Rob has no nom de plume. Plume. Like feathers right?

I am a carpenter first and foremost. Not a particularly good carpenter. In fact I am not a fan of carpentry. I would rather be a drug dealer.

Drug dealers make good money. At least that’s what they taught me in High School. Not the drug dealers, mind you, but the teachers. Some of them might have been drug dealers now that I think about it.

I think that might explain why I never make any sense. My teachers were drug dealers. The kind that liked to deal in over the counter pharmaceuticals. I’ve never liked Tylenol pushers. Horrible, evil people.

That’s why I’m a carpenter. I couldn’t cut it as a drug dealer. I just don’t have the gumption, the gall or the bladder.

I once went to college. I dropped out. I realized that I didn’t like what I was learning so I let it all go. My professors were probably drug dealers too.

That explains why my calculus professor kept on calling a speedometer a speedo. I thought he was talking about men’s bathing suits.

Speaking of bathing suits, it’s been raining today. Raining like a wet dog but not smelling like one.

I ended up behind a young lady from Minnesota. She was driving a red Grand Am. She was also smoking and talking on the cell phone. She managed to do all of this and avoid a head on collision with a tractor trailer truck. I was impressed.

When she finished her cigarette and threw it out the window, I ran over it with my passenger side tires to make sure it was out. We can’t be having forest fires even when it’s rainy out. I like to think I did my civic duty for the year.

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