Neanderpundit

dies soonest- and dad’s had burned so very bright…

When I was around 14, Dad bought me a guitar for Christmas. Mostly, I think, so he could have one around the house.

I practiced and practiced and practiced, but I never could get the hang of it. Dad could pick it up, though, and hammer his way through a song like born to it. I always envied him his musical skills, his booming voice.

I tried, I really did. I took lessons, but the instructor was an accordiaon playing child molester. I was a disagreeable enough child that even the catholic priests left me alone. All of it left a bad vibe.

I would be happy if i gave up the musical skills- and dad’s enormous schlong- for a little more than the typical Og family longevity, but we’ll have to see about that.

Anyway, dad’s favorite song was Maria Elena. This is the way he used to play it.

Spent most of the day with the boys leaking out of the underdrawers. Need to get some that fit me better.

We have a routine, the dog and i.

I hook the dog to his chain in the morning, and go back inside.

He barks to be let back in, and in barking, realises it’s time for his morning constitutional. I wait until he’s done, then bring him back in so I can cop a squat myself.

Simple as this routine is, it’s good to get back to it.