You can give thanks to God that you did not have me for a son when I was little.  I was around EIGHT years old before I outgrew my terrible two's!  Even then, I was still rather bad up until my teenage years.  I guess that I was so bad when I was little that I pretty much get it out of my system before I became a teenager.
 

WARNING:  Some of the content below may be so hilarious that it may cause your insides to hurt from laughing so hard.  It is guaranteed to be much more entertaining than Jeopardy on TV or your "money" back!  Also this content should not be read by those under about 10 years of age.  Those between 10 and 21 years of age should read this with caution and not act out this stuff.
 
 

    Probably one of the earliest "classics" of my mischievous days is when I was still in a crib.  One day, I peed in at least one of my brother's shoes.  Yes, the urine arched upward and down--right toward the shoe--a perfect aim!  However, I myself have no recollection of this event.

    When I was little, I went into the kitchen in the middle of the night, and all Hell broke loose.  I took a bunch of things out of the refrigerator and mixed them up together in a bowl.  This included milk, coca mix, and/or God knows what all.  There may have been coffee, mashed potatoes and much more.  I mixed this all up and threw in around in the kitchen.  The floor was so slick that you could not stand up on it.  Later, I must have went into the living room and fell asleep STANDING on the floor in front of the couch with my head lying down on it.  That's how little I was when I did this.  Soon afterwards, my mother came out into the kitchen and had a rude awakening.  She turned on the light and saw the king-sized mess that I made.  She saw me in the living room and wondered if I was dead!  She then picked me up and I woke up and started crying.  My mother probably felt like killing me that night.  It took her about three hours to clean up my mess.  This was from about 4:00 to 7:00 AM, and she had to go to work that day!  Unfortunately, I can't recall this event.

    Also in my crib days, you could not keep me caged.  I was so bad that my parents had to fix a FISHING SANE on top of my crib!  Even this had difficulty keeping me caged.  Later, I started tearing the slats out of the side of my crib.  Needless to say, my crib was useless to any future babies!  I can recall this stuff quite well.

    Also when I was in my crib days, Hell had a way of breaking loose in the hospital, too.  There was one day when a doctor was about to give me a shot or something, and I fixed that in a hurry--I hit him with his own clipboard!  However, I can't really remember this event.
 
 

    When I was probably 2-4 years old, I starting putting objects into the toilet.  I had this fascination with toilets; When you flush something down, you never see it again!  It was like a magical eliminator for me.  On probably the first semi-successful attempt to flush an object down, it was a toy car or part of one.  Unfortunately, an axle from the car got caught in the commode.  My parents did not know this for about three days, and the pot kept getting more and more sluggish.  My dad thought that it would just clear itself out.  No, it kept getting worse.  Finally, my dad took the toilet off the floor, and my mother helped him.  My mother just gagged over the stink from about three days worth of crap!  Had it not been for my mother's hearing (being better than my dad's), the problem would have not been fixed.  When my dad shook the toilet, my mother could hear that axle moving around in there.  Finally, it was removed.  Oh, what a messy job!  This was only the beginning!

    When I was about five years old, I tried to make some "hanging bulb stew."  I placed a bunch of 3/4" glass Christmas hanging bulbs into a plastic bowl and then put this on the stove.  Yes, I turned the stove on HIGH!  Within minutes, I had a nice fire going.  I was so happy about my fire that I turned out the kitchen light so that I can enjoy it!  However, I must have gotten too happy, for I went into the TV room where the rest of my family was and joyfully exclaimed "FIRE!  FIRE!"  If I remember right, I think that my brother was the first to come out and investigate my creation.  Due to the nearly closed nature of hanging bulbs, they were popping.  My mother was the first to whip me for it, and she could not seem to whip me hard enough, for I was still laughing.  HOWEVER, when my DAD lowered the boom on me, the laughing finally stopped.  Years later, I found that I ruined a special burner on that stove and caused it to have a habit of firing up on its own at times.  When I was seven years old (1974), my parents were forced to buy a new stove because of this problem.  For those who are more inquisitive, it was the front left burner that I cooked my "hanging bulb stew" on.

