What doesn’t kill you…

What doesn’t kill you…

Anyone aware of my many travails, from incarceration, drug and alcohol addiction, obesity, war, rock and roll, comedy, Catholic School and being a less than shining example to my nine younger siblings, knows I can be a moron.

I am not a wise man.

I played fast and loose with every rule in corporate America when I was a rep. If I had to wake up with the receptionist to gain access to a client, I did.

I’ve made hasty decisions that could have killed me.

To me, that’s just the cost of living life.

I’ve thrown caution to the wind so many times I could have been a weatherman.

Through some of that trauma I have suffered mightily. But I wouldn’t change a thing. When my sides retire, I will go out with a smile on my face because I gave as good as I got.

I have fucked up all over the place and had a ball doing it.

I leave nothing on the table.

What didn’t kill me only made me stronger.

I have a strong body, a lusty laugh and a deranged sense of humor.

Muscles grow after you inflict trauma on them by lifting something heavier than they’re used to.

You’re actually breaking them down.

When they recuperate, which they always do, they come back bigger and stronger.

They call that process hypertrophy.

I call it post traumatic growth.

Life is a gift, exercise it.

Please note: I welcome comments that are offensive, illogical or off-topic from readers in all states of consciousness.

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