Keep Your Head Up!

 

 

 

Don't know why I'm torturing myself with this. It's half a year before another kick off. Usually, this time of year, I can do a pretty good job of pretending it doesn't exist...a duller universe but one that's  more manageable than unremitting anticipation.

 

 

A little taste...Reggie Nelson was one a the great defensive players that have come through Florida. He was a defensive back...part of the Secondary tasked with eliminating the passing game. A Headhunter...one of the best the Gators have ever had. Funny to think that the forward pass was introduced to make the game safer. Around the :40-45 mark you see how good he was when a Wide Receiver he's covering flops to the ground rather than catch the ball and be decapitated....and some LL Cool J. 

I'm still working on getting the colors right...especially the blue and there's a few details to be added but it's blocked in...it's set.

 

 

 

Rain, Vomit...Pancakes and Rain. Part 1

Birmingham, Alabama...January 2nd, 2015

 

Dreary going out and violent coming back.

.
Follow the red patches down from Tuscaloosa to the bottom of the screen...me and the Big Man are between Livingston and York...at a gas station. In the dark.

Just as we passed Eutaw the bottom fell out...dropped liked an atom bomb. I had about a foot of visibility...and 20 miles to the next exit. I followed the red tail lights of the car in front of us as closely as I dared. You just don't know how people are going to react when they go blind...they will just stop...even on the interstate...or they'll pull off on the shoulder and suddenly you're not on the road anymore...with no where to go.  You wait for the car behind you, doing the same thing, to get up in your trunk.



I have spent my life on the interstates and highways of The South and the US. If I asked an actuary he would probably tell me I should be nervous every time I get behind the wheel at this point...but, it's one of the most comfortable places I can think of. Not Saturday night...not since I ignorantly climbed up on the Red Mountain Pass a few years ago have my nerves been that racked in a car. I had the Big Man on board...of course, he was passed out in the back.

Thank God...we fishtailed and slid our way to the next exit and a Chevron station.* It was a gathering of shell shocked drivers...soaked and bug-eyed. There were flash flood warnings, tornado warnings**...it was raining sideways, screaming through under the awning. The Big man just wanted a sandwich...a ham and cheese sandwich from the in store Subway.

"You want any mayonnaise or mustard?"

"No sir...just ham and cheese...and bread of course."

We weren't gettin' back on the road anyway...and I was just glad he was eating (more on that later). I just need a cup of coffee...but they didn't have any coffee cups...let that sink in...no coffee cups at a gas station. Then the lights went out!

"E'erybody stay where you at...Lock the doh," the girl barked from behind the counter.

Her first instincts were procedural...to protect the store's property and shield herself from any responsibility for it's loss. Then the lights flickered back on...and her better instincts kicked in. Standing elevated, like in a pulpit, looking down above the crowd gathered at the door...

"Man fu****** this...I gotsta go!"

"Daddy can I eat my sandwich in the car?"

As we went through the unlocked door, I heard her...

"No. No. You do not need to talk ugly to me."

Anyway that's what happens when the lights go out at the curb store. This is what happens when you steal...

 

Other than some spicy fried chicken from Popeye's...that was the trip back. The trip out began with a bag of candy corn. We'll get to all that...

 



...next.

 



 *Just so you know adamparsons...we filled up for 1.89 a gallon. Adamparsons has a fascination with our gas prices...he tracks 'em like a trainspotter.
 

*Tornado watch means the conditions are right for a tornado...tornado Warning means one has touched down in the area.

The Greyist Thoughts

I've been trying to get my act together this week...and have been failing. So, you get more of my paintings and videos. Luuuucky.



What those albums could have been without the record company pestering them for more strings. You might need more cowbell but you never need more strings. De Feitas is almost completely washed out of the mix by 8,000 chellos...listen to this s***. The bit between him and Sergeant is a rocket ship.

This one's done I reckon.

 

This one I'm still workin' out...and taking great pleasure doing it. It's a portrait.

Again the contrast...



The lyrics are always silly...which is fine with me...the trench coat is not. Take that damn thing off. You're inside man.

Garden

 

 

Make a hole Mozzer...make a way...the boss man's coming through.

