Hello Pros,

I have the honor and respect to shout out to someone on here that has

changed my life in his small little way to make a huge impact on my outcome.  This man came to my rescue and helped me through what I thought was one the toughest periods of my entire life.  He asked me to be his friend to help me through the tough times and mentor me on how strong I should stay to accomplish all that I set as a goal for myself to achieve.  He is one of the best writers on this platform and he is adamant about commenting on our genius paper thoughts.  He has been here for several years and he has posted thousands of posts.  When I first came on this platform, he was the first person to comment on my work.  I was pleased to know that someone cared enough to read it.  From that point on I knew that I found a home for my writing.  I used to be on other platforms but I found the people to be rude and sarcastic instead of

understanding and caring.  Anywho.......The person I am talking about came into my life without me ever meeting him in person

and helped a sinking soul from drowning.  During my divorce, he picked my heart off the floor, wiped it off, and handed it back to me to use again.  Although we do not mesh well in any kind of relationship, because I am proudly gay, we do mesh well in literary understanding and a passion to be heard.  I am brown, and he is an opal.  I am younger and he is older.  But he is one of the nicest people I know.  He has a good heart.  He is the most truthful person I have ever met.  If I had to mold the person that I want to spend the rest of my life with, I would mold HER with his soul.

He's kind and sweet and I hope he finds himself a sugar-momma that loves him for him.  He's Brilliant!  My reason for writing this is that he recently posted a video to help me with a project that I started in 2016 called Fistchallenge4kids.  This project is to help the homeless and children have new books and t-shirts.  This video touched my soul.  I have never had anyone speak out on my cause before.  He has taken food from his mouth and sent it to me on more than one occasion, and I thank him for that.  All in all this person was a blessing to me and I want to let everyone on here know who he is and to Thank Him For ALL That He Has Done To Bless Me.

HIS NAME IS DANCEINSILENCE.

Young Prince, please know that you will always have a friend in me. Please continue to share your wisdom and brilliant knowledge. Shout out to this angel that God sent to me. Stay Blessed and Thank you;)

Video

https://www.instagram.com/p/Cufns9pvy4f/

keep the clouds at bay

it doesn't always rain on funerals

the sun doesn't blink when i consider

the different means to my end

in broad daylight

unabashed to slice with hidden thorns

loving roses grow

sunkissed skin with no remorse

warms and dries

turns to burns

I heard my kidney’s telling me I was trying too hard to hide the sadness.

That I should let it show. Breathe through it. Feel it completely.

I heard my heart tell me I was trying too hard to ignore my needs. That I should tend to my deepest needs. I should be my own best care taker.

I heard my head scream to me “It’s too much to resolve in an instant, in a day”, “you don’t have all the pieces to this puzzle“,

“leave it for another day”.

My back said “I am ashamed”

and my chest said “I am afraid”.

… so,

I straightened my back.

I pulled my shoulders back and opened my chest cavity wide.

Exposed my heart.

I set goals for tending to my heart.

I breathed through it.

I let the tears fall & the sadness show.

Took off the tight shoes of pretense.

Shook off the stifling wardrobe of pride.

Now I dance,

slowly to the moment.

Ya know, I was inspired the other day. I wasn't looking at the sunset or ocean waves or snow-capped mountains, no.

I was inspired by the leathery, deeply tanned ass-crack of some drunk pyromaniac leaning down to light the fuse on what he referred to as, "the finale."

Is this the one where he blows his fingers off?

The 'finale', huh?

His night ends with a big red boom, right?

Blood spraying everywhere and a toothless grin because he's too drunk to really feel it. He'll say something stupid like, "Told ya was gon' be the best show of y'all god-damned life."

I could see the whole thing unfolding in front of me, but that's not what happened.

I have an overactive imagination, ya know?

A taste for the morbid, perhaps. Okay, definitely.

Fuck. Is it really fourth of July if your drunk, shirtless, toothless, witless uncle doesn't blow off a finger or two?

