A Ted Story
Long, long ago, in the distant land of Longview, Washington, a boy was born. His name was Ted, and is writing this right now. Months of labor went in to his creation. His mother had been completely bedridden for most of the pregnancy, causing his father to do most of the work. He hated that, and I am told by my mother that he once served her hamburger helper. He didn't realize you had to mix the packaged powder and made it incredibly clumpy and disgusting. The rest of the time was spent eating Taco Bell.
I don't remember a lot of things after that, because I was a baby. It was probably for the best, I was probably hit by three cars. But I do remember some scattered parts. We lived in Cornelius, Oregon. A small town, but it was nice, I remember. Down the street there was a family who owned an arcade machine in their garage. Every so often I would go down the street and play with it. Every time, my parents would get livid at me. They were so overbearing and overprotective over their 4 or 5 year old kid walking less than a block away. But hey, they're parents, it's their job. I don't remember their reactions, but I do remember they were angry.
Soon, we had to move again. This time, to the countryside! My parents decided building a log cabin would be great. They are my mom's favorite kind of house. She really loves wood a lot. My dad, not so much, but he'll do anything to make her like him enough to keep him around. I was very uncooperative with moving. I really did not want to at all, but they made us for some reason. My parents even bought me a black cat that I named Pepsi to convince me to move. Our house in Cornelius was pretty nice! We sold the house. And we sold it too soon. So we had to live in a trailer. That wasn't very fun. I don't remember the inside of it at all, but we did things outside while our parents build the log cabin.
Speaking of which, I have a brother. His name is Michael. He is an ass. I will slander him as much as I can while writing this, because he is an ass. Through and through. He is a complete, total ass.
So Mike and I would play outside, right? I remember once we were playing in the woods, and I took a big pile of moss and put it on my head because I thought I looked like Ronald McDonald. That was a mistake as I was picking bugs out of my hair forever, and Mike would remind me of that for the next 3 years. Other things happened like we caught all the tadpoles out of an area that was going to be cemented. Good times.
And then we moved again! This time to Scappoose, Oregon. This is where I spent the majority of my life. I lived here from about 6 or 7 to 15. This was also my favorite house. We lived in a a suburban neighborhood, that was very quaint and charming. There were rows of houses, and kids were always out playing. I remember frequently going outside, riding my bike around, etc. I had friends who lived down the street. Once, I walked down to the house my friend from school, Josh, lived at, and we would do cool things with his neighbor, Jake, who was slightly younger than us. We played with action figures and stuff. One time I remember getting pretty embarrassed because I would play with them when they wouldn't! As we got older, I remember other things happening. We would play Mortal Kombat on the N64. I didn't want to touch it because I thought I would somehow magically get in trouble with my mom about it. She was adamantly anti-violence and anti-video games. But we still played them regardless.
I have found memories of our N64. I remember getting Super Smash Bros.! That was incredibly great. I played it for hours by myself when my dad brought it home one day. I was in love with it. But then I had to leave the house, and go with my friend, Katie. She lived next door to us, and was a sweet girl. (Of course, these days she's a whore and has massive boobs, but whatever). Her parents were wonderful(and rich, and still are!), and she had a nice brother that we would pick on but include in our activities. I would do silly things like try on her clothes, or play her PS1 together. We would play Spyro a lot.
I remember once thinking that Raichu was in Smash Bros. because there was a Pikachu alternate color that I got a glimpse of our friend, Jared, playing as. I really wanted to join in, but there weren't enough controllers. We only had two. In my absence, my brother and Jared had taken control of the N64 and it endlessly frustrated me since I wanted to play it. Jared lived across the street from us in a massive house. He moved to Oregon from Alabama and had a wacky Southern accent, like his whole family. It eventually faded away, but it was pretty cute. He would always call everyone sir or ma'am. His dad was fat. But his family was very nice, and his brother was cool. He was an 18 year old guy named Josh(There are a lot of joshes in my life).
But this is where my first bad memory comes in! One day, Jared goes on vacation. My brother, Mike, somehow knows that Jared's family doesn't lock their doors. I don't know why he knows this, but he does. So he decides that he wants to sneak in to their house to borrow a game while they are on vacation. The game was Driver. It was a bad game and I don't know why we got that one in particular. However, he asked me if I wanted to come. Being the young impressionable child I am, I agree to come along. We go in, quickly get the game, and run back. The plan works, and my brother and his friend really love the game a lot. Eventually Jared's family comes back, and we snuck the game back in before they arrived. Everything went alright. But I spilled the beans. We were playing with Jared outside, riding bikes or something. I said something along the lines of "Yeah we totally didn't sneak in to your house and steal Driver or anything." My brother gave me the deepest, darkest stare. I thought Jared would be okay with it. He wasn't. And he told his parents.
Later that night, my family goes to Fred Meyer's (I think this is called Kroger in the other parts of the US?). And what do you know, Jared's family is shopping there, too. His dad gives my parents a firm talk, and they are absolutely livid. The car ride home is silent. And as soon as we get in the house, I run to the living room and hide behind the biggest pillow I can find. But my dad finds me. He rips the pillow out of my hands and throws it. And then nothing. I can't remember what happens. I feel like he hit me. Hit me a lot. But I don't know, I can't remember. I don't even know if he did.
