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Funny stories about family

Peep This Peep War With My Peeps

, , , | Related | May 19, 2022

I don’t know where my mom got the idea that I like Peeps — those gross, colored marshmallow candies that taste awful and are very popular for Easter — but I hate them. They taste awful. I’ve never liked them.

For some reason, my mom just thinks I do. I am sixteen or seventeen, and my mom goes Peep-buying crazy. She purchases dozens and dozens of these awful marshmallow candies. My younger brother eats one every now and then, but he doesn’t really care for them.

Here we are, Easter weekend, and my mom is so proud of all the different colors and different shaped Peeps we have. No one eats the Peeps outside of maybe one package that my brother opened. All the other dozens of Peeps are never opened. The packages just get moved to a cabinet and sit in there for months.

One day, I have a group of friends over. It’s summer, and we’re bored, so we’re always looking for something stupid to do. One of them starts going through the cabinets in the kitchen because he’s hungry. He sees all these packages of Peeps.

Friend: “I love Peeps! Can I have some?”

Me: “Help yourself!”

He opens up a package, but the Peeps are stale and pretty hard. He tries to eat one.

Friend: “Ugh, these are really chewy. I don’t think I want to eat these.”

He tossed the others at the group of us just hanging out. A light bulb went off in all our heads at the same time. PEEP WAR!

We all scrambled to the cabinet and started loading our arms up with packages of Peeps. We took off outside and had an all-out Peep war. We threw Peeps at each other and had a heck of a time. Pretty soon, the yard — front and back — was littered with a rainbow of Peeps in pink, yellow, green, blue, and orange.

The Peeps were hard enough to leave some minor bruises from throwing them at each other, but we had a good time. We picked up all the packaging garbage and threw it away, but we left the Peeps in the yard. We left my house to find something else to do and forgot all about the Peeps that were now scattered around the yard.

A few hours later, it rained. My mom and stepdad got home a short time later after it rained, and when they got home they saw a yard with melted pink, yellow, green, blue, and orange Peeps. They were pretty pissed, but at the same time, they thought it was pretty funny.

I had to do a few passes with the lawnmower to get most of the Peeps cleaned up. I also had to help clean the mower blades to get all the marshmallow off them. It was still worth it.

To this day, nearly twenty-five years later, my mom still thinks I like Peeps. I tell her every year that I don’t like them and I don’t want any. Any Peeps she gets me I just give to my eight-year-old son; he likes them for some reason.

Way More Fun Than Watching “Red Asphalt”

, , , , , , , , | Related | May 17, 2022

Most people’s first experiences with learning to drive involve an instructor and paid lessons. To fully complete your learner’s Log Book, when I was learning to drive, it was mandatory to have a certain number of hours spent with an official driving instructor and they encouraged you by having those hours count for double — one hour with an instructor became two on paper.

My brother and I, along with two of our extended family friend’s kids had a very different introduction to driver’s education. My parents own forty acres of rural Australian property — bushland, lots of trees, and paddocks. Dad had created a dirt bike track several years prior for us to ride our motorbikes on, and with a little tweaking, he turned it into a decent track a car could run on. It was all dirt and grass winding through trees, zigzagging across the paddocks, and joining into the near-half-kilometer long driveway.

Dad’s old Nimbus was to become our chariot of learning, and I’ll let you know right now that that thing was a beast. It took all the abuse that a young, inexperienced driver can inflict on a car and more. My brother even managed to flip the thing once on accident, and besides a dent in the roof (easily panel-beaten back to normal), the car was unaffected by the ordeal.

Our dad (and our friend’s dad when visiting) were our unofficial instructors, and under their tutorage, we learnt the basic fundamentals of car operation and maintenance.

One day, about two and a half years into this expedition of discovery, our dads decided to give us each a whirl at a “test conditions” run around the track. This was very exciting and a little daunting to us older kids because our real learner’s tests were looming close. They organised amongst themselves a checklist of sorts for what we needed to accomplish during the “test”: reversing, turn signals, parking, and a few other things they set up the course to accommodate.

