For the last couple of days I’ve been going back and forth about what my first Chud blog should be about. The adage about getting started being the hardest part is quite true it seems, you want to start off on the right foot, but not sound like a ham-fisted moron. So, last night it hit me. It went like this:
I was sitting at my local watering hole with a few friends, and I made a startling discovery. While I am a quite resilient and stout minded fellow, there are a few things that completely terrify me, the main one is tiny hands. Be it a child, adult, ‘little person’ or even inanimate doll, tiny hands freak me the fuck out. If one of your hands can fit into a jar or mayo, I am terrified of you, and I have no idea why. The idea of a tiny, stubby, intricately jointed appendage covered in mayonnaise just makes my balls crawl up into my throat at the same time my pit bull crawls under the bed and whimpers like a little bitch and my wife hangs herself in the bathroom, it’s that serious.
I mean, I’m a skinny white kid who’ll fight the big fucker in the corner, ill burn, electrocute, cut, pierce and tattoo myself.. I’ll volunteer to jump the fence into the mean old fuckers yard to get our whiffle ball back, but if you have tiny hands, fuck off.
