when i grow up

I'll admit that, being now 30 years old (*sob*) it might be a little late to start worrying about what I'm going to be when I grow up. On some days, I want to grow up to be Bob Brady. Other days, I want to be a Voltron-force pilot. Yesterday, I wanted to be one of those History-channel archaeologists.

Today, though, I have writer-envy ... so I want to be Jack Baruth.


SMACK! My right fist banged off the arm of my pumpkin-colored Natuzzi recliner as the swelling bloodthirsty tide of righteous f***ing indignation crested in my feverishly twisting heart. In the space of a moment I’d redone all the tendon and ligament damage so patiently healed over the course of the past month, an injury suffered in a last-ditch but ultimately successful attempt to keep my completely sideways Neon race car off the man-killing concrete wall in Putnam Park’s final turn by dialing in steering corrections faster than my hands could accomplish ...

CLICK HERE to read the rest of Avoidable Contact No. 21.

1 comment:

  1. Ah... but do you want to pilot one of the Voltron lions, or one of the Voltron car/spaceships?

    Choose carefully!