Things I could have been arrested for growing up...

Growing up, I was your typical pain in the derriere. I was your typical mischievous middle and high schooler, enthralled with blowing things up, lighting things on fire, and destroying anything that would shatter. I got into a discussion with my wife a while ago about the my childhood, and I began listing off everything that I probably could have been arrested for growing up. Here's that list. Mom (and any future employers) I highly recommend NOT reading this...

-arson
-petty larsony
-grand larsony
-assault
-vandalism
-breaking and entering
-public drunkenness
-public nudity
-disturbing the peace
-underage drinking
-wreckless driving
-speeding
-underage smoking
-creating explosives
-assault with a weapon
-destruction of property

NOTE: most of these things happened PRIOR to the age of 18. For anyone who feels like trying to make me repent, don't. I WAS a hellian, which probably accounts for the fact that I relate better to teenagers than adults. For anyone who wants clarification on any of these things, keep reading the blog. I'm sure the stories will surface eventually.

Anger Hurts

When I was 17 years old, I wrecked my car. Not being able to afford another one (Wal-Mart doesn't pay that well), I purchased a mountain bike for my mode of transportation. After several weeks, my brother began "borrowing" my bike without my permission. Although this bugged me, it wasn't that big of deal, not until he began leaving out on the front lawn overnight. I asked him to put it away, but he never would. Finally, I gave him an ultimatum: put my bike away or I would kick the crap out of him. Sure enough, several nights later, I came home from hanging out with friends and my bike was out in the front lawn. Without giving him any warning, I opened my brother's door, jumped on top of him (while he was sleeping, of course), and proceeded to beat the tar out of him. After about 30 seconds of me wailing on him, I went into my room to get a pair of handcuffs. This, of course, made no sense. My thought process was I was going to handcuff him to the bed so I could really do some damage.

I came back in the room with handcuffs in hand, and tackled Jason football style back onto the bed. I quickly realized that the handcuffs were useless, so I threw them aside, and began punching him again. All of a sudden, there was blood everywhere. I thought to myself, "This is what he gets." Soon enough, however, I realized the blood was not coming from below, but from above. The blood was not Jason's; it was mine! Apparently, when I had left the room to get my handcuffs, Jason had grabbed a clothes iron and was hiding it behind his back. When I came back and tackled him, he swung and caught me square on the back of the head. I went into the bathroom and ran my head under the bathtub faucet. While I was drying, I heard Jason crying and puking into a plastic grocery bag.