The stories of my scars.

Do, do, do, la, la, la, la, do, do. As the world has spun on its slant axis, many odd objects have found themselves in violent encounter with my largest organ, these are The Stories of My Scars.

My Other Tattoo

I think that some people have secrets in their past that might shock their current friends. This is not one of those stories.

I have a beautiful stomach. So, I like to show it off. No wait, this is not how this story goes. I don’t think these things.

Okay, my younger brother (who guest wrote on this blog) was doing homework. It might have been calculus or physics. He had a mechanical pencil. It was a special pencil that I wasn’t allowed to use, his homework pencil.

One day for absolutely no reason he asked me if he could throw it at me like a spear. I thought why not, what could happen. As the pencil was gliding through the air that separated us, I stood still. “It will just bounce off,” so I thought. It did bounce off. But I felt a stronger pain than what was expected. Lifting my shirt I found pencil “lead” sticking out about an eighth of an inch. When I tried to extract it, I failed. It was really stuck. When it was finally removed it had a total length of perhaps a quarter of an inch.

I still bear the nearly imperceptible scar, darkened with graphite. I have to shave my stomach to see it clearly, which I do on the occasion because my stomach is so nice. What am I writing?