Forgot if I said anything or not. Amazon would like to sodomize me again. I understand, I do, my butt is appealing, and amazon does judge the cut of a man’s jib by the booty. This isn’t idle gossip, though I’m guessing at the degree to which amazon “likes” to sodomize, but if frequency is any measure … They sent me a quart of paint. I didn’t read the description past stain-covering and leak sealing, so, yes, if I don’t want to be sodomized perhaps I shouldn’t twitch my tail feathers. It looked like a picture of a gallon, it sure as hell cost what a gallon costs.
So this morning I tried doing it anyhow. I got far enough to paint one of the body sized and shaped stains that has been bugging me since, um, 1967, but between 1978 and 2012 I hadn’t had to look at it and play the “who’s missing” game.
It was around a bazillion degrees by ten this morning and at least a bazillion percent humidity when my paint bespectacled ass drove to the hardware store. Ok, perhaps my ass was the only part not bespectacled, but I’m convinced paint dealers have a thing for my butt. The guy actually down sold me. I mean I told him that like an idiot I saw an email from them advertising the perfect paint and I didn’t get it, and I told him my tale of woe and sodomy. His question, oddly enough, was neither “May I see your hindquarters sir?” nor “Do you remember what the paint was called?” but rather “How long ago did you receive the email. At my answer he rubbed his chin as though a lot of thought went into it and stood in front of the paint aisle and started talking. This is not a dumb clerk tale, I love the guys and gals at that hardware store, and even the dumb ones know their shit and will say “Sorry, I’m a dumb guy or gal but here’s what you want”
This guy talked me out of the 35 buck gallon and into a gallon of paint that cost the same seventeen bucks that a handful had from amazon. He didn’t say “I can see by your shapely albeit rode hard and put away wet buttocks that you are a cheap bastard …” he said “This is what you want for the job you’re doing” I love those guys and gals. Shortening up the pointless bits between, when I got back to the attic, the square foot that the quart had covered was drying with body showing through (ok, square foot isn’t right, that’s not really body shaped, more like ten inches by five foot in a fetal position).
I think heat and anger is what made me do a far site better than my usual half assed home improvement wherein hilarity ensues. I did 15/16ths ass of a job, one sixteenth off because 1. Masking tape is for sissies and 2. The tarp went over bedding and pipes and other important things, if you can’t smoke it or fuck on it, it, um, has a little paint on it. Amazon usually begs me for a review. I can hardly wait. Yes, I will own up to twitching my tail feathers, that’ll be my lead in, but they shall be cussed up the Ama and down the zon.
A bit of magic restoration oil on the paneling, oak desk, and bookcases, and then getting rid of the ugly ass metal bookcases and I will have officially moved in almost a year since I’ve gotten here. I’d boast about what a mighty bulwark I am if every muscle wasn’t screaming and if the bad knee, not the one I banged last week, but the one without any knee stuff inside (ok, it has most of the knee stuff, just not a medial meniscus) feels like I took two rounds of shot at point blank. No I did not kneel to paint the ceiling. No, I did not twitch my tail feathers for amazon in a Greco-Roman wrassling pose (wrassling, is that what you kids are calling it now?) that was all an extended analogy more for the cussing than accuracy. I don’t know what the hell my knee is bitching about, but it sure is bitching.
I was going to not write anything at all today. Then I was going to not write something else, but went with not writing this and then failed at not writing it. Other things happened today, I’m sure, but I do not give a shit about them. I might say in a day or two “Oh? Korea blew up Arkansas, that’s terrible. Isn’t it?” I mean assuming that is one of the things that happened today about which I give not shit. Today, however, Korea can blow up who they please. I mean the Yankee Koreans, you know, northerners. Them rebel South Koreans already have my blessing to blow shit up. I like the cuts of their jibs and their mainsails are A-Ok by me too.
I’m so far out of here it’s like I’m back in again.
I’m so spent it’s like I’m freshly minted once again.
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