Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Confessional Funk

Why did you do this to me? I have always handled you with the grace of a ballerina. Once in a while you like to be beaten and choked and I am cool with that. I always oblige your requests no matter how absurd. I've trusted your judgment most of my life until now. Let me back up for a second.

I's gots me some kids. (Violet, 13yrs. & T.L. Funk Jr., 9yrs.) I's gots me a wife. (Nefertiti, age withheld because she'd kill me.) I's gots me a fucking fuck load of unpaid bills and such. I am a regular Joe Shmoe that works hard for a living. My nephew's pothead friends and my wife's mind humper, possible lesbian, therapist said I needed to vent about it. So here I write.

If you are like me, you have entered that tunnel vision part of life, where you have come to far to go back, and the light at the end has still not shown it's untimely face. Mid-life crisis? I've heard of this disease. I understand it as "Too old to try out for the Detroit Tigers, and too young for AARP." What a crock of shit!

At this point in my life, I've accomplished almost everything I was "supposed" to. I have very few joys lately. I am currently basking in the gloom of the storm cloud that hangs overhead. I own a minivan. It's a Chrysler. I work for Chrysler. It sucks. That's all I have to say about that.

So anyway, I can't believe you'd do this to me. I have approximately 12 1/2 more minutes in this shower and I cannot for the life of me get hard enough to rub one out. My spank bank is full of re-runs that I have recycled before. Like the Phoebe Cates poolside scene in Fast Times at Ridgemont High. I'd like to say some are of Nefertiti, but let's be honest, nobody spanks the monkey thinking about their wife after 20yrs of marriage. I tug. I get nothing. Nothing.

I must be cursed. I have to be. The one joy every man gets from himself and I can't? I been doing this for years. My parents were broke, so I was broke. We were so broke, if I hadn't been a boy I wouldn't have anything to play with. I consider myself a pro at my age. Such is life.

I decided to scrap the idea after wearing out my forearm muscles. Plus the water is starting to get cold. (Nefertiti enjoys running the washing machine or dishwashers during my showers.) I'm not as ambitious or eager as I used to be I gather.

I must admit this has been a helpful release. Unlike my shower. I wish to thank the editor's at Angry Step Kid for allowing me this type of therapy. I'll talk to you later.


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