I got blisters on my fingers!

I’d like to thank Ford, Michelin Tires, Los Angeles and Ventura counties, the state of California and my superior genes for getting Mel and I home from the Sagebrush grill alive and well this evening. An evening when I had absolutely no business behind the wheel of a motorized vehicle.

I’d like to blame it on the Sagebrush Margareta’s but I should really blame it on my inability to say “No”. Ronnie Reagan’s wife would be appalled. But holy orthoschloffing Batman, was the food good. For those of you lucky wankers coming to our stupid party, there’s no doubt you should dine well beyond what any of you jerkoffs deserve. We ordered one of each appetizer on the menu as well as at least six different margaritas. I liked the blue one. I don’t know what it was called. I don’t care what it was called. Mel keeps track of that stuff. I just sit there, drink and look stupid.

That’s me in college. I had zits on my forehead. Those glasses are fake. I’ve never worn glasses. But the antlers are real. I had them removed with money I made working for the CIA. Deep, deep undercover. Michael Moore’s boy toy. But that’s classified. All I can tell you is that you KNOW when that sumbitch is on top. My back has never been the same.
But enough about that. Let’s talk about sex with Dean Lorey.

It’s remarkably good for a guy who’s been shot in the back three times after being mistaken for the highly elusive sasquatch. But he’s not that hairy anymore. He’s got “people” who take care of that sort of stuff for him.
Ugh, I’m burping taquitos. They were splendidly fine going down, though.
So where was I? Oh yeah, Dean’s hairy bits. Look, this is a journal and it takes part in the written word. A certain suspension of disbelief is required. But I don’t want anyone to think that I have seen Dean Lorey’s private parts. For the record, I have not. It was dark.

High School. I loved High School. I know most people hated the experience but I embraced it it with full force. That’s Stephen Poole, Jonathan Miller and Jeff “Bo” Meyer and, of course, me in the horizontal position. I guess I was something of a Ferris Bueller in high school. I got along with everyone. I played football and dated the cheerleader so I had that circle of friends but it was no doubt the camping dudes I had the most fun with. Bo, on the far right, is now working in St. Louis as the brains behind some big Louis and Clark museum tour. Jonathan, in the middle, is in quality control, making sure the world is a safer place to live. And my good friend Stephen Poole died in a car wreck during our college years. A good man he was.
We called ourselves the Knighthawks. There were few water towers in the Western Kentucky area that escaped our two dollar spray can graffiti. The big event growing up in Kentucky was weekend camp outs. Most guys did it to get drunk…but we didn’t drink. And we’d found the experience a little dull sitting around a campfire watching our comrades get blitzed on peppermint schnapps. Growing up in construction I just happened to have a roll of duct tape in my fatigues one night and the world changed for us. We snuck away from the fire and one by one would abduct the drunks as they stumbled into the shadows the relieve themselves. Before dawn all drunks present were bound and duct taped in the woods. We thought it was a hoot.
But those days are gone. We grow up. We accept the world and all the sin it has to offer. I am now utterly duct tapeable. I have learned to embrace that which I once duct taped.
So, yes, those days are over. Once the most popular kid on the block, now my life is in the hands the bozos I used to get into fights to protect. I am a Hollywood working writer. “Working” being the keyword there. It means both good and bad. Good because there are a million out here who would gladly trade places with me. Bad because my money will run out and thus I have to keep working. But I’d do that anyway. I love what I do.

I’d rather be a wizard. A wizard who also knows how to use a sword, but writing ain’t bad. It’s been good to me. High highs and low lows, but it’s like that with anything isn’t it? I’ve made it. Of course, the lifestyle could get better and I fully expect that it will but it’s the adventure we gotta embrace. Shouldn’t we love the good moments as much as the bad? Ain’t that how we grow as human beings? Ain’t that what makes us transcend above the animals? Eh, who am I kidding. I’m in it for the loot.

But I got no complaints. Jason Voorhees killed me. Sure, many may laugh at the thought but few can make the claim. I get paid to do what I love. I’m sitting in Southern California where it never rains and it’s raining. My wife is cool. My dad can beat up your mom. I got Inos watching over my left and the spirit of Dean Riesner shouting “screw’em all” from my right. I got a fridge full of food and an Audi full of gas. I gots me some amazingly loyal friends and I’ve yet to meet an enemy I can’t beat up. I got no complaints.
Thus I leave you with the words of Jedi Master Rod Stewart…
Ever since I was a kid at school
I messed around with all the rules
Apologized then realized
I’m not different after all
Me and the boys thought we had it sussed
Valentinos all of us
My dad said we looked ridiculous
But boy we broke some hearts
In and out of jobs, running free
Waging war with society
Dumb blank faces stare back at me
But nothing ever changed
Promises made in the heat of the night
Creeping home before it got too light
I wasted all that precious time
And blamed it on the wine
I was only joking my dear
Looking for a way to hide my fear
What kind of fool was I
I could never win
Never found a compromise
Collected lovers like butterflies
Illusions of that grand first prize
Are slowly wearing thin
Susy baby you were good to me
Giving love unselfishly
But you took it all too seriously
I guess it had to end
I was only joking my dear
Looking for a way to hide my fear
What kind of fool was I
I could never win
Now you ask me if I’m sincere
That’s the question that I always fear
Verse seven is never clear
But I’ll tell you what you want to hear
I try to give you all you want
But giving love is not my strongest point
If that’s the case it’s pointless going on
I’d rather be alone
’cause what I’m doing must be wrong
Pouring my heart out in a song
Owning up for prosperity
For the whole damn world to see
Quietly now while I turn a page
Act one is over without costume change
The principal would like to leave the stage
The crowd don’t understand