Fact Number One: It's spelled M i c h a E l, not M i c h E a l. And I never once saw it spelled any other way.
Fact Number Two: I was born on the 6th of July. It was foggy that week and the stork got held up in a holding pattern over Keesler A.F.B. So I was late, sue me.
Fact Number Three: At 17 I weighed 125 lbs. I weighed in at 142 when I graduated boot camp, after which I returned to 125 not having to march all day, exercise all day, and eat like crazy to keep up my strength. Today, at 50, I weigh 125 lbs, give or take 2 lbs on any given day. Girls, don't hate me cause I'm consistent.
Fact Number Four: I've always been short. Which means before to long I'm going to get even shorter. Which is OK with my wife as long as I can take care of business, if you know what I mean. At least I'm not getting any wider.
Fact Number Five: No one notices the grey in my hair unless I step into the light and point it out. If it wasn't for the grey in my beard, I'd look even younger. I still haven't figured out yet which is better, since neither one seems to have made any difference.
Fact Number Six: The neutral expression on my face could best be described as, putting it mildly, pissed. When emotion fires up the muscles in my face, my smile has been described as "wonderful". I'm sorry, but I can't afford the plastic surgery to have a smile installed on my face, so get over it. I AM smiling!
Fact Number Seven: I can rise straight up to my feet from sitting crosslegged with little effort at all. My wife couldn't if the house was on fire. Maybe it's a guy thing.
Fact Number Eight: I can't pretend that life is wonderful in this country or this world when it just flat isn't. People suffer mostly because in some fashion or another someone in power creates the conditions in which they suffer. I don't buy spin, I don't buy propaganda, and I sure as hell know when people are talking out of their ass. It's not my fault that too many people in this country are totally clueless, and it's sure as hell not my fault that they might not like me saying so. To bad.
Fact Number Nine: Half the time I don't think I deserve half of what little I have. But half the time I am damn thankful for what "little" I have because I have alot more than alot of people and I could easily lose it all at any time anyway.
Fact Number Ten: Buffalo has alot of smart ass things to say about me, but I will defend to the death his right to say it. Just like I know he would. Brothers in arms are like that, go figure.
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12 comments:
Damn you, Michael. Just when I was fixin' on burning your skinny butt you gotta add #10.
Be careful, my friend. I'm lurking.
so ... you got me to get down on the floor and cross my legs and then try to stand up... is that what you meant? im confussed and feel like ive been in yoga class.
LOL
what's going on with you and buffalo? have to go see what's going on "buffalo's path"
Very interesting...So what going on with you and buf? (I'm gonna get,get,get you drunk)
get you love drunk of my hump. ;)
teri and i are already drunk.
OMG.....two chicks getting plastered in the coment section of my blog! This is getting good! hehe
Nothing is going on between me and Buffalo, girls, except some good natured ribbing on occasion. Right Buf? Buf?
Anybody smell something burning?
Everyone seems focused on your Buffalo comment and I'm still trying to figure out how you can possible maintain a weight of 125 pounds and still be held down by gravity. And I have all of that gray hair you have been avoiding.
And you have two drunk chicks.
Sigh. But I have my own language, so puxczx it all.
It's easy, Tim. Remember, a pound of THE Michael is equal to a pound of feathers, balogna, strotium 90, beer, dead skunks, marbles, cubic zirconia, plaster of paris, or Panama Red. They all fall at the same speed in a vacuum. Gravity does not discriminate.
And this Buffalo thing is getting blown WAY out of proportion. Right Buf? Buf?
And remember, one sober wife is worth two drunk chicks in the bush.
Fine, you don't appreciate your own friggin lanquage? Then trade it in for what's behind door number two. I dare ya.
Michael, you take the sober wife. I will opt for the two drunk ladies in a yankee minute. Especially that pair.
(But that doesn't mean I don't care about you, you devil you.)
(sitting thinking) sometimes more is said in the comment section than in the blog.. anyone ever notice that???
it sorta feels like i have intruded into a private conversation........ i didn't notice anything weird between Michael and Buffalo.. but then a lot of things seem to have gone poof over my head this weekend.......
morningstar
Thanks guys. I have my novel; Conversations with THE Michael - an introspective exploration with drunk chicks, Buffalos, masochists, and other strange bedfellows. I'll autograph all your copies. :)
Yikes...
But thanks for all the great facts about you. We're similar in at least one way...I'm told I always look pissed of too...people, I'm not mad, get over it.
An innerestin' list to be sure.
:-)
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