Every  time I leave this house I have a bullseye painted on my back. Every time.  But I am accustomed to it.

Tonight I drove into town around midnight to Walmart for milk, cokes, croissants and beer. As I stood in the checkout line with another old dog ahead of me, I spied an ugly fat fuck with his blubberous gut hanging over his belt buckle dressed in a red T-shirt about 20 feet to my right rear fucking around with two bottled drinks in his left hand and circling a sun glass display. Sunglasses? At fucking midnight? They don't get any dumber than that!

Stalker!

I locked eyes with the shitsack and gave him my "Do you wanna die tonight?" stare. He immediately dropped his glance, got the message and slunk off. Stupid, fat, dumbassed low-rent Helena Montana fucktard!  There's a surplus of these shitbirds around here, for rent.  Cheap. White trash!  Too stupid to live!

Had he approached me with hostility, I would have opened his guts or his throat or his abdominal aorta like a Zip Loc bag! He made a wise decision!

No quarter asked; none given.  I truly do not give a fuck if I live or die!

It has been one hell of a run since I began so many lifetimes ago as a small town kid in Alabama. I have logged millions of miles beneath my keel.

Yes, I have regrets. More than I can count. But I have also logged my triumphs and successes.

No problem!

As God wills it!

Never quit!  Never, ever quit!