I want to tell you about something that happened to me the other day, a very real thing that would have killed a lesser man. Now, it’s a delicate subject to be sure, but I figure if someone out there can learn from my mistake, well then, I’d better let ’em know. And I suppose that the best way to address this sort of issue is to just be upfront about it. I can remember that, as a child, my mother was constantly hollering at my father to “Just spit it out!” Day and night, no matter where you were, you’d sooner rather than later hear this shrill little voice screeching “Just spit it out!” My poor dad must’ve heard those damned words tear out of her mouth more than a million times. Hell, I myself must’ve heard them at least a thousand, and seeing as he knew her a few years before I was born and stayed living with her after I moved out (though I sure as hell couldn’t tell you why), I’m figuring that his total is a might bit higher than mine. Maybe a million. Probably less, but definitely more than a thousand, that’s for damn sure. It’s probably why he drank that bottle of bleach, come to think of it.
Well, I’ve always been one to do what my mother told me. In this day and age, no one has got any time to stand around and listen to some damned fool drone on and on about something that could’ve been said in one or two words. It’s inefficient, is what it is, and I’ve got no patience for people who’r wasteful! It’s goddamn sinful, is what it is.
Let me tell you this, real quick, and then I’ll get the that thing that would have killed a lesser man: I firmly believe that the good Lord makes us with the knowledge of every word you or I are ever gonna say in our lives, however long it’s gonna be until you drink that proverbial bottle of bleach. So, if you think about it, it’s like we’ve got this big ol’ bag of words that we can use, and once we’ve run out, well then, we’re shit out of luck. I run into people all the time who are just talk and talking, never once considering the fact that they’re gonna run out of words some day, and then where will they be? Just wandering around, not able to talk or nothing. You ever seen these people on the street? Most of them are homeless, just wandering around and grunting at people, not really saying any real words. They’re the folks that used up their words, and now they just grunt. And I don’t speak grunt, so I don’t have any blessed clue what they’re trying to tell me, but I’m guessing it’s either “You got any money?” or “Damn it, I used up my damn words!” If I ever use up my words (heaven forbid), I’d do my best to warn people that they’d better shut up and make those words count, or else they’ll end up like me, just grunting. Of course, I wouldn’t just grunt, I’d imagine that I’d get me a pad of paper or a chalkboard and just write all the stuff that I’m thinking. I wonder why those homeless people don’t just get themselves a chalkboard or something? That way, they could use the thing more than once, instead of those cardboard sheets that they write on one time and then have to throw away. Although, those cardboard things are free and easy to find, so what do I know about the homeless? Hell, they’ve been doing it a while, and I figure that they’re probably have got the whole thing down to a science by now.
No sir, I am not one to mince words, and I’m not about to do it now. I understand that you are a busy person with a life and a family and a whole lot of other things going on in your life that you’ve got to attend to, so I don’t plan on keeping you here for a minute longer than is necessary. I’m just considerate like that, I guess. Always thinking of other people, and how they might feel on a topic. Even as I’m talking, I’m thinking about the person I’m talking to, and thinking about their life and what I can do to make it easier on them. I’ve always been that way, even when I was just a small kid. I’d always be asking my mother what she was thinking, or trying to figure out why two kids were fighting at school. My mother told me that I did that stuff because I’m a “people person.” Well, I don’t know too much about it, but I’ve never been one to argue with my mother. I suppose I am just a “people person.” That’s why I don’t just stand and talk someone’s ear off. I let them move on their way and live their lives.
Anyway, what happened was, I went to scratch my balls, but my fingernails were kinda long, and I accidentally cut my dick and had to get three stitches.