It’s Valentine’s Day so in order for me to enjoy the rest of the day’s festivities, let me get something off of my chest. No, don’t get funny, that’s not my chest that you’re looking at but it is more interesting than mine at the moment. I seem to sag in all the wrong places right now and I’m not sure if it’s because of age or because I drink about 4 or 5 cans of coke a day and I inhale baked goods without end. I don’t seem to be able to stop. Addiction, it’s a terrible thing to have and makes you do terrible things like drift the way that I’m drifting away from my point now. What I really want to say is I don’t like Heh- Heh. In fact I can’t stand Heh-Heh. If there is one thing in this world that I won’t be able tolerate any more for the rest of the year, it’s Heh-Heh. What is Heh-Heh you ask?
Heh-Heh is thing you hear when you are standing in the express line at the supermarket with your 10 items or less and the person in front of you turns and faces you and you realize they have about 6 months worth of groceries in their basket. Then they will say “Heh-Heh” and turn back around trying not to look guilty.
Heh-Heh is when in a club or bar some big fat drunken bastard has stepped on your foot and crushed a couple of bones that you never took notice of before or has spilled cheap alcohol on your expensive shirt and all he can say is “‘scuse me! Heh-Heh.”
Heh-Heh is the excuse you hear when you’ve just come off the gym floor and all you want to do is rip off your sweaty stinky jock strap off in peace. Meanwhile there is some bozo that has decided to ignore the rows upon rows of free and open lockers against the wall and decided to change his clothes at the locker next to yours. “It’s funny how these things seem to turn out this way. It’s like Murphy’s Law, Heh-Heh,” he will say. I will just grunt and grimace as we both try to do some sort of awkward semi-naked tango over the same spot of smelly rug.
Speaking of being naked, I had just taken a shower at the gym about 3 months ago and I was putting on lotion in front of one of the mirrors. I had dropped the towel and doing legs and behind when the senior senator for Pennsylvania decided to introduce himself to me. Now I’ve been going to that gym for at least 12 maybe 14 years and he’s never introduced himself to me before. I’ve seen the governor naked a couple times and a few other notables including the senator undressed so I know being nude in and of itself doesn’t really cast aspersions. And I don’t mean to do that here. But as the senator is talking to me, he’s staring at the nipple ring, my dick is swinging in the open breeze and I’m starting to feel uncomfortable.
Suddenly I see a break in the conversation where I think I can take over and guide it to where I want it to go, which was to an end. I really wanted to tell him was that he was creeping me out and that I had no interest in becoming one of his lackey troll boys who hang around him looking for crumbs and a leg up in politics and or power like I’ve seen others do. But instead I said, “I live in New Jersey, so I can’t vote for you senator, Heh-Heh.”
Oh, and happy St. Valentine’s Day.