I was listening to some early 80's rock today. REO Speedwagon to be specific and it got me to reminiscing. So I have a little tale to tell. I told Jen this story earlier, she says I'm a dirty bitch.
The year was 1979 and I had my collar bone broken in a fight so I was yanked out of Physical Education and stuck in Home Economics. When they told my I was going to Home Ec. I thought it was the end of the world. That was a chicks class and I would be labeled a fag. I've never been so wrong in my life. It was heaven. The class was full of girls and the teacher was a hot piece herself. I was lucky enough to miss the child birthing part of the course but thanks to Miss.? (I don't remember her name) I know how to cook and sew and I have a special appreciation for what used to be older women. Now they're just women my age. This story has two parts.
Part 1:
Miss.? required her students to do projects outside off school. If I remember correctly it was a important part of the six weeks grade. We had to do something we wouldn't normally do or had ever done before. I decided to refinish a piece of furniture. My mom had an old magazine table that we used for a T.V. stand, it had seen better days, so it became my victim. My mom took me to the local hardware store and purchased all the necessary chemicals. For the next three weeks I lovingly stripped the old varnish, sanded, stained, and clear coated the T.V. stand. It was beautiful. When it was all said and done I had to write a report about the process. I turned in the report and Miss.? informed me that she needed to see the piece of furniture to insure that I did the work, she said she would come by my house after school.
I was sitting at home waiting for Miss.? to show up, I just wanted to get the grading over with. She knocked on the door and I let her in.
Miss.?: "Is your mom home?"
Trash: "No. She's at work."
Miss.?: "O.K. Where's the T.V. stand?"
Trash: "Right here."
She looked over the stand inspecting the whole thing. Checking all the nooks and crannies. She finally turned around walked over to me took my right hand in hers and said "You're very good with your hands." Then she placed my hand on her left tit. I know. I know. This story sounds like it should start with "Dear Penthouse, You're not going to believe this, but....."
I was in shock I didn't know what the fuck was going on, all I knew was I was 14 and I had a 30 something year old woman's left tit in my hand.
Miss.? " Trash? Are you O.K.?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.?" Have you ever touched a woman before?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Then you know what to do?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? " Where's your bed?"
Trash: "Uh Huh."
Miss.? "Take me there."
I led her to my my bedroom, and she led me to places that only one girl (my first) had ever taken me before. The other girls I had been with were amateurs. This woman knew how to work a guy over. It's a good thing I was 14 and could bounce back quickley. She did things the girls my age never dreamed of doing. It was like a horizontal slow dance. The girls my age didn't dance, they just laid there. When it was over I was laying there watching her put her clothes back on. She was wearing a brown suede leather skirt a white blouse. As she was doing up the buttons, she looked over at me. I remember feeling embarrassed, I don't why but I did. She walked over to me, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek.
Miss.?: "Trash?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "You can't tell anybody about this. It never happened, and it will never happen again. Do you understand?"
Trash: "Yes Ma'am."
Miss.?: "Promise."
Trash: "I promise."
Miss.?: "You got an A on the T.V. stand."
Trash: "Oh. O.K."
Miss.?: "You're cute."
With that she turned and walked out of my life, until I saw her at school the next day. Looking at her as a teacher again was one of the hardest things I ever did. I wished and hoped and prayed for the experience again. It never happened. She treated me like any other student. She even sent me to the principal on more than one occasion. I never broke that promise until today.
I was sitting on the back patio telling Jen this story. I still remember exactly what she was wearing. I remember her green eyes and her long brown hair that curled up at the ends. I remember every curve of her body. I remember every thing we did that day. I remember that her fingernails and toenails were painted the same color. I remember the feel of her soft skin against mine. I remember the smell of her perfume (I don't know what it was but I know it when I smell it). I remember she was wearing little ruby earrings. But for the life of me I can't remember that bitches name.
Part B: Next Time.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Thursday, April 19, 2007
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Keeping A Promise
I've been gone for awhile in case some of you haven't noticed. I've had a lot going on and it's hard to get into the blogging mood sometimes. On top of that I've been feeling censored. I have become friendly with a lot of ya'll and I catch myself avoiding some post for fear of insulting or up setting some of ya'll. I can't work this way. So fuck it. From now on I'm just going to say what I say. If feelings get hurt, I can't help it. Feel free to voice your displeasure with me in the comments section. Please do me a favor. If you're going to bad mouth me that's OK, but leave your blog address so I can stop by and see how perfect people blog. I promise I will not retaliate, it's just that I would like to see who's throwing rocks at my glass house.
