i can't touch my toes
I'm strong enough to lift a Volkswagen over my head and kick through a bank-vault door, but I can only come within six inches of touching my toes. I have the strength of a mighty oak. Sadly, I have the flexibility of a mighty oak, too.
I used to be able to touch my toes before going to prison, but I think my vertebrae must've fused together after 877 nights spent sleeping on a hard steel bunk. I now traverse the swamps and meadows of this fair land as a stronger, wiser, ossified parolee.
And surely there must be a spiritual lesson in there. My physical condition must have some metaphorical value. In my comings and goings, in my daily hoo-has with other humans, maybe I've relied too much on strength and not nearly enough on flexibility. Perhaps I should quit being a hardass and learn the fine art of compromise.
Eat a bowl of dicks. I'll stay stubborn until I die.
But I still want to touch my toes.
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I toot my own horn yet again in a new interview.