    At about age five or six, I actually hit our family dog with the sharp end of one of my dad's hatchets.  Unfortunately, my dad was at a cursillo.  Fortunately, I must have not hit the dog all that hard, for I don't recall any bloodshed.  I didn't confess this to my dad until I was about eleven years old, and it made him kind of mad even then.  I don't know what breed of dog it was, but it was a brown and white hound dog, whose name was Pat.  He was about twelve years old at that time.

    Also around this time frame, we used to have a roof over the back porch, which is on the west side of the house.  My dad happened to have a step ladder beside the roof that day.  Unfortunately, I climbed up the ladder and got onto the roof over the back porch.  I peeked into one of the windows when my mother was in the kitchen and said "Hi Mom!".  Needless to say, it scared the crap out of her, and she told me to get down off of that roof.

    When I was going to Crippled Children's School in Elm Grove, my dad would take me part way, and then I would ride with other children the rest of the way.  On the way back, Hell had a way of breaking loose.  One day I put a woman's finger into a partly closed car window and rolled it up on her, thus pitching her finger.  When my dad found out about this, he appropriately raised cane over this.  Also, I remember pitching a Halloween costume out a car window when on the highway.

    Around age six, the toilet business shifted into a higher gear.  First, I clogged up a toilet at Crippled Children's School in Elm Grove, WV.  I remember pitching some paper towels in and flushing it.  I think that I got a whipping by one of the teachers that day.

    Also around age six or so, I had a heck of a fascination with light bulbs.  Yes, they were my play toys!  Yes, I did get shocked a few times when playing around with electricity.  This just slowed me down a bit.  Also, I used to enjoy throwing light bulbs and other glass items out on the street in front my house, which happens to be Route 250 in WV.  I used to enjoy watching the bulbs and such bust into a million pieces on the road.  Probably my favorite episode of light bulb breaking was when I busted a spotlight on a sidewalk in our yard.  My brother used to tease me about calling the police on me.  Probably the most infamous episode of glass throwing out on Route 250 was when I threw one of my mother's good Fostoria glass candle holders.

    Around the same time, I even intentionally broke my mother's glass panther that she had on top of the console TV.  This panther had a light that shone on the wall.  The outside of the panther was shiny black and was probably around fifteen inches long.  This was probably most heart-breaking thing that I did when it comes to my mother's things.

    Again, all Hell broke loose--when my dad was at a cursillo!  I took gallons and gallons of water from our well and made a mess in the basement.  Yes, I poured it on furniture and God knows what all!

    When I was in kindergarten, I also remember putting white glue into a girl's hair.  Needless to say, I got a whipping for it.

    Yes, the toilet business was thriving when I was in kindergarten at Limestone Elementary School, which is in Limestone, WV.  Yes, I continued to throw paper towels and LOTS of toilet paper down the commodes.  I had commode #2 in the boys' restroom clogged so severely that when I came back for the first grade, the toilet was still sluggish in spite of work done on it over Summer of 1974.  When I needed to go to the restroom, I used to ask a teacher if I can go and flush a toilet!  I also enjoyed seeing how many toilets I can get flushing at once!  This was a big fascination for me.  Yes, these were the industrial variety commodes.

    Probably in early 1974, I did my first spray paint graffiti job.  The paint was dark blue.  I sprayed it on about everything in sight within a particular room in the basement, including my dad's worklight.  If I remember right, my dad caught me and gave me a darn good whipping for it.

    Probably in 1974, I also intentionally threw a rock through a small window that was in the side door of our garage.  Yes, my dad was at a cursillo!

