I somehow got on the subject of surgical shaving with one of the hospital staff (I’m all kinds of fun to go places with), and it got me to thinking about how my gorilla chest was shaved into a coconut bra circa Gilligan’s Island. Or was it The animated Jungle Book? Both? I was told after the fact that it wasn’t necessary. They were just having a bit of fun. I mean…I laughed; eventually.
I was born in a time when hair meant manhood, only to evolve into a world where chicks shave bald, or gave you the sensation of chewing steel wool; no in-between. I have no idea where I’m going with this, so just enjoy the factoid. It’s those little gifts that make us the happiest.
Seriously, scope out some old Ron Jeremy movies. They look like Cousin It from the Addams Family wrestling a mop in a pool of black hair dye. Again, I have no idea where I’m going with any of this. Enjoy the mental image.
I told a nurse, a shorter haired tribute to the Greta Van Fleet singer in scrubs, that both of our cats were accounted for. I made certain of that before leaving the house. That wasn’t the purpose of a cat-scan, and he’d never heard that joke before. In Dallas? After a decade of nursing?
Inner city dad’s got no joke game? I have a parent/teacher conference scheduled soon. Am I truly parental again? Was I ever, or just good at telling dad-jokes?
Toby Liberman is nearing the end of his rope. After a fateful confrontation with his wife’s lover, he is chased into the woods only to be discovered by an unidentifiable creature. He is attacked and rendered unconscious. Upon waking at the scene of a gruesome triple homicide, Toby is arrested as the sole suspect and thrown into a jail cell with a strange man that knows way too much about his predicament. The stranger reveals to Toby that he now possesses the curse of the werewolf. Using his new-found strength to flee his captors, Toby begins to discover that things are not what they seem in the sleepy town of Twin Oaks, TX. Now hunted by law enforcement, as well as the town’s gun toting civilians, Toby seeks vengeance against his false accusers and embarks upon a quest to clear his name once and for all.
I always feel like I’m at a crossroads with the whole step-father gig. Just when I think I’ve got it figured out, it’s another crossroads. I’m sure I’d be all kinds of fun at a scout meeting; breaking the ice at PTA with anecdotes about the history of pubes.
I really wouldn’t do that (at the first meeting). I don’t know what I’d do. Avoid everyone? I chaperoned a field trip last year, and there was already a clique in place. I spent the day just listening.
I know this is going to sound very typical coming from me, but they all sounded so phony. They spoke to one another as though it were a Twitter thread, and it was g*ddamn disturbing.
It doesn’t help that I roll everywhere dressed like Jack Black or The Big Lebowski. My bride digs me, and who am I to argue with harmony?
Also, I strut it well. I’ve done some unbelievable sh*t with my life, and I’m not easily shaken.
Consequence is such a burden; shrug it off. The only difference between us and them are dollar signs, and those will become worthless when the grid fails.
I belched a concoction of generic raisin bran, oat milk, and unsweetened lemon sparkling water. Be damned if that’s not the recipe for Lone Star beer. Prove me wrong.
This is why I shouldn’t be allowed to write in bed instead of sleeping. It’s not much different from anything else I write, but it’s out of context. What I should write about is Dallas PD clearing out the homeless encampment beneath the overpass around the corner.
In my seven years in Dallas, I’ve learned things about law enforcement that they never taught in my less populated county .
- If someone is blasting the f*ck out of the air with an assault rifle outside your living room window, your job is to make yourself a target by flinging back the curtains to ID them. They’re not coming.
- It’s okay to be a certified schizophrenic, swallow your meds with whiskey, and go driving like a maniac in multiple school zones; arguing with imaginary passengers every step of the way. They’ll just knock on the door, shrug cartoonishly, and walk away with a pretend look of disappointment across their faces.
- Don’t be homeless in Dallas.
Their focus appears to be on the esthetic of Dallas, not Dallas in a literal sense. Whatever looks nice to the folks on I-35 buzzing by at 90mph; on their way to better cities.
It’s like he could read my thoughts; the schizophrenic comes to life, interfering with my frequency. Preach truths, toke jokes, and shoplift Amazon. I love that my software preemptively suggests that phrase now. His car starts, and off he goes to potentially smash school kids while his invisible friend keeps score.
This has been going on for five years.
The city doesn’t care.
The state doesn’t care.
I get sick of caring sometimes.
This is why people give up on being helpful.
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