Mike mentioned something in a comment on my last post about a middle-aged white slave ring and the fact that Jack and I were both missing. Seems to me that Mike has a lot of info. Info that only someone involved in the slavery of white middle-aged men, would have.
And since ya'll are a bunch of curious fuckers, I'll tell you what happened.
Me and Jack were coming out of a bar late one night, one minute everything was normal (Jack was leaning on me crying and telling me how much he loved me) the next minute I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. I saw Jack drop to the ground and I started to turn and I heard someone say "Hit him again." BOOM another hit to the head. Then another and another and another. Eventually I passed out.
I woke up tied to a chair with a ball gag in my mouth. Jack was trussed up in a similar fashion next to me. Looking around I could see some weird mother fucker in a leather outfit with matching mask chained to the ceiling behind me. Jack woke up about that time and started trying to free himself. After he got tired of that he looked a t me with a tear in his eye and started to speak around the ball gag. He did good to, so I'm not sure it was the first time he talked while wearing one of those.
Jack: "Ash"
Trash: "Eah ack."
Jack: "Oois ee onin."
Trash: "Aneein."
Jack: "Ii oo et ree oo ont ell ee orl."
Trash: "aa oo rayy."
Jack: "Usss oooo iii."
Trash: "OA OA OA."
Now for the illiterate out there I will translate. You have to understand, somethings I did not understand myself. I will make those parts bold.
Jack: "Trash"
Trash: "Yeah Jack."
Jack: "Promise me something."
Trash: "Anything."
Jack: "If you get free oo ont tell the world."
Trash: "Are you crazy?."
Jack: "Just do it."
Trash: "OK OK OK."
I know it seems crazy but that was our last conversation. The next thing I know two redneck fuckers came barreling though the door. They called each other Life and Death. They said we were in a Life and Death situation and laughed like inbreeds. One of them said something about corn hole and the skinny one. They snagged up Jack and took him in the next room. I could see them bend him over and one of the rednecks dropped his pants, the other redneck closed the door. I panicked. I managed to get free from the chair and the leather clad freak started to jump around so I hit him in the head with the chair.
I found the stairs leading out of the basement of hell and when I got to the top I realized that we were being held captive under a pawn shop. I saw a baseball bat and grabbed it. Then I saw a chainsaw and dropped the bat. The chainsaw started on the first pull. Then I saw a samurai sword. I dropped the chainsaw and grabbed the sword. The next thing I saw was an exit sign over a door. I dropped the sword and ran out the door. I ran and ran and ran some more.
When I finally got home I loaded my gun and backed my ass into a corner. I didn't move for days. I didn't sleep for days. All I could think about was the promise I made to Jack. TELL THE WORLD. So that's what I'm doing. I haven't heard from Jack, so as far as I know he's still being corn-holed by Life.
Oh and Happy New Year. I hope your new one was better than my old one.
Side note: It's official; Texas Stadium, home of The Cowboys will now be known as Brokeback Stadium, because the Cowboys play football like a bunch of queers. I'd quit them if I could.
Mike mentioned something in a comment on my last post about a middle-aged white slave ring and the fact that Jack and I were both missing. Seems to me that Mike has a lot of info. Info that only someone involved in the slavery of white middle-aged men, would have.
And since ya'll are a bunch of curious fuckers, I'll tell you what happened.
Me and Jack were coming out of a bar late one night, one minute everything was normal (Jack was leaning on me crying and telling me how much he loved me) the next minute I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head. I saw Jack drop to the ground and I started to turn and I heard someone say "Hit him again." BOOM another hit to the head. Then another and another and another. Eventually I passed out.
I woke up tied to a chair with a ball gag in my mouth. Jack was trussed up in a similar fashion next to me. Looking around I could see some weird mother fucker in a leather outfit with matching mask chained to the ceiling behind me. Jack woke up about that time and started trying to free himself. After he got tired of that he looked a t me with a tear in his eye and started to speak around the ball gag. He did good to, so I'm not sure it was the first time he talked while wearing one of those.
Jack: "Ash"
Trash: "Eah ack."
Jack: "Oois ee onin."
Trash: "Aneein."
Jack: "Ii oo et ree oo ont ell ee orl."
Trash: "aa oo rayy."
Jack: "Usss oooo iii."
Trash: "OA OA OA."
