bigscoop
Gold Member
- Jun 4, 2010
- 13,376
- 8,704
- Detector(s) used
- Older blue Excal with full mods, Equinox 800.
- Primary Interest:
- All Treasure Hunting
Living Small in America: Why small men are tough fellas........
I’m 52 years old, 5’ 8” and 135 pounds, and yet I’m possibly the toughest man in America. Sure, go ahead and laugh, make a few short jokes, I assure you, I can take it because I’m use to it. You see, this, among other things, is what’s made me so tough. Now I know what you’re thinking, but before you pass judgement on me let you give you a little history in regards to what it’s really like to be a small man in America. Perhaps, after I explain some of it to you, you just might rethink things. So here we go……
First, a small man can’t get small clothes in the men’s section of Superstores, no Sir, they just refuse to accept the fact that small men live in America. Now I know you bigger fellows have no idea what it’s like to have to go to the beach wearing a pair Sponge Bob swimming britches but let me tell you, it ain’t no picnic. Why just last week a lifeguard gave me a twenty minute timeout for going past the kiddy rope. And a couple of days before that I got sand in my eye and some lady came running up to me and she asked me if I needed help finding my mother. And it only got worse from there, when I told her my mother was dead, damn if she didn’t call child services on me. I’ve got a 35 pound half lab/half beagle at home that’s buried me in the back yard twice! Thinks I’m one of those damn squeaky toys, grabs hold of me and shakes the living tar out of me whenever she’s in a playful mood. It’s all I can do to keep my teeth and eyes in my head, still not sure if it’s my spit or the dog’s slobber that goes flying everywhere. Tough, you bet, and you ain’t heard the half of it. I got a size 6 ½ foot. Purple dinosaurs that light up when you walk, enough said!
I was hunting a school yard about six months back and two of the grade school bullies tried to take my lunch money. I spent two hours in the Principle’s Office before my lawyer finally showed up with a copy of my birth certificate. My user name on this forum is Bigscoop and that’s because, well, even the small ones are. I went to the beach the other day with my Excall, and some old man saw me in my Sponge Bob swimming britches, purple dinosaurs, and Ninja Turtle T-shirt, and he walked on over to me and he started telling me, “Hey little fella, I think I saw Darth Vader over there….” Then he patted me on the head and went about his merry way. Imagine his surprise when those two Tazer needles hit him right square in the as#. The only reason I didn’t pick my butt up off the sand to go around or two with his wife was account of her old age. Cost me $800.00 to get that front tooth reset. For an old gal she sure could swing that cane. Am I tough enough? You bet!
If I go into a restaurant to eat it’s automatic, kiddy menu and a high chair, one of those kiddy place-mats and a couple of crayons, “Here you go,” they always say with a smile, “this should keep you busy until your parents get to the table.” On more then one occasion I’ve been known to start a food fight. Obviously, I buy small vehicles, a State Trooper pulled me over the other day and he spent twenty minutes looking for the guy with the remote control. I went to the Library of Congress to do some intensive treasure research and after an inquiry and a several minutes of waiting the receptionist came back with copies of Treasure Island and Captain Hook. And I could go on and on. Yep, living small in America has made me one tough son-of-a-gun, real tough.
I’m 52 years old, 5’ 8” and 135 pounds, and yet I’m possibly the toughest man in America. Sure, go ahead and laugh, make a few short jokes, I assure you, I can take it because I’m use to it. You see, this, among other things, is what’s made me so tough. Now I know what you’re thinking, but before you pass judgement on me let you give you a little history in regards to what it’s really like to be a small man in America. Perhaps, after I explain some of it to you, you just might rethink things. So here we go……
First, a small man can’t get small clothes in the men’s section of Superstores, no Sir, they just refuse to accept the fact that small men live in America. Now I know you bigger fellows have no idea what it’s like to have to go to the beach wearing a pair Sponge Bob swimming britches but let me tell you, it ain’t no picnic. Why just last week a lifeguard gave me a twenty minute timeout for going past the kiddy rope. And a couple of days before that I got sand in my eye and some lady came running up to me and she asked me if I needed help finding my mother. And it only got worse from there, when I told her my mother was dead, damn if she didn’t call child services on me. I’ve got a 35 pound half lab/half beagle at home that’s buried me in the back yard twice! Thinks I’m one of those damn squeaky toys, grabs hold of me and shakes the living tar out of me whenever she’s in a playful mood. It’s all I can do to keep my teeth and eyes in my head, still not sure if it’s my spit or the dog’s slobber that goes flying everywhere. Tough, you bet, and you ain’t heard the half of it. I got a size 6 ½ foot. Purple dinosaurs that light up when you walk, enough said!
I was hunting a school yard about six months back and two of the grade school bullies tried to take my lunch money. I spent two hours in the Principle’s Office before my lawyer finally showed up with a copy of my birth certificate. My user name on this forum is Bigscoop and that’s because, well, even the small ones are. I went to the beach the other day with my Excall, and some old man saw me in my Sponge Bob swimming britches, purple dinosaurs, and Ninja Turtle T-shirt, and he walked on over to me and he started telling me, “Hey little fella, I think I saw Darth Vader over there….” Then he patted me on the head and went about his merry way. Imagine his surprise when those two Tazer needles hit him right square in the as#. The only reason I didn’t pick my butt up off the sand to go around or two with his wife was account of her old age. Cost me $800.00 to get that front tooth reset. For an old gal she sure could swing that cane. Am I tough enough? You bet!
If I go into a restaurant to eat it’s automatic, kiddy menu and a high chair, one of those kiddy place-mats and a couple of crayons, “Here you go,” they always say with a smile, “this should keep you busy until your parents get to the table.” On more then one occasion I’ve been known to start a food fight. Obviously, I buy small vehicles, a State Trooper pulled me over the other day and he spent twenty minutes looking for the guy with the remote control. I went to the Library of Congress to do some intensive treasure research and after an inquiry and a several minutes of waiting the receptionist came back with copies of Treasure Island and Captain Hook. And I could go on and on. Yep, living small in America has made me one tough son-of-a-gun, real tough.
