Hurt Feelings; Let’s Go Fishing


So. My feelings are hurt. If you have been wondering why I haven’t posted since last Friday, it’s because my feelings got hurt. For the first ever time since I started this silly fucking website, I have plastered a posting that has gone without a single comment. I got all pissy and decided I wouldn’t post anything again until after I got at least one comment on the last posting. I’ve waited six days and still no comment.

For some stupid reason, this has hurt my feelings.

I’ve been really busy as well, but that has never stopped me from writing to you at any time before. And my feelings are incredibly difficult to hurt. If you have ADHD, you live with Gram and my mother, and you screw up as often as I do, having sensitive feelings would lead to serious contemplations of the afterlife. I’m told that long-suffering individuals have delicate sensibilities, and there is nothing delicate or sensible about me.

Since starting almost two years ago, I have pasted well over 500 entries herein, and every single one of them received at least one comment, until this last one. Some of the comments I didn’t post due to the nastiness contained therein, but all prior postings had comments. I’m trying to determine where these dumb, hurt feelings came from.

I’ve never felt that getting comments was important to me. I’ve never needed an “Atta boy” or even a “Good job, son” to be happy with myself. Pats on the back are wasted on me because I always look for the flattery behind them. Daddy was of the Old School and he taught me to keep a fine ear alerted to flattery. “You need to learn the difference between a square compliment and when someone’s blowing hot air up your skirt, son,” my father would often advise me. “Most times you can’t tell the difference, and most times it’s your hairy ass getting a windy kiss.”

Daddy always gave me good advice, and I have tried to take it. Then again, I did inherit my ADHD from him same as he had from Granddaddy. Sometimes the life lessons he taught me got mangled in the tangled and jumbled confusion between two ADHD-addled male brains.

There was this one time we were driving up to Amarillo to visit family when the muffler gasket broke on the car. The noise was deafening for the hundred miles we were required to drive before finding a mechanic shop to make a repair. When we stopped and were overcharged for the simple repair, Daddy said to me, he said, “I should’a checked that before we left—I knew it was ready to make trouble.” Then he said what I now think was meant to be, “Oh, well, like they always say, a stitch in time saves nine.” You know that old saying about preventative maintenance, right? Who knows whatinthefuck he actually said, because by the time I put the lesson to practice, I managed to destroy its intent.

When we got back home a week or so later and working the cattle, I had a chance to repeat the old saying back at my father. We had a heifer, a longhorn cow, that we were getting ready to breed to a longhorn bull. Back then the big-horned bovine were an oddity and somewhat rare. Having a quality fertile cow was of considerable value, and our cow had quality and was quite fertile. When we found her in the pasture, our old Hereford bull was on her back and deep into the short hairs.

“Goddammit!” Daddy yelled at the top of his voice. “I knew we should have put her in a pen by herself before we left for Amarillo.”

I watched the old bull enjoy himself for a few seconds and thought of Daddy’s advice about the muffler. I told him, I said, “Well you know what they always say, Daddy. A stick in the hiney takes the dime.”

My father looked at me like I’d lost my mind. He said, “You’re a damned strange kid, Mooner,” shook his head in bewilderment, and walked off to leave me with my thoughts.

I miss my father.

Anyway, I’m starting to think that my hurt feelings are coming from two places. First, once I started getting comments I got used to them—even started to read them and enjoy them. Once I got involved with the comments, I made friends with some of the commentators. So, I guess that my feelings are hurt because my friends have abandoned me—tossed me away like a snot-filled tissue.

Then again, maybe they are as busy as I am and are simply too preoccupied to fuck with my nonsense. Either way, I’m taking a break from all these wedding plans to take all the kids fishing. I’ve got the worms dug, a dozen pulled pork sandwiches in the p-nick basket and the Carta Blanca beer on ice. I’m hitching the wagon loaded with the basket and cooler onto Rick Perry. He needs to practice walking with a heavy dress and long train, so I thought having the ostrich pull the wagon down to the dock would work for that. Maybe I’ll let the dogs and the fucking cat ride to add extra ballast to the wagon.

Maybe someone will comment here, on this posting. Maybe somebody gives a shit and will get back to me. Either way, fuck it. I’ll still be back manana, y’all.

Print Friendly

10 Responses to “Hurt Feelings; Let’s Go Fishing”

  1. mel says:

    I plead the sick card. The only reason anything posted at my place is because it had been ready to auto post for several days! And it does hurt to not get a response when you are used to it. Just keep in mind…there are way less people around here on the weekend. Try not to sweat it! By the way…as I write this I am still burning with fever. Pretty sure its the plague.

    Hang tough!

