Pending surgery:

 

Happy Monday!  I hope everyone is having a peach of a day.  Sure is pretty enough around here to be having a good day.  Not sure why I got a hitch in my giddy-up, but damned if I don't.

I've been talking about my upcoming shoulder surgery a bit lately.  I'm not scared about it.  I just want it done and I want to get through that first week of bullshit, then I will be able to handle everything else.

Surgeries, it seems, are a bit different than the last one I had.  I had an umbilical hernia repaired 25-27 years ago.  Everything that needed to be done was done in the office pre-op.  Nowadays, you get to do a lot of this stuff online.  I'm sure some of you are saying, "Oh yeah, so much more convenient."  Well, your buddy can't figure this shit out.

I had to fill out this thing called a patient portal.  This little gem of an idea is supposed to make corresponding with the surgical center and everyone else involved so much easier.  One of the things it asks you to do is 'produce a strong password'.  

I worked on this bullshit for 45 minutes.  buddhalikesmuffins was not strong enough.  ddbdrdwd1967 wasn't strong enough.  maryhadalittlebuzzard wasn't strong enough.  kickthecat883 wasn't strong enough and it was about at this point that I started losing my shit.

I spelled my childhood address backwards and that wasn't strong enough.  I spelled zyzzyzyermocalif1987 and that wasn't strong enough.  I used copenhagen101.5, KOMProckslasvegas, pocketpuppy, loverlipz, lmaoIamgoingtoshit... none good enough.

I scrolled to the top of the page.  I re-read all of the instructions.  I went back to where I am supposed to type this "strong password".  I typed in brushyeyebrows and noticed a little eyeball icon to the right of it. I clicked on it and it said, burshyeyebrows is taken but brushyeyebrows097 is not.  I type in burshyeyebrows097 and hit enter..... not strong enough.

All of the bullshit I could come up with is not strong enough.  The god damned suggestion that THEY MADE was not strong enough!!!!

Well, I threw my phone in the recycle basket and walked away.  I took a 5 minute walk and came back.  At the bottom of the page I found this nice little "help' button.  I clicked on it and it allowed me to type a message to the "specialist".

I wrote exactly this:  I've been messing with registering for 45 minutes and for one reason or another, I cannot come up with a password that is strong enough.  The little green light says it is STRONG ENOUGH, but as soon as I hit send, I get another FUCKING message that says my password is not strong enough.  Now what?

Cicely, who seems to be a very kind person wrote back.  Her advice was to type a password and if it isn't strong enough, the little eye icon would suggest one that is strong enough.

I replied:  Cicely, no dice.  I typed exactly what they told me was strong enough and it didn't work.  At this point, I'd rather try my hand at stuffing cooked spaghetti noodles up a rabid bobcats ass than play little typewriter games.  I am having a shoulder surgery.  I don't give 2 half shits about anyone knowing my business and I am not in the mood for coming up with an unbreakable code for a fucking password that I'll never, ever remember.

Cicely hasn't responded.  If I were her, I'd be laughing right now.  I don't know what in the world that I am doing wrong but I cannot mess with that shit any more today....  I just can't.  I bet I can't do it tomorrow.  I mean, I have created passwords 100 times at least-no issue!  Why NOW!

By the way, dirtysanchez, dirtyjuanita, dirtypirate, baltimorebrownie, puffypoundcake, fecalfelon, knobgobbler2000, gofuckyourself, gofuckmyself, gofucktheneighbor, Ilovepoliticians, chickenchoker, chokedchicken, wonderbra, elvisshitthebed, hunchbackedmidgethooker and ifmyhearthadanass, i'dkick it.. None of them worked... at one point it told me that I can't use punctuation.

Well, fucked again.  I'll get home and let the wife have a crack at it.  If she gets it....  I don't know what I'll do.  Probably cuss a lot more.  Go throw a hammer or light my cellphone on fire.  I'm done...

Crunchy... they call him Crunchy.

 

Happy Friday and all of that happy horse shit!  I hope everyone is having a great day and is on top of their game.  Me, I'm okay even when I am not so okay.  I always figure it out and I hope that for all of you.

