12 February 24 Monday 3:46 p.m.

A sunny afternoon. I’m sitting on Scruffy. Thinking about that big ass scar I earned from falling off my flying bridge last August. That’s why I wear a goatee. To hide the big ass ugly scar. Well, this morning I shaved off my goatee and I’m looking at the big ass ugly scar but there’s nothing. Nothing but this measly itty bitty squiggle of a scar you can hardly see. Go ahead and zoom in on this photo. You’ll see nothing worth looking at. You didn’t know me, you’d think, seeing me, “Well, here’s an older gentleman, kinda distinguished old fart.” That’s if I spiff myself up a little. If you’re an old ass broad and my hair’s combed and I’m dressed neat and shit, you might say to yourself, “Well, here’s an old dude could like take me on a sea cruise!” You’re certainly not going to think, “OMG! LOOK AT THAT SCAR! OH, GAWD! POOR MAN! OH…OH IT’S MAKING ME SICK LOOKING AT IT!”

You wouldn’t even know I had a scar, looking at me. Unless you snuggled up close and let me nibble on yer ear. Okay, so you got the tickets for the sea cruise. Terrific. But I might need a fat roll of hundreds. That way, people won’t think I’m a Giglio they see you paying for everything….

Otherwise, there’s no reason for me to be wearing a fucking goatee. Is there? I see these old ass dudes and all of them have goatees. Fat old ass dudes driving around in trucks with their goatees showing. Maybe they think a goatee makes them look cool again or macho. Some old dudes wear long stringy ass hair. That’s even worse. Long hair was as stupid as bell bottoms. Shit. I don’t know why so many old dudes wear goatees. It’s like there’s nothing else you can do, fashion-wise, if you’re an old dude. That’s how stupid you are. I even asked Joan, my Trump Loving Girlfriend, I asked her: “Joan? Joan, dear? Whaddaya think. You see the scar on my face?”

“No, I don’t,” she says. “Those plastic surgeons did a terrific job.”

“Well, I guess I don’t need a goatee, do I?”

“I like your goatee.”

“You do?”

“Yes…”

“But you don’t like it when I get cozy…do ya!”

“Well, you can put something on it. Make it softer.”

Make it softer! How you gonna make a old ass goatee softer? Rub some petroleum jelly in it?

Petroleum jelly (also called petrolatum) is a mixture of mineral oils and waxes, which form a semisolid jelly-like substance. This product hasn’t changed much since Robert Augustus Chesebrough discovered it in 1859. Chesebrough noticed that oil workers would use a gooey jelly to heal their wounds and burns.Mar 17, 2017

Healthline. com

Cheese burger made a fortune off Petroleum jelly .

That’s the American Way!

Yeah….but that’s some nasty shit, petroleum jelly. I don’t know if I want to be walking around with that shit in my goatee.

Anyway, I’m kicked back before the Super Bowl yesterday, thinking, should I shave off my silly ass goatee?

I’m thinking, goatee, no goatee; goatee, no goatee…etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

Why do I waste my time thinking about myself?

That’s all I seem to do. It’s like I’m the only dude worth thinking about. I can’t be that important. I’m not important at all if you want to know the truth. A fireman. Or a cop. Or anybody out there provides a public service. A garbage man even. Any one of those are more important than me. Let’s look at it. What do I provide? I provide nothing. All I’m doing is laying here thinking about my god damned goatee, like I’m the most important thing in the universe. Joan doesn’t think I’m all that important. She’s staring at her notebook….

Meanwhile, the 49ers lose the superbowl.

All because I’m piddling around thinking about my god damned goatee…

Anyway…I got no physical scars to speak of.

How about emotional scars?

I got plenty of those. I mean, my head is packed with emotional scars. How many do I have? I’m not sure. I don’t know, exactly. I have not bothered to count them up. Or categorize them. Or even obsess over them. They don’t hold the same prominence as my assumed bad ass physical scar…which went away. Went away thanks to the terrific work of those two plastic surgeons.

Thought I was gonna look like shit the rest of my life.

All I know is, those ladies did a bang up job.

They put old humpty dumpy gloomy back together again.

Now I’m just a old ass dude with a shit load of emotional scars.

I haven’t even dug into the bag!

Shit. I’m drinking wine.

And checking out my new neighbor.

And feeding this dude.

I’m sure he doesn’t waste any of his time mulling over his emotional scars.

I’ve got plenty of them. I’m sure I do. I’m nothing special but that don’t count in life.

Everybody gets their share of emotional scars.

What if you could make them go away? Like those plastic surgeons did for me.

Make everything beautiful.

LIke a baby Boomer, back in the sixties.

Wouldn’t that be great?