And because we are Aussies and it was private property, beer was also involved. Not for us kids, of course — oh, no, that would have been a trainwreck of bad decisions! No, our friend’s dad decided to hold a freshly opened bottle of beer for each of our runs and implemented an additional ruling of “if you spill too much beer, you fail.” I’m pretty sure it was to drill into us that how we drive is just as important as following the general rules of the road… or something similar. Looking back, I realise that this strange addition actually added a thin layer of anxiety to the “test” and made us more aware of how our driving affected passengers’ comfort and wellbeing, making it feel a touch more realistic.

I don’t recall the order we went in, but I do remember that the youngest family friend’s kid went last. Let’s call him Callum.

The first three runs went quite well; no trees or safety-cone “people” were struck, and aside from a few minor mistakes with parking and forgetting a turn signal here and there, we were racking up a nice string of “passed” results. We were all in the car for each person’s run (to create a realistic, mildly distracting environment for our years ahead as young drivers) so we were all witness to one another’s successes and failings. Then, it was Callum’s turn.

Callum’s overall run was good, as well, although he did manage to hit a stump at one point that was previously hidden off to the side of the track while taking a turn too wide. Aside from that, he was going great! Soon, the final straight stretch and hairpin turn to the finish line were in sight: we were all going to pass!

But this story wouldn’t be here if everything went as planned.

Instead of slowing down in preparation for the hairpin turn, Callum hit the accelerator. We hurtled into the corner at speed, and in a panic-induced state of decision making, Callum ripped the handbrake in an attempt to slow down, which put the car into a powerslide of epic proportions.

On the outside edge of this turn was a tree. A big tree. This tree was of the weeping willow variety with many long, dangling, whip-like branches with slender leaves dripping down in a beautiful green cascade. As the handbrake was pulled and inertia entered the equation, we were all thrown to the left of the car. Callum’s dad’s window was down and, thanks to the seatbelt, only a small portion of this body was now outside of the car. However, that portion was home to, arguably, one of the most important features of a human being: the face.

Callum was screaming, I was screaming, my little brother was cheering with his hands in the air like a deranged roller coaster rider, Callum’s older brother was being crushed into the door by our combined weight and didn’t have enough air in his lungs to join our crescendo of noise, Callum’s dad’s face is being kickboxed into oblivion by the aforementioned whip-like branches… and the beer is flying in all directions, coating everyone in a thin veneer of foam and yeasty goodness.

Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!

After what felt like an eternity, the car came to a shuddering halt and we all peeled ourselves off the door and off each other. Callum’s dad’s head was now back inside the vehicle, peppered with an impressive collection of shallow cuts, blood, and beer, and his majestic mullet was chock a block full of leaves. He was also still holding the, now empty, bottle of beer in a white-knuckled death grip, and that’s an achievement I’m still in awe of!

A couple of seconds of silence permeated the tension-filled interior of the chariot of learning, none of us daring to break it first. Callum’s dad wiped a hand down his face, hissing as the cuts were touched and more beer was introduced to the wounds. He took a deep breath, and in a soft voice, he addressed us kids in the back seat:

“Would you kids step out of the car for a moment? Callum and I need to have a chat.”

We f****** legged it! No need to tell us twice. We. Were. Outta. There!

About 100 or 150 metres away was the verandah where our mums and Callum’s sister were seated with shock etched across their faces at the spectacle they had just witnessed. We had barely reached the concrete when a gods-awful bellowing came from the car, echoing off into all corners of the property and probably sending more than a few birds winging away in fright. Callum was banned from driving for the rest of their week’s stay with us and no more mention of home “tests” was made again. Ever.

Callum is an amazing driver now and doesn’t even have a speeding ticket on record to my knowledge, but that day and our early years of driving on the track will never be forgotten. It was even a story told at his father’s funeral a few years ago and is now a funny memory we can all share and cherish involving the man.

Notes:

  • Everything that occurred during this and all other driving sessions at the property was in full compliance with Australian laws.
  • No minors, drivers, or fatherly instructors were under the influence of alcohol at any given time while the car was running.
  • Despite the ordeal, none of us were traumatised or otherwise harmed, and the injuries sustained by Callum’s dad were minor: head wounds just tend to bleed a lot because of how shallow the skin is.
  • No-one unlicensed to operate a vehicle ever drove on any actual roads outside the property line or endangered another driver in any way.
  • Please don’t attempt to recreate any of these events, and always follow the rules of the road and laws pertaining to your country when it comes to driving and underage individuals. 
  • And, finally, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed this story, and if you’re just learning to drive, please don’t use the handbrake for cornering, especially on dirt, as it is very dangerous and serious accidents can occur.