Cherubs...Cherub

Some of you may have noticed the increased volume and level of noise around here lately. I go through periods like this...where I don't want to hear anything that could comfortably be described as a song. Something with a lead bottom and lots of squealing feedback is what I want. I don't want yer verses...I don't want your choruses...and bridges?!  For the love of kittens...no bridges. Nothing, in these time, does my head in worse than a bridge. I want to blow yer bridge up worse than USNC Shears.



I don't even want to hear songs I like right now. So you can maybe imagine how pleased I was for these a***holes...

...to show up on my phone. The shit's just there...hit shuffle it's comin'. It takes a hot second to realize what it is...that manufactured, formulaic, market tested, ray-ban, phony cool bull**** they've been peddling for 30 years.

 

Smash yer face on it bonos...

 (Listen...but watch Molly while you do...OUTSTANDING! ha)

 

While trying to crack my skull open at the ears...I've been obsessing over Chagall. I found a little cheap paper back with probably 20 postcard sized reproductions of his works.

 



 

 The only approach I have to painting is to rip off paintings I like to produce more paintings I like...

 

 



 

Maybe a sleeping pill or two.



Black Cat

 

C, over at Sun Dried Sparrows, has set me off on a tangent...one that I have been trying to write for a few days now. One that features desperate battles in the desert and swanky outfits...but one that will probably never see the light of day. So, instead, you get more work in progress...

and more racket. The Hospitals.



The sweetest deconstruction of rocknroll you'll ever hear.

It's not quiet in that room.

Enjoy.

1000%

I should be ashamed of myself...it's Sunday. Blogs like Charity Chic Music are offering soothing Sunday Soul...and Singing Bear has posted some beautiful Gaelic Psalms...I am just pissed!!!!

Today, for me, only Death Grips will do. Be warned...there's a lot of rough talk here. Forgive me.



For those of you who missed, or dodged, the game day post yesterday...this is all you need to know about the flipping Gators.


I got some much needed absolution this morning (somehow I don't think next week's kneeling will be for nowt either)...then slept. I've got a headache and I've been painting.

 

Yet another, soon to be, masterpiece that will never hang in my own house. Martha just can't get down with it. I feel bad because she bought the canvas. It's huge. She asked for something to hang in the dinning room...Ha. She should have stipulated "not in a dinning room that you would have but, in one where actual people would be eating." :)

Up Next Yoko Ono

Two Days!...after 8 dreary sepia months, we crack the screen door open on Oz...if Oz had bourbon and smoked pigs....a four month Technicolor Southern block party. Actually, considering the emotional scars, the intractable grudges, the fact that we will get drunk and yell at one another ...maybe it's more appropriate to call it a family reunion.



I love the song on this one...but, the true beauty comes at the 1:09 mark.

 

I can't wait. There's a delicious irony to this time of year. Universities all over the US are gathered into athletic conferences...the Southeastern Conference (SEC) is really the only one that's still regionally and culturally cohesive.* So, when SEC teams play outside of conference we are more Southern than ever...we are one fanbase. It drives a lot of people crazy but, SEC football is a Southern institution and we are loyal people and we are not them. It's also one of the only times a goodun can celebrate being Southern without somebody screaming racism in your face...just before they go into the RocknRoll hall of fame in Cleveland, Ohio...to eat bbq and drink Cokecola in the café while finishing off the last chapter of Absalom Absalom. Uh-Hmmm Anyway.....

On the other hand, during Conference play, we can forget about all that and get down to what we truly and dearly love...beating hell out of the only worthy foe...one another.

That's Thursday...this is still Tuesday and we need to go ahead and get some things out of the way...maybe deal with a few recurring topics before things go pear shaped.

PAVEMENT



Other than the sweet sweet degeneration**....the best thing about this about this clip is the flippant political statement. Earlier during the set he said "We're here for turrets...I mean Tibet." Ha. I know a lot of y'all are true believers in the political power of music...y'all and hippies :)...but, many of us were horrified and scared, as young'uns, watching you punk rockers become hippies with mohawks...pestering us about workers and the sandinistas or whatever. We were dismissed for being willfully uninvolved with reality...as Slackers. Yeah. I guess. 



Speaking of politics spoiling everything....this bastard.

MIRO

Today, during my trials and tribulations on the road (I left home without a wallet...and had to wait for an hour at a gas station to be rescued by Martha with credit cards), I tried to listen to a series of podcast on Miro. These were put on by the Tate...good...they turned out to be on MIro and politics...bad, very bad. The stream of profanity that I unleashed on the windshield was so intense that it blocked sunlight for a nanosecond. Look up there...look at it. Who looks at that and thinks about politics? It turns out, people whose definition of politics includes every possible human activity...that's who. Then they set about explaining his paintings through politics...even when political statements, in the paintings, were vague at best.

