My old man and nostalgia

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SaltPeter

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Thread starter #28
When I was 13 My nana gave me a 22 pump action.(thats a rifle for the mllenials out there who have never left the inner suburbs.)
I used to shoot the shit outta that thing.
The old man used to me out shooting rabbits occasionally as well. One of the first times him and mate of his were relaxing and having a beer in the camp late in the afternoon. They gave me an old semi automatic Sterling 22 to practice with. Problem is the ******* thing used to jam, which sent out and absolutely ear splitting ring. The first time it jammed I just dropped the rifle and walked away for a few minutes. I asked the old man to give me his Browning, but he said "no, you'll be right".

So about 10 rounds later the ******* gun jams again. I cracked the shits and threw the ******* campaigner of thing by the barrel as far as I could, only to turn and and see my old man and his mate sniggering at me. Pair of campaigners
 

Dazlington

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#29
After a few quiet beers tonight for some reason I became a little nostalgic and started thinking about the fun times I used to spend with the old man. And to be honest, I miss those days. I suspect my old man wasn't the convention father, but anyway I'll briefly regale 1 of the skills he thought might come handy when I was about 12 years old.

The old fella loved reading a broad sheet, particularly the Australian.

Moving on he decided I could help 1 weekend, so off to the workshop we went. The first ask I was given was rolling 1 sheet of the Australian around a length of 75mm PVC and then taping it to create a "tube/sausage". I'd fold the paper over at 1 end to seal it, then slide the tube off and start again.

The next step was to get Cordex and cut lengths slightly longer than the tubes I'd just created. I'd kink the Cordex in the middle and lower a piece into each tube I'd made, making sure that there was at least about 25-30mm extending outside the tube.

After this I'd get a bag of Nitro-pril, cut the top off and and about a litre of diesel. Then I'd have to mix it all up the bag. Nitro-pril resembles the fill out of a bean bag. I'd then pour the blended Nitro-pril into the sausages I'd made, until nearly full. The next step was to cut lengths of fuse and clamp a detonator onto the end. These we would tape onto the Cordex poking out of the top of the "sausage".

And now the fun part, we'd go out and blow shit up. And holy ****, as 12 year this was epic.

So anyway, do any of you have fun stories about the stuff you did as young fella with your father ..?
My dad and I laughed at how shit your posting is
 

Jazny

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#30
I remember waiting by the window sill every night for him to come home from being a capitalist, then when he got home running to hug him before being told he is too busy to talk to me right now, then on weekends he would have business trips and the only time he ever paid attention to me is when I came home with an asymmetrical haircut ONE TIME because it was kind of the fashionable thing at the time and he laughed at my hair and took photos of it and I told him he is just jealous because he is bald and I ran to my room and slammed my door so hard that my framed poster of Paramore fell to the ground and the glass broke :(
 

chelseacarlton

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#31
I remember waiting by the window sill every night for him to come home from being a capitalist, then when he got home running to hug him before being told he is too busy to talk to me right now, then on weekends he would have business trips and the only time he ever paid attention to me is when I came home with an asymmetrical haircut ONE TIME because it was kind of the fashionable thing at the time and he laughed at my hair and took photos of it and I told him he is just jealous because he is bald and I ran to my room and slammed my door so hard that my framed poster of Paramore fell to the ground and the glass broke :(
I’m sorry I told I didn’t love you anymore, I apologise, I’ll love you again and praise you for that asymmetrical haircut!
 
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#32
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with a low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Wilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
 

SaltPeter

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Thread starter #33
My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with a low-grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen-year-old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament. My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds, pretty standard really. At the age of twelve I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Wilma ritualistically shaved my testicles. There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking, I suggest you try it.
Did she rub a menthol based liniment on your freshly shaved scrotum as well ..? Asking for a friend
 

subaru

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#34
My hair was really long when I was about 10 - and dad used to brush it for hours watching VFL Saturday !

I swear he didn’t even realize he was doing it !

Then when Queen were on countdown he’d accuse Freddie of being a row of tents

Irate - I used to argue “he is not !”

My dad was and still is great !
 

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#42
My mum ran off with my ‘second dad’ married and I lived with them. I was 7. My real dad met the assholes previous wife (his second) and they married too. My ‘real’ dads the only one still alive and he and two half sisters still live in England. See them every few years

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, except for the asshole. My mums second marriage lasted...7 years
 

OnTheRocks

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#44
The old man used to me out shooting rabbits occasionally as well. One of the first times him and mate of his were relaxing and having a beer in the camp late in the afternoon. They gave me an old semi automatic Sterling 22 to practice with. Problem is the ******* thing used to jam, which sent out and absolutely ear splitting ring. The first time it jammed I just dropped the rifle and walked away for a few minutes. I asked the old man to give me his Browning, but he said "no, you'll be right".

So about 10 rounds later the ******* gun jams again. I cracked the shits and threw the ******* campaigner of thing by the barrel as far as I could, only to turn and and see my old man and his mate sniggering at me. Pair of campaigners
I had the exact same gun with the same problem. My old Dad was driving through open paddocks at night, one hand on the wheel and the other holding the spot light searching for rabbits. 'There's one Dad" I say with all the excitement of someone about to kill a fluffy little creature. I lined the cross-hairs on the soon to be unluckiest rabbit in the land. I eased the trigger and fired the shot. Bang! Glass flew everywhere and I look up over the scope and assess the situation. The side mirror is blown off and the yummy lil rabbit makes its escape. My Dad asked me "didn't you see the mirror there?"
 

OnTheRocks

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#45
My mum ran off with my ‘second dad’ married and I lived with them. I was 7. My real dad met the assholes previous wife (his second) and they married too. My ‘real’ dads the only one still alive and he and two half sisters still live in England. See them every few years

It wasn’t as bad as it sounds, except for the asshole. My mums second marriage lasted...7 years
Do your half sisters ever get together?
 
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