So, the story I am about to tell you goes back some 33-34 years ago.  Its a story of "young love" and all of that mushy, gushy shit that comes around with a brand new relationship.  And, this story has been time tested.  Every time it gets brought up, I get a good laugh out of it and I hope you do too.

Like I said, let us go back some 33-34 years.  DeeDee and I had just moved in together.  We felt comfortable enough doing that, but our relationship was really brand new.  We were young, in love and trying to figure each other out yet.  Each of us has destroyed a home cooked meal, trying to be fancy for the other, so we were in just about that deep.

We knew we loved each other, but we (or should I say I/me) was trying to figure out what I could and couldn't get away with in this relationship.  

We had a tiny little apartment but it was one of the best rent deals going in Teton County.  We had a pretty good neighbor that lived next door.  I met the guy shortly after I moved in and he told me, "Good, glad DeeDee is going to have a man around the house."  He added, "My place is a safe place.  If you ever need anything, let me know."  I shook the man's hand, thanked him and we were off to a good start.

As the days went by, I noticed our neighbor was either home or gone.  You could go weeks without seeing the guy and there was never any foot traffic near his place when he was gone.  When he was there, he always had something going on.  

I don't know what the guy did for a living.  I didn't care.  As long as he was good, I was going to be good too and it all worked out just fine.  

Anyhow, the neighbor had been gone for a while.  When I came home from work one night, I noticed there was a bit of a party going on.  I was invited in but passed on the offer.  I was tired.  We'd had a couple fights in the bar that night and I needed to doctor up some bumps and bruises.

When I walked into the bedroom, I told DeeDee that our neighbor invited me over to party and that I declined the offer.  She had known the man for some time longer than I did.  She reinforced the conclusion I had already come too.  Dude was a nice guy but she understood where I was coming from.  Besides that, we had a bit of a day planned the following morning.

The next morning, DeeDee was going to head to the grocery store.  It was a beautiful morning.  We had some music going and had the front door open.  The neighbor was in and out doing things and had a friend who was going to stick around for a few days.  He introduced us, and.... well, I forgot his name.

DeeDee was getting ready to walk out the door and noticed the neighbors guest.  She asked, "Who is that?"  I told her that it was the neighbors guest, that he was going to be staying around for a few days and that the neighbor had introduced us.

So, this guy-neighbors guest was standing on the bridge.  DeeDee was going to have to walk right by the guy.  She said, "You didn't happen to catch this guys name, did you?"  I said, "Oh yeah, they call him Crunchy."  She didn't doubt me for a second.  I was sitting on the couch as she hit the door and I hear her say, "Good morning, Crunchy!"

I fell off the couch laughing.  The look on the guys face when she called him Crunchy was fucking hilarious, or at least I thought.  It was the look you'd have if someone you didn't know walked up and called you Crunchy.  And in her head, she picked up the look too but thought "Oh, he's amazed that I know his name."

I'm laughing so hard at this point that I have to go shut the door.  I was making a fool out of myself.  I watched old Crunchy contemplate this most recent event with a woman he'd never met.  His face was still kind of screwed up and he kept silently mouthing the word "Crunchy".

It was just too much for me to take.  When DeeDee came home, she asked for help with the groceries.  I was still laughing.  She said, "What's so funny?"  I said, "Did you meet the neighbors guest?"  She said, "Yeah, I walked by, smiled and said "Good Morning, Crunchy".  I started busting up again.  She said, "He was kind of surprised that I knew his name."

Now I am on the floor laughing.  I can't breathe.  I was doing that laugh that looks kind of violent, but you aren't making noise...  She said, "Oh my God!  Are you okay?'' 

I didn't think I was going to be.  Besides not being able to breathe, I figured I was about 5 minutes away from losing my new girlfriend and my new apartment at the same time, and still I could not contain my laughter.  

Finally she said, "What is going on?  What is so funny?"  I said, "Honey, that man's name is not Crunchy.  Nobody's name is Crunchy'' the laughter started again, at least on my end.  She said, "Yeah it is and he was surprised that I knew his name."  

