Word: kidded
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Dates: during 1990-1990
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...being ridiculous? I admit that as a kid I saw Roy Rogers shoot-'em- ups and the brutal battles between Elmer Fudd and Daffy Duck. These didn't warp me for life. But I never saw anything so violent as Batman before I could tie my shoelaces, and to this day I don't have the stomach to watch The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. As a teenager I thought the Rolling Stones' Let's Spend the Night Together was cool, but it's a long way from that to this Guns N' Roses lyric: "Panties 'round your knees/ With your...
...best instrument of subversion. While other women are busy pointing fingers at one another for their family and career choices, Ehrenreich makes her case for working mothers by debunking, with the endearing sting of a suburban survivor, the guilt trips thrust upon them. Don't worry about missing your kid's "stages," she says, because "no self-respecting six-year-old wants to be reminded that she was once a fat little fool in a high chair...
Even on radio, where the most common four-letter vulgarisms are verboten, a host of popular "shock jocks" consider giving offense is Job One. Their humor is guy talk, kid division. The victims of their gags are familiar from the schoolyard: racial and sexual minorities, scheming females, body parts and bodily functions. A few years back, a D.C. radio host was censured for observing, on Martin Luther King Day, that "killing four more" would get + Americans the rest of the week...
When I started Little League at the worldly age of seven (because everyone else did), I was the most hyperactive kid on the team. If I was playing shortstop, I'd dive for a ground ball to the first baseman. ("I mean, it's fun playing baseball with just you," Calvin told Hobbes. "We get to do everything.") If I was playing left field, I'd sprint to cover second base on a bunt down the third-base line. (I'd just rather run around," Calvin told Suzie.) If I was playing catcher--wait, I said I was hyperactive...
...hysterics after our opponents' bench had collapsed in the middle of my windup. I remember my co-presidency of the two-man Kiko Garcia Fan Club in honor of the Baltimore utility infielder. I remember Ralph James slamming a towering shot far over the head of our leftfielder, a kid named Ron Mitchell. I cracked up as our coach pulled Ron off the field for jogging after the ball. "But Mr. Marshall, he could have run around the bases twice," Ron pleaded...