Excuses

 Forgive me for the previous post. I was extremely hungover at the time...  

I'm gonna have to come up with some better excuses for my lousy choice of subjects before folks get really sore.  

Oh yeah, here is an old excuse that gets them every time.  

I was kidnapped by anonymous masked men who forced me to drink beer and smoke weed, then publish all that stuff at gunpoint.  When I finished writing, they knocked me in the head, and I woke up sometime later. I think they were Iranians. How typical is it of you to blame the victim? You should be ashamed of yourself. Now get out of here.     

When they persist, I offer them to feel the scar on my head. It's the only part of the story that is true.  Even though I acquired the gash years ago back home in a completely unrelated incident, rub on a little ketchup, and that scar could pass for a recent wound being concealed by my hairline.

If they don't fall for that excuse, tell them about the sporadic memory loss from a concussion sustained during the beating those pesky Iranians gave me with a goddamn dictionary.  Then grant them the initiative by saying, They're out there running loose right now while you waste time hassling me.  Then stare at them for a really long time, and ask, What was I saying? I feel drowsy...  

When all reasonable measures have become exhausted, it comes down to two things.  Either you take off running or start pacing around like a lunatic, flailing your arms while screaming, Attica! Attica! Attica!

That stunt always buys a little more time while I create a new excuse.  

Oh wow, this is the heaviest idea I've ever had. 

I can head them off at the pass right now by changing the entire blog title to Attica, but that's as far as it goes. 

I'm happy with my current address.  

I had a very thorough education quite early on, thank you.  

Then AGAIN, quite recently, they tried to toss me in a little refresher course based on a bogus single-malt conspiracy implicating me as some kind of Hessian.  

I have no idea where finks come up with these fantastic stories and try to use the cops as their human shields and personal hit squad to exact revenge.  Considering no evidence existed at any time, and my story remained consistent, they had no choice but to double down on their lies in order to punish me, and that's it.  You have your excuses, and I have the truth.

Whether you like it or not, here I am, free to pursue a life of _______ fulfilment beginning today.   

      

All of this means nothing. It's just words in a cruel world.  But I assure you my conscience is as clean as my criminal record, even though my mouth is a filthy fucking sewer.  Two out of three ain't bad when you're up against it.       

And just one more thing.  To the doll, who was taking notes, that fell in love with me, creamed her jeans, and almost crashed her car that day.  I haven't seen you in a long time, what happened?  My nickname used to be Eagle Eye for a reason, and you are one fine-looking woman.  I'd much rather see you than these other fucking creeps. Vaya con Dios.

Don't be sore...

 

  

 

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