Day

I have plenty of good days. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a grumpy Gus all the time. I have days where I'm cleaning out the cesspool and discover a shiny new quarter. Good stuff.However it's gotten to a point where people unintentionally make me feel guilty whenever I don't have a good day."Why do you look so glum, Joe?" "I just sat on my balls, Reverend." Look I think it's perfectly normal to have days that just...suck. Some people have more of those days than others but I'm sick of the comments and false "Cheer ups!" from people I barely know. Anyone who has read anything on this blog, Hi Mom, will deduce that I'm not the most chipper guy normally. I tend to walk around with a perpetual look of a Basset Hound on suicide watch. That is no reason to saunter up to me, with a "pedophile in a candy store" grin and try to cheer me up with cliche phrases. Often I feel fine but people assume I'm deep in thought, pondering the purpose of the universe and questioning the reason for living. I'm thinking about breasts. I'm going through my photographic mental index of boobs, examining the curves, shapes and hang-time of these marvelous melons. I'm simply entertaining myself instead of eating my stale fucking tater tots in the school cafeteria and you approach me with your fake concern and ruin my boob-tastic times. Stop it. The only way I won't object to this in the future is if my interrupter is a woman willing to add her milk cups to my photo album.This has been one of those days.