Prometheus mewling…

Sometimes a man’s gotta do what man’s gotta do. 

So, getting over a kittenish mewling session after a friend of the female persuasion, didn’t respond in a timely fashion to some super-dynamite babble I had sent in the texting form (always while complaining in the texting form, that I hate texting because it stifles my natural freedom of artistic expression in ways that the mere mortal cannot hope to comprehend:( ?), and I got worried that I wasn’t liked, for sure mis-understood, after all not everybody “gets” me, and had been abandoned and left to die on a cliff face while carrion-birds were doing their C-B thing on my liver and sweetbreads. All that after a full day of uphill Rock n’ Roll (not as glamorous as it sounds to the non-martyr).

Also, I was worried because this friend had a Summac-rash on her fore-arms (the part just after the wrist and before elbow), that I imagined had probably been mis-diagnosed by her and that she was in a hospital and I would never hear about her dying in agony from flesh-eating bacterialistic-virii 🙂 (smiley face for invented word not agonal etc:), while I was suffering from neglect by her unintended and unforeseen (one could only hope), death. (That sentence may need a little work. I’ll get back to it, for sur

Some people only think of themselves when consumed by B-V. Maybe its natural?          There are a lot of selfish people out there who can only think of themselves, not mentioning any names, because I am, above all, a gentleman of the Olde-School.

Anyhoo, I had a problem on my rig that required me to get under the hood and get some grease on my hands and draw some knuckle-blood. After only four or five hours, I had changed out the lamps in my headlights (“Man, that’s confusing enough to “f…” up an iron ball.”, as we say down to the garage).                                                                                                   One day I may take on the muffler-bearings the seasonal mechanic did for me last year, when their tune-up time rolls around in October. This fellow comes through seasonally, I was told by him, so perhaps I’d better wait for his notification of when tune-up of afore-mentioned muffler-bearings comes ’round, because I did pay three years in advance to qualify for the “Trio-Discount on M-B Tune-up”.

I was going to include some shots of my “mitts” and let you see the grease on them, but it just sort of went away on the paper napkin I used at lunch. Oh, well. Must soldier on. 

Sometimes when the big Heartaches, Abandonments and Potential B-V Deaths threaten or loom; a real guy (A Guy’s guy, but you know not That way), will find some manly endeavor to take his mind off his need to be chin-scratched and fussed.

Whose the nice little Helmut?

Yes! Who’s the big truck fixer? 

That’s right?  It’s you!!! 

Wabble dee, babble dee, cootchie-cooo!!!!!

Yay!!!!

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