This Tickle is entitled, “Bird Poop.” I was driving with the window down. I was happy and singing to the radio. Until a bird pooped on my face. I was always told that getting pooped on meant good luck. I think the person who made that up said if it rains on your wedding day it’s good luck too. It’s one thing to sugar coat weather, but it’s irresponsible to sugar coat poop.
This Tickle is entitled, “ADHD.” I don’t have ADHD. At least I don’t think I do. But I do get bored listening to some people. I think it’s an amazing skill if you can convince people that you’re paying attention, especially if you’re really thinking about pork rinds and Smurfs. When I first tried pork rinds, I liked it. Then I had another one. And that one was good too. And then the next five tasted like crunchy vomit. What was I talking about?
This Tickle is entitled “Pets.” I love animals. I grew up having a lot of pets. If I was to buy a pet today, it would be a dog. Unfortunately, the love of my life is allergic to animals. Not cute ones, just ones with hair. Animals with hair have this thing called dander. It sounds like dandy. Which rhymes with candy. So how could it make people – like my wife – so miserable? She loves candy. To her, a dog is like a big tail-wagging-piece-of-pollen. Every time we visit my family, she takes allergy medicine, because we have a golden retriever – and they have A LOT of candy. Once, she took a new allergy product and she lost her sense of smell for a month. She literally couldn’t smell anything – even rubbing alcohol. After I use the bathroom, I usually open the window, fan out the stink, and spray some Lysol. But not that month.
This Tickle is entitled “Nose hairs.” I have this love/hate relationship with my nose hairs. I love that they help trap germs and other foreign particles. But I hate the grooming maintenance aspect. Plucking them out is an awful American past time. Many people I know shave ‘em. But I’m against that. Because then you open yourself up to the strange world of nose hair stubble. And who wants a ten o’clock nose shadow? Put your hand down, I’m being serious. And now that I’ve mentioned the whole stubble thing, you’re gonna be watchin’ out for it too. So, in a way, I’m sorry. It’s odd, when I was younger, my nose hair knew just when to stop growing. It just knew, like a bear cub too frightened of the world to leave its cave. I remember dreading the day, that I would be just like my father; driving down the road looking into the rear-view, and pulling out nose hairs by the bushel — as he gave everyone in the backseat car-swerving stomachaches.
The Real Tickle
