Stinkin' Bag Of Dog Vomit

I just got back in touch with our pal M, who sorta disappeared off the face of the earth a few years ago. Luckily enough for me, he has resurfaced and made contact. It's such a nice thing when an old friend reappears and makes an effort to communicate.

As we all get older, it's the same old thing. "I wonder what so-and-so is doing?" "Have you heard from him?" "Nah, I'm too lazy to pick up the phone or compose an email." It's a perennial refrain, and I'm kinda sick of it. How hard is it to maintain friendships? Apparently hard enough, because we all hear the lame excuses and make them ourselves.

M and I used to be thick as thieves. We would go and hang out at the harbour aboard his boat and drink too much whiskey. When we sobered up, we'd head out onto the lake and cruise around, checking out the scenery and listening to the idiots on the marine radio. It was all good. Of course, things changed, and we all moved to different towns and jobs. That's when the head scratching and wondering started.

But as of today, we're back in touch, and I think it's about time I called him a "stinkin' bag of dog vomit" just to make him feel loved.