My Life In Six.

My good buddy Beth at "A Cup of Coffey" tagged me with this challenging question; can you write your memoir in six words? I approached this problem in the same way I approach all of life's little quandries. I sat down, had a beer, and thought it over. I really had to think hard as I tend to be geared more the other end of the spectrum from brevity. I suck at Haiku. If I'm going to tell you a story, then I want to paint a mental picture for you and use words as my pallet, and with such a rich language that we have to do that with, it seems a shame to just single out six. Not to mention the fact that these are my memoirs here. This is the kind of thing they read at your funeral, and put under your name in the enclyclopedia in bold black print. This is the kind of thing that might wind up on my permanent record somewhere.

Well where do I begin? With the Rules:

Six-word Memoir Rules

1. Write your own six-word memoir.

2. Post it on your blog. Include a visual illustration if you’d like.

3. Link to the person who tagged you.

4. Tag five more blogs — and link ‘em.

My first try was no good. "Does strange things for a beer." Then the second wasn't any better. "Went lookin' for trouble. Found it." They went steadily down hill from there, such as "I want to kiss you all-over", "Guess what's in my front pocket?", "Ain't ever been thrown outta here", "I'm coming to bed soon Dear", "Yeah, I have my I.D. Officer.", "This might hurt some, hold still." None of these really seemed appropriate when looking back over my thirty-six years on this little ball of mud. The most romantic and meaningful one I could conjure up was, "I do, to her, for ever." and I contemplated going with it, but as I was writing this, Flannery came in and was reading over my shoulder and said, "I know what your six word memoir is, "I'll be back in twenty minutes."

I think I'll leave it at that.

TAGS:

Blowing Shit Up With Gas, I'm curious to see if he has as much trouble as I did.

Cooper Green at Lying Bastard, I know this is going to be good.

Bubs over at the Sprawling Ramshackle Compound, if he can fit it in between Wienie Waver Wednesday and his regular animal attack reports.

The rookie, Wooden Spoons.

And my dear pal, Capt. Ergo Jinglebollocks, now that he finds himself with writing time on his hands.

Thanks fellows. I know you will come up with some doozies.

Doc