Now I am totally out of control laughing.  She wasn't.  She was still trying to figure out what happened.

She said, "No, he was amazed that I knew his name..." convinced that the fucking guys name was indeed Crunchy.  "He was surprised!"  I finally reeled it in.  I said, "Sweetheart, I don't know that man.  Never met him until about 20 minutes ago, and I forgot his name.  I just kind of thought that his nickname could be Crunchy, so I told you that was his name.  I never in a million years thought you'd walk up to the guy and say "Good Morning Crunchy"

Now she is laughing.  More than I thought she would.  This was good news because I am full of shit like this and if she couldn't take it, the relationship wouldn't make it.

Well, here we are 33-34 years later.  Old Crunchy comes up from time to time.  I later found out what the guys real name was.  I tried to tell her, but she wouldn't buy it.  She bought Crunchy, but she wouldn't buy the guys real name.... and as usual, I started laughing again.

The One Time My Doormen Abandoned Me:

 

Good grief, it's September already! So, I was chatting with an old friend that was in the bar business with me.  She asked, "Do you remember the cookie cutter incident?".  I did.  It was one of the weirdest, funniest things that ever happened to me, and she thought that I should share.  So with that said, here we go.

Bars are kind of funny places.  The bar itself and the employees are there to provide a safe environment to listen to some live entertainment and have a few libations.  The staff is trained to look out for anyone who might be getting too intoxicated or anyone who might be infringing upon someone else's good time.  In the event of something like this happening, we (the door staff) would run a bit of an intervention.

In my little world of bar management, there were 2 types of interventions.  One is the preferred method. This is what I refer to as a "pep talk".  The bartender, waitress, doorman or manager acts like a little league coach.  He/she goes and has a little chat with the person regarding the issue at hand.  We kindly explain the rules and what we would expect to happen, and 9 times out of 10, it all works out and everyone continues to have a good time.

The other is what I like to refer to as a "Come to Jesus meeting".  A good "come to Jesus meeting" starts off a little bit like this.  By this point, we've had a pep talk with the offender already and for some reason, the bad behavior continues.  So, we walk up with 2 of us and play another fun bar game called "good cop/bad cop".  You've seen this a million times in cop movies.  Good cop starts off talking to the bad guy.  When this attempt breaks down, bad cop shows up and lays down the law.  Often times, the bad guy decides that he doesn't want to agree and would rather throw a tantrum of some sorts and then be removed from the bar.

This is exactly the case in this particular circumstance.

It was early in the evening but we had a pretty full staff.  I noticed a guy walking around.  He seemed a little off, but hell.... this is a bar.  Most of us are off but we try not to stick out.  this guy stuck out.  I walked around and made the door staff aware of the guy and told them to keep an eye on him.  I pointed the guy out to the waitstaff and bartenders as well.  

A bit of time rolls by and it is decided that the gentleman needs a pep talk.  He was shooting pool on a couple of tables and was holding up the fun, so I stepped up to have a chat.  I explained that it is too hard for some people to be shooting pool on two tables at once.  I also explained that both of his pool adversaries were a bit angry that this whole thing was taking too long.  I suggested that he shoot pool on one table and one table only.

Oddly, he agreed.  He decided that it was best to just concentrate on one game and one table.  At this point, all is well with the world.  A few minutes goes by and my new friend is talking to himself, pacing and acting just a little more odd.  He loses a game of pool and threw his stick on the table.  One of the doormen tells him that he can't do that.  If he did it again, he would have to go.

I am made aware of this and begin to keep a closer eye on my friend.  Now things escalate pretty quickly.  This guy starts running his mouth to everyone close to him.  It became abundantly clear to me that it was a "Come to Jesus Meeting" time.

I made eye contact with the doormen at the front door as I approached.  They knew where I was going.  One guy got closer so we could do the good cop/bad cop thing.  I explained that I felt he had enough fun in our establishment for the evening and that it would be best for him to travel on and see the sights.

He thought it was best to tell me to go fuck myself, as often happens in situations like this.  So I suggested to him in only a voice he could hear that he "grab his shit and start walking towards the front door".  He begins to gather his stuff all the while telling me that he is going to kick my ass.