It's one thing to say a storefront mannequin unavoidably evokes Plato...it's quite another to say the worker who put the mannequin together had Plato in mind. I'd rather be bit on the forehead by a mosquito than listen to this nonsense.

Rude Talk

Did y'all hear Richard Dawkins the other day? He said it was "immoral" not to abort a fetus with downs syndrome. That's nasty man. Then, under the guise of an apology, he doubled down. At least he didn't actually apologize. I'm sick of people saying something...something they've obviously meant to say...something they'd given some thought to...then coming out the next day and apologizing like they'd merely burped at the table. You said it...stand by it. Shit.

What I want to know is this...what did he mean by immoral? He didn't say it was undesirable. He didn't say it shouldn't be allowed. He said it was immoral...as if he had some absolute authority in mind. I'd like to know exactly why he thinks it's immoral to have a baby with Downs. Why it's wrong...and what authority he's drawing on? I could infer...but, that would just be rude. Where does a machine go for moral authority?

Adamparsons Hates on the Fall

An oldie but a goodie (as a topic on the blogs...the song is timeless)



Me

Who am I kidding...we gon' keep talking about me....but, this gives me an excuse to point you all in the direction of Hugh Marwood's blog. He is an artist...a good one. He has been kind enough to recount some of our recent conversations on his blog. He's also put some of my really fantastic photos on there. So go look at it. He talks about Tom Wolfe too...so it's actually worth a click. :). Hugh's work is really good.

I'm sure I'm forgetting some things but, that should hold us over for now.

*If the money grubbers keep expanding the Conference we'll have Yankees in it...at that point we will seriously be looking to immigrate...it'll all be over at that point.

**If only Pavement had given this much "effort" in covering The Classical.

Love Her All the Time

 

 

Sonic Youth before they had figured out exactly what Sonic Youth was...at their absolute best.

Skinny Arm



The Boy was freed from his cast this week.

 

 

Here he is discussing his x-rays with the doctor. The rotation of his wrist is good but, as expected the hinging motion is not fully repaired. So, he's got a splint to wear for monkeyin' around...and for track camp.

 

 

The school puts on various camps throughout the summer and he chose Speed Camp (Then I will be fast enough to beat Trey...great importance is placed on the playground races in Kindergarten).  The first day he told me he had to run 100 laps and then, for Martha, he enthusiastically demonstrated the stretching techniques he'd learned...buck naked after getting out of the tub.

 

The important thing is he should be in solid shape for Football camp later in the Summer. Once we had established that there would be no shots on this doctor visit ("they take your blood away dood")....that was the main concern.

Really Melvyn?

 

 

I am a regular and enthusiastic listener of In Our Time with Melvyn Bragg on BBC Radio 4. It's been my preferred form of entertainment recently. Over the last month or so I've probably gone through a quarter of the archives (I spend a lot of time in the car).

 

It was Melvyn who broke the obsessive Chrome loop I'd worked myself into.

 

 

Ok...maybe not completely.

 

The topics are usually interesting ...and sometimes even those that aren't of obvious interest to me turn out to be really engaging...the Tale of Sinuhe is a recent example. (though I'm probably gonna take a pass on Photosynthesis...I can't for the life of me even pretend to have any interest in that). Some are just dead boring...Medici, Absolute Zero and shockingly The Amazons (how do you make Amazons boring?). The range of topics, the expertise involved and Melvyn's ability to pleasantly dictate the course of conversation...generally make for a delightful 45 minutes.

 

Has it always been this way?

 

I just tried to listen to the episode on Modernity from 1999. I could only take about ten minutes of it. It should have been called why Roger Scruton is a Dickhead...because that was the topic. Now, some of you may, I'm almost certain that some of you do, think that Roger Scruton is a dickhead. Do you want to spend the next 30 minutes contemplating that fact? You gonna hunt that up on the radio? Be sure to look under the sub-heading Modernity so you don't end up listening to a discussion on Baudelaire or Joyce.