  2. squatlo says:

    I’ll be honest with you Mooner… (clearly a break from my usual response, which is always far from honest) I just can’t follow the thread when ostriches are getting boob jobs and pigs are ready to wed. I read you every day, come over here to see what you’ve added, and have wondered what the hell happened to your ass that’s kept you off-line… but never thought it was a pissy-fit due to un-commented posts. Hell, I have one or two of those a damn day! Guess I’m harder to offend…

    You’re the guy who usually ties it all together for some of us. We read your blog because while it might SEEM trivial, there are always well-aimed shots, messages, and stories tying everything together. The animal adventures are always the side dishes, like mac’n’cheese next to the fried catfish. Nice to have around, but without the catfish, we’re left hungry for the main dish.

    Miss your daily additions to the blobber. Write whether people respond or not, and rejoice in the fact that some of us give a shit what you have to say… ’cause it’s true.

    And I’ve been sick and busy and out of town and had a death in the family and just got back from my alien abduction to Tralfamador. Pick one.

    So is the wedding on, or fucking what?

    And where the hell is Reckmonster? And BJ? Been following these blank pages on your blog and theirs for a week and I’m starting to suspect you three have run off to Barbados with one another on a ganja cruise. Pissed because I didn’t get an invite.

    Mea culpa, I’ll leave a comment every day from now on. (jeez… tempermental artists are tough to deal with…)

  3. Father-of-the-Year Nominee, Mooner Johnson says:

    Mel. Thanks for your kind words, and get better soon.

    Squatlo. Fuck you.

    PS- the wedding is still on, and if you had at least skimmed the second-to-last paragraph, you would have read, “…I’m taking a break from all these wedding plans…”

  4. bj says:

    Ok …. now …. THAT was some funny shit! Yer “Stick in the hiney” interpretation is very reminiscent of Tim the Tool Man Taylor’s analyses of ol’ fence face Wilson’s right on target guidance and werds of wisdom. Ol’ Chigger was right about many things, Mooner old sod …. but never more accurate than in the “Strange Kid” comment. Unlike the windy kiss you got on yer hairy ass from Squatlo …. I …. do NOT read your blog (or his … or anyone else’s, for that matter!) EVERY day …. and I don’t expect anyone to read MINE …. EVER(!) … and still could not care LESS (see that Squatlo? the aphorism is ” I could NOT care less!” I COULD care less is self defeating, you see) if anyone EVER comments on my dribble shit … and am truly surprised that anyone does read or comment on said tripe. NOW who’s the strange one? huh? huh? … Ms. Baby says to tell you to make sure you hook up to the kill switch on yer lawn chair while yer fishin’ … just in case … cause you don’t never know. Kiss the kids for me (but’cept for the fucking cat) and hope y’all’s all have a wonderiffic 4/20 ……

  5. bj says:

    Meant to add …. and this is the whole reason I started reading the insanity over here in the first place … Squatlo is dead on the money …. he baited me over here by telling me that YOU are the funniest fucker bloggin. And he was right ……One thing I know about Squatty is that HE is the SMARTEST fucker bloggin’! and though I may not read youse guys everyday? when I DO sit to read? I start with you two … and it’s downhill from there …. be not discouraged …. and BOTH of ya’ … keep up the good werk

  6. squatlo says:

    BJ, I couldn’t care less what anyone thinks of my could-carelessness. Now I’m confused… ‘cept for that windy kiss I just felt on my butt, it’s all a blur.

    Kill switch on the lawn chair? That might not be a bad invention to pursue… This here being 4/20, and celebrations being expected, I hope everyone out there has set aside some brain cells they don’t really need. Planning a sacrifice, myself.

    Hey Mooner, I know you mean that “fuck you” with all the love and warmth it conveys. Right back atcha!

  7. chrisinphx says:

    Oh Mooner, dont go getting your tit in a wringer your the funniest redneck I know! Sit back and enjoy this fine 4/20 holidaze

  8. squatlo says:

    Yeah, Mooner, what Chris said. Gettin’ all bitchy on us… (and you really need to write up the FedEX delivery story you wrote about in the email)

  9. Katy Anders says:

    Comments… That way madness lies.

    I was a comment addict for a couple years. I gotta tell you – it was pretty awful. I used comment responses as a measure of how good each blog post was, and changed my content in future blogs accordingly.

    Off-topic comments, therefore, confused the hell out o me because I didn’t know whether the commenter was really responding t a good blog post or just wanted to say hi. Plus, it turns out that most people that read my blog posts completely misunderstand what I’m trying to say.

    Sometimes, there’s just nothing to be said in the face of Art. It;s like when my friend, da Vinci posted that painting of Mona. I didn’t understand his point, but I left a comment anyway. It said, “I don’t get it. Is she supposed to be smiling?”

  10. Mother fucking bitch. I’ve been busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. Here is your mother fucking comment. And you’re goddamned right the wedding is still fucking on. Take your break from the plans…I’m still # 12. I don’t see your ass getting busy finding, wooing, marrying, and divorcing # 11 just yet…so shut yer pie hole you whiney assed bitch!!

    P.S. Miss me? LOL

Leave a Reply