By this time in my career, I have indeed had my ass kicked a few times but was sure that this fellow was incapable.  Not that I am or was fighter of the year or anything.  I had myself and 3 doormen watching this asshole.  No way he gets all 4 of us.

When something like this happens in a bar, there is a lot of unsaid communication going on.  Hand gestures, facial or eye gestures and I was doing all of this to clear the way and make sure that we were all on the same page.

Now, as we were walking towards the door, this guy decided that kicking my ass was only his option A.  Option B was going to be more graphic, more intense.  The guy said, "I am going to get outside and I am going to cut you up."

2 doormen get outside first and post up.  I continue outside with the guy and urge him to just move along.  Instead, he drops his shit and reaches for his back right pocket.  I thought to myself, "Son of a bitch!  This idiot is going to try to cut me."  Just as I was about to ask my doormen what he was reaching for, and one guy said "He's got something in his hand."  

Now, we've upped the ante.  This guy is posturing like he is a knife fighter and I am standing in front of him.  The thought of getting stabbed didn't seem like a great thing to me, so I told the doorman, "If he pulls this thing, were going to jump on him."

I tell the guy, "Do yourself a favor and just go.  You might stab one of us, but you'll never get us all.  Then you'll get your ass whipped real good and get to go to jail.  I'm doing you a favor.  Go away."

You could really feel the tension!  This guy was looking pretty serious and anxious at the same time.  I was waiting for him to make a move and I was going to let him have it.  All of a sudden my doorman laughs and says, "You're okay boss.  No way you can get hurt'' and he starts to walk away.  I said, "Hey, get over there.  Don't leave me hanging."  He said, "Nope, you're good.  No way you can get hurt."  The other doorman says, "You're shitting me."  He starts to laugh and all the while my little friend is getting more and more agitated.  

The second doorman says, "You've got this guy, boss.  I'm going in."  Both doormen are laughing, now.  I said, "What's he got?"  As soon as I said that, the guy pulls his weapon and both doormen say at the same time, "It's a pizza cutter...."  

Sure as shit, it was a pizza cutter.  I grabbed the pizza cutter out of the guys hand and threw it in the street.  I grabbed his bag and threw it in the street too.  I told the guy, "Are you out of your mind, pulling a pizza cutter?  You could have gotten yourself killed.  Get your ass out of here and take that shitty pizza cutter with you."

I walked back in the bar and the whole staff was laughing.  A pizza cutter.... that was a first.  We joked about it forever.  I had forgotten about it until the other day.  

Oh well, we all went on to live happy lives without getting shredded by the pizza cutter guy.  Not sure what happened to him though.  He probably drowned on his own spit.

Getting Older

 

Good Morning and Happy whatever day it is... Monday, I reckon.  I hope everyone had a great weekend and is ready to tackle this work week.  I am about half prepared for it.  This particular morning was kind of busy for me and that is a good thing.  I like coming to work and having a list of things to do and get them knocked out handily.

Anyhow, I had a bit of alone time this weekend.  When I get that, I get the opportunity to think about a lot of things.  This weekend, it was about getting older.  There are signs now that weren't there in my 30's and most of my 40's.  Most are little things, but that doesn't mean they aren't important.

I used to have a memory.  I could remember everything.  This isn't the case any longer.  For instance, I was hanging some cabinets in the garage this weekend and I lost my tape measure.  (For the record, I think I have 5, but I found one and chose to use that one.)  So yeah, I just lost that bastard and spent the better part of an hour looking for it.  I never left the garage, so I knew it was in there.  At about the end of an hour looking for it, I sat down to retrace my steps.  I felt something in my hip pocket....  You guessed it.  Tape measure.

I can walk into a room and forget why I walked in there.  I can go to the store for one item and then come home with 4 items not including the item I went to the store for.  This can potentially be a game of Russian Roulette if it was the wife that sent me to the store for  laundry detergent and I come home with a new pair of pliers, beer, The National Enquirer and butter.  

