If you have ever had a conversation with any of my ex wives or believe half the schit I have written, then you are well aware of my eventual eternal position in the afterlife. Assuming the former to be false, then over my next four blogs, you should be able to draw a pretty good conclusion.
Each of my Squids (“children”) has his or her own unique talents and abilities. But the one commonality amongst them all is their command of the English language. Much like their father, I attribute most of this to early childhood experiences. If memory serves me correctly and often times it does not, somewhere around age 6 or 7, I was fishing with my Papaw on the Grand River. The fishing was slow and the afternoon sun was bearing down, “Boy, go fetch me a beer out of the cooler and while you are at it, why don’t you grab one for yourself.” With a schit eating grin on my face and thoughts of finally becoming a man, I gladly oblige. Wanting to savor every moment, I decided to take my time. First sip, this tastes like ass, but surely it is going to get better. I will check my bait and then try another. Reel, reel, reel, snag. Papaw, I think I got one. “You ain’t got one, you just got hung up. Jerk, jerk, jerk, nothing. Jerk, jerk, jerk, snap…… “GD Son, you could f__k up a wet dream. Now give me that damn fishin pole and the beer I gave you. You are obviously too damn young this schit”…….Damn my luck.