Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post about everything from carrying a handkerchief to manly skills (sharpening a pocket knife, etc.) to product reviews of items that may have slipped under our radar (e.g. - Grandpa's Pine Tar soap). No threads on anything "new" unless it harkens to old-fashioned sensibilities and ideals.
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DepartedLight
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Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Mon Oct 30, 2017 7:05 pm

I can’t be the only guy willing to share wackadoo kid stories that are odd yet true.
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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by JimVH » Mon Oct 30, 2017 7:45 pm

I need to check some statutes of limitations first.
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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Mon Oct 30, 2017 9:12 pm

1973. Huntington Beach, California. The inland side, not beach front.

This is my often fondly recalled chicken coup renovation house.

I think I’ve told this story before. My pathethic search skills says i haven’t. I don’t trust that. Any difference between then and now is because jester is holding out on visa payment info to cover the damn shipping. OK?

One day after school I sliced my finger pretty good. Mom was up at Peggy Helfly’s place on 16th. We were on 10th. I called. Busy. I panicked. I ran out the front door of the coup with bleeding appendage clinched in a paper towel and my other hand.

We lived next door to a real hippy. That guy was righteous. There is a follow up turtle story here. But, I knew not to go there with injury.

Across the street was a neighbor we weren’t friendly with but, I knew she’d do the right thing. I bolt over, ring bell. No one home. OK. Look around and the only real option is a very scary house on the street. Steven King material. But my finger was not going to stop bleeding. So over I went.

Not exactly bolting. More like each step forced to overcome my fear of going to that front door. I eventually made it and knocked.

A young adult female answered. Brown hair and eyes. I was ten and I knew right then I was heterosexual for life.

Of course I’ll come in. My finger is sliced. And your boo-ahh ahh, you’re very nice.

She led me to a human version of Jabba the Hutt. More moo oo-moo oo childhood trauma. Miss beautiful went to get her nurses kit.

So, I was there with Jabba the Hutt.

Alone.

She took up the couch. I kneeled on the floor and waited as Jabba the Hutt tried to chit chat to calm me. She smelled odd.

She then lunged her upper girth in my direction and latched on to both my wrists. She pull back and held fast. I stumbled forward, already on my knees I was face down into smothering blubber that was rushing one way then another like drowning tides of fat.

I was able to recover slightly and pulled back hard as I gasped for life giving air, She countered to keep her hands securely clinched on my wrists but at least I was no longer inhaling beef bouillon cube waft through moo oo-moo oo any more.

Then it got scary.

She pulls my writs inward and looks up at the ceiling and starts to pray for me. Loudly. Oddly.

Where is the nurses kit for crying out loud? The giagantic form is killing me already. Sliced finger? Who cares? I gotta get out of here.

After Jabba the Hutt finishes her benidiction there was a glorifying long pause of silence. She smiled and aske me if I believed in Jesus.

I said that we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.

It was like krytonite to Superman.

She released my wrists and withdrew with a distrustful look in her eye.

Then Miss beautiful came back in. And got a hold of my mom.

7 Stitches, left index.
DL Jake

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so, I drank the whisky. » Bloodhound

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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by sweetandsour » Mon Oct 30, 2017 10:50 pm

DepartedLight wrote:
Mon Oct 30, 2017 7:05 pm
I can’t be the only guy willing to share wackadoo kid stories that are odd yet true.
Oh yes. You could be the only one.
As thus we sat in darkness
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

O love the Lord, all ye His saints: for the Lord preserveth the faithful. Psalm 31:23

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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by Bloodhound » Tue Oct 31, 2017 2:38 pm

OK...I'm ready to hear more. I have a beer and a basket billiard stuffed full of SWR...continue with the stories...NEXT :pipe:
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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Tue Oct 31, 2017 6:44 pm

The hippy lived the in lot just to the right as facing front doors. His building was deeply set to the rear. His long front yard stretched to the street and connected to our side lot. It was a flat mowed stretch of land with obvious boundaries. The number of Super Bowls games played there are numerous. But that's not what this is about. Excuse me, I am in the need of Pegasus. I'll edit in a bit.
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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by sweetandsour » Tue Oct 31, 2017 7:39 pm

Ok. Eli was an older-than-middle-age single man that lived in a small shack on an otherwise vacant lot in our small Texas town. He owned no vehicle, and walked everywhere he went, with a sort-of sideways gait and a noticeable limp. All of the kids knew Eli, and he knew us. To our face he would simply say "Hun", but referring to someone otherwise, he used our last names only.
"You want a Tab, Hun?", he would ask. He was diabetic and could only drink diet drinks. "Sure", I would reply. He'd step inside and return with a Pepsi. "That's not a Tab, Eli, it's a Pepsi.". "Well it's a Tab to me, Hun", he'd say. "It was Joe Johnson that killed your baby chickens, Eli.".
"No, no, the little Mercer boy did it.".
"Where did all of those baby chickens come from, Eli?".
"The Lord, he provides chickens, Hun. Always does.".
"What do you do with chickens, Eli?".
"I just feed them Tab, hun, and they grow and then they die, just like I'm doing".

