Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, all you fan’s of my little girlie magazine and welcome to all you first timers! Guy Hogan is my name and blogging is my game. I’m a retired baby boomer and it’s taken me all this time to find my niche: a blog of culture for adults only.
Spank my bare bottom and call me a nudist!
Early this morning around 9:00 a.m. I walked to the bank right down the street to take care of an issue that turned out not to be an issue at all (the best kind of issue) and then I jumped on a bus to the assisted living facility where one of my younger brothers lives.
Let’s just say he has several problems that keep him from taking care of himself.
I talked to the head nurse about his condition. She welcomed my input and we are going to try to put my brother on a program that first deals with his depression and then his obesity to start with. The head nurse is going to start with trying to get his psychiatrist to do more. Apparently if you are under the care of a VA (veterans administration) psychiatrist as long as you are not suicidal or homicidal your psychiatrist does nothing. And I assured the head nurse I would be more involved in my brother’s well-being. I live a 30-minute walk away from the facility.
Then feeling good about myself like an older brother trying to look out for his younger brother, I walked all the way into Little Italy (about a 30-minute walk) and had a few beers at Armand’s while I shot the breeze with a couple of the regulars and watched sunny Liberty Avenue and Drew Carey and The Price is Right on the television at my end of the bar. Then I walked back to my apartment building in Oakland (North Oakland) which is like a 20-minute walk (I’m already in training for karaoke in Little Italy at Nico’s and Sonny’s Tavern next month)…
I was sitting at my workstation, doing those things that full-time bloggers do when there was a rap at my door in a jaunty pattern and the super’s voice was calling my name. Well, being playful (probably from all the beers I drank at Armand’s) I got up and did the same jaunty pattern on my side of the door and I unchained and unlocked it and I opened it. In front of me stood the super (she’s married with at least one grown daughter as far as I know) and a Sgt. of police.
What the fuck!
It seems my younger brother in California and my older sister in Greensburg (outside of Pittsburgh) had been calling all morning and early afternoon and they got worried that I didn’t answer the phone.
I was baffled. I may not be married. I may not have children and I don’t have a regular job and when I’m broke I spend a lot of time in my apartment. But I do have a life outside of my apartment and sometimes I am not in my apartment for long stretches at a time especially when I have fun money in my pockets (I have enough fun money for a few more days).
Oh, well, it’s nice to know people are thinking about you even if they think you’ve dropped dead because you don’t answer your phone for several hours.
Hail to Pitt!
The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated.–Mark Twain
This is Guy Hogan reporting for the Pittsburgh Flash Fiction Gazette.
PS All photos of Melissa Debling were sampled from Egotastic All Star.
PPS If you would like to see Melissa doing several photo shoots (one’s over an hour long), punch her up on Pornhub. No, she’s not doing porn. She’s doing what she’s known for: nude modelling.