These aren't even the things that are starting to worry me.  Pain, just random pain.  In my 20's, nothing hurt, ever.  Rub some dirt on it and walk it off.  In my 30's, my ego was still just large enough that I wouldn't let any pain get me down.  In my early 40's, I started to have a couple "What in the hell is that and why does it hurt" minutes, but they too were fleeting.

Now I am in my mid 50's.  I can (and have) blown my back out sneezing.  I held a cough in and passed out, hitting my head on the toilet (and breaking it) and got a grade 3 concussion... from holding a cough in?  Yeah, that shit is a thing now!  My hands... bastards hurt every day.  They don't look like they hurt.  In fact, if it weren't for the age spots, they look like they are my 30 year old hands.

I'm not as strong as I used to be.  I am far less tolerant of bullshit.  I am way more cynical than I thought I'd be.  I guess paying attention did that.  I can still pay attention, I think.  I'm not as "peopley" as I used to be.  The bar business cured me of that.  Being in a crowd is no longer something I am fond of.  Hate it in fact.  

(Side story)  Back when I was in the bar business, I had one of my doormen walk up to me and say, "Hey boss man, a couple of dudes followed an old guy down stairs and I think there is going to be a problem."  I asked, "How old is the old dude?"  Doorman said, "Like 35 or some shit."  I looked at him and said, "Jack ass!  How old do you think I am?"  He said, "Uhm, I don't know."  I replied, "36 years old and lets go get these guys."  

To his credit, there was a problem.  Turned out that the old guy kicked the shit out of the 2 other guys and we just had to get the ass whooping stopped.  We did.  And for the rest of this door mans employment, I kept reminding him about how old and fragile I was...  JM, if you're reading this, perhaps you can tell the story differently.

Back to what bothers me.  My health is okay but there have been some changes.  Like I mentioned, the memory stuff.  That's actually a blessing in some regards.  Some shit happens that I wish I could forget and sometimes I do.  That is helpful.  

Do you know what is not helpful?  I can sit on my balls now.  Oh yeah, and without warning.  Just plop down and the package is out of whack and I get to sit on one of both of my balls.  Seriously, I thought that was about the end of the line.  Now I have to be mindful as I sit????  Yes, yes I do.

Speaking of balls, why are they so long now?  They used to be in a useful pouch, hanging out where they should, never in the way.  When a 56 year old man goes to sit upon the throne, he has to evaluate the lack of elasticity and the length of the package.  Sometimes, they are going to get wet and the feeling of that is alarming!  Toilet water should never touch them.  Never, but it happens now.  Not on the regular, mind you.  Just enough to keep you guessing and wanting to learn some sailors knots to tie em up and keep em out of the water.

The strength of my gut is the biggest issue.  It used to be, if I had to eat the ass out of a dead skunk, I could do it.  Cast iron stomach.  Nothing affected it except too my whiskey, and you always bounced back after a good puke.  No, this is quite a bit different.

I've always had excellent control of my guts.  I used to think, "Well, I'd better go poop in an hour or so."  Yeah, I could hold a poop for a more reasonable amount of time.  You know, Like on a road trip and you see the "Next Services/Rest Area 30 miles".  Never, ever was an issue.  I could hold it until it was time to release the beast, drop the kids off at the pool or whatever you call it.

Now I have to be cautions about a fart.  Farts used to be funny and now all of a sudden they are serious business!  You totally can fart and shit your pants.  I didn't know that.  I heard stories, but I thought that was people just trying to be funny.  No sir, its a thing.  Sooner or later, you are going to muscle down and try to fart and you are going to royally shit your pants.  Trust me.  It'll happen.

I had a shart experience not too long ago.  Embarrassed?  Hell yeah I was embarrassed and there was nobody around!  Nobody, and you wouldn't even know about it if I hadn't brought it up!  I'm only doing this as a public service announcement.  Your day is coming...  You be sitting there and feel the urge to "blow off a little steam".  It will then hit you that this could be the funniest fart of your life, so you bear down, knuckle up and let her rip!  BLAM!!!!  Shit your pants!!!!  Just like that.  A flash back to your diaper days and you weren't even trying to shit your pants.  It just happened.  Never used to, but now its possible.

