My dad stops by almost every morning to have a cup of coffee and enlighten me on some matter of life, whether it be how they manufacture bolts, to how to study for a test, to how pigs give birth. All these conversations happened this morning, so I'd like to pass on that enlightenment to you all today.
First let's talk about how they manufacture bolts. The first thing they do is who cares. I wasn't listening to that part. My eyes were glazed over, and I was just nodding my head as my soul died right there inside me. I'm soulless now. Thanks Dad. Next.
According to my dad, anybody can make a good grade on a test if they study the right way. I don't know why we were having this conversation, because I'm pretty sure I'm done taking tests, but if I ever do find myself having to study for one, the secret is, apparently, to growl and get mad at it. That's right.
You look at your subject matter, get pissed, and actually growl at it....GGGGRRRHHHH. According to dad, this is how you study properly. He did demonstrate the correct technique for me so I wouldn't mess it up, and I apologize for not providing a video. In short, you have to grit your teeth, tighten your shoulders, ball up your fists and growl. Now, my dad is almost 80 years old, so it's been awhile since he took a test. I think he may be confusing studying with taking a shit, though I've never growled as I pooped. But to each his own. Anyhow, if any of you are test takers, please try out this technique and let me know how it works. If it causes you to have a bowel movement instead, then I guess we have our answer. Moving on.
My dad LOVES baby pigs. They are clearly his favorite animal since he's been going on about pigs for the last forty years. The qualities that make a pig the best animal, according to dad, include being cute, being cute as a bug in a rug, and lastly, being so cute that you just want to bite them. This is logic that can't be refuted.
Today was a special moment though, when he shared the story of the beautiful experience he had as a child watching a pig give birth. He lived on a farm in Iowa as a little one. He had to walk uphill and listen to terrible tales of how bolts were made. Times were tough.
Anyhow, there he was, hanging out with the pigs, when out of the blue something thumped him on his side. He looked down to find a newly born baby pig. Well that baby pig got up and took off running to "a spicket", otherwise known as a nipple, on its mother. My dad watched in amazement as the pig's cannon vagina shot several more babies out like cannon balls. Pqew!! They made that noise when they shot out of her, and when they hit the ground and rolled they made a throoomp! sound. Then, they'd get right up and take off running to a spicket.
This whole story seemed suspicious to me. Cannon vaginas? Fully operational brand new babies? I started to Google "pig birth", but then I closed that window down. If this story isn't true, I don't even want to know it. I want to believe a pig's vagina is a weapon, and brand new baby pigs can do shit right out of the box. After all, I wouldn't want anyone questioning the truthfulness of my stories, because, pft. NO.
Writing requires embellishment, as do my dad's stories. That's what makes them good. My niece is always telling me that I exaggerate eeeverything. Well no shit, Sierra. Writers are big fat liars. My whole job in life is to sit around and make shit up, or at the very least embellish the truth. Funny because people hate liars, but those same people love writers. My dad's stories pretty much drive me crazy, but if he were to write them down I'd think they were fucking brilliant.
His fabrications have rubbed off on me over time, causing me to look at every ordinary situation and wonder how I can make it more interesting. This makes life more fun and writing a whole hell of a lot easier. Revisionist history, if you will. If you want facts, watch the news.
Facts......news...see what I did there?
Stay tuned for more big fat lies and remember; no fact checking allowed.