So much crap going on. Hard to keep track. Want to post so many things, but no time. Wait: Ok, this ought to be worth a grin.

In about 1975 I visited my cousin with my family. Not long before he left he handed me a box of stuff he said “I don’t use this stuff anymore” and I thanked him, carried it out to the car, and took it home.

Turns out it was a viewmaster. While I (at the time) considered myself too old for such things, the novelty of 3d never wears off, so I popped in a disk and started looking. Some great scenes, some wonderful pictures of vacation spots, some museum-type photographs of statues. And then I popped in a disk which seemed older, maybe a little more worn than the others.

And saw my very first naked woman.

In a very compromising position.

Doing something I’d only heard of.

To a guy who had a piece of equipment bigger than Randy’s Horse.

And I immediately got wood. Not the kind of lackadaisical wood you get nowadays, the wood that says yeah, take me out and pee, or get that hand lubed up, or I’d get harder if you had a real woman here, the kid of wood that stands up at attention and says “SIR! YES SIR!” and makes you walk funny for a week afterwards. For the first time I had visual evidence of the purpose of the utensil formerly used only to pass water, and I wanted to test it for it’s- er- special purpose

Anyway, I found that in the thirty odd ViewMaster disks, there was a round half dozen porn ones. Each one depicted the travails of a different girl, most of whom ended up inthe arms of a slightly chubby, redheaded guy with tons of curly red body hair. The scenes were consecutive and were the choppergun version of MP#’s in their day.

Trouble was, you ended up vibrating too badly to see, because you were trying to hold the viewmaster with one hand while the other was shaking hands with mr happy.

Ever the enterprising young man, I got myself a set of old welders goggles, and used some epoxy I was using on my model airplanes to epoxy the Viewmaster in position on the goggles. THis worked fine for position and focus, but the thin strap on the back of the goggles wouldn’t hold the extra weight of the viewmaster, so I needed more elastic.

More elastic finally came in the form of a discarded brassiere from Mom- she was- and is- an ample woman, and her brassieres had a large, wide (like 6″) band of elastic with hooks on the back. Popriveted to the edge of the welding goggles, the bra elastic worked perfectly, cradling nearly the entire back of my head, snugly pulling the welding goggles and Viewmaster assembly in perfect position for optimum viewing. Best of all, no matter how much I would- erm- shake, rattle and roll, the viewmaster remained in perfect focus.

Trouble was, I didn’t often get a chance to use it. Not much privacy in our house, one bathroom, and frankly, i wanted to keep the entire homemade contraption to myself. I had a “regular” viewmaster for the other disks, plus my own collection of disney and scooby doo shit.

So one fine morning, for reasons lost in the mist of time, I found myself alone in the house. I retrieved my stash from it’s carefully concealed hiding place and proceeded to don my- er- headdress. A couple of minutes later i was in full flog, roughing up the suspect with incredible vigour. Trouble was, I was losing the light- as everyone knows, the best Viewmaster viewing is from a bright, overcast sky, for the most diffuse lighting available. So I stood closer and closer to the window, trying to catch the best illumination.

Under these circumstances, I was so incredibly focused on the situation, a herd of elephants could storm by, wearing purple velour Elvis jumpsuits, being ridden by the Banana Splits, and I would not have noticed.

So I had no idea that i was standing in front of the window, pretty well naked, with this contraption strapped to my face, left arm lifted up over my head so I could switch the slide (the lever was on the right side), choking Kojack. And that Mrs Trueblood, our next door neighbor, had chosen this morning to weed her begonias, pretty much outside my bedroom window. I had just about called up the mayo, when she turned from her work.

Standing there, framed in my tall bedroom window, she saw what must have been the chubby teenage Borg of perverts, viewmaster glued to welding goggles pop riveted to wide brassiere elastic, wrapped around my head like some x rated cenobite, pumping gas at the self service island.

THe scream was easily audible through the double pane windows, and I ripped the contraption off my head to find that I had an audience, and to my utter dismay, it was a hausfrau in her 50’s.

Needless to say the moment was ruined for me.

Pitiably, Mr Happy had no intention of cooperating with me, and proceeded, still at full staff, to coat the inside of the bedroom windows with a spattering of Kickapoo Joy Juice, while the pitch of the scream rose ever louder and more frantic, her legs moving but gaining no purchase, like a frightened cat on a polished hardwood floor. Finally I ducked down under windowsill heioght and she took off headed for her house like she was on fire.

I quickly stashed my treasure and washed up and dressed, and tried to get scarce so I could stay out of trouble when the rents got home.

Fortunately the neighbor was well known for her recreational drug use, so even her own husband didn’t believe her, and the story never got back to mom&dad. Another major asswhipping narrowly averted.