    In late 1974, I started to catch our house on fire!  After coming home from school, I saw my brother's cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray on the kitchen table.  My brother was in the TV room lying down.  I helped myself to one of Mike's cigarettes and lit it.  I had a fascination with smoking due to the fact that the end of the cigarette glows when puffed.  Later, I started going around the kitchen playing around with the lighter.  Eventually, I set some of my old art projects on fire.  These were hanging on the kitchen wall.  Yes, the fire started going up the kitchen wall, and this scared me.  Thank God, my brother taught me earlier about water putting out fire.  I took a dish rag that was soaked and was able to whip out the fire.  However, the wall was scorched, needless to say.  Years later, I found that we had only $8,000 worth of insurance on the house at that time!

    Also around 1974, I turned my dad's south wine cellar into a destruction room.  When I wanted to, I would take something into this room, which is about 4 x 12 feet, and take a croquet hammer after it.  I would just beat the living daylights out of the thing, even if it was my brother's record players!  Below is a picture of probably the very hammer that I used to beat things to death.  I was quite brutal with it!  The black door that you see on the left was the door for my "destruction room."

    Yes, the toilet business roared on.  When I was in the first grade, I used to smuggle a few small toys and a sheet of writing paper into the restroom to flush down the point--and me peeing on the stuff too.  I did this repeatedly until I was caught by a classmate.  The teacher was brought in, and she made me reach in the toilet to remove the stuff!  The principal was also called in.  Also while in the first grade, I had two out of the three commodes in the boys' restroom clogged up!  There was only ONE remaining pot for all the boys at the school to crap in!

    Also in the first grade, I intentionally peed on the floor in the restroom.  When my teacher found this out, she gave me a good whipping.

    Probably one of the biggest classics of my mischievous days was when I wrecked my dad's truck!  I was only eight years old.  I think that it was in early July of 1975.  I had some Raggedy-Anne and Raggedy-Andy baby dolls strapped in seat belts in the truck.  While I didn't have the engine running, I was farting around with the gear shift, steering wheels, and pedals.  Later, the truck started rolling backwards.  While I tried hitting the brake, I wasn't strong enough then to push it hard enough to stop the truck.  Finally, the truck went BAM--right into our patio.  I did very little damage to the 1972 Ford Custom truck that my dad had, but devastated the patio.  In fact, some of the posts are still cockeyed to this day--over 25 years later!  After getting out of the truck, I laughed when I saw the devastation to the patio, and this really made my dad mad--mad enough to give me a whipping.  Needless to say, I was half of the minimum driving age in WV, and yet had my first wreck!  In the first picture, the circle-like figure shows where my dad's truck was parked.  The arrow in the first two pictures below point to the post that I actually hit.  It is the one closest to you and furthest to the right in the pictures.
 
 

    In the mid 1970's,  I used my brother's portable record player as a "mess processor."  I would put small pieces of junk, including french fries onto the platter while the unit was unplugged.  I would make sure that it was turned on and set at 78 RPM.  Next, I would close the lid and plug it in.  After some serious rattle and roll, which made a fair amount of noise inside, I would unplug the thing and open the lid to see my final "product."

    Late in 1975 was probably the biggest classic of all.  On Thursday, October 30, 1975 at about 4:00 AM, I peed in my brother's TV!  I probably woke up around 3:00 AM and was messing around in the bedroom while my brother was asleep.  Close to 4:00 AM, I had an urge to urinate, and didn't want to bother asking my dad if I could go downstairs to the bathroom.  We did not have a bathroom on the second floor at that time.  Meanwhile, I was thinking "Where can I take a pee at?".  I looked at the TV and thought that the vents in the back kind of looked like a sewer, so I peed in it!  That was only the beginning.  Next, I turned it on to see what it would do.  First it would not do anything.  I looked, and it was not plugged in.  Needless to say, I plugged it in and had it turned on.  Within seconds, we had CRACK, POP, BANG!  Yes, we had 4th of July in October as sparks came flying out the back of the TV.  This woke my brother up, and he in turn, went and woke my dad up.  My dad came into the room and turned on the light to examine the TV.  He saw the wet spot where I peed in it.  He asked me "WHAT' YOU PUT INTO THAT SET?".  I hesitated, and he was getting madder by the second.  After at least the second or third time he asked me, I answered "Water."  He then said "WHERE DID YOU GET THE WATER AT?".  Finally, I pointed toward my penis.  My dad was madder than fire when he realized that I peed in the TV.  Needless to say, I got a darn good whipping for it.  As months went by, my mother wondered if I ruined the picture tube and/or God knows what all.  In February or March of 1976, my dad took the TV to a friend's house to attempt to repair it.  Fortunately, I just blew a fuse in the TV.  After the fuse was replaced, the TV worked fine for years afterwards.

