Confetti makes me CRY!

Despite the preponderance of prattle that my puffy puss-portal perpetually pushes, word has it that I am rather HANDY at keeping secrets filed away. Yeah I know a head swollen this much from water and pride should naturally have a big mouth to match, but surprisingly it ‘aint’ true. Anyone who really knows me knows that all the holes in my face are for food consumption or storage only, and none are any good at all for singing or spilling my guts.

Oh don’t worry it’s not like I have a hidden sea-chest filled with long lost lurid legends of lust n’ lore . No the only C-bag souvenirs I lug around are securely strapped to my hip for all the world to see; or at least small enough to bury in any ol’ raggedy Samsonite carry-on with lopsided wheels and a flimsy handle.  I’ve always tried to travel light in life and choose the shiny tine of those road-forks with the least regrets, negative consequences, and still with some meat left on the bone – see, being raised by wolves DOES have its advantages.

Yep, I actually have only the one standard issue 206 piece hidden skeleton cooped up inside my sweaty pink coral-colored coat closet – who has the time for puzzles bigger than that anyway? The only real secrets that I try to carry are all the numbers my wife, bookie, and banks wish me to memorize. I can’t even remember my hat size or how many teeth I still have, much less some ‘wonder code’ the IRS and U.S. border agents insist I parrot back to them like a smarty-pants-less puppet.

So of course I must uncomfortably commit all of this data daily to tossable toilet paper, or at least to tattoo it backwards where only I or my accountant can see it with a mirror and a fancy flesh-flexing Finochietto spreader.  Anything written down (there) eventually must be shredded, chopped and diced more than a mincing ONION at a Hillbilly Ninja roast. The upside is that by New Years Eve I always have copious clumps of confidential confetti, but the downside is I’m still faced with another year to be riddled and REAMed by secret recyclables and tearing them up by HAND always makes me CRY!