The Tourist
11-27-2008, 03:31 PM
Now this may come as a surprise to most of you because you've always known me as this soft, cuddly fun-loving guy. A virtual fountain of the milk of human kindness.
I hate to shatter your misconceptions about the great guy I am. In truth, I'm a sumbich. Yes, yes, I know you might ardently disagree due to your blind hero-worship, but your dreams are to be smashed...
I don't like many people. I don't like many people within my own circle of 'friends.' I certainly dislike +60% of the guys I rode with despite the fact they are my sworn brothers. Sometimes I don't like my own brother. I can't stand 375 members of the less than 400 members of my own church. There's perhaps four forum members that have my personal phone number.
Despite my passion love for cheese, I think Brett Favre is a turncoat.
In that regard, I told my entire surviving family, my wife's family, one guy on my list of close friends, and any idiot holding Christmas lights to go to hell and leave us alone for Thanksgiving.
My wife bought a pre-packaged section of the white meat of the top of a turkey (whatever 'cut' of meat you call that), we have invited my SIL (who has been a God-send to my wife during her illness) and two French lap dogs. That's it.
When I bow my head today it will be for my wife, Audie Murphy and Sonny Barger, the three people most responsible for my life lived in freedom.
I hate the holidays. It used to be just Christmas. Then it was Halloween--one year I went door-to-door (a reverse trick or treat) just to get rid of the extra candy so I shut off the bloomin' porch light.
My un-welcome mat says "Go Away."
Now I dislike Thanksgiving, Bastille Day, my own birthday, Labor Day, Arbor Day, in fact most things with a date on them. Even the expiration date on Clinton's cigars.
I owe my salvation to Easter and The Fourth of July, but we're starting to turn those days of rememberance into a three-ring circus.
I put a supreme importance on brotherhood and my sincere thanks to those who qualify. To those to whom that ideal applies, you need no date or festival, and you know it. (You once got the gift of a knife.) To anyone else, all of the gravy and whipped cream in a five-gallon bucket isn't going to morph a charlatan into an insider.
And so I raise a shot glass of pure 100% agave tequila and admonish this biker's sincere toast to humanity:
"Champagne to my real friends, and real pain to my sham friends."
I hate the holidays.
I hate to shatter your misconceptions about the great guy I am. In truth, I'm a sumbich. Yes, yes, I know you might ardently disagree due to your blind hero-worship, but your dreams are to be smashed...
I don't like many people. I don't like many people within my own circle of 'friends.' I certainly dislike +60% of the guys I rode with despite the fact they are my sworn brothers. Sometimes I don't like my own brother. I can't stand 375 members of the less than 400 members of my own church. There's perhaps four forum members that have my personal phone number.
Despite my passion love for cheese, I think Brett Favre is a turncoat.
In that regard, I told my entire surviving family, my wife's family, one guy on my list of close friends, and any idiot holding Christmas lights to go to hell and leave us alone for Thanksgiving.
My wife bought a pre-packaged section of the white meat of the top of a turkey (whatever 'cut' of meat you call that), we have invited my SIL (who has been a God-send to my wife during her illness) and two French lap dogs. That's it.
When I bow my head today it will be for my wife, Audie Murphy and Sonny Barger, the three people most responsible for my life lived in freedom.
I hate the holidays. It used to be just Christmas. Then it was Halloween--one year I went door-to-door (a reverse trick or treat) just to get rid of the extra candy so I shut off the bloomin' porch light.
My un-welcome mat says "Go Away."
Now I dislike Thanksgiving, Bastille Day, my own birthday, Labor Day, Arbor Day, in fact most things with a date on them. Even the expiration date on Clinton's cigars.
I owe my salvation to Easter and The Fourth of July, but we're starting to turn those days of rememberance into a three-ring circus.
I put a supreme importance on brotherhood and my sincere thanks to those who qualify. To those to whom that ideal applies, you need no date or festival, and you know it. (You once got the gift of a knife.) To anyone else, all of the gravy and whipped cream in a five-gallon bucket isn't going to morph a charlatan into an insider.
And so I raise a shot glass of pure 100% agave tequila and admonish this biker's sincere toast to humanity:
"Champagne to my real friends, and real pain to my sham friends."
I hate the holidays.