream? The Anti-Candy Ma’am can! Or so she thinks…


“My wife says I’m getting too fat…”

As a youngster, this was probably the first time I heard this phrase come out of the mouth of a grown-ass man. Of course, it wouldn’t be long before I wizened to the ways of the world, and realized that, actually, this was sort of a theme in many marriages.

The grown-ass man that first uttered those words to me was Matt, a military co-worker of my brother-in-law, Joe. The previous year we had lived with Joe and my sister on the local Navy base–right around the corner from Matt–and while I had moved back to Kansas to live with my old man for the school year, Mom had got her own apartment in the nearby town. Though I had come back for the summer, Mom had her day job, so most days I would try to convince somebody to sneak me onto base. Otherwise, I would have been stuck by myself in Mom’s apartment with nothing to do but play videogames, watch reruns of Mr. Belvedere and Dinosaurs, and eat the stupid health food with which Mom stocked her pantry.

Anyways, so there we were, the three of us dudes, plus my slightly older brother 1SkinnyJ, chillin’ in Matt’s garage (for a youngster like me, it was a real treat to get to hang out with ‘the big boys’).

“…so, lads, today’s your lucky day,” Matt continued. “Gentlemen and, well, uh, boys, behold: my candy stash!”

I looked at 1SkinnyJ, mouth agape, to see him giving me that same look. We could not believe our eyes. We had never seen so much candy in our lives outside of Mr. Bulky’s infamous sweets shop.

“Sadly for me–but great for you–the wife is making me get rid of every last bit of this sweet, sweet junk food,” Matt lamented. “Please. Take it all out of my sight before I change my mind.

“You’re just messing with us, right?” 1SJ asked Matt. “There’s no way any man with half a sweet tooth would let this go freely.”

While 1SJ probed the veracity of our apparent windfall, I eyeballed the stash up and down. Kit-Kat. Snickers. Pay Day. Twix–both caramel and the highly sought-after peanut butter version. And that was just a mere sampling of the American varieties. I mean, this dude had it all. Even several boxes of exotic Asian candies. I’m guessing they were mostly of Japanese origin, though I had yet to learn Kanji, so I couldn’t be 100% sure what the strange writing on the packaging said. However, I suspect they were from Japan mainly based on the fact that they were weird af, which just screamed ‘I’m Japanese!.’

“Nope, I sh*t thee not,” Matt confirmed the good news. “But I told the wife I was throwing it away, so you best skedaddle out of here with it all before she finds out what we’re up to. She’ll lose her mind if she finds out I’m contributing to the cavities of minors.”

“I have no place to keep this on base,” 1SJ turned to me with a solemn look on his face. “We’ll have to smuggle it into my room in Mom’s apartment. I’m entrusting you to protect it when I’m not around. Can I count on you, bro?”

“You got it, dude!” I said, despite not actually being a bona fide fan of the 80s sitcom, Full House.

I turned to Matt, placing my hand of my heart, “You can rest at ease: I promise you that we’ll provide a safe and loving home for your candy. Don’t you worry, it’ll be thoroughly enjoyed.”

“In your chubby little hands, I have no doubt it will be,” he replied. “Just don’t let your mom find it, or else…well, ya know…”


“Hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity-dog!” I sang to myself as I woke up mid-morning the next day.

Mom had already long headed off to work and I finally had the apartment to myself. What kid wouldn’t be incredibly enthusiastic to greet the day, knowing what sugary delights that lied in wait for him? Especially an adipose-advantaged adolescent1I.e., “fat kid”. like me?

Knowing I would need my energy if I intended to spend my day indulging in all sorts of confectionery delights, I amazingly had the patience and discipline to start off with something that actually had some nutritional value: a big ol’ bowl of soggy Grape Nuts. I dutifully chowed down, one mushy mouthful at a time, all whilst fantasizing about which treats I wanted to eat first (there is something to be said for letting some anticipation build up, know what I mean?).

At long last, it was time to engage in some pure, unadulterated hedonism. I couldn’t help myself from skipping across the apartment and back to 1SJ‘s bedroom, where I carefully peeled back the layers of bean bags that I had employed to abscond our precious cache to reveal…absolutely nothing.

How could this possibly be??? I shook my fists to the heavens, fell on my knees, and rent in half the Nirvana smiley-face t-shirt I had been wearing.

My heart caught in my throat, while simultaneously the pit in my stomach dropped like a brick, as the realization overwhelmed me: Mom had found us out.

And not only had she found us out, but she had completely wiped us out. Not a wrapper, nor a crumb, nor any trace of the glorious treasure that had sat hidden in our room only mere hours earlier.

“How could I have been so sloppy, so stupid?” I chided myself. “I knew I should have hidden it so much better! Dammmmmmit.”

