Eight, maybe nine years ago, I quit smoking, because my little boy, came up to my table on the patio and said, "Quit to live, daddy". I quit that day, for two reasons...one, for my children, so I'd live to be with them until they grow up, and two...for my health, certainly, not for my satisfaction.
My father, smoked like a stack...he drank...he cursed...he laughed, and he loved. Men respected him, and he fought a few that didn't. Women loved him. He was the wisest man I ever knew. His teeth were yellow, and shattered, and few...his smile could light up a room...he could play piano, like a maestro, after three drinks, and everyone would gather. Little girls would dance on his shoes. He would fart and smile...in mixed company, just to draw fire, and, whether he needed it or not...he would bathe once a year.
So, you see...you fools, and your little cuts...your 'political corectness', and your revolution to make men 'cunts'...you cast men out, you block their truth's and they wont get your little 'hugs'...so what?
Written By Bruce James Clyde 2016, Deming, New Mexico
Photo Credit: designtrend.com
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