Now for the illiterate out there I will translate. You have to understand, somethings I did not understand myself. I will make those parts bold.
Jack: "Trash"
Trash: "Yeah Jack."
Jack: "Promise me something."
Trash: "Anything."
Jack: "If you get free oo ont tell the world."
Trash: "Are you crazy?."
Jack: "Just do it."
Trash: "OK OK OK."
I know it seems crazy but that was our last conversation. The next thing I know two redneck fuckers came barreling though the door. They called each other Life and Death. They said we were in a Life and Death situation and laughed like inbreeds. One of them said something about corn hole and the skinny one. They snagged up Jack and took him in the next room. I could see them bend him over and one of the rednecks dropped his pants, the other redneck closed the door. I panicked. I managed to get free from the chair and the leather clad freak started to jump around so I hit him in the head with the chair.
I found the stairs leading out of the basement of hell and when I got to the top I realized that we were being held captive under a pawn shop. I saw a baseball bat and grabbed it. Then I saw a chainsaw and dropped the bat. The chainsaw started on the first pull. Then I saw a samurai sword. I dropped the chainsaw and grabbed the sword. The next thing I saw was an exit sign over a door. I dropped the sword and ran out the door. I ran and ran and ran some more.
When I finally got home I loaded my gun and backed my ass into a corner. I didn't move for days. I didn't sleep for days. All I could think about was the promise I made to Jack. TELL THE WORLD. So that's what I'm doing. I haven't heard from Jack, so as far as I know he's still being corn-holed by Life.
Oh and Happy New Year. I hope your new one was better than my old one.
Side note: It's official; Texas Stadium, home of The Cowboys will now be known as Brokeback Stadium, because the Cowboys play football like a bunch of queers. I'd quit them if I could.
Monday, October 30, 2006
Annie's Road
Halloween. There's a word you don't read very often, especially around here. The bible thumpers control everything so we have fall festivals. I don't like fall festivals. I like Halloween.
Are you ready for another spooky story from Uncle Trashman? OK, grab your favorite safety blanket and get ready.
I have been involved in two murder investigations. I've driven 150+ miles per hour. I've been with the same woman for 13 years. I have two children. I have fought the devil (literally). I have walked the basements and corridors of empty nut houses (alone). I've swam the waters of Camp Crystal Lake at night (if you saw the piece of ass waiting for me on the float, you would understand). I've seen the dead walk. I've almost shot myself. I've fought a bear. I've risked life and limb on more than one occasion . I even got a little sumpin sumpin on top of a grave once. But I believe the most scared I've ever been is on Annie's Road.
Late one night I left the house to fetch some diapers or some such shit from the nearest grocery store. The quickest way there was down what's known as Annie's road. It's a dark road that runs between a river and a graveyard most of the way until you make a hard right then you have the river on your left and a hill that goes straight up on your right. This particular night there was a lot of fog on the river, the mist crossed the road into the graveyard. Now I've never bought into spook stories and I had been up and down this road a million times, so I was scootin right along cutting through the fog at a reasonable speed (I was flying). I came around the sharp right and smack dab in the middle of the road was a chick in a white dress. She had her back to me and was standing there not moving. The dress was blowing around but the fog was still which meant, no wind. It was weird. I had heard the stories of Annie before, I had even lived straight across the river from that exact spot, but Like I said I didn't buy into all that ghost shit. But flying down the road, headed right at this crazy bitch standing on the center stripe, all the stories suddenly came back to me. It was Annie and I was fucking positive of that.
I never took my foot of the gas, in fact I believe I stuck my foot in the carburetor. I passed her and never looked back. I never even checked my mirrors cause I knew if I did I would see this.
I didn't think My feeble little mind could take that sort of image. Plus I was pretty sure she was sitting in my backseat anyway. I got to the store and bought whatever it was I was supposed to buy, and headed home, the LONG way. When I got home Jen looked at me and said "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." I answered "I'm pretty sure I just did." Sorry no funny punch line. No fancy ending. Just a story. A story that made me rethink a lot of my beliefs. Don't forget to click the links.
Next time I'll write about what's wrong with women.
Are you ready for another spooky story from Uncle Trashman? OK, grab your favorite safety blanket and get ready.