And just like that, all my hopes and dreams for what should have been the most glorious summer ever, down the drain…


“Down the drain…down the drain…down the drain…” I kept muttering to myself.

I pounded the video game controller in frustration as I processed the cold hard fact that I had blown the opportunity of a lifetime. Needless to say, I wasn’t getting over the heartbreak quickly.

“Down the drain…down the drain…down the–wait just a tic!” I was starting to realize something.

W.W.M.D.–What Would Mom Do?” I pondered.

“If it had been 1SJ’s weed stash she had found, sure, I could see her flushing it down the toilet. But…but…but, there’s no way in hell that’s what she did with all that candy. What did she do with it?”

I mean, something like that doesn’t just vanish into thin air, right?

“Hmmm…I wonder…no, surely she would have been more careful–surely!”

I about completely put the thought out of my mind. Almost.

“Oh, what the heck do I have to lose at this point?” I continued my monologue with myself. “Buckle up, Buttercup, it looks we’re going dumpster diving…”

Not that I thought that anything would really come of it–as evidenced by my lack of footwear–I nonetheless wandered casually out to the nearest dumpster, which happened to be right next to where Mom tended to park her Pickle Wagon.

Needless to say, I was completely unprepared to find sitting completely unblemished and easily within arms reach, there on top of the rest of the rubbish, basking in an angelic beam of light shining on it from upon high…every last piece of candy that had been prematurely ripped from their loving candy-daddy’s arms.

I sh*t thee not, I swear I heard this playing in that moment:

As much as I had been in shock when I discovered my goodies had gone missing, I was twice as much so when the Good Lord smiled upon me and gave me a totally undeserved second chance at achieving diabetic Nirvana. There really is no greater feeling in the world than that of a dead dream being brought back to life with a vengeance like ol’ Lazarus…aaaaahhhhhh!

Eventually, though, I gathered my wits and collected the goods before Mom could come home for her lunch break and spoil the party permanently. You better believe I hid My Precious much better this time–so good in fact, that I can’t find the slightest of slivers in my memory where I had squirreled it all away for the rest of the summer.

The interesting part is that Mom never said a word to me about what she had discovered amongst those bean bags, presuming that such a gut-wrenching loss would be punishment enough.

Oh, ho ho ho! Little did she know that Child Protective Services would have come and taken me away had they known all the abuse my teeth suffered that one glorious, glorious summer…


Content created on: 31 January/2/3 February 2024 (Weds/Fri/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Don’t Punish Me, You Old Fart–Punish The Technology!

4 Min Read

That sweet tooth of yours already got you in trouble once, kid.

But just you wait until Dad discovers the second half of the damage you did…


“Dammit, son! I thought we were done with this whole candy-peepin’ business!”

I looked up from my comic book1Well, if we’re going to be completely accurate, it was probably my Game Boy. to see one very pissed off father figure holding some papers in a tightly-clinched fist.

“What are you talking about? I haven’t gone near any of that since last month–and that was a one time thing! Believe you me, I’ve learned my lesson…” I stated, figuring that since it was a matter of fact(s), then the facts would exonerate me.

“You went and put $200 worth of your childlike foolishness on my credit card behind my back, and now this?!? Boy, I oughta beat your ass into oblivion right here and now!” he seethed through increasingly gritted teeth.

“Yes, I know–you made such a big to-do about the AOL charges last time,” I said, and I would have sighed in exasperation, but even then with my only partially-developed limbic regions of my brain–and specifically my visual cortex2https://www.forbes.com/sites/carolkinseygoman/2013/02/26/this-is-your-brain-on-body-language/?sh=322534296632,3https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Limbic_system–I could read ol’ Papa Bob’s body language and tell he was about to lose his sh*t.

(You remember the whole AOL Incident, don’t you, Dear Reader? Of course you do! You just read all about that last time…right?)

Anyways…I retroactively blame what happened next on account of my prepubescent amygdala kicking into high gear. In a truly meta moment, what little executive function I may have had at that age was not enough to stop from blurting out:

“I’m a frickin’ kid, Dad–you don’t actually expect me to have any executive function, do you?”

Ah, yes, if I had a time machine, I would go back and advise my younger self just to plead the Fifth and keep my mouth shut (not that that was a particularly self-incriminating statement, or anything).

“Don’t you try to get out of this by using your big brainiac words with me, boy!”

Did I mention that Dad’s intelligence got insulted easily?

“Oh, sh*t!”

Did I also mention that besides a love of sweets, another of my father’s legacy passed down to me was cussing like a sailor–even though I was waaaaay too young to be so proficient in potty words.

I skedaddled out of the kitchen where we had been having our discussion, through the office and into the living room, as I attempted to evade an encroaching ass-whooping.

“Get back here!” he demanded, further pursuing me on through our weird dining-room-like area and back into the kitchen.