I shit my pants so hard that I almost had to enter the Shitness Protection Program.  I mean, I looked into it and had there been a witness or two, the Shitness Protection Program would have been my only hope.

I don't know.  I'm glad that I am getting older.  I made it through my teens when a stiff breeze made me get a boner.  I'll probably get through this too.  And for the record, the phone number to the Shitness Protection Program is 1-800- I SHIT EM.  

You're going to want to keep that number handy.  Put it on your phone, write it on the back of your hand or remember it.

Please take care of yourselves and never trust a fart.  Never.

Fart Juice: Yeah, I have a story about that.

 

I don't know if I am going to do this story justice.  I am going to offer you this before we get too far down the line.  This happened.  I'm not real proud of it, but its one of those things that if you could have been present, you would have laughed your ass off!  Is it childish?  Yeah it is.  I was probably 11 years old and my sister was about 9.

We used to spend a lot of time out at dad's house in the summer.  Sometimes our step sisters would be there.  That was agony for me.  3 girls against me...  There was nothing I could do that was going to be cool with all 3 girls.  I learned that shit early on.  Me being me and having 3 girls as a captive audience, I was one or two words away from pissing off the whole group!  And, I knew better than to do that.  So what I found in this circumstance was, I had only my little sister present.

If something awful happened, it was a guessing game on who would come out on top by the time the parental units came home.  It was normally her and she had a valuable trick up her sleeve.  On a different occasion, she called dad at work to tell him I was being a shit. We were told not to call dad at work unless one of us died or the house blew up.  Being "daddy's little girl" she knew she could probably get away with it.

So anyways, as the day progressed, we ran out of things to do.  We did have some chores to take care of and they were done.  It was about 115 outside.  We didn't have a pool.  There wasn't even a tree big enough to cast a shadow at the time so were were either outside or inside.  The problem was, if we were together, there was probably going to be an issue.

As I remember it, my sister managed to get control of the TV remote.  It was one of those "first come-first serve" policies that most families children had to negotiate.  So now, she is the TV boss and I felt she was doing a poor job.  I can't remember what she was watching, but no way were a 9 year old girl and an 11 year old boy going to agree on what we should or should not be viewing.

She was kind of proud of herself.  I'll go as far as to say "gloating''... she was gloating at the fact that she was in charge of the T V.  More importantly, she was very proud of herself because she knew how bad this pissed me off!  She picked some bullshit show.  I don't even think she liked it, but I had no choice.

So there we were, watching some bullshit show.  At about the time I figured out what was happening on the show, she changed the channel to something worse.  She looked at me and grinned.  I told her to change it back.  She said no, and picked up the phone.  "Leave me alone or I'll call dad."  That's it.  I'd been called out.  I was had and there wasn't a thing I could do about it and she knew it.  

Again, as soon as it almost got interesting, change the channel.  Click, click, click and every time she changed the channel, she would smirk at me.  She totally knew she was driving me up the wall and I had little to no recourse.  If I objected a little to harshly, she'd be on the phone.

So there I sat.  The longer I sat and the longer this went on, I knew I was going to have to do something.  I didn't know what that something was, but I knew I couldn't beat her up, could not steal the remote or about 30 other things that would have resulted in dad coming home early.

I was trying to come up with something.  My train of thought was, "Do something that she can't prove.  Do something that isn't going to leave a mark or something that is going to make her cry."  That didn't open a whole lot of doors for me.  In the mean time, she'd look at me and smirk.  It was killing me.

The only thing I could think of doing was farting near her.  This was a kid who would gag at herself when she tried to go poop, so when anyone else farted, she'd nearly die.  I kind of crept up next to her and crop dusted her with a "silent but deadly".  No reaction... I was crushed.  I was positive that this would make her run for the hills and relinquish control over the remote, but no dice.

I somehow knew I was on the right track though.  I made her cry before with a fart.  I knew my dad farted.  No way dad was going to murder me over a fart.  No way!  So I sat there scheming and it dawned on me at the perfect moment.