 

If they ever discussed Modernity it was after point 10.01. I think Scruton had about 15 seconds before he was interrupted, by Indignant Academic, and called an elitist for not considering the importance of Afro-Caribbean beats to the Modern Era and focusing too much on the likes of Schopenhauer and Eliot, etc (by the way, if you're interested all of these "dead white men" have been featured on an episode of In Our Time...with Melvyn Bragg...still waiting on the episode for Dub or Hip Hop).* 

 

The real problem seemed to be that Roger had made a distinction between Popular and High Culture...Oh Aunt Fanny...how could he? And on a radio program that regularly features housewives discussing Big Brother and Eastenders.  

 

 

Maybe it got better...maybe Scruton committed suicide on the radio and everybody was satisfied. I don't know... sh*t was irritating and spoiled my usual Friday afternoon nap...as I've been writing instead.

 

Whatever!

 

I will talk about Yankees at Cracker Barrel next.

 

 *Am I the only one here who sees the Modern Era as a distinct, though hard to pin down on the timeline, period in History that is not to be confused with the Contemporary?

 

Mississippi Kid

Alright then...that was Louisiana this week. Actually the place I stayed in Alexandria wasn't nearly so nice as that. Is there anyone here who doubts my slobbering devotion to Dixie? Well, even I have trouble making something romantic out of north Louisiana (as opposed to south Louisiana which is one of my favorite places on the part of the map that matters) I'm pretty sure those arrows are pointing east toward Mississippi...though given Byzantine layout of Alexandria (bypasses, three way stops off of frontage roads, loops to nowhere...loops...to nowhere) could probably just pick a spot on the compass and you wouldn't be wrong.

For me the arrows are pointing east-southeast through Alabama and Georgia into North Florida. I'm heading out, in the morning, to spend a few days with my Daddy...playing golf and drinking coffee. A decades old winning formula.

Provisions for the trip have been gathered...



Instead of the usual route that would take me down through Mobile, Alabama and along the Panhandle of Florida, I'm going first to Birmingham...then I'll wind my way down through Montgomery into the Wiregrass, with a swing through Georgia...just because.

I have my reasons, other than the fact that I've been making that same ride through Mobile for 25 years...namely Full Moon BBQ and the Birmingham Museum of Art. I had been under the impression that they had a collection of works by Jonathan Lasker...that was why I had originally made plans to go that way. I don't think his work is there anymore but...they have just reopened the African art collection (in the grand reopening was today)...so my plans are the same.

For the curious, Jonathan Lasker and African masks and shields have as much to do with my paintings as tractor trailers and firework stands. Which is to say, a great deal.

Gators

It's finally warming up in this bi---!
Our flowers should have come in a glorious burst and been gone by now. Instead there being petered out in splotches. We actually had a frost week before last.

I HATE THE COLD!...with a bleeding purple passion I HATE IT!

Yesterday...as I stood over the grill* babying a rack of ribs, I felt a trickle of sweat start between my shoulder blades and run a course down along my spine. AHHHH....Heat.

Heat...and Gators.

As Martha mentioned in the last post, me, my Daddy and the Boy, spent Friday on the golf course. There were gators everywhere.**



He tried to get closer but the gator swung his tail and disappeared in a splash.

You'll see he's still suffering greatly with the arm. They just put a cast on it today but, we wont' be able to see it...it's camouflage. It's probably not gonna be as angular as the splint anyway...so.

What? Yes I've been eyeing his broken arm for inspiration...I can't help it. It's an organic limb stuffed into a rectangle with a lopsided square at the end...there are fingers.



Obviously, I need some inspiration to flesh this one out...it's sputtering. Maybe I could talk him into breaking his foot.

_________

*It's actually a ceramic BBQ but since I'm trying to break some of you from referring to any metal bowl with a grill as a BBQ....

** We love the gators (I saw three of them this morning crossing the spillway) but they are a sign that our arch enemy is back on the crawl.

An Actual Artist

Late last year I finally got a look at f-words art. F-word is the father of Godzilla and partner of our own Spliff (which is why I want y'all to tell him how great his work is but to also say a prayer for him tonight*).

He is an actual artist...in gallery's like...who sells paintings in these galleries.**



And...



These are from a series of Cardinals and, as you can see, they are fantastic but there was one in particular that i really loved...



...he is now in my office...waiting on a frame or something. He's just a little fella...some metric nonsense. Don't ask me I only speak human...he's about the size of an old polaroid picture.

