Puff Cigar Discussion Forums

Darrell · 07-26-2008, 12:32 AM

I have a sad, but kind of humorous story to share. It happened about 13 years ago when I was well, about 13. I used to have these huge GI joes from when I was younger, one day I was bored at my grandma's house and decided to make this big GI Joe a parachute out of a plastic bag and throw it around by her house.

I threw it and threw it and threw it. I finally managed to get it stuck in the tree. I did not want to lose Cobra Commander so I began throwing things up in the tree to get it. I threw a basket ball, baseball, baseball bat, rocks, etc.

I finally decided to use a hammer. I threw a hammer and wouldn't you know it? The hammer got stuck.

I tried to throw the aforementioned in the tree to knock it down, no luck.

About a year later, my grandma (mind you not elderly, she was like 51 at the time, was outside in the street with my niece, the hammer fell out of the tree and hit her in the head. It did not kill her or maim her, just kind of gave her a big bump and a headache. It was Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas right? Sad I know, kind of funny? Yeah, maybe.

The moral of the story, what goes up, must come down.

boonedoggle · 07-26-2008, 12:33 AM

Quote:

Originally Posted by Darrell

I have a sad, but kind of humorous story to share. It happened about 13 years ago when I was well, about 13. I used to have these huge GI joes from when I was younger, one day I was bored at my grandma's house and decided to make this big GI Joe a parachute out of a plastic bag and throw it around by her house.

I threw it and threw it and threw it. I finally managed to get it stuck in the tree. I did not want to lose Cobra Commander so I began throwing things up in the tree to get it. I threw a basket ball, baseball, baseball bat, rocks, etc.

I finally decided to use a hammer. I threw a hammer and wouldn't you know it? The hammer got stuck.

I tried to throw the aforementioned in the tree to knock it down, no luck.

About a year later, my grandma (mind you not elderly, she was like 51 at the time, was outside in the street with my niece, the hammer fell out of the tree and hit her in the head. It did not kill her or maim her, just kind of gave her a big bump and a headache. It was Christmas morning.

Merry Christmas right? Sad I know, kind of funny? Yeah, maybe.

The moral of the story, what goes up, must come down.

WOW. What jarred your memory? Did someone hit YOU with a hammer?

Darrell · 07-26-2008, 12:37 PM

No, I saw a hammer in my toolbox and it reminded me of that story.

BigVito · 07-26-2008, 12:42 PM

been funnier if you had a video

Jbailey · 07-26-2008, 01:02 PM

I can understand, no one wants to lose Cobra Commander.

sanfrantreat · 07-26-2008, 01:38 PM

im sorry that so bad to laugh at .. but I can't help my self..

icehog3 · 07-26-2008, 04:51 PM

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when Dad approached. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news.

I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first-" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer dog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said.

I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that, I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point.

I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell him this story.

Darrell · 07-26-2008, 04:57 PM

Quote:

Originally Posted by icehog3

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when Dad approached. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news.

I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first-" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer dog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said.

I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that, I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point.

I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell him this story.

Where is the what the hell smiley at?

I'm totally lost.