Have you or anyone else you know ever do that fake sneeze thing where they flick a bunch of water on you while faking a sneeze?  Yeah its kind of gross, but it was right up my alley.  I went into the kitchen, just out of her view and got my hands wet.  I was fully prepared to do the fake sneeze but then I realized I had a beast of a fart on deck.  

I came walking back into the room as if nothing was happening.  I had to walk right by her to get back into the living room.  She was glued to the TV so I walked by, cranked my leg up, blew one of the most putrid farts I ever conjured and at the same time flicked water on her.

She jumped!  She screamed!  "Oooooooh, fart juice!!!!" and took off running and gagging.  Me?  I hit the floor.  At this point, I didn't care if dad came home and killed me.  This was an act of brilliance that only comes around once in a lifetime and I seized the moment.  

I was rolling on the floor and laughing hysterically.  She ran to the bathroom to decontaminate.  She really thought somehow, fart juice blew through my jeans and hit her on the arm and shoulder!  That'd be a helluva thing, but its pretty impossible.  (I have decided this by all of the research I have done since.)  I knew that she would be decontaminating for a couple of hours.  I was safe from her calling dad, so I figured I had a 50/50 chance of surviving this attack.

Well, dad came home.  The house was silent.  I think Tara was still in the bathroom or maybe she was crying in her bedroom.  Either way, dad had not been notified and that was a winner for me!

Dad walks in and says, "Howdy son!  How was your day?"  Before I could answer he asked where my sister was.  "I think shes in the bedroom, dad."  He said, "No blow ups or anything?"  I answered, "Well, no.  Not really."

In walks Tara.  She at one point had cried and it was obvious.  It was also obvious that she had taken at least 3 showers.  She stared at me.  If looks could kill, I was a dead man.  Dad looks at me with a familiar look which brought me a good deal of concern.

Dad said, "What happened, honey?"  As she started to tell the story, she began to cry.  Dad rushed her into his bedroom.  Before he shut the door he said, "Ill be talking with you in about 1 minute."

I was caught.  This was it.  I was going to get killed for fart juice!  Its not even a thing!  And it wasn't violent!  Nobody got hurt, so to speak.  I didn't curse...  but I knew this wasn't going to bode well for me.

The one minute mark passed.  Now I am about to shit a brick.  I am hoping and praying that my step mom would show up and cause some kind of a diversion, but she wasn't due home for a couple of hours.

Dad's bedroom door opens and my little sister walked into the living room where I was seated.  Dad had an unfamiliar look on his face and was massaging the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.  He did the "come here thing" with his pointer finger and went back into the room.  

"Dead man walking" I thought.  This was it.  I finally did what it was going to take to get murdered by my own father.  He walked into his walk in closet and started to unbutton his work shirt.  I was standing behind him, strategically out of reach.  His body started slightly jerking.  I thought he was crying or having a seizure for a minute.  He turned around and was laughing his ass off!  I knew not to think I was in the clear yet.

I matched his laughter with a half grin.  He sat down, still laughing.  He said, "What exactly did you do to your sister?"  As his laughter subsides, he starts staring at me.  This was a make or break minute.  I knew that I had to tell the truth so I said, "Well dad, I walked by her, cranked my leg up, farted as hard as I could and splashed water on her at the same time."

He about fell off the chair.  He said, "What in the hell is the matter with you?"  I just kind of shrugged, smiled and laughed a little.  Now the old man stands up and says, "Son, I don't know what caused you to do that.  I don't know where your head was or what made you feel like that was a good idea, but it was funny!  Don't ever do it again.  Were probably going to have to get your sister therapy.  She thinks you farted juice on her."  I laughed.  He laughed.  I apologized to him and as I left he half heartedly kicked me in the ass while saying, "Never again."

To this day, I haven't done that again.  To my sister or anyone else.  I asked my sister for permission to put this out there and she granted it by saying "I'm not convinced that wasn't fart juice.  I am traumatized to this day."

Anyhow, true story and pretty indicative of what kind of a big brother I was.  I made her taste wet cement once.  It's fine.  She lived. Not only did she live, she is really doing well.  Maybe not psychologically, but by appearance alone-she's good and I hope you are too.

Take care, folks.  See you next time.