Either God Is A Cruel Jokster...

...or my Dad had an infection in his nuts when he boffed my Mom the night of my conception.

I came out of my mombo's vajayjay with a build like Pee Wee Herman. All dick and bones. That's what my Aunt said. I didn't understand her words, but I saw that look in her eyes. Of course, Pee Wee wasn't around at that time, but God had planted visions of him in aunties head and she knew.

I hated those years growing up being ridiculed for my skinniness. Athletic I was, and then some. Everyone thought I had polio and marveled at the strides I had made to overcome my affliction. My gym teacher was amazed I could outrun everyone in my class. By minutes. So I suffered through the denigrating comments.

Until it came to shower time. Suffice it to say I knew then that God had made a mistake. He had a hangover or something when he joined those eggs and cheese. I wasn't supposed to be Pee Wee. I was supposed to be Trace.

So I changed my body make-up by working out and I got pretty big for an ectomorph. God would have nothing to do with it. He slapped my ass down. He threw the EX in the mix. That's as far as I'll go with that one, but it's been downhill from there.

So, it's popcorn boxes for me. They're not so bad. Kinda cramped. But to be expected. I've tried negotiating with the big man, but he won't have anything to do with it. I guess I can live with it. But if I read something about Pee Wee and Trace getting caught somewhere, doing something really off the wall, I'm cashing it in.