Some Hinterland Who's Who Shit

Squirrels are fucked up little animals. No other animal on this fucking planet that I am aware of has an ethical crisis when it crosses a street. Most animals (and perhaps some small children) just cross the damn street. But squirrels don't. They just cross, then stop, think about what it is they are doing, switch directions, go, then stop, ponder some more, maybe even fart, then switch to another direction, then go. Then the idiots get flattened by a Buick. Big fucking surprise. There is one in my neighborhood who is missing his tail. The little guy was in front of me, as I was walking home. He freaked out and fled in the direction ahead, entreating me to a sight I never quite anticipated. I must say, that is way more squirrel anus than I needed to see. Shudder!

Dance Evolution

My parents are awesome dancers. They are just that goddamn good. In fact, if my dad has a glass of wine, he just gets better. My brother isn't that bad either. I, on the other hand, seemed to have inherited the Immobile Drunk Loud Laugher gene and certainly not the dancing one. When I hit the dance floor, the Fat White Club-footed Scotsman With Acute Astigmatism in me just comes out and makes an appearance. Then people start to wonder if something is wrong with me:

"Will you let go of me! I don't have epilepsy! And quit shoving that fucking wallet in my mouth!"

See, with dancing, there is no middle ground. You are either fucking brilliant and people just stare at you with awe and excitement. Or, you're shit and people stare at you with grave concern, eye-rolling pity or good old fashioned disdain. Sometimes, I can feel the laser marker that snipers use, track across my face. That's usually my cue to knock that shit off.

Why do you think I listen to death metal?