Where was I?

Oh yeah: ass-cracks.

How long did his ass have to be hanging out of his pants to get that tan? That's not even a plumbers crack. That's the ass of a nude beach swinger gone too long cooking in an oven of impetulance.

Anyway, where there are ass-cracks, there's bound to be beer. Beer aplenty. Cheap beer.

I don't drink cheap beer. Yeah yeah, come at me. But shit, if I'm gonna drink-- I want to savor.

Give me wine and whiskey.

Let me at least pretend to be classy while I kill off brain cells. That's the allure isn't it?

To be stupid, if only for a moment. How nice it is to be stupid.

But Uncle Garth is already an idiot. He drinks because it's fun. That's it. It's fun to get drunk and swing your fists around and fall down without feeling a thing. It's fun to be a small God for a little while-- to pretend your base humor has everyone laughing with you instead of at you, for once. Yes, idiots drink because it's fun.

And it is fun.

But.

C'mon, we know it makes us dumb, don't we?

So, for the highly intelligent, drinking is fun. Oh. So fun. But so, so dangerous.

Just another drop might numb our awareness of the dumpster fire of a reality we live in.

Just another drop might turn off the incessant stream of consciousness in our minds.

Just another drop might make us laugh at the pretty lights instead of thinking about the intricacies that must go into re-attaching a finger. Or the minerals that make those pretty lights. Just another drop and we might be dumb enough to fuck.

Just another drop and we'll laugh and dance and tell that joke. Or maybe we'll get moody, and write some shit, and it'll turn into a masterpiece? 'Cause everything is a masterpiece when you're drunk, right?

And after that drop, I'll remember. I'll want to crawl out of my skin. I'll think about that thing I did, that declaration I made, that clumsy fuck, for the next decade.

But Uncle Garth?

He'll wake up in the morning and crack another cold one. He'll wonder how his knuckles got bruised and he'll chuckle, or leer, or blame it on Aunt Cheryl that she didn't make him quit while he was ahead. Uncle Garth will be alright because the alcohol couldn't possibly make him any dumber than he already is.

But us?

We'll want whiskey.

We'll want wine.

We'll want to savor our demise.

So Cheers-- to ass-cracks, bloody stumps, and being just a little bit dumber.

I glare at the man in charge of my being held in a vice grip, refusing to beg knowing at this point that they will not care. Ever shifting hazel eyes are set in a sculpted face, he could be an angel, but only one who fell. I can’t help but compare his to the one I have loved.

“ Which one? If you don't pick now, we take two,” the man’s deep voice questions. The eyes may technically be the same color as the eyes of the man I loved, but my husband’s had been kinder than the ones I look into now.

I wish that I had enough money to pay them, but I wish even more that I could have back the missing piece of my soul. The experimental treatment had been worth those few extra months, even if this is the price I must now pay. I would have given the whole hand if the cancer would have gone away, with the treatment that money had paid for.

“Ring finger,” I rasp, keeping my eyes locked on the leader, refusing to look at his two henchman. It is not like I need that finger for anything anymore.

I was getting desperate; the fix was crucial. It had been days since I had a hit, and I was hooked at this point. So I did what any normal, sane person would do: find some sketchy guys in a sketchy alleyway and ask them for some money. Except in this situation, I was not a normal, sane person. As a matter of fact, I was pretty bonkers at this point. You see, when your mom has cancer and your sister wants to kill herself, you find your own ways to cope. Unlike my sister, I was not cutting my arms; I was out on the street getting high off my ass. Well, it didn't start off like that. I had a good job; I was making the right income to try and support mom. All the medications that came with her cancer had their own price, and it wasn't just her hair. In the course of time, the medical bills kept piling up, and my paychecks kept disappearing. I didn’t really see the point anymore. And yeah, I felt awful for leaving Mom and Carly in the situation that I did, but I just couldn't do it anymore. I left home, started living in my car, and did everything I could to find a fix as often as possible. Fast forward to now, and these guys are looking for their fix too. I borrowed their drug money for my drugs. I can't pay it back, so here we are. I have to make a decision, so I tell them to take my pinkie. They oblige, but take my pointer too! I scream in agony; this is the worst pain I think I've felt in my life. In the nick of time, the sirens come. I look up and see a girl with a phone to her ear in a window, looking down on me. I wink at her, thankful for her existence at this moment. They run, scattering like roaches. Thinking of the white power in my pocket, I run too. I run until my legs are aching and I can’t catch my breath.

