Oh my toe....ouch

Woked up this morn'n feel'n like a brand spank'n new one dollar bill. Slept good last night with no breath'n problems to speak of. It's hell when you lose something as important as a set of lungs.  Ya don't think bout them kind of things when you're young and dumb, but when ya grow up an' lose 'em, ya start think'n bout things like that.

Ordered me up a kayak paddle and life vest yesterday for that "bubba" boat. Holy crap, there go another hunnert dollar bill.  

OUCH.....HURT....PAIN.....AGONY. Holy crap, I done tore a toenail slap off'n one my toes. Boy howdy let me tell ya, that hurts something fierce....blood and stuff. Now had I been wear'n shoes, this would have never happen. But as everyone here knows, old Billy Bob don't wear no regular shoes.

"Houston, we have a problem". Ya see, it's like this, old "pesky neighbor" Wayne has got grouchy. He been chew'n out all the nurs'n home peoples, refuses to do some of his therapy and is in an all out war with his room mate. Yup, that sounds like Wayne to a tee. Does the same crap at home.

I find that we all make mistakes in our lives and then refuse to "own up" even when we know we are wrong. I remember one time back in '58, I borried my neighbors car to go to the store....or somewheres like that. It were a brand spank'n new Volvo what the guy prided his life with. Well, old Billy Bob done put a big ol' whisky dent in one the fenders while out run'n the streets. But I didn't "own up" that I did it. To this day, 53 years later, I still feel the shame for what I did to this trust'n neighbors car. Think about it...."own up".

MsB requested I write up something bout my drink'n days. I'm not sure why she would want to see me "stagger'n round" silly ass drunk and talk'n like an idiot, but I guess I must appease her mind. When I was younger, much younger, I knowed how to drink beer....with the best of 'em. I know I told this story before, but here it is again....."tinker bell". It were way back in bout '68 I were sit'n in a bar mind'n my own business......get'n purty drunk from a spectators point of view. The bar was full of Galveston chapter "Banditos" motorcycle rid'n thugs....or whatever ya want to call 'em. One them 230 pound, 6 foots plus Bandito fellers come stroll'n past my table with a little bell on his "ass stomp'n" motorcycle rid'n boot. I look up at him and says..."well, if it ain't tinker bell his self". Boy howdy did that feller get all upset....fight'n mad. He were gonna whoop me a good 'un....right there in front everybody. Some fast talk'n and back'n up a few paces, I survived with nary a scratch. Next time I see this big burly Bandito guy, he were wear'n a fancy Bandito Club leather vest with "Tinker Bell" neatly embroidered across he back. I wonder if he still remembers how he got his "club" name.