I have been involved in two murder investigations. I've driven 150+ miles per hour. I've been with the same woman for 13 years. I have two children. I have fought the devil (literally). I have walked the basements and corridors of empty nut houses (alone). I've swam the waters of Camp Crystal Lake at night (if you saw the piece of ass waiting for me on the float, you would understand). I've seen the dead walk. I've almost shot myself. I've fought a bear. I've risked life and limb on more than one occasion . I even got a little sumpin sumpin on top of a grave once. But I believe the most scared I've ever been is on Annie's Road.
Late one night I left the house to fetch some diapers or some such shit from the nearest grocery store. The quickest way there was down what's known as Annie's road. It's a dark road that runs between a river and a graveyard most of the way until you make a hard right then you have the river on your left and a hill that goes straight up on your right. This particular night there was a lot of fog on the river, the mist crossed the road into the graveyard. Now I've never bought into spook stories and I had been up and down this road a million times, so I was scootin right along cutting through the fog at a reasonable speed (I was flying). I came around the sharp right and smack dab in the middle of the road was a chick in a white dress. She had her back to me and was standing there not moving. The dress was blowing around but the fog was still which meant, no wind. It was weird. I had heard the stories of Annie before, I had even lived straight across the river from that exact spot, but Like I said I didn't buy into all that ghost shit. But flying down the road, headed right at this crazy bitch standing on the center stripe, all the stories suddenly came back to me. It was Annie and I was fucking positive of that.
I never took my foot of the gas, in fact I believe I stuck my foot in the carburetor. I passed her and never looked back. I never even checked my mirrors cause I knew if I did I would see this.
I didn't think My feeble little mind could take that sort of image. Plus I was pretty sure she was sitting in my backseat anyway. I got to the store and bought whatever it was I was supposed to buy, and headed home, the LONG way. When I got home Jen looked at me and said "What's wrong with you? You look like you've seen a ghost." I answered "I'm pretty sure I just did." Sorry no funny punch line. No fancy ending. Just a story. A story that made me rethink a lot of my beliefs. Don't forget to click the links.
Next time I'll write about what's wrong with women.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Principles
First they took away "Without A Trace" then next on the list was "Dexter". Now they have taken away "Monday Night Football". I know you're sitting there thinking that I've lost my mind, that those shows are still on TV. Well it's not my mind that I've lost, it's my patience with the "white guilt ridden, liberal, panty waisted, pussified, cocksuckers" that run Hollywood and the media.
The powers that be have deemed it necessary to ruin three of my favorite shows. For some reason they are trying to force us to learn spanish. A few months ago "Without A Trace" had a scene where the Puerto Rican guy walked past the Puerto Rican girl and they had an entire conversation in spanish. No subtitles, no explanation, no nothing. So it went on my list of never watch again. Then "Dexter" went and did the same thing. Tonight on "Monday Night Football" they ran a commercial in spanish, at least they had subtitles. They still went on my list of never watch again.
Last time I checked football was an American sport. In America we speak American, so it's only natural that the commercials are in American. Plus I think in America we pretty much have a lock on the serial killers , so "Dexter" should be in American also. Every word of it. Last but not least "Without A Trace" is about the FB-fucking-I, which I KNOW is an American institution. So why would it be in spanish?
The bean eaters have their own channels. If they want to watch these shows they can either learn American or if they can write, they can send a letter to their local spanish stations requesting the programs in spanish. I shouldn't be forced to hear that shit in my own house, it's bad enough I can't go through a drive-thru with out needing a translator.
Speaking of translators, if you need one get the fuck out of America. You want to work here, you want to live here, then you need to learn the fucking language. If you've been here for six months and you still can't speak American, it's time to get the fuck out.
The mexicans are pissed because they don't want a fence (which isn't going to be built but that's a different story for a different day), they say we should figure out how to live together. How's this for a fucking idea. Get car insurance. Don't steal license plates. Use a real social security number. Don't party all night in your fucking front yard. Don't throw your beer cans in your neighbors fucking front yard. Turn your fucking oompah music down, we don't want to hear it. Have some fucking respect. Control your kids. Learn to speak American. Fill out the proper paper work to stay. Stop killing innocent people. Stop bringing dope into this country. Stop cramming 51 mother fuckers into one apartment. How about you start there and then we'll see if we'll let you stay.
Trashman. OUT.
The powers that be have deemed it necessary to ruin three of my favorite shows. For some reason they are trying to force us to learn spanish. A few months ago "Without A Trace" had a scene where the Puerto Rican guy walked past the Puerto Rican girl and they had an entire conversation in spanish. No subtitles, no explanation, no nothing. So it went on my list of never watch again. Then "Dexter" went and did the same thing. Tonight on "Monday Night Football" they ran a commercial in spanish, at least they had subtitles. They still went on my list of never watch again.