What distorted dreams of mein wort made!

Ever since acquiescing being prescribed a boot one half dozen plus three social anxiety medications, (which cocktail of pills also curtailed panic attacks, depression, palmar hyperhidrosis, and thinning hair) dreamscape became ache'n to a whirled (nada so wide) webbed wonderland. Nothing short of piece discombobulated helter skelter mish mash up quickly (with broad brushstrokes) scribbled across the meal snippets forcibly (awkwardly) bridged asper submerged into gateway of rapid eye movement. A harried hasty hurriedly aspect could not be avoided in a near futile attempt to captcha elusive fast fading images transferred from sixty plus shades of gray matter to thine blank computer Macbook Pro (Lenovo external screen). Hasty fragmented sentences appear evincing all manner of rhetorical, logical, and grammatical faux pas. A feeble explanation communicated. Tidbits of quickly disappearing rich textured wildly yipping pastiche typed as fast as these stubby left hand fingers could skitter across the qwerty keyboard. A slip sliding shunted race against quickly losing generated groundless images, and fast fading memory hopefully explains this disjointed, fractured, and punctuated with quirky ramshackle house (of the rising sun) style of writing. Only very rarely does even a smidgen (a flashing, flickering and fluttering) vestige unevenly tabulated sputtering of nightly REM cycles recalled even to this poorly cogent wisp. Unlike most occasion, an experiment upon awakening informed idea whereby eyes remained shut tight. Such spurious whim found me madly scribbling discordant bits and pieces of nocturnal subconscious foray, where some facet of my persona enmeshed with a female pop singer. Ya know the (swiftly tailored) gal, who flits from one Hollywood hunk type Oh (my dog) after another in an effort to juiced trick another catchy pop tune. She makes a mint mining these fly by night escapades deflowering virgin ya lads. Not in the cards, nor surprising luck to find mice elf between her dagger type clutches, nor would avidity spur ambition, should an unlikely opportunity take place.

