This date from Silver Singles, really knew how
to touch up a photo. The large mole with hair
coming out of it on the side of her nose was
not in her picture . During dinner I went
cross eyed looking at it. The end of the
night she suddenly gave me a big wet kiss
and my nose was pressing against her mole.
I guickly got out of the car, said good night,
then realized , I was driving.
Receiving my first french kiss in years, I remembered what
a pleasant thing it was to do. Then I noticed my date trying to
pull a hair off of her tongue. It was one of Ruby’s hairs I’m sure.
I’m sure it came from my lips or my tongue. Ruby’s hairs float in
air, and had become attached to my lips before, I hoped it was not
from my tongue. My date was struggling to get this micro thin
hair off her tongue. I saw it and grabbed it with my thumb and
index finger. She didn’t mind, I just figured my tongue was in there
so my fingers would be OK. If you have an Australian Shepard you
have to be aware of their hair.
I remember a time when it was forbidden
by my father to ever fart in his presence, in our house,
or even out in the yard. One evening the whole
family was watching Twilight Zone. We had had beans
and weenies for dinner and I was holding a fart. My pop was in his
favorite chair, I was laying on the floor directly in front of him.
My mean brother scared me by jumping and landing on by back.
The gas loudly came out. I turned to see dads totally angry disgusted look,
my mom holding her nose as the noxious smell permeated the whole room.
“What are you some kind of disgusting pig, go to the bathroom” he’d say. It
was no use, telling him I was already done. I had to get up and go stand in
the bathroom for a couple minutes. Then I was allowed to watch TV.
My grandmother’s hair was black and grey. She often made silly faces. These faces, combined with her quirky, eccentric behavior, made people laugh. She often would purse her lips, bulge out her eyes, then suck in her cheeks. She looked like an old fish. Then she might chase Butchie, her rotund lover, her dog. Around the kitchen they would go, with Grandma saying things over and over like, “Where is my ootie bootie boodums, my ootie bootie boodums.”
I was eating my second packet of Pop Tarts, double chocolate with sprinkles. I was happy. She had gotten them for me. I was her rotund baby boy.
A ninety-six year old women starts getting horny again. She goes to the adult
toy store. “I need a sex toy”, she tells the man at the counter. He points at a
wall where there are many dildos hanging. “I’ll take that big red one” the great grandmother says. “I cant sell you that” the salesmen smirks. “Why not”, granny says.
“Because that’s the fire extinguisher”.
I could have beat Trump. I could have been somebody.
The biggest reason why I haven’t is, I suffer from the insidious psychological disease: small penis syndrome.
In high school I showered with other young men who had wieners the size of Kielbasa sausages. My member before puberty was the size of a small Vienna sausage, and after puberty: a large Vienna sausage. I was ridiculed, snapped in the groin many times with rolled up towels and teased mercilessly. I took to wearing my underwear in the showers. Even the cheerleaders called me shorty.
I could of been somebody–I could’ve beat Trump.
Desperate after my tiger left me, I asked out a woman who I hoped had loose morals. We now have reached the one year mark. I have some love for her. When she gets mad and yells, her face looks like a raging gorilla, much like mine. My horrible health has helped to make me a very insecure man. I’m holding on to her like a life saver. When she is not angry she can be an angel.
You might yell “eat shit and shut the hell up!” after a year of trying hard to make her care for you when you know she doesn’t like you. You might be thinking she will have a nasty backlash.
You might walk the dogs, not to the usual closest grass patch to sniff and poop then back in the house, but on the longest walk ever, not wanting to stop an hour later, the dogs yanking you to the back door.
These are two examples of how I and many others suffer from mania in the middle of winter. When spring comes, this surge of energy can cause your rise or your fall. Know what it can do and be careful.
Even as a small boy I knew to buckle up when riding with Grandma Ruth. I liked to ride in the back and her massively fat dog, Butchie, sat up front. Ruth Weisburger could not see over the dash of her Ford Granada. I often saw her hit the brakes and Butchie’s head would ram into the glove box. Once when we were dropping off her cook, a black man called Old John–he sat in the back with me–she sideswiped three parked cars.
She gave up her freedom with little fuss after that. What a trooper! This saved lives, at least Butchie’s life. I miss her dearly.
The Joking Life 