Alright. I published it. I then took it off. Now I'm publishing it again, because, well, sometimes life aint pretty... (6/16)
Here's an Official Warning - along with an apology to my family and any readers with delicate sensibilities - if you aren't up for a not PG rated post - please skip this one. I've gone back and forth about sending it - but I figure it's a big part of my day - so here it is.
This post ain't gonna be pretty.
I'm not in a very pretty mood (though I'm feeling much better having written this post!)
Chances are I'll be removing it - but for now I gotta say what I gotta say.
For a few days now I've had a song in my head.
It's by King Missile, and it's called Detachable Pe- - -. (think male anatomy.)
I'm not saying the word, because I don't want my blog to come up for any wierdo's who are doing a blog search for said unit. Not because I'm necessarily against the p word. (though I don't say it much in every day conversation.)
In a later post today I'll relate why oh why I have such a thing in my head.
But for now here is the song (it's really rather humorous, and not terribly offensive, unless you just can't bring yourself to think a story about a missing p might be funny.)
Detachable Pe - - -
I woke up this morning with a bad hangover
And my p was missing again.
This happens all the time. It's detachable.
[background singing begins: "detachable p" over and over]
This comes in handy a lot of the time.
I can leave it home, when I think it's gonna get me in trouble,
or I can rent it out, when I don't need it.
But now and then I go to a party, get drunk,
and the next morning I can't for the life of me remember what I did with it.
First I looked around my apartment, and I couldn't find it.
So I called up the place where the party was,
they hadn't seen it either.
I asked them to check the medicine cabinet
'cause for some reason I leave it there sometimes
But not this time.
So I told them if it pops up to let me know.
I called a few people who were at the party,
but they were no help either.
I was starting to get desperate.
I really don't like being without my p for too long.
It makes me feel like less of a man,
and I really hate having to sit down every time I take a leak.
After a few hours of searching the house,
and calling everyone I could think of,
I was starting to get very depressed,
so I went to the Kiev, and ate breakfast.
Then, as I walked down Second Avenue towards St. Mark's Place,
where all those people sell used books and other junk on the street,
I saw my p lying on a blanket next to a broken toaster oven.
Some guy was selling it.
I had to buy it off him.
He wanted twenty-two bucks, but I talked him down to seventeen.
I took it home, washed it off, and put it back on.
I was happy again. Complete.
People sometimes tell me I should get it permanently attached,
but I don't know.
Even though sometimes it's a pain in the ass,
I like having a detachable p.
I'm feeling rather like I've been lugging one around for a few days. I really wish it to be detachable.
Having said these things, I am feeing better already!
disclaimer: this post is in no way meant to be offensive to my brothers in this world - this is just something I am relating to/hearing in my head these last few days.