July 12, 2003
Chris went home about 5:00 and I fed cheese pizza to Quinton and Jack tonight. They were wired and cranked, but I cut off the Mountain Dew before supper and they both finally decaffenated and fell out a few minutes ago.
The BC will be here at 0700 to pick Quinton up for the annual trip to Elijah Clark State Park, on that big, beautiful lake just outside Augusta. It's a traditional family thing that we did every July for nine years, but it's HER family, so I don't go anymore. That was the last place I played golf, on July 3, 2001. I haven't touched a golf club since then.
This month will mark a lot of anniversaries that I don't want to celebrate. Two years ago, this was a rough month for me. The shit storm descended, but I made it through.
Now, two years later, I am bruised and sore, and I just took my last pain pill. The swelling in my scrotum has gone down enough that I can feel my pump now, although I damn sure have no desire to use it. Looks like I grew a third nut out of this deal. Roscoe remains deformed and I believe that he is angry with me. He's been holding his breath until he turned blue while he puffed up like a bullfrog for three days now. I'll make this insult up to him. I promise.
(Any lusty lady willing to help Roscoe out of his slump is free to email me at email@example.com. The address is on the left side of this page and I believe that you can just point and click there. Yeah, I am trolling, but it never hurts to ask.)
Where was I?
Oh, yeah. Here in the Crackerbox, out of pain meds and still a norse god. Very Thor.
Quinton is looking forward to going to Clark Hill, but he would stay here if he had the chance. He told me so this evening. That broke my fucking heart because he doesn't have that choice and neither do I. He'll be gone at 0700 in the morning. That's the way that the world goes 'round.
dingbat Jane says that I excuse murder (yeah, and winged monkeys fly out of my ass, too) and her loyal minions call me an asshole. Just another day in the life of a blogger, but I DO wish that some of those people would AT LEAST READ THE FUCKING POST before going ballistic. I suppose that is too much to ask.
Quinton tried to tell me a joke today. He asked, "Daddy, why couldn't the glass tell a lie?"
"Because you could see right through him," I replied, without even thinking.
"AW, MAN! You HEARD it before!" He stomped away disappointed. So was I. I DIDN'T hear that joke before, but I possess a jokester's mind. I come up with punch lines and that one was obvious. I wish now that I had kept my goddam mouth shut and let him tell the joke. I am going to watch out for that mistake next time.
This evening, I told the boys to take a bath, and they were going to do it, but the pizza arrived about the same time. They ate, but they didn't bathe. I forgot all about that assignment. So did they. Oh, well. Quinton will be a dirty boy when the BC picks him up in the morning. You don't think I'm going to wake them up for hygene NOW, do you?
I saw Y.A. Tittle on television today and I RECOGNIZED HIM! That should give you something to think about.
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