Middle of June reminds me of days at the pool, BBQing hamburgers, summer-wear - - - you get the picture. Now it's 115 and fingers-crossed that the a.c. holds up and the idiots don't take over. Oh elusive youth, how did you let the inexpugnable take hold?

How'd ya get that shiner, joyboy? OK, sometimes the fixes let you down - - - I used 2B a contendah. So we're in a holding pattern on the usual and contemplating the inevitable heart surgery in the future. If that comes across as bleak, it ain't. See, when you got it all, even the scary "what ifs" don't let the blues take over. Here's the forecast for Summer '21 - - - Hot, sober, home-living, JBF'd and so-o happy.

My charisma, which may have slipped just a bit, is still keeping things in perspective and her persuasion, at times brazen, but never too abraisin' is just what the scene needs.

Here's what writing about tough times used to look like:
Shitting used to be a problem. As a boy, shit my pants several times and disliked the body function so much I used to cross my legs and try to push the emerging log back up my hiney hole using child reverse yoga. Used to think that saying "I'm channeling Shatner" as a clever way to announce taking a dump was original. What made me think of this was walking into the bathroom and realizing I wasn't the first occupant in the last 10 minutes. I named it the New Sloppy Seconds. Regrettably, that's not the worst nickname I ever came up with. I used to refer to my man tool as the greased pony, not realizing the connotation that pony is a mini-sized horse. Today I'll think up a new funny one but now is not the right time___circa 8 years ago