One of my favorite ways to tell about myself is the way a former girlfriend told others about me.

On her left hand she would count off these things. Pointing at her thumb, “Number one: He don’t smoke.” Pointing at her first finger, “He don’t drink coffee.” Next finger, “He don’t cuss.” She tended to shake her head a bit on that one sort of in disbelief and a humorous memory. Next finger, “He actually wakes up in a good mood.” There is a smirk with this one and then on the last finger, “He don’t like beer.” She would then shrug her shoulders, raise an eyebrow and say, “He has to be strange since none of that is normal for a trucker.”

(the picture above is that former girlfriend}

My father was a preacher and so was his father. In fact, at least three more generations back were preachers. In other words, I’m a preachers kid several generations. And you know what they say about preachers kids.

Now my X-wife says I am not human because of the following reasons. First, mosquitoes never bite me. Second, ticks die when the bite me. Third, the hair on my chest starts at my heart and swirls out from there. Lastly, I can make strange sounds that she believed people should not be able to make.

My chat friend Lisa, who is always leaving comments on what I publish, says I am the looniest person she has ever met on the net.