A moral to this story might be: do you care about your blog? Do you want it to be a good blog, full of righteousness & collectible bonus points, or would you rather your blog be a kleenex you might use to wipe away sadness & indiscretion?
Can a moral be a question? There's no question we have a problem with morals. I have no stories to tell that don't involve a fox, a man-whore & the Fromberg, Montana, Glee Club Rejects. Except for this one:
A man, his man-whore, & two former members of the Fromberg, Montana, Glee Club, were sitting in a bar daydreaming about the way things sometimes are, when in walked the most devastatingly beautiful fox they'd ever seen...
No, that one has a man-whore, a fox & the Glee Club rejects in it. I guess it's come to this: I'm all out of stories.
Which reminds me of a dude I used to know named Charlie Shuttle. Charlie was the hippest cat to ever hustle pool or contradict authority the old backwash of a city called Garland, Texas, had ever seen. Snap! That was the sound Charlie made when he got you in a headlock because you were messing with his girl & he'd just pop that top vertebrae out & you were crippled for life. Snap! Charlie Shuttle didn't get in trouble because his dad was Police Chief & his mom was the town drunk. So he had all his bases covered, if you know what I mean. Snap! Guess you'll think twice again, wheelchair man, before you give ol' Charlie Shuttle the stinkeye one more time. Snappity snap!
I wasn't friends with Charlie Shuttle, but I did subscribe to his magazine. He died in an electrical fire on a solar panel after falling thirteen stories from a windmill during the 1986 meltdown at the Garland nuclear reactor. Some idiot tried to save him by tossing him into a pile of coal, but a natural gas line burst & he suffocated to death. There was a sad irony, though - his parents decided to bury him on their family farm outside Granbury, but what should happen while they were digging the grave - they struck oil!
I know, I shouldn't lecture you, but sometimes you're as dense as a dense thicket. Why are we friends, anyway?
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