Schultz1 wrote:If I cross my legs. One leg falls asleep or I crush my penis.
I should have been more clear in my writing.
He’d actually squat, like practicing yoga. The ol’ guy is quite limber, really.
But, yeah, Schultzy, these days I have to be careful as to how I sit. Actually, briefs keep the low riders in place. Otherwise lefticle or righticle can suddenly awaken my giddyup.
This happened to me a couple times not that long ago.
Once in a library.
While waitin’ for the missus, I commenced to sit down on a bench.
Jumped straight up. Letting out a HEEEEYAHHHH!
The librarians all looked at me like I was some kinda deranged Tourette victim.
My lady came around the corner and told them ‘he’s just acting up cause I’m taking so long’…..it worked.
The other time was in the Portland Fine Arts Museum.
It’s not good for me to get bored.
We toured the new exhibits, exhibits of things like a chunk of torn cardboard with scribbling on it. Nicely matted and framed though….$3500usd.
An outstanding sculpture of this nude guy was parked in the middle of the grand foyer, life size, clarity down to the color of his molds and freckles.
This father with his 10 year old daughter, then me and a half dozen others, were all encircling the roped off sculpture.
The girl looked spellbound.
I said ‘touch it’
‘No, really, go ahead, touch it’
She looked at her dad. He nodded.
She reached out, one finger moving slowly toward the hind end.
I couldn't help myself.
Poor thing, I really didn’t think she’d jump that high.
The father whisked her off, and the Barney Fife looking security guard assigned himself to me.
We toured the fine arts dept, and man, those guys knew their way around oils and brushes.
Huge paintings of fine ladies and scenes.
These were of course roped off, with little signs that read DO NOT TOUCH, GARY
Such clarity of life itself.
How in hell did they do it?
What was their beginning and final brush stroke?
When were they satisfied with it?
Were they ever satisfied?
‘Oh-a yeah-a, that’s-a bich-a I-a painted when I’-a was-a so-a loaded-a I couldn’t-a stand-a up-a.
It’s a real-a piece-a of-a shyt-a.’
We went back to the current framed masterpieces of dumpster findings.
I leaned up against this public scale lookin’ thing and asked the guy admiring it what he weighed.
Guards were moving my direction, so I decided to sit, stay.
I was tired anyway.
Sat square on a pant spud.
I leaped to the air.
Sometime later, maybe 5-10 seconds, four security guards swarmed me from all directions. Barney said something like ‘Sir, you are going to have to leave.’
I said something like ‘What, you think I want to spend the night here?’
Then more authority figures came.
It was a nice day outside.
The aroma of the hot dog cart was too much for me.
People of all sorts, strolling thru the park blocks, held my attention while my lady fully satiated herself with ‘art’.
Things just work out sometimes.