During a sleepover, a friend even knocked a hole in the sheetrock as we rode sleeping bags down the basement stairs like sleds. I woke up still aching from the lashes, which had left bruised stripes on my back and thighs and forearms in the pattern of the braided belt my father wore. My mind was addled, ringing, half-delirious. Eventually, with a little coaxing, I told a teaching assistant what had happened. From there I was sent to the guidance counselor, to whom I repeated the story. That night, I told my mother about my disclosure. She frantically demanded that I take it all back.
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You gotta love a family photo, especially those that show tender moments shared by a father and her daughter. You can just imagine just how much love can be seen in one photo. But when the little girl blossoms into this beautiful young lady, that super tight bond diminishes. Eventually, mug shots had to be taken and, oh boy, the results turned out to be extremely hilarious and embarrassing. So what do we exactly mean by that? Well, you gotta scroll down and see for yourself. Be warned, however, that you'll probably laugh out loud while browsing these photos He eventually had the last laugh! Teenagers sometimes have the tendency to enjoy defying authority. They just seem like rebels without a cause sometimes!
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Copyright Statement: Unless explicitly stated, all stories published on Creepypasta. Looking for author contact information? If available, it will be featured at the conclusion of the story. I was surprised by a tiny voice saying that, in the cramped corridors of the crappy apartment complex my brother used to live in.
Everything had changed. Only a few years earlier my dad had been a clean-cut, thin-tied suit-wearing guy who was opening for the Supremes in Vegas and doing spots on "The Ed Sullivan Show. Now in , his hair was down past his shoulders, tie-dyed shirts and denim jeans were his fashion staple, and he was headlining at almost every college campus in America. Although Venice had been a really rough neighborhood, in some ways it felt safer to me, at least our freakiness blended in. I remember during the first month we lived in the Palisades, there was some sort of party across the street with men in suits and women in cocktail dresses mingling on the lawn — I guess they were the Rand execs.
