Childhood Memories

What a let down. Here I was thinking that, on top of all your other achievements, you were an Olympic swimmer as well with an unusually low drag coefficient.I grew up in a small ghost town in Southern Ontario with about 16 dead people for every living person. There were 2 churches, 3 cemeteries, a 3 room schoolhouse and a stop sign. There were 6 of us kids and we could be accurately described as a roving band of hooligans.The churches and schoolhouse roofs provided an excellent location to hurl apples (from the adjacent orchards) down on unsuspecting motorists who had to stop for the intersection or for our 180lb Newfoundland dog (Schooner was his name) who used to sleep on the warm tarmac in the middle of the road. Never got caught once. Not even when we dropped a pumpkin on some poor bastards hood from about 30ft up.Another source of amusement was hurling insults at the catholic school kids whose bus came by before ours. I remember my oldest brother filled up a squirt bottle with urine and sprayed the faces of the catholic kids who were swearing at us as they went by. That one had some repercussions.When I was about 7 my mom accidentally poured water on our tv and wrecked it. Dad said we didn't really need one anyway and so it was books for the next few years. The house was full of them. C.S. Forester's Hornblower series really had me captured and I have loved to read ever since.Then we were teenagers, licensed to drive and all hell broke loose. It is truly miraculous that none of us were killed.So Dr A, my anecdotes are true. Why don't you tell us about yourself. Where did you get that flimsy wit of yours?

Whatever you think the word "flimsy" means, you are evidently wrong. Really, what do you think it means?I have my own reasons for not talking about my own childhood, which I trust that you will respect. In the meantime I would like to know what a normal childhood is like. No-one is forced to answer.

No clue, but definitely not mine.

Well my father was the founder and president of the 'atheists who go to church' movement. Unfortunately my mother became the leading light of the 'atheists who go to Mosques' splinter group. I can assure you that there is nothing like a schism in the family to confuse a young mind and this resulted in my own ill-fated attempt to start the 'atheists who believe in God freemarket collective'. After seeing the error of my ways I decided to drop the word 'collective' and replace it with 'troupe' but for reasons I still can't explain the whole thing never caught on. Myself and Jake the juggler were the only ever members.Having learned the harsh lesson of failure I decided to pull myself up by my bootstraps. Thus I came to London with broken laces and ill fitting shoes. Upon arriving I set out to make my fortune by utilising the method of time-travel I had discovered in my teenage years. Alas this also ended in failure when it became apparent that the phenomena of 'time acceleration' after a heavy session of liquor consumption wasn't being experienced by everyone else. So whilst time would magically surge forward for me, one moment singing "my old man's a nihilistic contravarian dustman" and the next waking up 3 Earth days later wearing an orange tutu and laying in a pile of my own vomit - Apparently it wasn't doing so for everyone else.This notion of 'subjective reality' and the realisation that the world is perfectly capable of carrying on for others in my absence came as quite a shock I can tell you. As a result I joined a cult. However due to my natural charisma and leadership qualities I soon became the leader of this cult. Deposing the only other member (the aforementioned Jake the juggler) in the process.So it was that Jake and I shaved our heads, scrotums, nipples and bellybuttons in a selfless act of hair-deprivation. However our relentless pursuit of the hirsute in an effort to expand membership of my cult eventually resulted in a jail spell (long story short - it turned out not to be a giant pubic braid)It was in jail that I learnt a terrible truth. Jake the juggler was a figment of my imagination. An imaginary friend. My entire world came crashing down. Not only were both the 'atheists who believe in God freemarket collective' and 'atheists who believe in God freemarket troupe' technically misnomers but to cap it all I was the leader of a cult of one who had at one point been the non-leader of a cult of one.Anyway - Years of therapy later I was released back into the world where I discovered EvC and became the hedgehog I am today.I still light a candle in Jake's memory every Christmas and occasionally I even burn a pube to invoke those feeling of nostalgia regarding the good times of old.

You actually had me all the way through the first sentence.

Flimsy? I think it means floppy and limp. Generally not up to the task and prone to bending under pressure. The exact opposite to your obviously razor sharp mind.It was sarcasm and I thought that it would provide a chuckle. I am surprised that you missed it.My apologies.There is plenty about my childhood that I choose not to dwell on but there were some good things too. For example my alcoholic uncle slapped my mother one time when my dad wasn't around. My 3 older brothers aged 12, 14 and 16 commenced to beat the living shit out of him. I learned a lot from that episode.

Yes. Only pick fights with toddlers.

I must confess that I stood at a loss, as though you had described my wit as being pale yellow or in the key of A flat minor.

