Dear Jack

It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to. First I didn't dick around all day. I worked which left me only a little bit of time. And if I wasn't working I was sleeping. I didn't hitchhike from Florida to South Dakota. I went out in the storm of the century and picked you up hitchhiking from San Antonio. You promised to never mention Garth Brooks to me again. No I never got the 20 bucks and I still hurt from the broken heart he gave me. It wasn't a 73 Cougar it was a 87 Dodge minivan (the most uncool automobile on the road) and if I hadn't taken the heat for that one you-know-who would still be eating the cock meat sandwiches (I hated seeing you.....I mean a grown man cry). Also that Alamo was really a Burger King and the musket was a straw with spit balls. It's amazing what time and destroyed brain cells will do to the facts. I've never seen Ac/Dc in concert. It was Ratt and Poison and y'all are lucky I didn't go party with Brett when he invited me to. It's a long walk from San Antonio. Dine and dash? I don't run. I walked out to the car. You and Conrad ran screaming like girls.

Yes a lifetime of adventure. Most of it in my head. Scribble? Ha. I'm the Hemingway of the 21st century. So I'll probably be famous after I'm dead.

Jack, you are a man of your word.

Keep on keeping on.