Am i going to die , please answer

Rough life, huh?

I once squirted the contents of a water filled water pistol in my mouth and it sort of tasted a bit plasticky.

I also once rode, no handed, over a hundred yards on my bike until Mr Fensom's privet hedge stopped me from going any further. I distinctly remember smelling a hedge like smell as I crashed through it, and wonder if the vegetation was giving out some form of dangerous gas.

No ill effects so far.

I once drank the entire contents of a can of Coca-Cola, then immediately belched up copious amounts of effervescent gas. It distinctly smelled and tasted like cola.

Cola? Luxury!

My mum used to rub carbolic soap in a bowl of water to make it go all bubbly. The more vigorosity applied, the bubblier the water.
She then mixed in some soot from the chimney to make it look like Cola, and made us drink it out in the road so all our neighbours would think that we'd been to America.

Tasted a bit like soap though, for some reason.

carbolic coap and chimney soot? Luxury!

I used to sit in the yard and eat dirt. Loved the stuff.

Dirt? We wished we had dirt.

Every year we were forced to plant our turnips in a solid block of cement, which we had to steal from the cement works plant, which was guarded night and day by armed mercenaries.

Armed mercenaries? Ooh, La-di-dah!

Our mercenaries had to make do with dummy wooden rifles.

It wasn't till I joined the army that I found out bed and board weren't the same thing.

My 5-year-old great nephew, the tight-wad that he is, spent part of his allowance on plastic snakes he found at the store yesterday. He is strategizing about the perfect place to locate them in order for his granny (my sister) to stumble upon them. He also mentioned that his next purchase might be brown-colored play dough because it can be molded to look like a turd. I told him he shouldn't waste his money when he could have salvaged the very large one that he left in the rest room and loudly bragged about when we were having dinner in a lovely restaurant.

Our mercenaries were armed with brown play dough turds, or sometimes the real thing if they were able to get turnips for supper the night before.

They damn well should have turnips, what with them cornering the market on cement blocks.