Check out his work here.

http://www.darrinmadafferi.info/gallery.html

The work is very much to my liking...it suits my tastes but, that aside, it's just fine work.

*We're starting a new feature here on Low Cotton...a prayer list. First on that list is me of course. Y'all know the kind of people I have to deal with in my life..coughadamparsonscough...and then there's that taxing thing with Miro...never mind the tremendous blow it would be to the internet if something happened to me, the fallout for art history could be catastrophic...Cosmic in its proportions.

Darrin's gotta be second on that list though...considering what he's dealing with there.


:ducking: :0

**Y'all should know that I have been comissioned, by Martha...for the handsome sum of 40 dollars, to paint two images. I think she's playing me for a ho here...who am i kidding i would've done it for five bucks.

Slip It To The Andriod

Yet another week where I've worked more than 20 hours. Y'all I didn't make it back to the house until 9:30 on Thursday...then turned right around and worked for five hours on Friday. It's like I'm making Nike tennis shoes in China. There's nothing for a week like that but liquor, smoke and Chrome.

Our friend from Satellite of Love is back...only now, he loves her even more. So Sweet.

Beat yer head on that for a while.*


Mainly I've just been beating my head against this laptop and blogger...and idiots. Below is not a sketch as such...but, a material artifact of a conversation between me and Martha. Through a convoluted series of links I ended up on an article from, where else, Salon, that blamed all of America's wars on Southerners. Why? Because we are the dregs of Scotland, Ireland, Wales and North and West England. We like to scrap. The author had just read Albion's Seed. The last decade or so has been a real revelation for the Yankee. Through the publication of a few books and essays (see: See Black Rednecks and White Liberals by Thomas Sowell or Better Off Without 'Em: A Northern Manifesto for Southern Secesion, Albion's Seed, etc.) the Yankee has finally come to understand that flawed as we are...we aren't flawed versions of them. We are different from them. We are still, to a large extent, the same people that were too poor and rowdy to live in the poorest and rowdiest parts of Britain (or kidnapped from West Africa). New England, and the United States of God Almighty America and the whole of the Western Hemisphere was invented by the Puritans...the better sorts of England...the sober and industrious and, above all, the Pious. The example to all...they founded a shinning city on a hill. A beacon for the rest of us struggling in the dark. They will save the world...even if they have to burn it down to do so. From Calvinism through Transcendentalism to Statism...they haven't changed a lick. Some of these people were sent out to save the Great Lakes region (the Midwest)while others stayed back to get the minds of wave after wave after wave of immigrants right. They pulled that shit on the Italians and Poles...found ready allies in the Germans of 1848 but, we instinctively knew why they'd been kicked out of England in the first place. F***ing witch burners. We've never wanted any part of it...and that is our great and unpardonable Sin. We aren't just different than them...we don't want to be them. That's Cardinal. That is what they are finally coming to realize. One of the reasons we don't want to be them is that their Piety is literal minded and dull. They're not Righteous. They're busybodies.* Their industriousness, their solid work ethic, looks an awful lot like grasping, rapacious, greed. In short, they're the kind of people who would invade, conquer and occupy Sovereign States, slaughter indigenous peoples, go on rabbit hunts in the Philippine, send gunboats to South America, Vietnam, and on...all in the name of Abolition or Manifest Destiny or making the world safe for Democracy or etc. etc. etc. and BAAAAAAAAAAAAAhhhhhh. Now matter how dastardly...they can always come up with some cockeyed Moral Justification paper over their Imperial compulsions. We're the warmongers??? Pound sand dickh**ds. Anyway...the above is what you obviously see in those scribbles. We will revisit all this later. We gotta clear the air in here... Stay tuned...I didn't want to sully F-Word's efforts with all this nonsense but, next up...we will be examining a piece of his excellent work that purchased recently. *You may be asking yourself...Isn't the Bible Belt in the South...isn't the South hyper-religious. One, there's more than one religion (see the State). Two, much of what passes for religion in The South is not naturally Southern...fundamentalism, for instance, is a product of modernity and a Midwestern import. Three, we go to church because we, as individuals are Sinners, not to plot the salvation of the world. Jesus handled that...without any help from Cotton Mathers even. Again, we will be discussing all this in the future.

Click Clack Click Clack

I've tried to write at different times in the past...I mean really write. I've had no real interest in plots. The idea being to write vignettes that have no connection but are still essential to one another...forming a whole. I don't know that I've had much success with it.

