That Little Voice

That little voice speaks to me.  There is no peace.  It harangs.  It hassles.  It tries to shame me.

You need to write and post it on your blog.

That's what it says.  In whispers mostly.  When days go by and spider webs gather all around What About Bob that little voice begins to shout:  WRITE SOMETHING!  Anything.

Like I have better things to do than sit here and amuse myself by making up stuff. . . stuff that pisses the wife off because she thinks it's offensive.  Well hello, I was off the chart offensive when Wifey married me.  Why should that change now when I've had so many years to hone the art of asshole-ism?

Wifey didn't like the piece about the colonoscopy I was about to have.  Too much information, Bob.  Who wants to read about that?, she said.   

Before I forget it the procedure went well.  When I came too out of their drug induced snooze, Capt. Periscope said all was just hunky dory 'cept I need to eat more stuff with fiber in it.  Chicken wings washed down with beer does not count as fiber, he said.  Damn.

Okay, back to the topic:  Take this photo.  Think that's me.  Nope.  First off I can't write upside down.  Second, no way would Wifey take her time to write that on my stomach.  It's here because I like the message in the picture.  I'd get that puppy tattooed across my chest and walk bare chested around the boat marine this summer for all to see. 

People would probably say, What's that all about?  And I'd reply, It's all about bragging rights, pal.

Or they'd say, What did you do that for?  I'd say, It's a conversation piece.

At least one guy will ask, WOW!  I want one of those.  Where do you get something like that?

I'd have to tell him, No can do.  Gotta be an asshole to get one of these.

Then I'd walk away leaving him dumbfounded.

And that's exactly what I'm going to now . . . leave all of you with whatever thoughts you might have about this post.