Thee swiftly tailored Mademoiselle found, or made a place in the world for yourself aching like a boy out in left field pining to catch that high fly there. There ain't nothing 'bout you, (nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest even if hypothetically. We spent eons at an all night diner, where culinary staff knew thee all too well, and perhaps all you wanted (shared with Michelle Branch). Perhaps positing the rhetorical question – am I ready for love? With an American boy, or a bosom best buddy re: best friend forever with an American girl if someone got cross, tis beneficial (in this one republic) to apologize regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante. The following refrain plays in your mind baby don't you break my heart slow (at least according to Vonda Shepard) memories no doubt arise. When thee hapt to be a baby girl thoughts unspool back to December. Beautiful eyes peered at a fractured reflection before the love story would begin again, ebbing, and flowing with my baby recalling Bette David eye (taking visual delight sans world tour live) reminding self how better off the choice made tis much better than revenge, but umpteen times dying by a thousand cuts. Bother I will asper boys and love combustible mix – none the less always reminding myself to breathe deep, cuz being breathless likened to a taste of death, (I admit better than Ezra) learning how to act points back as per being brought up that way lessons oft learned getting busted. Oh...and by the way can I go with you? Can you feel the love tonight? Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling? Such granular, or solid state matter doth forced to change attested to by chaperone dads, who dressed as Santa Claus invoked that Christmas must be something more especially, Christmases, when you were mine. Ah...closest to a cowboy as “sigh” ever got or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized, yet countenance goose (and found you under the care of Chet Atkins at the make believe medical center) shivered flesh against cold as you, though desiring thee to come back...he here no doubt prone to announce requests asked even crazier (as demonstrated by flash mob generated by Hannah Montana, one live wire). If able to glean my sentiments...cross my heart aware as an adult feeling the life source of daddy or mommy, while hinting with a stone temple piloted cold stare double dare you to move (or switchfoot), one to another. Das feet – planted within pitch dark blue Tennessee dwelling with thoughts of ma dear Digdan, or writing an imaginary letter starting...”dear John.” Ample melancholy maudlin material to complete bind a diary of me yes concert cavorting circumstances avoidable, though didn't they make chase like butterflies, and don't they hate me for loving you? So please don't tell me you want to, when I don't want to anymore argh, yet impossibly unshakable the recurring thought don't you act indiscriminately as when down came the rain, washed the spy dir out following suit (wet) drenching yea...one drama queen with chin amen along Pearl Harbor Drive (in conjunction with Alan Jackson) presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter. (Train chugging, clacking, clattering railing gestalt of alien nation), and all of a sudden like how odd though...thinking about eighth grade graduate, when life time seemed enchanted. Now everything has changed eyes open (“hunger games”) maketh me – fall back on you instant messaging you – fall into me fearless, though only fifteen and how against pyrotechnics. You find your way back home on the Fourth of July perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one? Me for you forever & always (a platinum edition) for girl at home (donned in deluxe edition) going bananas in reference to Amazing Gracie swaggering, and immune to gunpowder & lead, (whose leading lady Miranda Lambert). Whatsapp penned left her looking haunted heartbreaker – (my words – like Tom Petty) about her, but unsure if our thoughts aligned anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton), a hero heroine so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister,” and hey Little Stephen, (sans underground band). Along the boulevard of broken dreams, this ribbon highway don't care about trumpeting his lies, nor desecrating holy ground honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans. I feel hopelessly devoted to you (as doth Olivia Newton) instinctively keen how to save a life bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.

Another clunky moment altered the small scene. Difficult to segue way seamlessly the schema that unfolded within deep sleep, thus nothing short of disjointed linkedin attempt stitches the follow montage as if thy mind experienced far out groovy hallucinogenic incident when with no correlation yours truly found himself (albeit slumbering obliviously) while breached in a berth with miss universe.

This dreamy scenario unfolded, when my name got randomly chosen in an online contest. I would be taking an extended cruise to some unknown tropical island. Upon locating the suite aboard the oceanliner, my eyes performed a sweeping glance of the quarters. Ah…just room enough for one to relax. Upon readiness to doze off, the door handle jiggled before a well chiseled female body builder entered the room. This female version conjured an immediate facsimile of Atlas, whose mere shrug could easily cause the earth to rumble. Impossible not to stare at this marble hued muscular woman whose muscles rippled when she just casually flexed even one pinky. At once, the notion to close lids suddenly seemed less apropos. Unsure if this skinny guy would be flicked overboard without even the chance to twitter an sos. Despite feeling utterly exhausted from completing a grueling confidential government contractual mission, the aery whim to enjoy luxuriating on the deck of this transoceanic vessel, I tried to keep sleepiness at bay. Meanwhile angry birds could be heard screeching overhead as if conspiring to undermine any book marked thread to sleep. Although intimidated before this bronzed beauty queen (whose shadow no doubt weighed more then me), this wiry hot male sauntered over to the bedazzling bodybuilder lest she consider me a yahoo. With outstretched, hand as an accustomed overture to initiate conversation found fingers nearly crushed by the blithe grip from this iron maiden. She possessed steely strength with barely any effort. “You must be a fitness buff”, I stated the obvious, and talking while asleep momentarily shook me awake. Her feminine response caught me off guard. “Yes!” Further elaboration took place as camaraderie began to emerge. As a scrawny pencil necked geeky lad, her gaze immediately turned to my direction. Methought out loud that “nobody would dare bully a gal able to wrestle a gorilla!" Despite rib cage locked against identity theft, and difficulty to swallow, I managed to wrench words that sounded somewhat bland. “How many years did bench pressing, curling, doing heavy duty lifting occupy your time?” “As the youngest girl of football sized brothers, the interest at self defense, and art of body sculpting arose soon about the same time first steps got taken.” When giantess nonchalantly blurted out being only eighteen years old, an extreme effort 5. required to keep orbs from popping out of mine eye sockets, and jaw from dropping to the floor. I pretended this bit of information to cause barely a ripple. While in a momentary trance, this armored Brutus likened golden gal soothed any tension by offering a massage. A feeble nod (pillow suffocating) of assent accompanied a minor concern that no bone would be left intact. Once her claw like flanges smoothed out every last kink, I wanted to divorce my wife and marry this marvel of physical prowess asap!

