As Heavyweight for the TJ Patriots, I took on all comers. Jim was a big farm-raised brute from Westminster, six feet six and three hundred pounds. I was five feet seven, two hundred twenty-five pounds soaking wet. This brute had a thick beard and so did his mother in the stands.
I had eaten a whole sub in the locker room given to me by our 98 pounder. I didn’t feel like wrestling. When my teammates showed me who I had to wrestle I made a scared look and let out a fart. I was always clowning. The brute actually caused me to lose consciousness somewhere in the third round. Everybody thought I was clowning. When I came to I gave a thumbs up and hugged one of the cheerleaders.
She is Irish, a beauty with red hair. I say, “You are the prettiest flower in this garden,” as I look around the clinic with 20 more women milling about.
“Thank you, that was nice.”
Last week she told me that she was going through a nasty separation. I think she might be rich. I have a girlfriend, but I always keep my options open. I am not the man I once was, but I am as good once as I ever was.
In April I will turn 60. Hell, I am still waiting for puberty to wrap up. I have loved–it was mostly for animals–humans and dogs. When I was younger I smelled fresher, but now PU.
If my health insurance gets canceled that’s it. I am going to take 40 Ambien, sixteen shots of Tequila, eat 1 lb of bad sushi, then eat two whole Dominos large pizzas with extra cheese and four toppings. If that doesn’t kill me nothing will. I just hope I don’t wake up from that.
In 2018 I need love, medicine, money, cell phone, more money, and a weapon. I have all of these. True love from Louie, my dog. Medicine from various healers. I don’t work anymore but love to spend money. My love life and my cell phone need a charge. My weapons are a BB gun, a shovel and a frying pan.