Besides, you never want to tell people you're writing writing. Not in these parts where things haven't changed much since Flannery O'Connor's worried about her own credibility.

"In the South there are more amatuer authors than there are rivers and streams. In almost every hamlet you'll find at least one lady writing Epics in Negro dialect and probably two or three old gentlemen who have impossible historical novels on the way. The woods are full of...writers, and it is the horror of every serious Southern writer that he will become one of them."


Better to paint pictures then.

I have found an outlet in painting. I may not be much of a painter but it suits my purpose (and, just as importantly, my erratic attention span) better than writing ever has and in that way is more satisfying. While The South has a fantastic tradition of what they call "folk" art...

By the Great Mose T (Moses Tolliver).



the pressure is not the same...not nearly as burdensome or distracting.


I paint pictures.

Box Elder

)


I've decided I'm gonna name these paintings after songs...songs that I like without any concern for what the painting. That way any connection is accidental.
One of these I reckon will be called Box Elder.









)
Don't even try it...nobody else is that cool.





Wouldn't you like to know...ha.






)





The Headless Wrestler...I'm on my fourth attempt with his noggin.




)
Sadly...the original has the worst sound of the lot. It's the only Slay Tracks version I could find.

Mojo Hand

I'm gonin' to Louisiana...


Y'all know about my issues with that bastard Miro. I told you I'd fix him.

Step One - Go to Louisiana...where they have Mojo Hands.

Step Two - get Mojo Hand. *

This will destroy the power he has over my woman..Martha. Ostensibly I'm goin' down to Baton Rouge to sell Fried Green Beans and Chicken Wings. I will go Cotton Wood Books, eat at Zippy's Tacos and make myself sick on Beinget Fingers. I will not play the penny slots. I will not play the penny slots. I will get the Mojo Hand. I will not play the penny slots.

Then Thursday I'll be in St. Francisville and Angola Farm...Louisiana State Penitentiary. It's not as wretched as it once was...which says more about how bad it used to be than how lovely it is now. There's no more red hats. ...but your prospects aren't good if you find yourself there. It's an odd place with a culture all it's own...there's a feeling of immersion when you go through the gate. Rightly so...most of them aren't leaving.


They got their woodworking shops, their radio station, their football teams (last time I was down, one of the inmates was sporting a golfball sized Angola football championship ring. I imagine they could put together a team to challenge LSU..if not the Saints) but, it's the Rodeo they're famous for. Being in the infirmary means no work and pain pills...they ride hard as hell. I intend to get my hot dogs into the concession stands. Ha.

Step 3 - Learn to paint sneaky landscapes.

A little busy maybe...that's the thing about swamps but, dig it in detail...

Ha. I'm comin' for your stank ass Miro.


*Step 2 1/2 Send mojo hand to gentleman in England who's having a bit of a Ricky Gervais problem.

Wrasslin

What started out as this...

...has ended up as this.

The top painting became increasingly garish...too garish, even for me. In fact, the last couple of ladies I've tried to paint have come off too heavy handed. This one may lack the high soap opera hamminess that I work so hard to achieve but, it's airy...and that's what I wanted. She doesn't lack drama completely*...her face is slightly off set. She's kinda cool...I think.

Enough of that nonsense.

I came across this today. It's been packed away since we moved out of the last house. Those are me and my Daddy's tickets. It was one of the funnest things I've ever done...one of the funniest too. The marquee match ended in a disqualification...which led to a "random" spectator throwing a chair at Superstar Billy Graham...and all hell breaking loose.

I loved wrestling when I was kid. We used to get it on the TV out of Atlanta...filmed in what must have been a small gym. It wasn't the big porno-fireworks show it is now. Just fat men in their underwear kicking each other and smashing things. What's not to love...it was awesome.

The best part though was watching it with my Daddy. Few things made him laugh that hard...he said it was cartoons for grown ups. The last time I remember watching an hour of wrestling...Rowdy Roddy Piper was flipping over a table, his face was purple and my Daddy, who had come in from work with barely enough time to loosen his tie, was in tears. I thought he was gonna fall out of his chair.

Y'all know where this is headed...

 Brace you'selves.





*Y'all tell me...what's going on here. What's she lookin' at...what's she thinkin' about. I thought maybe she was thinking about having the herpes but, I've removed the sore from her bottom lip.