Well nigh when thee aforementioned exaggerated incredibly out of this world imagined vista wound itself to nebulous conclusion, yet another totally tubular entranced dimension clutched beguiling apparition. Provocation before bedtime, when the wife and I erupted in a most violent verbal altercation. Maybe no surprise envisioning outsize protectorate whose intercession found me to address her as hooray for Hulk Helen. Predicated on the heels oven expletive laden epithet marital spat filled black hole sun exploded into a spectacular maelstrom, which found me pitched on the cold black sidewalk of Any-town, USA. While nursing contusions and bruises, a dark looming shadow appeared from the edge of night. This young and restless bachelor wannabe felt a tingling sensation of glee (mingled with uneasiness) what appeared to be guiding light amidst this anatomically grayish brown approaching silhouette. Though phantasmagoric and amorphous, an intuition of salvation discerned from the increased proximity between myself and said giantess. A gentle soothing voice seemed mismatched with such humungous human shape that upon closer inspection conveyed that distinct mien of femininity. She swung her immense torso and swept this measly dorky dada into her Popeye size arms. Ha! I thought “this must be the male version what a damsel in distress feels like”! Thus fate anointed me as non-virgin Olive Oil, who willingly allowed immensely strong bulging mountains of muscle (with veins that seemed swollen with might) to be saved from the evil wicked witch wife! Without asking, this outsize woman uttered “you can call me Helen”! An impulse arose to apply the endearment honey, yet held bound in boa like hold rationale mind leapt in and thus this feather weight guy blurted out “hone”, which got misinterpreted as home. She inquired where I lived. Without losing a beat, I made clear “DO NOT TAKE ME BACK TO THAT ABYSMAL WIFE”! The previously expressed cruel sentiment no longer prevalent, but instead overlaid with marital equanimity, jocularity, operability, and tenability. As a tidy conclusion, a Hollywood ending regarding extreme affinity, cupidity, fidelity, joviality, oversensitivity, and unity toward spouse prevails. Overtaken with bravado, I now whispered “honey can we elope asap”? She appeared quite flattered at being propositioned by what could easily be confused for a human walking stick figure. No doubt, the automatic clenching of her fist would crush my skeleton instantly turning me into a bag of lovely bones. Much to my surprise, she exuded unbridled merriment at what appeared as an impulsive pronouncement to marry. How the fickle finger of destiny can appear farcical. Despite this ludicrous series of surreal events, we pledged our troth whereby she carried me toward the threshold of excitement. Abandonment of the first spouse disagrees with a personal philosophy of finalizing unpleasant circumstances, but the terrible swift sword of near civil war between this genteel writer let very little wiggle room for peaceable reconciliation. Time and again, (especially at painfully early hours of any given morning) found mine ambitions on quest for holy grail of marital bliss. That maxim whereby when you do not seek that which ye covet arrives unexpectedly seemed to be the case with yours truly and his new found muse, who acted as bodyguard lurching madly whenever her bony fried beau threatened by bullies. How comical to witness macho men scatter like scared stray cats when she lumbered with fire in those ruby red eyes.

