I am not one to engage in hyperbole but it is time to take the gloves off and unleash the kraken.
Because a man who can’t make like the mighty sperm whale is no man indeed.
Fortunately I haven’t fear of this because I have proven my boys are champion swimmers who take no prisoners and fear no latex, foam or stomach acid.
A short while ago I told a guy to say one more word and dared him to knock the battery off of my shoulder.
I must confess that prior to his trying to say that one last word or knock the battery off of my shoulder I punched him in the throat and kicked him in the ass.
When the judge asked me to share my side I told him I had was an escapee from Coventry and had survived Geraci’s pizza and the mean streets of Pepper Pike.
Don’t mess with a man who pretends to be from the Akron-Cleveland area because he once was known as Sweetcheeks and is a master of mischief, mishegoss and a wannabe raconteur.
Conversations We Never Had
This past weekend I heard a story about how I don’t listen and was told about conversations we never had.
I wore my best poker face and fought to be the definition of insouciant but I can’t say how well I pulled it off.
Some of it was because I was distracted by Donnie Do-Nothing’s failure to recognize the elephant in the room.
I wasn’t surprised by his indifference to the common people because he doesn’t care about anyone who can’t do something for him but I was surprised he doesn’t seem to care about his daughter or grandchildren.
Silly me thought he understood that posters that attack Jews cover his daughter and her kids, not to mention the goniff son-in-law.
Anyhoo as I mulled over the best way to help these white supremacists find ways to fall down stairs, sterilize and or imprison themselves I got a little irritated.
Because it appears my kids are going to have to confront antisemitism in a way I never had to and that made me sad and angry.
I never thought it was completely gone, but I had thought maybe we were further along than we are.
Although if you ask one my 90 something year-old cousins he says it never went away. He’ll tell you he fought those Nazi bastards in WWII and did a bit at home too.
You know what is funny about communicati0n and people?
There are some people you can converse with without speaking. Some people just get you and some people you just get.
That doesn’t always mean your smoke signals are read properly, especially when you are dealing with those who let anger and misinformation color things.
Lost & Found
My daughter overheard me talking to myself.
“I lost you twice and found you once and if need be I’ll find you again.”
“Dad, that is so weird. Who talks to themselves.”
“I do. Live by yourself for a year and you develop all sorts of interesting habits.”
“Dad, I can’t decide if you are messing with me.”
“I only mess with people I love. Now tell me if I am doing this twerking thing right.”
She did this sort of scream/squeal thing and hustled away from me.
Apparently she is not a fan of her free expression father who just might have spent time dancing behind her around the mall, grocery store and Stockyards.
Got to love a guy who feels free to break into song and is willing to start an impromptu Hokey-Pokey or Bunny Hop.
That reminds me gents, it takes skill to get a strange woman to grab your hips and hop or to let you grab hers and make her hop.
Speaking of skill, there was a moment on Saturday where I thought I smelled a particular perfume and wondered where the hell it was coming from.
I think I did a great impression of the dog when I stuck my nose in the air and started sniffing.
In case you are wondering doing that is another good way to make you 13 year-old daughter run.
When she told me I was weird I laughed and said it was better than being creepy.
When we got home my daughter thought I was talking to myself again and asked me to have a conversation with her.
“Dad, you don’t live by yourself anymore.”
I laughed and told her she was right and explained I was trying to find some things I lost.
It wasn’t nonsense or me being silly either.
It was me trying to remember where the hell I put a few things.
That is the problem with moving two days before you leave town. Even when you are exceptionally organized (and I was) there are a few last minute odds and ends that end up being shoved into a box or drawer.
I wish I would have payed more attention during those last few minutes but I contracted a bad case of Pink Eye and was crazed with trying to empty a 20×25 storage space and an apartment by myself.
Sure, I had movers who helped take some of the load, but I did quite a bit of heavy lifting of a different sort.
And that doesn’t take into account the personal crap that cropped up during that time.
Now that the moment has passed I can say with more perspective it proved I am a freaking beast and that when push comes to shove I am capable of moving mountains.
And it proved I am getting older because I am still tired from it all.
I love Groucho, he is one of my heroes.
If he were here I would tell him about blog stalkers and Dutchmen who check out my LinkedIn profile.
We might even sing together, hell maybe we would walk around the mall singing together, just to make my daughter happy.
And now 20 minutes after I started writing this silly post I still can’t remember where I put my Skeletool or been signed to an NFL/NBA or MLB contract.
Ok, I didn’t expect any one of those but maybe a book deal. That is still possible and maybe it if there is enough magic in the night I’ll get the call tomorrow.
And if I don’t, well I might choose to express my irritation by blocking out the sun.
That gives the universe one week to come up with not just a deal, but a good deal. None of this getting paid in donuts business for me.
I need real dollars, smackeroos, ya know the kind that some call moolah and others call cold hard cash.
And with that, I am out of here.
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