“But I didn’t do anything!” I protested. “Whatever you’re pissed about, it wasn’t me racking up charges on your credit card this time!”

“Wait…credit card?” Dad wheezed as he stopped to catch his breathe. “Who said anything about a credit card?”

“Well, then what’s that in your hand?” I asked suspiciously, safely on the other side of the window-like opening between the dining room where Dad was now, and the living room, where I had scurried around to.

“This?!?” He held up the papers, shaking his fist at me. “This is the phone bill!”

“Oh, schnappes!” I muttered under my breath realizing what had happened.

“You can’t be angry at me about this–please!”I attempted to mount my defense. “I can explain everything…”


“I’m pretty sure I would know if candy factories or stores had 1-900 numbers that you could call and listen to them describe the experience of eating exotic sweet treats that you’ll never get to enjoy in your lifetime–” I didn’t let Dad finish his sentence.

“Wait, what? That’s a thing? Good to know, good to know…”

“NO, that is NOT a thing. Weren’t you listening to what I just said?”

I should also note that I had sort of a talent for frustrating Dad when it came to the Communications Department (and a talent for aggravating him when it came to the Actions Department).

“This clearly isn’t a 1-900 number,” he continued, “so who the hell are you calling in Amarillo in the middle of the night for hours on end? Is it the local Mrs. Bulky’s candy store down there?”

“Dad, Dad, I wasn’t talking to anyone. That’s the AOL Internet Service Provider access number…” this time Dad didn’t let me finish my sentence.

“WHAT THE HECK?!? You said you were done with AOL, you lyin’ little bastard!”

“I AM DONE WITH THEM!” I shouted back. “You already grounded me for this, don’t you remember, you old fart?”

“That was for the credit card bill. This is the phone bill, you dummy!” he retorted.

“IT WAS THE SAME CRIME! You can’t punish me twice for the same offense! That’s double jeopardy!”

“Well, your step-mother isn’t going to see it that way, and frankly, neither do I, so you can expect to be grounded another 3 weeks.”

“DOUBLE JEOPARDY! DOUBLE JEOPARDY! You can’t do this to me! Help! I’m being oppressed!” I said, making a big scene for an unseen audience.

“Son, it was $350,” he said, literally bringing the receipts up to my eye-line so I could inspect the evidence.

“Oh, damn, Dad, you need to call the phone company–those per-minute long-distance rates are tantamount to highway robbery! We can’t let such skullduggery stand!”

“Again, with the big, fancy words,” he warned me.

“Oh, right. In words you can understand: yeah, I kinda deserve another 3 weeks…”


The point of the story is–much like a progressive (or German) parent might do with their teenager when it comes to alcohol or recreational drugs–perhaps you should let your kids have sweets in moderation, where they will at least be under your supervision.

Or you could, ya’ know, just leave them to their own devices–devices like 1400 baud modems–and learn about their midnight shenanigans after the fact. Oh no, I’m sure you won’t be cleaning up after their short-sighted sh*t-show for months or years to come.

Oh, and maybe even more importantly, parents please, please, please understand its never to early to have the dreaded “technology talk” with your kids. Sure, it may be even more difficult and awkward for you than infamous “candy talk”, but I cannot stress how crucial it is.

I mean, how else are we budding Boomers going to learn how to run the latest new-fangled devices and navigate the dangers and pitfalls of the hottest social media platforms? We sure the hell ain’t going to figure it out on our own…


Content created on: 21/27/28 January 2024 (Mon/Sat/Sun)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Sweet Magic Of The Boy’s First Tragic Dial-Up Download

4 Min Read

Young man, pay no heed to the siren’s call of 90s technology!

It’s not worth the cost for some sweet eye candy (and I mean that literally…)


“Pshhhkkkkkkrrrr​kakingkakingkakingtsh​chchchchchchchcch​*ding*ding*ding*!”1https://twitter.com/briannekimmel/status/1076677576314310656?lang=en

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” I muttered impatiently to myself.

“Keeeeyyy errrrr beeeep ong dee ong waaahhh urrrrrr!”2https://www.reddit.com/r/AdviceAnimals/comments/1u5qam/keeeeyyy_errrrr_beeeep_ong_dee_ong_waaahhh/?rdt=33107

“You gotta be kidding me! I gotta start all over again??” I exclaimed in impertinent disbelief.

“Urrrr EEEE urrr NNNGGGG CRRRRcrrrr KEEEEEEE grrr nnnnnng!”3https://forums.nasioc.com/forums/showthread.php?t=2598943

“What the hell are you doing?!? Connect already!” I seethed, but quietly so I didn’t wake up anybody else in the house.

…then out of the darkness came a digitized voice…

“Well, since you asked, let me show you exactly what I’m doing…”

On my computer screen flashed this overly-informative diagram:

I rubbed my bleary eyes and took a good hard look at it. I rubbed my chin as if deep in thought and pretended to understand what it all meant–but I didn’t have time to waste so I just faked comprehension as best as I could so we could get on with the show.

