A Bad Place Full Of Bad Jerks
A Bad Place Full Of Bad Jerks
Illustration for article titled Into The Toybox

Recently, Sandwich Dad posted a bunch of stories on Twitter that he wrote in Grade school. I enjoyed reading those, and decided that I too would go searching for similar treasures of olden day.
There is a toybox in my basement that I have had since I was a boy and took with me when we bought our house.
It’s basically a time capsule that has been buried under varying piles of refuse and empties over the decades.
The contents are mostly old WWF wrestling figures, thundercat toys, my Cabbage Patch Dolls Bernard and Julius, and my old Carebear Bedtime Bear.

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Illustration for article titled Into The Toybox

There is also artwork from Kindergarten that looks like G.G. Allin got a hold of it, and the skeletal remains of my older brother Homer whom Mom and Dad insisted had been sold to the Gypsies before I was born. Underneath said remains, lay my writing book from Grade 1.
I thought I would share with the class, as this blog has been about as active as Curtis Wenis’ twitter notifications.

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Illustration for article titled Into The Toybox

The Holy Grail of pedantic scribblings by a 6 year-old.

Illustration for article titled Into The Toybox
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I was obsessed with wacky packages when I was younger. I enjoyed them so much, that I based an entire 6 word entry on them. I used to buy them and trade them in the schoolyard for Jos. Louis and ketchup chips. So I guess I didnt love them that much after all.

Illustration for article titled Into The Toybox
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I also enjoyed a good ol’ fashion rasslin’ show on tv. Every Saturday afternoon at 12 o’clock it was WWF Cavalcade with Mean Gene and Gorilla Monsoon. Notice I equate watching tv with wrestling, as apparently that’s all that was on. NOTE: My Dad was Stu Hart. One of my biggest regrets from childhood was trading 200 WWF cards to Kieran Kelleher for his 50 Garbage Pail kid cards. I was basically the Oakland A’s in the Brett Lawrie/Josh Donaldson deal. Also, a pox upon Harley Race, HLCK for the win.

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Even as a naive young boy of 6, I knew that the State of New York was in fact a Horror Dungeon.
Look at the residents of New York- they are fucking monsters!!

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As far as lofty goals go, this is a pretty unattainable one.

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My mom freected out a lot. Mostly because I had a tendency to throw my parent’s belongings down the sewer. Also not sure which museums feature Tarantula exhibits.

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Apparently in Florida, birds resemble B-52 bombers. Also there’s no way in hell I saw a whale. I’m pretty sure that was a bold lie to impress my teacher, Ms. Morin. It worked. She divorced her husband and we were married 2 weeks later by her cat. Also, she is in jail.

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It true. There was a Alan in my yard. Alan looks like he may be wearing a Cherokee headdress, and driving a shopping cart. Notice how green my dad kept the lawn though.

Thanks for taking the time to scroll directly to the bottom.

Morried In The Gary stubbed his toe last night, and had to wear flip flops to work because his foot wouldn’t fit in his shoe. You can find him on twitter: @SandraBernhard

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