What distorted dreams of mein wort made! Ever since acquiescing being prescribed a boot one half dozen plus three social anxiety medications, (which cocktail of pills also curtailed panic attacks, depression, palmar hyperhidrosis, and thinning hair) dreamscape became ache'n to a whirled (nada so wide) webbed wonderland. Nothing short of piece discombobulated helter skelter mish mash up quickly (with broad brushstrokes) scribbled across the meal snippets forcibly (awkwardly) bridged asper submerged into gateway of rapid eye movement. A harried hasty hurriedly aspect could not be avoided in a near futile attempt to captcha elusive fast fading images transferred from sixty plus shades of gray matter to thine blank computer Macbook Pro (Lenovo external screen). Hasty fragmented sentences appear evincing all manner of rhetorical, logical, and grammatical faux pas. A feeble explanation communicated. Tidbits of quickly disappearing rich textured wildly yipping pastiche typed as fast as these stubby left hand fingers could skitter across the qwerty keyboard. A slip sliding shunted race against quickly losing generated groundless images, and fast fading memory hopefully explains this disjointed, fractured, and punctuated with quirky ramshackle house (of the rising sun) style of writing. Only very rarely does even a smidgen (a flashing, flickering and fluttering) vestige unevenly tabulated sputtering of nightly REM cycles recalled even to this poorly cogent wisp. Unlike most occasion, an experiment upon awakening informed idea whereby eyes remained shut tight.

Such spurious whim found me madly scribbling discordant bits and pieces of nocturnal subconscious foray, where some facet of my persona enmeshed with a female pop singer. Ya know the (swiftly tailored) gal, who flits from one Hollywood hunk type Oh (my dog) after another in an effort to juiced trick another catchy pop tune. She makes a mint mining these fly by night escapades deflowering virgin ya lads. Not in the cards, nor surprising luck to find mice elf between her dagger type clutches, nor would avidity spur ambition, should an unlikely opportunity take place.

Thee swiftly tailored Mademoiselle found, or made a place in the world for yourself aching like a boy out in left field pining to catch that high fly there. There ain't nothing 'bout you, (nor Brooks and Dunn) I can attest even if hypothetically. We spent eons at an all night diner, where culinary staff knew thee all too well, and perhaps all you wanted (shared with Michelle Branch). Perhaps positing the rhetorical question – am I ready for love? With an American boy, or a bosom best buddy re: best friend forever with an American girl if someone got cross, tis beneficial (in this one republic) to apologize regardless, whom ye choose as a confidante. The following refrain plays in your mind baby don't you break my heart slow (at least according to Vonda Shepard) memories no doubt arise. When thee hapt to be a baby girl thoughts unspool back to December. Beautiful eyes peered at a fractured reflection before the love story would begin again, ebbing, and flowing with my baby recalling Bette David eye (taking visual delight sans world tour live) reminding self how better off the choice made tis much better than revenge, but umpteen times dying by a thousand cuts. Bother I will asper boys and love combustible mix – none the less always reminding myself to breathe deep, cuz being breathless likened to a taste of death, (I admit better than Ezra) learning how to act points back as per being brought up that way lessons oft learned getting busted. Oh...and by the way can I go with you? Can you feel the love tonight? Discern ache kin to sand castles crumbling? Such granular, or solid state matter doth forced to change attested to by chaperone dads, who dressed as Santa Claus invoked that Christmas must be something more especially, Christmases, when you were mine.