I grew up, and suddenly was a teen, and seldom ever saw Eli any more. Then one day I was driving my old 1960 Brookwood station wagon in town and noticed an old guy walking off the side of the road, almost in the ditch. A half sideways walk with a limp at a quick pace, I knew it had to be old Eli. I slowed down and pulled over. "Hey Eli, how you doin? How bout a ride?". The old man stared back at me, didn't say a word, and kept walking. "Eli?", I said. "It's me, the little Jackson boy". Eli moved further from the road, continued his quick pace in the ditch now, and glanced back at me with a wild look. I pulled back onto the road and drove away, and that was the last time I ever saw Eli.
As thus we sat in darkness
Each one busy with his prayers,
"We are lost!" the captain shouted,
As he staggered down the stairs.

O love the Lord, all ye His saints: for the Lord preserveth the faithful. Psalm 31:23

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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Tue Oct 31, 2017 8:36 pm

There needs to be an Ode to Eli blues song created.
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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Tue Oct 31, 2017 8:38 pm

DepartedLight wrote:
Tue Oct 31, 2017 6:44 pm
The hippy lived the in lot just to the right as facing front doors. His building was deeply set to the rear. His long front yard stretched to the street and connected to our side lot. It was a flat mowed stretch of land with obvious boundaries. The number of Super Bowls games played there are numerous. But that's not what this is about. Excuse me, I am in the need of Pegasus. I'll edit in a bit.
I loaded some Pegasus. Couldn't keep it lit. Work email buzz-buzz. Need to print something. Why can't I keep this lit?

So, I forgot what I was gonna say.
DL Jake

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so, I drank the whisky. » Bloodhound

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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by JohnnyMcPiperson » Wed Dec 06, 2017 7:21 pm

This thread is money


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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by DepartedLight » Wed Dec 06, 2017 8:26 pm

Spending time with my cousin who is 2 years my senior this coming weekend.

When we were kids, my brother and I spent many days and nights at his house. As was just the way things went, kid productions for adults was encouraged and always well received.

5 kids 10yo and under. We decided to do a dramatic reenactment of the story of Sampson taking down that temple to Dagon while being blind, imprisoned, and forced to work like Arnold in that muscle sword movie thing.

We built a platform from ply board and 2x4s and rigged it to lean on the fireplace mantle. We took every pillow we could find and piled it on top of the plyboard. My brother, the oldest, was Sampson. I was the narrator. My Aunt and Uncle had artsy fartsy crap everywhere. I grabbed some head statue and presented it as Dagon.

On queue my brother toppled the pillars and the pillow avalanche killed him. All to great hoops of laughter from all adults present.
DL Jake

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so, I drank the whisky. » Bloodhound

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Re: Codger Stories over Codger Burley

Post by Rusty » Thu Dec 07, 2017 6:22 am

DepartedLight wrote:
Mon Oct 30, 2017 9:12 pm
1973. Huntington Beach, California. The inland side, not beach front.

This is my often fondly recalled chicken coup renovation house.

I think I’ve told this story before. My pathethic search skills says i haven’t. I don’t trust that. Any difference between then and now is because jester is holding out on visa payment info to cover the damn shipping. OK?

One day after school I sliced my finger pretty good. Mom was up at Peggy Helfly’s place on 16th. We were on 10th. I called. Busy. I panicked. I ran out the front door of the coup with bleeding appendage clinched in a paper towel and my other hand.

We lived next door to a real hippy. That guy was righteous. There is a follow up turtle story here. But, I knew not to go there with injury.

Across the street was a neighbor we weren’t friendly with but, I knew she’d do the right thing. I bolt over, ring bell. No one home. OK. Look around and the only real option is a very scary house on the street. Steven King material. But my finger was not going to stop bleeding. So over I went.

Not exactly bolting. More like each step forced to overcome my fear of going to that front door. I eventually made it and knocked.

A young adult female answered. Brown hair and eyes. I was ten and I knew right then I was heterosexual for life.

Of course I’ll come in. My finger is sliced. And your boo-ahh ahh, you’re very nice.

She led me to a human version of Jabba the Hutt. More moo oo-moo oo childhood trauma. Miss beautiful went to get her nurses kit.

So, I was there with Jabba the Hutt.

Alone.

She took up the couch. I kneeled on the floor and waited as Jabba the Hutt tried to chit chat to calm me. She smelled odd.

She then lunged her upper girth in my direction and latched on to both my wrists. She pull back and held fast. I stumbled forward, already on my knees I was face down into smothering blubber that was rushing one way then another like drowning tides of fat.

I was able to recover slightly and pulled back hard as I gasped for life giving air, She countered to keep her hands securely clinched on my wrists but at least I was no longer inhaling beef bouillon cube waft through moo oo-moo oo any more.

Then it got scary.

She pulls my writs inward and looks up at the ceiling and starts to pray for me. Loudly. Oddly.

Where is the nurses kit for crying out loud? The giagantic form is killing me already. Sliced finger? Who cares? I gotta get out of here.

After Jabba the Hutt finishes her benidiction there was a glorifying long pause of silence. She smiled and aske me if I believed in Jesus.

I said that we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses.

It was like krytonite to Superman.

She released my wrists and withdrew with a distrustful look in her eye.

Then Miss beautiful came back in. And got a hold of my mom.

7 Stitches, left index.
This really motivates an update to your listing on AmericanMen4sale.com. I'm gonna be soused in the bids and lusty commentary. I noticed you look pretty trim. I gotta update the pic. What disease would you prefer to have survived? Some of the bidders might actually be Aussie men looking for MOBs.
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