(I was nominated by @groovati to do a post, but I'm working and won't have time, so I pulled one from 2012 to use as filler. I'm sorry, but the grocery store doesn't accept SBD, so I need to work!)

Let's Go!

Yes, I am on a flight from Edmonton to Toronto as we speak. I guess we aren't speaking. What I mean to say is that I'm on a flight as I write this. I've practically given up now. I'm wearing a pair of black track pants, sneakers, and wrinkly red shirt. I truly look like a bag of smashed assholes, but I've got a big silly smile on my face, and a song in my heart.

I tried making fun of the cheap looking tape job on the wing, but Nervous Nellie beside me didn't enjoy those types of jokes. Ah well, I need to get this post written, so I can do some proper cocooning when I get home.

If you need to know what the song in my heart is, it's Mr. Crowley, and not Mama I'm coming home. I've had Mr. Crowley in my head for days now. As I sit here crammed into this tin can with all of the other sheep, writing a blog post on my phone, I want to yell out "MR. CROWLEY, (dun dun dun)", in my best possible Ozzy voice. Oh, I have one pal. I've been practicing it's sweet enchantment for damn near a week. I'd like to say I'm ready to front Black Sabbath now, but all I've practiced is the opening line. Start imagining me singing that loudly over and over again in the cab of a Kenworth. I know, you're pretty jealous, and who could blame you, really?

I just watched the Air Canada flight safety video, and I gotta admit that I built a small pup tent when the seatbelt part came on. There's a cougar in tight brown slacks, and it gives a close up of her fastening the seatbelt.

Mmmmmm, tight brown slacks.

Then they go to another cougar helping her daughter do some shit or something, and she's got a damn fine rack on her. I would have went and rubbed one out, but the seatbelt sign was on, and I didn't want to poke anyone's eye out.

Now I remember the angst of track pants.

(Yeah, I wish that was mine. Even half of that.)

"Chris, can you please come to the front of the class, and write your answer on the board?"

"Ummm, no, I'm okay thanks."

" I didn't ask you how you were, I asked you to write your answer on the board."

"Listen bitch, I just thought of squeezing Jen's boobs, and I'm wearing light gray track pants. You think you could cut me a bit of slack today?"

You are probably guessing that I didn't say those exact words to the teacher. Well, you would be right. It went more like this: I jumped up with my hand over my pecker, kind of hunched myself over, and ran out of the room yelling "I need to use the washroom."
I then went to the can and whipped that thing like a rented mule for embarrassing me. I then started thinking up my excuse to give the biggest ball busting teacher in the school.

I guess I could just tell the truth. She's probably got kids, and it's not like I pulled it out in class and had a go at it. It's perfectly natural to get these feelings as a preteen boy, right? Yeah, that's right, I'm going to wait for the bell and tell her what really happened.

So I waited, and about fifteen long minutes later, I walked to her classroom to explain myself.

"Ummm, Mrs. M------? I'm sorry for running out of your class."

"Yes, I was waiting for you to explain yourself. Well, go ahead."

"Well, I ahhh, sort of had an accident, and peed my pants a little bit. I was trying to dry them in the washroom so the other kids wouldn't see, and tease me."

Come on, you didn't really think I'd tell that old dried up piece of boot leather that I had a tiny hard on, do you?

"Oh you poor dear. Why on earth would you hold it so long? You know that you can use the washroom whenever you need to go."

"I know, but I didn't know I had to go right then."

"Why not? Did you hurt your penis or something?"

There's my out.

"Well, I fell on my crossbar, and it hurt, but I think it's okay."

"It mustn't be, or else you would know when to go to the washroom. Has your mother taken you to the doctor?"

"Ummm, no, I didn't tell her about it. I will tonight. I'm sure it will be okay."

"You can't tell; it could be nerve damage. You need to get it checked out."

"I promise I will. I'll tell my mom tonight."

"Okay, but make sure you do. That's not something to take lightly."

Whew, disaster averted, and I learned her weakness. This will truly prove useful in a future post, because I don't know if I told you this before, but I was kind of a bad kid.

Keep on chooglin',

I nominate @davemccoy and @gjones15 to join in the fun.