Ah...closest to a cowboy as “sigh” ever got or tasting Gunstock rattlesnake pulverized, yet countenance goose (and found you under the care of Chet Atkins at the make believe medical center) shivered flesh against cold as you, though desiring thee to come back...he here no doubt prone to announce requests asked even crazier (as demonstrated by flash mob generated by Hannah Montana, one live wire). If able to glean my sentiments...cross my heart aware as an adult feeling the life source of daddy or mommy, while hinting with a stone temple piloted cold stare double dare you to move (or switchfoot), one to another. Das feet – planted within pitch dark blue Tennessee dwelling with thoughts of ma dear Digdan, or writing an imaginary letter starting...”dear John.” Ample melancholy maudlin material to complete bind a diary of me yes concert cavorting circumstances avoidable, though didn't they make chase like butterflies, and don't they hate me for loving you? So please don't tell me you want to, when I don't want to anymore argh, yet impossibly unshakable the recurring thought don't you act indiscriminately as when down came the rain, washed the spy dir out following suit (wet) drenching yea...one drama queen with chin amen along Pearl Harbor Drive (in conjunction with Alan Jackson) presaging Jiving drops of Jupiter. (Train chugging, clacking, clattering railing gestalt of alien nation), and all of a sudden like how odd though...thinking about eighth grade graduate, when life time seemed enchanted. Now everything has changed eyes open (“hunger games”) maketh me – fall back on you instant messaging you – fall into me fearless, though only fifteen and how against pyrotechnics. You find your way back home on the Fourth of July perhaps led by a zeppelin sized firefly ah, I ask myself who is the foolish one? Me for you forever & always (a platinum edition) for girl at home (donned in deluxe edition) going bananas in reference to Amazing Gracie swaggering, and immune to gunpowder & lead, (whose leading lady Miranda Lambert). Whatsapp penned left her looking haunted heartbreaker – (my words – like Tom Petty) about her, but unsure if our thoughts aligned anyway, here you go again (Dolly Parton), a hero heroine so...I clamor to yell out “hey soul sister,” and hey Little Stephen, (sans underground band). Along the boulevard of broken dreams, this ribbon highway don't care about trumpeting his lies, nor desecrating holy ground honey baby, yes ye in the mom jeans. I feel hopelessly devoted to you (as doth Olivia Newton) instinctively keen how to save a life bobbing buoyantly amidst the fray.

Another clunky moment altered the small scene. Difficult to segue way seamlessly the schema that unfolded within deep sleep, thus nothing short of disjointed linkedin attempt stitches the follow montage as if thy mind experienced far out groovy hallucinogenic incident when with no correlation yours truly found himself (albeit slumbering obliviously) while breached in a berth with miss universe.

This dreamy scenario unfolded, when my name got randomly chosen in an online contest. I would be taking an extended cruise to some unknown tropical island. Upon locating the suite aboard the ocean

liner, my eyes performed a sweeping glance of the quarters. Ah…just room enough for one to relax. Upon readiness to doze off, the door handle jiggled before a well chiseled female body builder entered the room. This female version conjured an immediate facsimile of Atlas, whose mere shrug could easily cause the earth to rumble. Impossible not to stare at this marble hued muscular woman whose muscles rippled when she just casually flexed even one pinky. At once, the notion to close lids suddenly seemed less apropos. Unsure if this skinny guy would be flicked overboard without even the chance to twitter an sos.

Despite feeling utterly exhausted from completing a grueling confidential government contractual mission, the aery whim to enjoy luxuriating on the deck of this transoceanic vessel, I tried to keep sleepiness at bay. Meanwhile angry birds could be heard screeching overhead as if conspiring to undermine any book marked thread to sleep. Although intimidated before this bronzed beauty queen (whose shadow no doubt weighed more then me), this wiry hot male sauntered over to the bedazzling bodybuilder lest she consider me a yahoo. With outstretched, hand as an accustomed overture to initiate conversation found fingers nearly crushed by the blithe grip from this iron maiden. She possessed steely strength with barely any effort. “You must be a fitness buff”, I stated the obvious, and talking while asleep momentarily shook me awake. Her feminine response caught me off guard. “Yes!” Further elaboration took place as camaraderie began to emerge. As a scrawny pencil necked geeky lad, her gaze immediately turned to my direction. Methought out loud that “nobody would dare bully a gal able to wrestle a gorilla!" Despite rib cage locked against identity theft, and difficulty to swallow, I managed to wrench words that sounded somewhat bland. “How many years did bench pressing, curling, doing heavy duty lifting occupy your time?” “As the youngest girl of football sized brothers, the interest at self defense, and art of body sculpting arose soon about the same time first steps got taken.”

