The Official Hog Blog
Monday, November 21, 2005
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
teevee buzzes in the back room, and smoke gets in yer eyes is on the radio in the kitchen. cards on the table remind me of a 3rd grade kick in the groin that i got in gym class. it was the most pain i'd ever felt, and prolly the most i've felt since. steal the bacon was in full effect and i ran fast to center court, where the bacon resides.
my screeching squeaking sneakers stopped me quick at the base of the pin, this bacon to be stolen. a bowling pin, and nothing like bacon at all nor anything piglike for that matter, sat at center ourt of the school gymnasium, and at either side of said hall were two lines of students. Each student was given a number. when a number was called, "number nine!" well, number nine from either end of the hall would race to the bacon and attempt to grab it and race it back into the endzone being protected from whence you had just arrived from.
Big, Bonnie Brown, the meanest and most mature of fifth graders was to be my nemesis, or she who would take bacon in my stead, thus a loss to me which I was not prepared to concede.... no.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
I stubbed my toe, and hell I think I may have broken it. I did more then stubbed it again. No. I sat down and while I sat down I stubbed my toe on the coffee table trying to get my left leg over my right and sit in that relaxing posture-ific position that allows me to lean into the couch and smoke that pipe the way a intellectual does it. I wanted to enjoy the smoke, lean back and enjoy that shit, like I was inhaling God's own breath. I wanted to feel that smoke as if it were that last one. The final smoke, the only smoke that mattered as much as the first one. I was hoping to choke back this navy cut Player cigarette I found in the bottom desk drawer while looking for a new box of cheques, when in my frantic search for a lighter I walked into the end table and stubbed m'damn toe. I might'as well had broken the whole foot as I yelled into the air as loud as a grown man can yell: "AAAAH, I think I broke m'damn feet! Who put this hyear?!!"
next thing I do, is stub it again just as I found the lighter and lean back into the couch trying to get all comfortable.