Given that the OP was a complete fabrication I still don't know if this thread is intended to be for the sort of piss-takes that you and I have engaged in or the sort of rather earnest contributions made by some others (mainly now defunct members).I get the feeling most people would prefer the latter.....

Ah, I see. You are saying that I should have referred to you as dim witted.

Really? You think that jar was just taking the piss? But clearly in a very very subtle way.

Well then I could certainly have cut you (verbally) into thin slices and suffered no moral qualms.

Well I can only repeat what he said:

quote:

---

I started this thread as a lark and the OP was simply a complete fantasy but I really expected some members to recognize that, particularly those from the UK, and hoped they would respond in kind.

​

Sadly, that never happened.

---

Too subtle it seems....Edited by Straggler, : No reason given.

Well now that I have brought you up to speed feel free to carry on. I will probably enjoy it as much as you.

I was born in St. Mary's Hospital, despite later claiming to have been raised in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, I grew up in neighboring Clinton Hill. I was the only child of Voletta Perez, a preschool teacher, and George Perez, a welder and small-time politician. My father left the family when I was two years old, leaving my mother to work two jobs while raising me. At the Queen of All Saints Middle School, I excelled in class, winning several awards as an English student. I was nicknamed "Oni" because people were assholes. At the age of 12, I began selling drugs. My mother, often away at work, did not know that I was selling drugs until I was an adult.At my request, I transferred out of the private Roman Catholic Bishop Loughlin Memorial High School to attend the state-funded George Westinghouse Career and Technical Education High School. Jay-Z and Busta Rhymes were also students at that school. According to my mother, I was still a good student, but developed a "smart-ass" attitude at the new school. At seventeen, I dropped out of high school and became further involved in crime. In 1989, I was arrested on weapons charges in Brooklyn and sentenced to five years' probation. In 1990, I was arrested on a violation of probation. A year later, I was arrested in North Carolina for dealing crack cocaine. Spent nine months behind bars until I made bail.I began telling jokes when I was a teenager. I would entertain people on the streets as well as perform with local sketch groups. After being released from prison, I made a stand-up tape under the name Oni Smalls, a reference to my childhood nickname given by those assholes. The tape was reportedly made with no serious intent of getting a tv deal, but was promoted by New York-based comedian Jerry Seinfeld, who had previously worked with Larry David, and was heard by the editor of The Source.In March 1992, I was featured in The Source's Unsigned Hype column, dedicated to aspiring comedians, and was invited to produce a comedy album with other unsigned artists in a move that was reportedly uncommon at the time. The demo tape was heard by Uptown Records A&R and record producer, Sean Combs, who arranged for a meeting with me. I was signed to Uptown immediately and made an appearance on The Late Show with David Letterman. Soon after signing my recording contract, Combs was fired from Uptown and started a new label. I followed and in mid-1992, signed to Combs' new imprint label, Funny Boy's Records. On August 8, 1993, my longtime girlfriend gave birth to my first child, T'yanna. I continued selling drugs after the birth to support my daughter financially. Once Combs discovered this, I was asked to quit.I gained exposure later in the year appearing on shows like Everybody Loves Raymond and King of Queens, under the pseudonym The Notorious O.N.I., the name I would record under for the remainder of my career, after finding the original moniker "Oni Smalls" was already in use.Then things got ugly...On March 9, 1997, at around 12:30 a.m., I left a comedy gig with my entourage in two GMC Suburbans to return to my hotel after the Fire Department closed the party I was at early because of overcrowding. I traveled in the front passenger seat alongside my associates, Jerry Seinfeld and Ray Romano, and driver, Chris Rock. Combs traveled in the other vehicle with three bodyguards. The two trucks were trailed by a Chevrolet Blazer carrying Joke Boy's director of security.By 12:45 a.m., the streets were crowded with people leaving the event. Our truck stopped at a red light 50 yards (46 m) from the museum. A black Chevrolet Impala SS pulled up alongside our truck. The driver of the Impala, an African American male dressed in a blue suit and bow tie, rolled down his window, drew a 9 mm blue-steel pistol and fired at the GMC Suburban; four bullets hit me in the chest. My entourage rushed me to Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, but I was pronounced dead at 1:15 a.m. then, by some miracle, I was pronouced alive again at 1:22 am.A few years went by before I did comedy again. I stayed out of the public eye until about 8 years ago when I resurrected my comedy career under my new name, taken from my parents last name "Oni Perez". The rest you guys know. I found EvC and became the funniest poster ever; an award given to me every year by Percy at the annual EvC award show In Vegas. I'm humbled every time I receive it, and truly hope to continue to bring next-level humor to the forum.- OniEdited by onifre, : No reason given.Edited by onifre, : No reason given.