Don't Get Fooled Again -- The Who

I'm growing the fuck up, as some people have always told me to do...maybe I shouldn't begin a story that way, but oh well.

The only thing that I have control over in any given situation is how I respond.

It's a lot easier for me to fight with people verbally, so texting is the bane of all disagreements, of course, and I exploit that to its advantage.

Either way, I've said some pretty fucked up shit to the people that I love the most.

I wish I could take it all back.

That's not how this life works. If you've been following along, we have already discussed so many what-ifs and buts to cover a lifetime.

Sarah wanted me to tell you this story but I didn't, so here it is now.

We had a cow named Black Widow. She was black and white and apparently liked to socialize with the people who fed her hay and feed. I imagine myself being very adamant about not touching a cow, but what I really remember is this:

Imagine a large construction of barns smashed together in the middle to form its own sort of auditorium. The cows are led in, across the stage, if you will, and are auctioned off to the highest bidder. The highest bidder, you say? Yes, the highest bidder.

Sarah and I were up top, center, slurping down RC Colas with Double Decker Moon Pies when we suddenly realized that we could be the highest bidder for our cow, Black Widow. She was pretty much the only cow that you couldn't piss off, what would we do without her?

It was a good plan, really, until we realized that the black and white cows look eerily similar. Did she have a splotch like that over her eye? No, that's definitely not her. Can't they just call these cows by their names? 

To make a longer story a wee bit shorter: everyone was amused at us trying to buy our cow back. Sarah, of course, insisted I bid first and see how things worked out. Hmmpff, that went over well.
They thought I was kidding, such as the "I wanna bid, let me bid!" sort of attention that children at the stockyards apparently demands. What they did not understand was that, as we were whispering amongst ourselves, we had decided that they were definitely not taking us seriously. We were never going to get our damn cow back, whether we recognized her and bid the most on her or not. And the worst part is that they schooled us on how this goes down, and it's not pretty for the ones who don't get bought. (At this point we were determined to buy every sad-looking cow that didn't get a bid. Which was a lot of cows.)



















typos will be the death of me