I've given up on writing and I want to tell you why.
Just last week I was toiling away over a great story with much success. And then like all good novelists I was distracted by a bout of Facebook and then Google News and then a bottle of red wine. But as all three procrastination points blended together I ran across a weird little news article which contained the greatest sentence ever written.
"The three men allegedly drove off with the penis so it could not be reattached."
Who are these three men? Where did they come from and are they friends? They are like the Three Anti-Wise Men in the Nativity story. Instead of bringing gifts, they have taken one.
And what about what they have taken! Why have they stolen someone's goodies? And how much did they hate that person to drive off with it?
Why not just toss it out and be done with it all. What does does it say about me to advocate tossing the poor mans wee wee out the window?
Then last night it all started to make sense to me. I was at Debbie's going away party (and how often do you find yourself in that position of being asked to go to something you can't find a good way out of without invoking diarrhea (you know I just had to look that spelling up) or the death of a close relative?) when the subject of dislocated dicks arose again.
The story involved a man who was found outside of an elementary school in a pool of blood. When the police investigated they discovered that he had torn his own tallywacker off of his body.
My immediate concern were the reasons behind such a savagely self inflicted wound but before my mind could delve into such things it was revealed that he had been discovered by an elderly English teacher as she arrived on her last day on the job. It was retirement day for Mrs. Johnson.
I could never write a scene as ironic as the Johnson situation nor a sentence with the most perfect pentameter of the alleged penis theft.
Instead I can just sit with my cocktail and comment on the horror of these stories and marvel that all the women at the table had the same naughty glint in their eye after the stories were told.