    In 1976, I was again playing around with fire!  This time, I was stuffing paper into the nose of a clay piggy bank, and then I lit it!  Yes, there fire coming out from its nose!  Later, I even laid this thing into a toy box that was in the basement.  However, I got a little scared and thought maybe I'd better get it out of there.  Later, I was stuffing paper into the back end of a toy tractor trailer and lighting it.  Finally, my mom caught me.  I think that she even threatened to send me to a reform school.
 
 

    In early 1978, I was messing around with my dad's homemade wood furnace (shown below).  However, I was not allowed to be messing with it.  However, I threw wood, phono records, oil, and possibly God knows what all in it.  I was caught by my mother.  The ONLY thing that saved my butt was the successful begging to my mother to not tell my dad.  Please note that my dad made this stove out of a 55-gallon drum.  Fortunately, it is not in use or even around now.

    In the Fall of 1979, I was messing around during recess while in the sixth grade.  I was throwing a plastic baseball bat up into the air.  While I had no intention of doing wrong, I nevertheless should not have been throwing the bat into the air.  Unfortunately, the wind must have caught it, and it landed on the roof of the school!  Needless to say, the kids were minus one bat to play with.

    Even at age thirteen, I was still not quite done with my mischievous ways.  On Friday, December 26, 1980, I was throwing snow balls at the west side of the house.  I also had some mixed snow and ice balls.  While I didn't intentionally knock any windows out, I did anyhow.  At the instant that I realized that I accidentally knocked a window out due to throwing snowballs at the house, my pulse rate probably nearly doubled.  I was hoping that I dad didn't hear it and would not notice it.  I was hoping to secretly repair the window myself.  Unfortunately, my dad DID hear it, and when he found out what I did, he was madder than fire.  The strange part here, though, is that my dad was much madder at this incident than the one in the mid 1970's when I INTENTIONALLY knocked out a window in the side door of the garage.  Below is a picture of the west side of my house with a white arrow pointing toward the window that I knocked out.

    When I was in the seventh grade, I used to be notorious for farting in school.  There would be days where everyone in class would doing their work, and the room would be dead silent--until I ripped one!  Probably everyone in the class knew that it was me doing the farting.  I also did this in the school library (at Sherrard Junior High School).  Unfortunately, I got kicked out of the library for three weeks.  Below is a picture of the nice school library that I got kicked out of.

    While I did some things after that, none of them were near the magnitude as the ones described above.
 

    Below is a photo of my dad.  He was infamous for lowering the boom on me.

    There are about three things that we were blessed to NOT have when I was a kid.  These included a blood pressure cuff, a microwave oven, and a hypodermic needle.  Had I had a blood pressure cuff when I was little, I probably would have gone around cutting off people's circulation in their arms just for the fun of it.  If we would have had a microwave oven, I probably would have put the neighbor's cat in it and turned it on.  Had we had any hypodermic needles around the house, I probably would have had a good time going around sticking people with it.  I guess that you can give thanks to God that we didn't have any of these items when I was little.

    Thank God that I was rescued from my wicked days.  By the time, I was thirteen years old, I was getting pretty well mellowed out for the most part.  I'm also thankful that I didn't get mixed up in drugs or any other bad thing that many teenagers fall prey to.
 

    Do you still want a kid?