It's time to talk

It's been almost one year since I landed here at the Paddy Wagon. One whole year.

September 26th (to be exact) would be the date.
Two days after the Kansas City Chiefs ass-hammered the Seahawks into a disappointing loss.

Let's go back and reflect on how I came to be here, shall we?
Hmm.... let's see... There was a bet, for my nakedness and writing on my body (somewhere) that would read "Chiefs own this." Sorry to say, the logistics for the bet were not discussed and Scumbag ended up with a lowly middle finger and some marker.

However, little did he know that, in fact, I had already went ahead and shot that bet, with the writing as agreed to... Only before I could pay Scumbag in full... He kicked me out of the Wedding Party and I was left blogless.

Blogless. Me. Everything Nice. Blogless.

So Johnny being a humanitarian decides to pick me up from the curb that rainy day and invite me in to stay for awhile. But awhile turned into longer and soon my attention turned to introducing him to a blind date, Thanksgiving Dinner, and even a little closed door action.

Thanks John. Your caring and devotion for the downtrodden are noted. And only you and I know how far my gratitude has been tested. Indeed.

It's been a strange year here. First his disappearance, and my search... Then his short return and a lot of catching up on house cleaning and replacement of alcohol. Then his re-disappearance. And appearance. And disappearance, and appearance.

It's like a hot poker to the eye... and don't think I don't know how adequate that simile is.

For the most part I've been silent, waiting in Johnny Menaces coat-tails until I could steal away for an oyster cracker and some orange Tang. He tries to take good care of me but it never ceases to amaze me how he finds new and inventive ways to keep me focused on other things while he.... Well, never mind what he does.... Perhaps we should move on.

Since a year ago I have written many journal entries. Some of them humorous, some of them depressing - most of them bizarre. All of them brilliant. However, the most poignant ones are the ones that Johnny has locked away from me and stuck in his trophy room - between his 3rd grade sack race champion trophy, and the Golden Eagle statue that we scored together a few months ago.

But now? I have the combination to the door lock and it's time to release the documented debauchery....

Nobody really understands what it's like to live with a Menace.

To sell your soul.

Well I do. And I'll publish it here in these blog pages - and all the strange details that go with it.

And this time, Johnny, you won't be able to silence me with that chomp bit.

I'm talking.