CALIFORNIA – 25 years ago today I was convicted for committing an act. An act I bragged about not knowing the damage that I caused others. That I would cause myself. An act that I’ve been paying for every day since. My name? Humpty Hump, y’all. It’s pronounced with an “umpty” and ladies, oh, how I’d like to hump thee. But only in a private, appropriate place. That is my lesson.
Now I travel the country speaking to young people about the dangers of knockin’ da boots in public places and the ramifications of getting too funky within the view of children and the elderly. This year I finally get off that dreaded sex offender list. No longer will I have to go door to door when I move into a new neighborhood, alerting everyone that not only will I playfully eat up all your crackers and licorice but I also inadvertently exposed myself 25 years ago while enjoying… well, let’s just say the oatmeal was lumpy.
What will I do on my first day? Well, I probably won’t get stupid or shoot an arrow like cupid. No one will be grabbed in their biscuits. No, those days are behind me. The image and style I grew accustomed to? Ruined.