About The Funk...

Observational Spittle from the mind of a man of color in his 40s, without the color added (most times). Come in, laugh, and you may learn something...

90 Things That Irritate The Sh** Out Of Me Trailer

Monday, June 13, 2011

It's close to midnight....

Stretching and scratching the back of my head at the moment, as the heat of the summer (even though it's actually cool today, which as dark skinned as I am, I don't need any more tanning)begins to pick up, and I am sort of, well...

...lacking anything to blab about on this post.

Now, for the .001 people who read this thing knows, that is very odd for me, as that I am more full of opinions that a fat dude and chicken wings at a buffet. It is weird, because there is always things going on in everyday life that strike me with that "What the flying diarrhea was that about" thoughts.

But today, it's sort of quiet and unusual in my household, as the children are out of school for the summer; one child is playing "Michael Jackson: The Experience"on the Xbox, the other is watching Spongebob SquarePants, and the wife is, well, I am not quite sure if she's playing with him or gaming online.

It's, as I said, quiet.

It's sort of too bad that it isn't a normal reality, but I'll take it at this point.

Let me ask you, my .001 reader (hopefully you have part of a brain and one eye functioning, as, well, .001 of a person is missing a lot of body parts) a question.

What do you, well, want at this point in life?

I know that's an old question, but it is truly THE question, isn't it? I mean, day to day, you wake up; as a child, you may be going to school, and as an adult, you may be trudging off to work (unless you are one of the few who actually, well, LIKES working...Hahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahaha...yeah, that tickled me, but well, if you do like working beyond needing the check, make sure you put in extra money in that offering plate the 2 times you go to church a year...yeah, I am looking at YOU).

But, say you have reached all of your goals, or, if you are like me, haven't reached for anything except the disconnect notices on your desk, wondering how the toe-rust you are going to squeeze another blood donation for that 50 bucks...

...shit. Sorry, got wrapped up in me. I was asking you a question, wasn't I, 1-eyed part brain Future's Domain fan?

Anywho, what do you want? I mean, have you reached that pinnacle in your life where you are, ahem, "happy?"

(BTW, I don't believe in happiness; that's bullshit, and only gets realized during an orgasm or the first bite of a good meal; it's fleeting, but it is so good you keep going back for it).

Let me instead use this in my question...are you "content?" If you are, then well, 95% of you are being real with yourself,and I applaud you.

3% of you are lying to yourself, and only think you are content, and that works for you. Awesome for you as well; sometimes illusion is a hell of a protector.

'Tis why I crack so many jokes, even if it risks (and ultimately causes) alienation, and me saving up to hire pallbearers when it's my turn to be the buffet.

The other 2%?

Well, let's say I get it. 'Cuz hell, I know I am not satisfied...and probably will never be. I have dreams of being able to walk into friend's and family's homes, those who accepted me for all my flaws, with gifts, help, and thanks. I get off on that stuff (not like in a messy, Monica Lewinsky dress stain kind of way, but you get my point). I'd like to be be able to go to reunions, take my wife on some beach and actually, for the first time in years, have a sigh of relief. My youngest son to be protected financially, since the world will always look at him as some "retard."

(Another note, folks; don't get your thongs in a flossing shit motion cuz I used that evil "r" word. He's retarded. Comes with the extra chromosome. But he is better than I'll ever be).

So, for those who can say "yeah, I am chillin'" (aging myself here), bitchalicious. I'd appreciate a pamphlet on that when you get a chance; a map to how to get there, as that it is 11:55 PM around here, and my pumpkin is about to turn into a Fiero.

The quiet it gone now, as the boys are beating the snot out of each other, and Eddie Grant is singing "Electric Avenue" as I finish typing this latest flotsam.

"Out in the Street" is the lyric he's at.


It's 11:56 PM.

I hate Pumpkins.

I'd rather have a slice of content pie.

Hurry up with that recipe or pamphlet, will ya?

I'd like to know if I can make the trip or bake that dish.

Never could read maps, though.

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