Throughout Larry Grunt’s existence, vertical and horizontal, 2-dimensional lines corralled and controlled Larry’s presence. Not paying too much attention to the 3rd dimension of depth, it was the length and width of the bars that constantly directed Larry down his path of life. He started out with the vertical bars of his crib and playpen that kept him from falling out of bed and breaking bones or prevented him from wandering too far in a world that sometimes lacked adult supervision. These bars fenced in Larry’s formative years and gave him the safety to move into his next encounter with bars in his early youth: monkey bars. These bars encouraged neurological paths that improved his balance and strength and made him more survivable in a world of moving machinery. After a decade of this, Mr. Grunt’s down unders came alive, and a new Prime Directive materialized: Reproduce. In order to get past all the defenses that the first 2 decades installed and meet that special someone, bars or taverns were visited. The bars were designed to break down inhibitions and get right to the nitty gritty of procreating a shitty kiddie. It was fun until Larry was put behind bars for drunken driving. These new bars were a lot more confining as the combined horizontal and vertical bars welded together and put a huge damper on his freedoms, so then Larry got married and settled in for a more relaxed version of prison bars. A couple of decades in the love slammer ended in an ugly divorce that introduced Larry to a new bar member: a lawyer. After trading a lifetime of acquired materialistic shit for a boring coast through geriatric decay, Larry Grunt gave up the ghost and now resides in a large cemetery surrounded by…. You guessed it, a black fence made out of wrought iron bars. His ex-wife bought a plot right next to the road so she could laugh at him when she drives by. On his tombstone are the words: BEST HUSBAND EVER; BAR NONE. TE HE!
Torked Truth 