Last time I checked football was an American sport. In America we speak American, so it's only natural that the commercials are in American. Plus I think in America we pretty much have a lock on the serial killers , so "Dexter" should be in American also. Every word of it. Last but not least "Without A Trace" is about the FB-fucking-I, which I KNOW is an American institution. So why would it be in spanish?
The bean eaters have their own channels. If they want to watch these shows they can either learn American or if they can write, they can send a letter to their local spanish stations requesting the programs in spanish. I shouldn't be forced to hear that shit in my own house, it's bad enough I can't go through a drive-thru with out needing a translator.
Speaking of translators, if you need one get the fuck out of America. You want to work here, you want to live here, then you need to learn the fucking language. If you've been here for six months and you still can't speak American, it's time to get the fuck out.
The mexicans are pissed because they don't want a fence (which isn't going to be built but that's a different story for a different day), they say we should figure out how to live together. How's this for a fucking idea. Get car insurance. Don't steal license plates. Use a real social security number. Don't party all night in your fucking front yard. Don't throw your beer cans in your neighbors fucking front yard. Turn your fucking oompah music down, we don't want to hear it. Have some fucking respect. Control your kids. Learn to speak American. Fill out the proper paper work to stay. Stop killing innocent people. Stop bringing dope into this country. Stop cramming 51 mother fuckers into one apartment. How about you start there and then we'll see if we'll let you stay.
Trashman. OUT.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
People Are Strange
Angi tagged me, I guess cause she likes to torture me. Then she went and complained about the number of these things floating around out there in Blogville. Typical chick.
I have to list 5 weird things about me or my pets then I'm supposed to pass the torture on to 5 people but I'm going to kill this one right here. I wouldn't want to upset Angi by sending more of these things out.
One reasons I'm doing this is because I need to post, this will be short, and I don't have the energy to rant or dig up my past.
On to the agony. This will be all about me. There's nothing weird about my pets.
1. My sunny disposition is a facade. I'm really very angry.
2. The voices of Fran Drescher, Rosie Perez and Megan Mullally really turn me on.
3. When I'm in a high place looking over the edge I have to really fight the urge to jump. It's not a suicide thing, it's an "I bet I could fly thing".
4. I like to shop.
5. I'm fascinated with death. In fact I really want to see what's on the other side.
Stay tuned for a new rant coming soon.
I have to list 5 weird things about me or my pets then I'm supposed to pass the torture on to 5 people but I'm going to kill this one right here. I wouldn't want to upset Angi by sending more of these things out.
One reasons I'm doing this is because I need to post, this will be short, and I don't have the energy to rant or dig up my past.
On to the agony. This will be all about me. There's nothing weird about my pets.
1. My sunny disposition is a facade. I'm really very angry.
2. The voices of Fran Drescher, Rosie Perez and Megan Mullally really turn me on.
3. When I'm in a high place looking over the edge I have to really fight the urge to jump. It's not a suicide thing, it's an "I bet I could fly thing".
4. I like to shop.
5. I'm fascinated with death. In fact I really want to see what's on the other side.
Stay tuned for a new rant coming soon.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Choices
Through out our lives we are all given choices to make. I chose to stop playing football after 8th grade because I didn't want to play in a corrupt system that would let me get away with the shit I did. Texas football used to be a major deal even in grade school and junior high. Since I no longer played football I had to work for my grades, by that time I had become lazy and had really shitty study habits. I was also used to getting away with things so I tried to keep getting away with them. Therefore I was given the choice of being expelled for the remainder of my senior year or quitting. It was the first time I ever quit anything and that was just because I was leaving on my terms (or so I believed).
Now Trash Jr has to make some of the same choices. He plays football, at least until Friday when he gets his report card. He is failing History. At the beginning of the year I met with all of his teachers and told them this would happen. I told them we could stop it from happening if they would call me when they first saw any problems. My phone never rang. When I asked the teacher why she didn't call, all she said was "In retrospect I see that I should have done that." Fine she has hindsight, but that still didn't answer my question. After asking her why, four different times, I got retrospect four times. Which still doesn't answer my question. I hung up on her so I wouldn't threaten her life or start cussing or some such juvenile white trash thing.
I've tried my best to make sure he doesn't follow in my footsteps. He's smart but I don't think he can walk in my shoes and remain a free man, and I see a lot of me in him. This is not a good thing.
