Today, I came downstairs after reading a Flannery O'Connor story, rumaged in the fridge, and shook my socks in the air, caught up in the throughs of manhood. Meanwhile my mom and Sue looked with the bewilderment that women get when looking at something extremely masculine. So masculine that they can barely detect it. Like when you blow those dog whistles and nobody hears it but the dog. Yea that was like this. Except ...you know im the dog....and my ...socks...are the ..nevermind.
It's a crazy life and its moments like these that make me remember the time I tried to make a catapault out of a lawnchair. and ended up shattering a plastic squirtgun into my large nose, giving it the infamous shape it has kept to this day.

I had better put on my socks...