One morning I got out of bed, still half-asleep, and wrote out the following story, from start to finish, off the top of my head. If you think that gives some insight into my personality, well, I hope you're wrong. Someday soon I will record the song so you can hear it. I swear.

"Son!"

"Yes, dad?"

"I think today's a darn special day."

"What is it, dad?"

"What's on the calendar, son?"

"A picture of sis, naked. You know that dad."

"No no, I mean, what'd I write down for today?"

"I dunno, dad. You never learned to write."

"Well, I'll tell you son. Today, you are a man."

"A man, dad?"

"Yup, it was sixteen years ago that you popped your little head out of mama's loins and into this beautiful world we call our trailer park."

"My birthday!"

"That's right son."

"I thought I just had one a few weeks ago."

"Well, you know we can't count, son. And I'm damn proud of it."

"Yeah!"

"Anyway, now that you're a man, it's time for your rite of initialization."

"But I can't write either, dad."

"No no, it's something that every boy must go though on his sixteenth birthday to really become a man."

"You mean, not having to breast feed anymore?"

"Well, that too I guess. But I'm talking about a ritual passed down through the ages. I did it when I was sixteen, your granddaddy did it when he was sixteen,"

"You are my granddaddy, dad."

"I meant your other one, son. It's a tradition."

"Well, what is it, dad?"

"Ol' Nasty."

"Ol' Nasty?"

"Ol' Nasty."

"What's Ol' Nasty, dad?"

"Who is Ol' Nasty, you mean. Though sometimes I think 'what' is a better question! Ol' Nasty is, how shall we put this delicately, as to not indignify the fine lady she is...."

"Is she a whore, dad?"

"That's it, son. She's a whore. Good word, son. I'm glad you're picking up the gentle language from the schoolhouse rather than the rough terms the kids use on the street."

"So, the tradition is going to a whore on the sixteenth birthday?"

"Nope, not just anyone! Just Ol' Nasty. She's been around longer than your granddaddy."

"You are my granddaddy, dad."

"I meant your other one, son. Good old Ol' Nasty. She's been there for us for generations. Bringing our youths from boyhood to manhood. She may be getting on, but she doesn't lose her touch. By the way, I hope you don't mind flies, son."

"Flies, dad?"

"Yeah, the flies, we used to call 'em Ol' Nasty's entourage. Flies come and go, but Ol' Nasty, she'll always be there."

"Dad...."

"You know son, sometimes I go into town for a little dip myself. Just to see if she's still good enough for my boy, you know."

"Dad..."

"Just a sec, son. You know, she even gives out one of them cards where you punch out a number each time, and then you get a free one."

"Dad..."

"At least I think they're numbers. You know, we can't count. Now, you don't be telling mama about this, you know."

"Dad, that's what I was trying to tell you. Mama's right behind you."

"Well, golly! How you doing, mama? Didn't know you was there!"

"So, Pa, taking our son into see Ol' Nasty on his birthday?"

"You betcha. Tradition can't be broken, that's what I say."

"You wouldn't be stopping in for a quick dip yourself, would you now?"

"Me? Never! I got you, mama! And auntie, too! And Bessie!"

"Then what was that you was just saying about Ol' Nasty's punch cards?"

"That? Well, that was just kidding, mama! Tongue in cheek!"

"Don't give me that! You got so much tobaccy chaw in those cheeks of yours you can't fit your tongue in there."

"All right mama, you found me out. But still, you're the woman I love."

"How should I know? You never bring me flowers anymore."

"Just last week I picked you a dandelion!"

"Bessie ate it."

"Never could control that cow... What about that time I made our bed into a romantic waterbed?"

"Making a waterbed ain't the same thing as wetting the bed."

"Okay okay. Well, I was going to save this for our anniversary, but I think it's time to bring it up now."

"What is it?"

"I wrote you a song."

"You know you can't write."

"Well, I made up a song. For you."

"For... me? A song?"

"For you, mama. It goes a little something like this:
I, I love you. I really, really do.
Yes, it's true. It's true, I love you, I really do."

"Ohhhh... that's so sweet."

"I, I love you more, than Angie or Irene or,
Jennifer or Faye, well at least I do today.
And I, I love you more, than that ol' country whore
I used to visit way back when, well I still do now and then.
And I, I love you more, than words could ever say,
And I, I love you more, than I would if I were gay.
And I love the way you smack me, and I love all your acne,
And I love how you call me a dirty rotten slob who ruined your life,
And I love you because, hell, you're my wife."

"Ohhhhh... I love you too."

"C'mon boy, we've got an appointment with Ol' Nasty! Can't keep her waiting. Manhood, here you come!"