attitude (a family tradition novella)

so she says:
“what’s with your freakin attitude”,,, ”you act just like your grandfathers”
so he says:
“fuckin groovy”,,,”thank you”

my lovely ex wife with the big ass (i like big butts (really) and i cannot lie, you other brothers can’t deny, that when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waste and a round thing in your face you get sprung, wanna pull up front cuz you notice that butt was stuffed deep in the jeans she's wearing, i'm hooked and i can't stop staring oh, baby i wanna get with ya, and take your picture, my homeboys tried to warn me, but with that butt you got me so horny...fat bottom girls you make the rockin' world go round...) and megaphone mouth used to bark that at me with the regularity of metamucil. it was her response to any reply of mine short of “yes master.” i assumed divorced meant no longer wed AND free from irritating remarks spewed from her 8000Db pie hole. i guess i should have read the small words after the big word alimony. my “attitude” comes supernaturally and directly via my biker grandfathers’ loud ass gene pool. thomas larkin was a hell raising irishman who rode a harley davidson for the good guys during the day. his favorite saying: “if you want sympathy you can find it between shit and syphilis in the dictionary.” luther andrew was an ex navy sea bee that owned a successful garage in baton rouge that allowed freddie fender to hide his stolen motorcycles in the back of the shop. he worked only on days that ended in “y” and at night loaded up on his indian motorcycle with his steele pony amigos and tore off to new orleans to drink, chase women, and fight. my memories of spending the night at my grandmothers on the occasional weekend are tainted with my grandmother whispering in my ear: “get up baby, we have to get pop out of the big house in new orleans.” my attitude has mellowed considerably as the days have slowly passed since my drinking (i should come clean about my previous cocaine mis-use but this is a public blog with 4,603 hits) and titty bar era. if you look at me today i still physically resemble that attitude. the facial hair is still there but neatly trimmed. the holes are still in my tongue, nipples, and ears. the entire back of my head remains permanently engraved in tribal style ink but salt and peppered short cropped hair covers the lions share of that body art. i still believe sex with a party girl sporting long red fingernails in the men’s room at hooters is a legitimate first date. i still believe that a man should open the door for a lady, and that a wife can tell her husband he needs to go to the gym but a husband should never tell his wife she needs to go to the gym. i still prescribe to the notion that “glamour shots” for a man means they didn’t catch you scratching your family jewels in the picture, and,,,,,,,,, (my “quit fucking off” warning light has appeared (again) on my desk dashboard,,,i will finish this seemingly pointless non fiction novella when i remove my nose from the proverbial grindstone)