Paint Er Yeller

I put my book down today.  Yeah not the one that guy wrote, the one I was writing.  I put it down like old yeller too, cause the motherfucker wouldn't shut up and Sam I am not. No seriously.  I was enjoying writing that piece about pieces and feces, I could sit down with a cold beer and some memories and come away with ten thousand words and wet pants. 

But.....then the reality seeps in.   Like a seething wound realization of the consequence of the finished product.  Like fat man and little boy, you see the atomic wreak life shall become when your spouse picks this book up.
She wont read a blog if its more than three sentences, but she will read a book I write even if it's three hundred pages.  T

hen Ill be fucked, and not in the conventional sense most people are well aware of and look forward to.  Ill be fucked with a knife that's covered in kerosine and set on fire.  So I think I can condone my opt out on the book, though it does I assure you sadden me as it practically....wait for it.....wrote itself.  Who knows I may through out what I have in non edited form for whoever gives a shit to read it.....maybe run it here...cant possibly alienate the readers that are still here any more than the luciferian church headed by trap jaw, with dr. girlfriend in a captain crunch hat has already now can it?