Like I said, choices. I chose to lie, cheat, steal, deal, hustle, con, pimp, rip off and swindle my way through life. I don't want him making those same choices. I want him to be better than me, much like I'm better than my dad. I want him to break free of the white trash shackles. I want to be the last member of my family that embraces my heritage. Once you head down that road it's damn near impossible to find an exit. I found an exit.
I turned my life around. I have car insurance. I attempt to pay my bills. I get up everyday and go to work usually for at least 12 hours a day. I don't have to sweat when I see the cops (but I still do). I work my ass off, hopefully so my children won't have to. Once again these are my choices. But sometimes you have to wonder if you're making the right choices.
Being the phil-os-o-fiser that I am, I've always said that I have no regrets in life, because every choice I've made is the right one. I know they're the right choices because God wouldn't let me make the wrong one (I know it may surprise a lot of you to hear that I'm a god fearing man. Well I was raised in a Southern Baptist Church, nuff said).
I'm starting to rethink my whole philosophy. I'm starting to think maybe I'm just an experiment to God. I'm thinking maybe he gets a good laugh out of me. In fact I think he's sitting on his puffy little cloud right now wondering what he can do to me next.
I've had to move twice since June, my business is going under (quickly), my son decided he wants to be like me, on top of that I'm short, fat, bald and I have a little dick. Not to mention the fact that I’m diabetic which makes me piss like a race horse. My vision is going bad probably due to the diabetes and Macular Degeneration which I inherited from my mother. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that book deal.
I think it's time to make some new choices. Choices that could affect the rest of my life (which is really a stupid statement because all of our choices affect the rest of our lives). Let's just say the title of my blog could become a self fulfilling prophecy.
I know you've all heard the saying "Crime doesn't pay." Well here's a new saying for you "Bullshit. Crime does pay and I think it's time to get paid."
Now Trash Jr has to make some of the same choices. He plays football, at least until Friday when he gets his report card. He is failing History. At the beginning of the year I met with all of his teachers and told them this would happen. I told them we could stop it from happening if they would call me when they first saw any problems. My phone never rang. When I asked the teacher why she didn't call, all she said was "In retrospect I see that I should have done that." Fine she has hindsight, but that still didn't answer my question. After asking her why, four different times, I got retrospect four times. Which still doesn't answer my question. I hung up on her so I wouldn't threaten her life or start cussing or some such juvenile white trash thing.
I've tried my best to make sure he doesn't follow in my footsteps. He's smart but I don't think he can walk in my shoes and remain a free man, and I see a lot of me in him. This is not a good thing.
Like I said, choices. I chose to lie, cheat, steal, deal, hustle, con, pimp, rip off and swindle my way through life. I don't want him making those same choices. I want him to be better than me, much like I'm better than my dad. I want him to break free of the white trash shackles. I want to be the last member of my family that embraces my heritage. Once you head down that road it's damn near impossible to find an exit. I found an exit.
I turned my life around. I have car insurance. I attempt to pay my bills. I get up everyday and go to work usually for at least 12 hours a day. I don't have to sweat when I see the cops (but I still do). I work my ass off, hopefully so my children won't have to. Once again these are my choices. But sometimes you have to wonder if you're making the right choices.
Being the phil-os-o-fiser that I am, I've always said that I have no regrets in life, because every choice I've made is the right one. I know they're the right choices because God wouldn't let me make the wrong one (I know it may surprise a lot of you to hear that I'm a god fearing man. Well I was raised in a Southern Baptist Church, nuff said).
I'm starting to rethink my whole philosophy. I'm starting to think maybe I'm just an experiment to God. I'm thinking maybe he gets a good laugh out of me. In fact I think he's sitting on his puffy little cloud right now wondering what he can do to me next.
I've had to move twice since June, my business is going under (quickly), my son decided he wants to be like me, on top of that I'm short, fat, bald and I have a little dick. Not to mention the fact that I’m diabetic which makes me piss like a race horse. My vision is going bad probably due to the diabetes and Macular Degeneration which I inherited from my mother. And I don’t think I’ll ever get that book deal.
I think it's time to make some new choices. Choices that could affect the rest of my life (which is really a stupid statement because all of our choices affect the rest of our lives). Let's just say the title of my blog could become a self fulfilling prophecy.
I know you've all heard the saying "Crime doesn't pay." Well here's a new saying for you "Bullshit. Crime does pay and I think it's time to get paid."
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