There’s me and all the other little tardlets having a wholesome day at the playground. That’s Uncle Bob at the top, feeding the tards into the twister.
Going down the ladder, is Cederq, Pete F, PP, and me at the bottom being helped up
by Pa Filthie.
The moms were around ready to write the death certificates and stitch up
If we survived the 40 ft. teeter-totters, and the Darwinian monkey bars,
we went to the county fair in the summer where we’d be loaded up
with burgs, fwench fries, candy and pop… and
then put on rides that induced panic, vertigo and nausea. Tards that
erupted would be shamed and ostracized until the next year, when they’d get a
chance to redeem themselves again.
Today, our children have to survive queer and pedo teachers,
druggies, noggers, vibrants AND get past the Marxist indoctrination. When they fail…
they go to live in the cellar, or jail…Or in clown world.
No wonder they think us oldsters are lame.