I’ve been feeling pretty down lately, so I’ve thought back on some happy memories that I made special note of for just such an occasion.
My happiest memory is of four words which I never expected to hear, and yet wished for more than anything. It was a lazy summer afternoon, last year. As we lay on the bed, my (now ex) girlfriend turned to me and said, “I love you too”.
I tried to save up the happiness, to burn every little detail into my mind.
The memory is a little tarnished now, because I now know how it turned out, that her definition of love isn’t quite the same as mine. But it’s still the happiest memory of my life.
I have several of them, that I pull out from time to time.
One very special night in Dec.'78. My one true love showed me how much he loved me.
The birth of our son, red hair and all.
The night I miscarried our daughter’s twin, my hubby held me close all night long and told me how much he loved me, that we’d get through it together.
The birth of our daughter, so tiny and perfect.
There are more, won’t list them all here right now. I need to find a kleenex.
You sing in my consciousness like a counterpoint to my life.
L.L.
That’s my name, not a description. I am neither purple nor a bear. Okay, so I’m purple.<a true Wally original!>
The ass-numbing pleasure of passing my last “little Dameon.” Other people may refer to this act as “Taking a shit.”
What makes this such a fun thing isn’t the Moment of Release (M.O.R.), but the build up of anticipation, much like Christmas. I usually do the deed at work, due to the fact that I live in an apartment complex an my fumes may cause an untimly evicktion notice. As I sit at my post (I work security in an empty office building) I feel the rumble. This is my bowels giving in to the beast within. I get up and walk around so that I may loosen up the strangle hold “Dameon” has on my lower intestinal tract. Then I run up to the second floor mens room. The running loosens up vital muscles for the awaiting ordeal. As I cross the threashold of the sweet sanctuary that is the restroom my hands become a blur. In no more than .00342seconds, I pull my mouthpiece out and insert it into my mouth, tear open my pants, pull down my underwear, take aim at the toliet seat and finally, say a little pray for the sins I am about to commit. In what can only be described as “an orgasm on herion” I grab the handycap bars in the stall and release the tortured soul that it has been my duty to punish. In a tidal wave of toliet water and emotions, it is over. I wipe, search for survivors and move on.
That is my happiest memory. And I get a new one everytime I feel The Rumble.
Thats the truth and anyone who has heard otherwise has been misinformed.
TheNerd, I think you need some better memories, friend. I’m sure you’ve got 'em, you should do some digging. Not a bad idea to get out and start some new ones, too.
