He died last summer…73 and had been battling Alzheimer’s for 5 years. He had a good long run and had done his thing. An airplane mechanic in WWII, he worked on Doolittle’s B-25 after it came back. Married, widowed, married again. A good life, I think.
anyway, had to return home for another death in the family recently and as usual we had a good old Irish wake and lots of stories were told and retold as a couple of gallons of Bushmills and Jameson’s were consumed.
I heard one about my grandfather that is too good not to pass on.
A little background first:
We lived with my grandparents when I was 5-8. Every Sunday morning we would all get up and do our thing and go to church. I remember every time I had to go in to the bathroom after my grandfather there would be a terrible stench. The obvious reason comes to mind and to this day I’ve always thought it was that.
No so.
My grandfather was a pretty hairy guy. In fact, his first name was Harry.
My uncle told this story that the old man used to take lighter fuel and rub it on his chest and back and then take his Zippo and burn the hair off of his chest and back.
That’s no lie either… I guess it was in a bar or something over there, details are blurry. Ahhhh drunken stories told to a child, makes me yurn for my youth. :rolleyes:
As for the hair deal that is pretty harsh, maybe it isn’t that bad though. I think you should try it… Just make sure you video tape it and post the results here though… :eek:
You don’t need the lighter fluid. My brother used to burn the hair off his hands and wrists so he could tape them up for football practice. He would run the lighter quickly over his skin and the hair would singe down completely before the flame would burn his skin. He said it lasted longer than shaving.
And my grandpa’s liver probably weighed more than both your grandpa’s combined.
My grandpa probably couldnt kick anyoness ass when he was alive but he sure could nail it The guy used to have young girlfriends until the day he died at like 70+.
Sorry to hear your lost of another family member. Well, I have not met both my Grandpas and my grandma from my mom’s side. My Dad’s mom was a very fierce lady. Small in statue but never get her upset. I am lefty and would use my left for grabbing pens and chopsticks. She would hit or rather knock my left hand with whatever object that happened to be in her hand whenever she saw me using it. That’s how I learn to use my right hand for written and eating. To this day, I have not dare to return to use my left. So that’s the long last memory of her I suppose …
thanks. this wasn’t meant to be a thread about folks dying but…my grandfather was the last of that generation and the recent death was the first of the generation just above mine…and I’m the oldest of my generation:eek:
starting to see that the end of the road taint as far away as it used to be.
time to stop all the scrappin and do more qigong.
[I]
I wonder is he flyin’
back at me ‘cause he’s mad ‘cause I ripped his head off, or is he flyin’
at me ‘cause I’m holdin’ his head in my hand, or is he flyin’ at me ‘cause
he can’t see where he’s goin’?’
[/I]
"I wonder is he flyin’
back at me ‘cause he’s mad ‘cause I ripped his head off, or is he flyin’
at me ‘cause I’m holdin’ his head in my hand, or is he flyin’ at me ‘cause
he can’t see where he’s goin’?’ "
Yessss mike is the man… I almost went out to the waking the dead concert in LA… But money is tight, I stopped into the venice tattoo shop while I was out there last time and they had me almost talked into heading back out for that show… Wish I would have, I haven’t seen ST in years.
I don’t think burning your hair off is a good idea. It’s probably as bad of an idea as trying to take a flaming shot (NWS ADS). I certainly wouldn’t use lighter fluid if you’re going to try it. In fact, I’d stick to wax strips instead.
My grandparents came from a long line of factory workers from the West Midlands in the UK (the home of God knows how many revolts and rebellions, sword-, gun- and munitions factories and the Industrial Revolution!)…
My Granddad was a nice quiet guy but probably normally hard as a working geezer from that time. His uncle was a prizefighter at the time of the Tipton Slasher (and the same neck of the woods though I’m sure I’d have been told about it if they ever fought), whose main job was a slaughterman. There is a newspaper piece from the time about him KOing cows with a punch and wrestling bulls to cut their throats. He was knwon as Jump-up Jack cos he was very short and he had to jump up to reach most of his opponents.
One of his brothers got the Mons Star (or was it Cross?), and was shot three or four times in the First War, but lived to his eighties.
But my Grandma… my Grandma… My Grandma was monster! Tall and beefy, usually if my father was being bullied by other kids, she’d throw crocks and pots at him and clout him round the head till he went back out and fought them… and he is 6’4 and (now) 21 stone!
But just the once she went out against the mother of a local ruffian…
called round her house (the old back-to-backs), pounded on the door, and when the offender squared off and started taking her jacket off for the fight, my Grandma decked her, taking advantage of her hands being tied up in the jacket sleeves! That was the end of that one!
My late Grandfather was a retired Colonel for the 100th, one of two all Japanese divisions fighting for the U.S. in WWII. He lost his hand in the war, and became the caretaker for Punchbowl, the national cemetary in Oahu. Here’s an article where he recounts one of the battles.
His right hand was crippled from shrapnel and had limited functionality. He could still drive and shoot with it, in fact, he shot a bear long after he retired. It was just flesh, bone and connective tissue, and he could whip it around like a morning star. This sounds a bit gross, but he used to crack my head with it when he was annoyed with me. It was like being hit with a rock.
:eek:
I am lefty and would use my left for grabbing pens and chopsticks. She would hit or rather knock my left hand with whatever object that happened to be in her hand whenever she saw me using it. That’s how I learn to use my right hand for written and eating. To this day, I have not dare to return to use my left. So that’s the long last memory of her I suppose …
But money is tight, I stopped into the venice tattoo shop while I was out there last time and they had me almost talked into heading back out for that show… Wish I would have, I haven’t seen ST in years.