When giantess nonchalantly blurted out being only eighteen years old, an extreme effort

required to keep orbs from popping out of mine eye sockets, and jaw from dropping to the floor. I pretended this bit of information to cause barely a ripple. While in a momentary trance, this armored Brutus likened golden gal soothed any tension by offering a massage. A feeble nod (pillow suffocating) of assent accompanied a minor concern that no bone would be left intact. Once her claw like flanges smoothed out every last kink, I wanted to divorce my wife and marry this marvel of physical prowess asap!

Well nigh when thee aforementioned exaggerated incredibly out of this world imagined vista wound itself to nebulous conclusion, yet another totally tubular entranced dimension clutched beguiling apparition. Provocation before bedtime, when the wife and I erupted in a most violent verbal altercation. Maybe no surprise envisioning outsize protectorate whose intercession found me to address her as hooray for Hulk Helen. Predicated on the heels oven expletive laden epithet marital spat filled black hole sun exploded into a spectacular maelstrom, which found me pitched on the cold black sidewalk of Any-town, USA. While nursing contusions and bruises, a dark looming shadow appeared from the edge of night. This young and restless bachelor wannabe felt a tingling sensation of glee (mingled with uneasiness) what appeared to be guiding light amidst this anatomically grayish brown approaching silhouette. Though phantasmagoric and amorphous, an intuition of salvation discerned from the increased proximity between myself and said giantess. A gentle soothing voice seemed mismatched with such humungous human shape that upon closer inspection conveyed that distinct mien of femininity. She swung her immense torso and swept this measly dorky dada into her Popeye size arms. Ha! I thought “this must be the male version what a damsel in distress feels like”!

Thus fate anointed me as non-virgin Olive Oil, who willingly allowed immensely strong bulging mountains of muscle (with veins that seemed swollen with might) to be saved from the evil wicked witch wife! Without asking, this outsize woman uttered “you can call me Helen”! An impulse arose to apply the endearment honey, yet held bound in boa like hold rationale mind leapt in and thus this featherweight guy blurted out “hone”, which got misinterpreted as home. She inquired where I lived. Without losing a beat, I made clear “DO NOT TAKE ME BACK TO THAT ABYSMAL WIFE”! The previously expressed cruel sentiment no longer prevalent, but instead overlaid with marital equanimity, jocularity, operability, and tenability. As a tidy conclusion, a Hollywood ending regarding extreme affinity, cupidity, fidelity, joviality, oversensitivity, and unity toward spouse prevails.

Overtaken with bravado, I now whispered “honey can we elope asap”? She appeared quite flattered at being propositioned by what could easily be confused for a human walking stick figure. No doubt, the automatic clenching of her fist would crush my skeleton instantly turning me into a bag of lovely bones. Much to my surprise, she exuded unbridled merriment at what appeared as an impulsive pronouncement to marry. How the fickle finger of destiny can appear farcical. Despite this ludicrous series of surreal events, we pledged our troth whereby she carried me toward the threshold of excitement. Abandonment of the first spouse disagrees with a personal philosophy of finalizing unpleasant circumstances, but the terrible swift sword of near civil war between this genteel writer let very little wiggle room for peaceable reconciliation. Time and again, (especially at painfully early hours of any given morning) found mine ambitions on quest for holy grail of marital bliss. That maxim whereby when you do not seek that which ye covet arrives unexpectedly seemed to be the case with yours truly and his new found muse, who acted as bodyguard lurching madly whenever her bony fried beau threatened by bullies. How comical to witness macho men scatter like scared stray cats when she lumbered with fire in those ruby red eyes.

There are those

Among us who

Would have you believe

That they are not

Angry people

I say you can't bullshit

A bullshitter

And I for one

Am a very angry person

David Burdett

10/19/2022