Autocorrect Has Daddy Issues

, , , , , | Related | May 16, 2022

Years ago, when my gramps was sick with a cold, my nan messaged my mum regarding an upcoming visit.

Nan: “Gramps has a cold. Maybe we should reschedule. He will be better soon.”

My mum tried to reply:

Mum: “No problem. I hope he does.”

But autocorrect changed her message to:

Mum: “No problem. I hope he dies.”

Luckily, our family has a good sense of humour. It’s been an ongoing joke for years.

Spoilers: The Whole Death Thing Apparently Didn’t Stick

, , , , , , | Related | May 15, 2022

My youngest cousin is, frankly, annoying as h***. She always has to be better than anyone, and her sense of humour consists of mocking, insulting, or hitting other people. Unfortunately, when she was little, most people thought it was cute and let her get away with it. She’s also very religious and has a “holier-than-thou” attitude. The majority of my family members are atheists and got tired of her attempts to proselytize us long ago, but at my brother’s wedding, she finds a new victim.

Cousin: “Have you welcomed Jesus into your heart yet?”

Friend: “Uh. I’ve heard of him. Personally, I’m a follower of the Raven Queen.”

Cousin: “But Jesus is our saviour! Don’t you want to go to Heaven? Have you even read the Bible?”

Friend: “Bits, yeah, in school.”

Cousin: “You should really take it more to heart! It speaks about how Jesus sacrificed Himself and died for our sins!”

Friend: “Don’t spoiler me! I didn’t get to that part yet!”

At this point, everyone around was listening, ready to save him from our over-zealous cousin. We all burst out laughing. So far, she hasn’t tried again!

The Ultimate Game

, , , , , , | Related | May 13, 2022

In the mid- to late 1980s, my older brother and I were big in going to card shows. We collected sports cards, mainly MLB and NFL, but we also had NHL, NBA, and we even collected sets of cards from Garbage Pail Kids, TMNT, X-Men, and so on. My older brother also worked hard at building a collection of comic books and he went out of his way to get a few decent ones into his collection like the first X-Men and the first Wolverine and the first Batman. Our collection was tens of thousands of cards and a lot of different sports memorabilia — such things as signed rookie cards of Mike Singletary, Walter Payton, Ken Griffy Jr., Robin Yount, and so on.

I was more into video games then, as well. My older brother wasn’t as much, but he liked the idea of trying to collect and build up a video game collection, as well.

The years went on, and in the early 1990s, we had a massive collection of game consoles, games to go with them, and our sports cards. We had tables we’d set up at card shows and we’d sell, trade, and buy. At the time, we had probably amassed over $50,000 in merchandise.

I was about thirteen years old, and I came home one day and everything was gone aside from my Sega Genesis, a controller for it, and a couple of games.

My older brother cleaned us out — all of our sports cards aside from a handful that I had secretly stashed that I really liked, all our sports memorabilia, all his comic books, and all of our video games and consoles… along with $600 I had in my room, hidden away (clearly not well enough).

He took the following game consoles:

  • Three NES systems, along with the NES Power Pad, Power Glove, six controllers, and over a hundred games
  • Two SNES systems, four controllers, and nearly a hundred games
  • One SNES Famicom system, one controller, and maybe half a dozen games we had for it
  • One Atari 2600 and every single game
  • One TurboGrafx 16, the two controllers, and about a dozen games
  • One Gameboy and around fifty games
  • One Sega Genesis 32X adapter and the dozen games I had for it

The police got involved, and since I couldn’t officially prove it was my older brother that took all this stuff, I could at least prove that he only took $600 out of my room because he also knew where it was stashed — stupid me for letting him know. The police gave him twenty-four hours to return the $600; otherwise, he was going to be arrested. The very next day, the $600 was returned.

I never did see any of the other merchandise returned. Apparently, my older brother, who was sixteen when this all took place, wanted a start-up fund to get into the weed business.