the other day i wrote a dumb post about how the word "precocious" seems to have taken on a new meaning.
it was the result of listening in on a conversation between a young teen girl and an adult.
it wasn't a very funny entry.
so i deleted it.
but that's not the point.
i shouldn't have written it in the first place.
ya see, i was constipated (medical name: rectatum cloggata) at the time i wrote it, and i know better than to write anything while under the strain, so to speak, of this god awful condition.
it doesn't happen often, but when it does, bob gets writer's blockage.
and it's not good for funny business.
so my apologies.
it won't happen again.
and for those wiseguys out there, no, i'm not constipated now, thank you very much.
of course, that is the result of my venturing out to the local drug store to discreetly obtain an arsenal of looseners and relaxers, which i managed to divert attention away by making an assortment of diversionary procurements, just like i do for all my tricky staples, for example, condoms.
well, like i use to do anyway.
okay maybe once.
all right, never but i did buy a playboy once at age 22.
it doesn't matter really.
what does matter, is just like then, i'm stuck with a bunch of stuff i have no use for, the cost of discretion i suppose.
i have no plans to read "american needle point" magazine, and i don't know what i was thinking i'd do with the baby announcement cards.
now the breck for color treated hair i can put in keaton's stocking next christmas.
you know what?
maybe this is all a little too much information, come to think of it.
even the title is misleading.
the takeaway from this post is: i wrote something dumb and deleted it.