When I was a kid my family drove a Plymouth Valari station wagon the color of dirt, which was a popular color for a lot of things back then, like houses and carpets. The kids sat in the back, but if there was no room we had to sit in the trunk space, which we called the "wayback". I think we sat on the spare tire. This kind of thing was ok back then because people didn't find out about car wrecks until the early 90s.
The ceiling of the car had millions of tiny holes in it, and if you looked up and let your eyes blur they would turn 3D like a magic eye picture. We would look at them and go "Woaaahhh". We didn't need drugs or sex or TV or video games back then. We had the ceiling.
I have no memory of my pre-pottytrained years, and I feel like I'm really missing out on that. I should try wearing adult diapers for a day and just pissing and shitting the shit out of myself. Just for a day. Just to see what it's like.
They make canned chickens. Whole chickens, whole intact chickens, that come in a giant can. I bought one once just to see what it was like. I tried to pull it out of the can but the body fell apart in my hand like jelly. Was I supposed to spread an entire animal on my toast?
When I was a kid I had a bedtime routine. Every night I would get in my bed and pull out a route-instructions disc from the box on my headboard, put it in my bed's navigation computer, and launch off to some unknown destination. My bed was an oceanfaring seacraft, see. But every night was the same. These fighter planes would start circling overhead and attack me. My blankets were bulletproof, so I'd cover myself in the blanket and press the buttons on the side of my mattress that made the missiles shoot out and blow up the planes. Why did those guys keep trying? My bed was a legendary warship. What were they thinking? Every goddamn time.
Around the same age, I had a pet squirrel. Well it was plastic, duh. But it was still a squirrel. It had "fur". Little velvet fuzz fur. It was my best friend. Sometimes our church had youth group at our house. One time the youthgroup kids found my squirrel and plucked all the velvet fuzzfur off him. When I found him he was just bald white plastic. I think that's why I reject organized religion. I definitely blamed God for what happened to my squirrel.
One of the ways I felt alone and isolated as a kid was that pretty much no one else in my family liked tapioca pudding as much as I did.
Maybe another reason I quit going to church was because I smashed my mouth into a bloody pulp twice during church services. The first time I tripped and fell against the wooden pulpit. I jammed my tooth all the way through my lower lip. I still have the scar. The second time I tripped and fell against the church steps. I broke a couple of my front teeth out. My adult teeth now are crazy because of it. Oh and another time I accidentally lit a match in my coat pocket with my fingernail during prayer, but couldn't scream or anything because it was during prayer. It melted my fingernail and burned a hole in my coat, through which down feathers poofed out for at least two years. I guess maybe I was also pretty clumsy and stupid.