good from stinky

I was playing golf the other day. It was a cool day but I managed to maintain a more than regular amount of sweatiness and overall swampiness that made me feel extraordinarily uncomfortable. On hole 2 for instance, as I bent over to pick the ball out of the hole; a birdie by the way, I caught a whiff of my swampy ass and almost passed out myself. Now I had to make a decision. Hole 3 is sort of close to the john. But if I left after making a good birdie it might disrupt any kind of momentum that could be on the verge of exploding. Was it worth it? You bet it was. I hauled ass to the john where there was no toilet paper. Now I am just pissed! So I pull up and walk calmly in the dining area to grab a few napkins. I walk back and both stalls are taken. Little do these assholes know they will be using their hands. I wait patiently for the self realized bad news. Their discontent was obvious as their interpretations of the English language showed no barriers. Well, I started laughing my ass off out in the hall just outside the tiny bathroom and proceeded to shit my shorts a little. You know, just a little dab l do ya type of thing. Laughing still while holding back the oncoming barrage, I walk slowly to number ten tee waiting for these two jokers to leave for the diner. They come out and I go in quickly to clean myself up. My cell rings and the bastards I am playing with are on 3 green. I quickly hop in the cart and head for the tee. I get there and realize I forgot my glove on the counter in the diner. I head back for it and the phone rings again. They just finished 3 and were on 4 tee. I told them what I was doing and asked them to chill out. Well, they told me to go screw myself. I grab a pepsi, a Grandma's cookie, my glove, and I head for 3 tee. I rip one down the middle and birdied the hole. I caught them in 4 fairway. They each made 5 on the par 5. I made a 4. The moral is that even in the poopiest of pants; even when times are particularly stinky and unfresh, there can be justice and harmony.

mine and ours

My deep and dark follower shows me things about people and their hiding places. He shows me where the keys are. For him it is a matter of words alone. Winding the clock of another is his way of showing affection. He teaches others different things; things about particular likes and dislikes in other people. How does he do this? How does he show them how this is done? He uses the very same thing on them as he does the rest of us. He uses television. Through television even the youngest child can learn the art of manipulation. Over time that child can position him or her self in the highest faculty or the lowest capacity and still find ways to manipulate something to their advantage.
My deep dark follower does not only follow me, he pervades every sense man can have and he will use any means necessary to finalize his dream. Manipulation is an art form that requires not a good deal of common sense or rationality. The only requirement is the abandonment of hope and a complete disregard for what truely brings you happiness. These days it is a rare one who knows that which brings them joy and actually gets to experience that joy on a daily basis. If you find a chance to be around someone who does this, watch them, listen to what they have to say. See if it applies to your everyday. 98.2 LLC