So Abner doesn’t like his code name

Before I mentioned Ab in the blog, I asked him if’n  he wanted me ta use his real name, or if’n he wanted a code name like a secret spy or sumthin. He done chose to go with a code name for whatever reasons. So I tells him that he should choose one himself, cuz if’n I gotsta pick one fer him,  I’ma gunna choose a bad one. Ole Abner, he jes waved me off, say’n he’d like ta see whut I chose fer him. Then, I goes and publishes a post with the name Abner, an he gits all up in ma grill, so’s I guesses he didn’t like it. I suppose I’ll give Abner one more chance ta pick his own name, and we’ll see if it’s better than Abner, but I doubt it will be. (See what I did there? I wrote in a hillbilly dialect to stereotype the name Abner.)

Abner likes fishin', an artist's rendition.

Hey, did you ever procrastinate, and willingly stop yourself from doing something that desperately needed to get done? I’m doing that right now. I have three days before I leave, and I need to clean out my pigpen of a car, give it a tune up, an oil change, and get my shit packed. (Not in the physical sense, but you never know when Abner is around.) I’m probably going to forget a bunch of doohickeys and whatnot, but as long as I remember my woolies, heavy boots and a bottle of lube, I should be good to go. I suppose we’ll pack up a cooler full of Spam sandwiches, (If you call them sammies, I will eat your young) so that Mrs. B knows that we are fed, and not eating crap food on the road. She really does try to take care of me, and it’s a pretty good thing, because I have a hard time taking care of myself.

Oh, I can get by on my own, but when you are as, how you say, lazy and unkempt as I am, you aren’t really taking care of yourself, you are just surviving. Yeah, I used to shower more when I was single, but that was because sex was never guaranteed, and if you wanted to have it again, you’d better make it as enjoyable as possible for whoever you are with. Rancid armpits, bad breath, and anal leakage aren’t going to get you invited back to Funland any time soon. If you aren’t knocking it out of the park with your slick-ass moves, at least they will find you pleasing to the olfactory system and possibly funny.

“He was okay I guess, but he didn’t stink, made me laugh and he was fairly enthusiastic in bed, so I’ll probably see him again.”

Okay, it’s not the greatest recommendation, but it’s better than not being good in bed, and smelling like a dairy barn.

Jesus, where the hell am I going with this? Oh right, procrastination. I guess I’m just writing random thoughts, so that I don’t have to think about going away in a few days. Shit, there it is. Out in the open again. God damn it, I have to quit thinking about it, or I’m going to get depressed again, or still, whatever it is. Hold on while I see if there is anymore pizza or lasagna left. You know how everyone has their comfort food? Well, food is my comfort food. I could sit down and enjoy a can of cold niblets, just as well as some leftover mac and cheese that Mrs. B’s mom made. She really turned me on to that stuff, and now I find myself craving it from time to time. Her mom is a great cook, and I felt sad at Thanksgiving, when her dinner was scheduled at the same time as my family’s dinner. Why can’t everything work out in my favour all the time? I mean, yeah, I have a great life, with an amazing family (new and old), and I have the best friends that you could ever ask for, but why can’t I get as many holiday dinners into me as humanly possible? I need to pack on some winter weight to help me through the bitter temperatures of the Canadian north. What if I have to trek for hundreds of miles, with nothing to eat but a few frozen buds that the deer didn’t get? What then? It’s almost like the families are conspiring to get me killed.

I might die here, if I don't get enough turkey dinners.

I may be overreacting to this, but it got me a few hundred more words towards tomorrow’s blog post. You know, I just read a short e-book on building a better blog, and it didn’t really tell me too many things that I already didn’t know. I was looking for ways to expose my blog to more people, to see if people that don’t have a clue who I am, or what I’m writing about, would like what I was doing, as well as the folks I already know. After I got through it, I thought to myself that I already have the greatest audience in the world. My friends and family. I shouldn’t care who else likes what I type out on this computer, as long as you folks do, I figure I’m doing all right. So please don’t bother to share my heartfelt pourings with anyone else. I don’t want to expand my reader base, and possibly make a living at this. Whatever you do, don’t click the Facebook like button below this post, and please stay off of our Facebook fan page that you saw at the top right. We sure wouldn’t want you to click that like button. No way.

Hey, I’m glad I came, just wish I hadn’t stayed so long,

Birdman

P.S. That stuff I wrote about not sharing? That was called sarcasm. I thought I’d better tell you, because I know that some of you are drunk or high right now.

6 Comments

Filed under Birdman, Humor, Life

6 responses to “So Abner doesn’t like his code name

  1. Elizabeth

    Two Thumbs Up!

  2. Smarty Pantaloons

    It’s not that I don’t like it, I am just disappointed with the result of your deliberation!
    As for the car, while you have it in for service how about getting a Starsky and Hutch stripe put on….just a thought.

    Love Abner

    • therealbirdman

      In for service? You must think I’m a richo or something. I did it in the driveway, just this afternoon. New plugs, some fresh synthetic, and I cleaned up as many french fries as I could, but don’t you expect me to clean up the year old bronco berry sauce from the shifter.

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