But I remember it hurting a lot. And I remember being traumatized. I still feel horrible to this day.
I'll write more about my life later. Blegh.
I don't remember a lot of things after that, because I was a baby. It was probably for the best, I was probably hit by three cars. But I do remember some scattered parts. We lived in Cornelius, Oregon. A small town, but it was nice, I remember. Down the street there was a family who owned an arcade machine in their garage. Every so often I would go down the street and play with it. Every time, my parents would get livid at me. They were so overbearing and overprotective over their 4 or 5 year old kid walking less than a block away. But hey, they're parents, it's their job. I don't remember their reactions, but I do remember they were angry.
Soon, we had to move again. This time, to the countryside! My parents decided building a log cabin would be great. They are my mom's favorite kind of house. She really loves wood a lot. My dad, not so much, but he'll do anything to make her like him enough to keep him around. I was very uncooperative with moving. I really did not want to at all, but they made us for some reason. My parents even bought me a black cat that I named Pepsi to convince me to move. Our house in Cornelius was pretty nice! We sold the house. And we sold it too soon. So we had to live in a trailer. That wasn't very fun. I don't remember the inside of it at all, but we did things outside while our parents build the log cabin.
Speaking of which, I have a brother. His name is Michael. He is an ass. I will slander him as much as I can while writing this, because he is an ass. Through and through. He is a complete, total ass.
So Mike and I would play outside, right? I remember once we were playing in the woods, and I took a big pile of moss and put it on my head because I thought I looked like Ronald McDonald. That was a mistake as I was picking bugs out of my hair forever, and Mike would remind me of that for the next 3 years. Other things happened like we caught all the tadpoles out of an area that was going to be cemented. Good times.
And then we moved again! This time to Scappoose, Oregon. This is where I spent the majority of my life. I lived here from about 6 or 7 to 15. This was also my favorite house. We lived in a a suburban neighborhood, that was very quaint and charming. There were rows of houses, and kids were always out playing. I remember frequently going outside, riding my bike around, etc. I had friends who lived down the street. Once, I walked down to the house my friend from school, Josh, lived at, and we would do cool things with his neighbor, Jake, who was slightly younger than us. We played with action figures and stuff. One time I remember getting pretty embarrassed because I would play with them when they wouldn't! As we got older, I remember other things happening. We would play Mortal Kombat on the N64. I didn't want to touch it because I thought I would somehow magically get in trouble with my mom about it. She was adamantly anti-violence and anti-video games. But we still played them regardless.
I have found memories of our N64. I remember getting Super Smash Bros.! That was incredibly great. I played it for hours by myself when my dad brought it home one day. I was in love with it. But then I had to leave the house, and go with my friend, Katie. She lived next door to us, and was a sweet girl. (Of course, these days she's a whore and has massive boobs, but whatever). Her parents were wonderful(and rich, and still are!), and she had a nice brother that we would pick on but include in our activities. I would do silly things like try on her clothes, or play her PS1 together. We would play Spyro a lot.
I remember once thinking that Raichu was in Smash Bros. because there was a Pikachu alternate color that I got a glimpse of our friend, Jared, playing as. I really wanted to join in, but there weren't enough controllers. We only had two. In my absence, my brother and Jared had taken control of the N64 and it endlessly frustrated me since I wanted to play it. Jared lived across the street from us in a massive house. He moved to Oregon from Alabama and had a wacky Southern accent, like his whole family. It eventually faded away, but it was pretty cute. He would always call everyone sir or ma'am. His dad was fat. But his family was very nice, and his brother was cool. He was an 18 year old guy named Josh(There are a lot of joshes in my life).
But this is where my first bad memory comes in! One day, Jared goes on vacation. My brother, Mike, somehow knows that Jared's family doesn't lock their doors. I don't know why he knows this, but he does. So he decides that he wants to sneak in to their house to borrow a game while they are on vacation. The game was Driver. It was a bad game and I don't know why we got that one in particular. However, he asked me if I wanted to come. Being the young impressionable child I am, I agree to come along. We go in, quickly get the game, and run back. The plan works, and my brother and his friend really love the game a lot. Eventually Jared's family comes back, and we snuck the game back in before they arrived. Everything went alright. But I spilled the beans. We were playing with Jared outside, riding bikes or something. I said something along the lines of "Yeah we totally didn't sneak in to your house and steal Driver or anything." My brother gave me the deepest, darkest stare. I thought Jared would be okay with it. He wasn't. And he told his parents.
Later that night, my family goes to Fred Meyer's (I think this is called Kroger in the other parts of the US?). And what do you know, Jared's family is shopping there, too. His dad gives my parents a firm talk, and they are absolutely livid. The car ride home is silent. And as soon as we get in the house, I run to the living room and hide behind the biggest pillow I can find. But my dad finds me. He rips the pillow out of my hands and throws it. And then nothing. I can't remember what happens. I feel like he hit me. Hit me a lot. But I don't know, I can't remember. I don't even know if he did.
But I remember it hurting a lot. And I remember being traumatized. I still feel horrible to this day.
I'll write more about my life later. Blegh.