“Oh…okay, I see now. As you were then, Mr. Dell, as you were…” I said humbly.

In response, my Dell computer with its blazing-fast 1440 baud modem simply replied:

At that sound, a chill of excitement and anticipation went down my spine. If all went well that night, by dawn we all know what kind of pictures I would be in possession of…


“Candy, candy, candy!” I half-bragged to my elementary school classmates.

“No. Friggin. Way! Really?” one my buddies was clearly in disbelief.

“Yes friggin’ way!” I replied. “Come hang out at my house after school, and I’ll show you all the pictures I have of people eating candy on my computer.”

“So, like, do you have alot of these pictures, or what?” he gave me a side-eye look, suspicious whether I had the goods.

“Well, okay, not alot alot…maybe 15 or 20?” I confessed. “It also depends on how you count…I got a bunch that are mostly foreheads, maybe eyes too–can’t really see what they’re actually eating. I mean, do you know how long it takes to download a single picture at 1440 baud?”

“No, not really,” he admitted as well.

“Um…neither do I because I keep falling asleep before the picture even gets to their hairline…”

…And thus was the blessing and the curse of coming of age at the same time as the internet.

Oh! The promises the world wide web held for us sugar-deprived youngsters who had a healthy sweet-tooth streak in us. Like most kids, we rarely were able to get a first-hand sugar fix, but then along came AOL and with it, the allure of being able to vicariously watch someone else enjoying some gratuitous simple carbohydrates. When you’re that young, there’s a certain thrill in dreaming about one day, when you’re all grown up, what all different kinds of candies and other goodies you’ll be stuffing your face with–whenever you want, wherever you want!

Of course the down side to all this was that if you hoped to get anything besides plain text from the internet, you had to have patience that certainly no 7-year-old I knew4I never said I was 7 years old… possessed.

“Um…does your dad actually know that’s what you’ve been doing with your AOL subscription?” someone else just had to chime in and bring our little party crashing to Earth.

“Look, that old man eats junk food all the time–” I attempted to deflect the question, but no one was really buying it.

“So, he has no clue. Hmmmph. Figures.”

“Uh…yeah…so I sorta kinda snuck his credit card out of his wallet to sign up for all the interwebs stuff. Don’t worry, though, we signed up for AOL for a month or so last year when we first bought my computer–I told that Boomer that it wouldn’t work at all unless we paid a monthly fee, and he totally bought it!” I was back to half-bragging again.

“Yeah, dude, I’m sure this will end well…”


“Son, what in the hell have you been doing on your computer?”

So…Dad apparently gotten his credit card bill, eh?

“Uh…candy?” I timidly replied.

Candy?!?” he replied incredulously.

“Well, actually just pictures of people eating candy,” I said, somehow even more timidly.

“Son, there is a charge on here from something called ‘AOL’ for almost $200!” he said, admirably holding himself together given the situation.

“Oh, snap! Did you just say $200? It was supposed to be $9.95 a month…for the first 5 hours, at least.”

“And after that? Hmm?” he inquired impatiently.

“…and $2.95 for each additional hour…”5https://money.cnn.com/1996/11/01/technology/aol/ I barely eeked out.

“When the hell did you have that much time–wait, no, it doesn’t matter. There’s an important life lesson to be had here,” he said, seemingly cooling off a bit.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?” I let out a sigh of relief.

“For $200, I could have just taken you down to Mrs. Bulky’s on Amarillo Boulevard and buy you waaaay more candy than your little mouth could ever eat.6For the historical record, no, my father did not offer to take me on a a questionable candy store shopping spree. That would just be some downright irresponsible parenting… So much, in fact, that you might not be able to eat candy for the rest of your life… But I digress. Really the point is, my boy, if you need a candy fix, you don’t have to go behind my back. In fact, your old man is something of a junk food connoisseur himself…”

“Awesome! So, I’m off the hook then?”

Dad looked at me like I was crazy.

“Oh, hell no, you’re not. You know what you’re step-mother–and mother!–thinks of candy: ‘it rots both the teeth and the mind!’ Yeah, even just finding salacious pictures of candy anywhere in the house will really set her off–whew, lemme tell you!”

“Wait, wha–” I attempted to protest.

“Yeah, and you think she didn’t see the credit card bill? I’m going to have to sit here with you and watch you delete every one of those ‘goody pics’ off of your computer,–or she’s going to be up my ass about this for lord knows how long.”

“Oh, c’mon, man!”

“Oh. And you’re grounded for 3 weeks…”

You gotta be ----- kidding me…


Content created on: 19/20/21 January 2024 (Fri/Sat/Sun)

Footnotes & References:[+]

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