: i used to think i had a good idea of right and wrong :

..now everything is so darn CONFUSING.

this makes me all excited to break stuff.

(F the M)

time for us to get Smooved.

...sometimes another person says words that express my feelings more completely and more complete-rightly than i ever thought possible for even myself to express. if you are reading this, then you already know that i have been thinking about you; i have been filled with a fulsome longing which very much desires to have the suitable outlet of you. i thought and i thought and no outlet presented itself in the eye of my mind. but, then, i happened upon some old pages of one of my literary mentors -- a last and true Man of Letters,Smoove B. and i found in his words--from a series of letters to one of his most seriously inciteful and beautiful loves--a force of explication that was like the huggy to my bear. like a tributary running into the river of my Desire for You. here are some excerpts:

"To make up for all the foolish things I said, tomorrow night, I will escort you to my crib, where I will prepare for you a romantic meal comprised of succulent lobster from the finest sea. We will both eat the lobster and enjoy a side dish of rice with it. There will also be a baked potato waiting for you, and some butter for you to place upon that potato. In addition, there will be sour cream, which you may also put on the potato if you so desire.

I will also serve juice."

then, he continues,

"..when we have each finished eating our meals, I will lay your body down on a bedsheet comprised of 100 percent silk, which I will purchase in advance from the finest store in this city. Then, just before we freak, I will inquire as to how you like the feel of the sheets. If you inform me that you do not like it, I will travel to other cities around the world until I locate a store that sells sheets that are more to your satisfaction. Then, I will purchase those sheets and return home to put them on the bed for you.

It is then that I will hit you doggy-style."

but it was from the subtlies--tucked in the margins at the end of a 1958 letter to Heloise Harshackle--that was elicited most exactly the manner in which my longings desire to be made even longer:

"While I am freaking you, I will whisper various things in your ear. Some of the phrases I will say to you are, "Baby, you are my everything," "You feel so good, I can't stand it," and, "Girl, ride me." There will also be candles and a CD featuring the music of Keith Sweat to create an atmosphere of unbridled romance, making you wet."

cos friday always seems to be

about stealing worthwile things from elsewhere, allow me to share a pick-up line i stole from ron burgundy. not only for its simple elegance, but just as much for the fact that i used it last night And It Worked:

"i'm just going to put this out there; you can take it if you like, and if you don't, send it right back."

"okay."

"i .... i want to be on you."

now, i know what you're asking yourself

and the answer is yes: i have a nickname for my penis. it's called Colonel Snappy, but i also nicknamed my testes -- my left one is james westfall and my right one is doctor kenneth noisewater.

...you play your cards right and you just might get to meet the whole gang.



[appropriated with permission of brian fantana, aka the bry man.]

..pick yourself up and try again.

"no, no. you don't have to answer now -- i'll be asking you again tomorrow. enjoy your lunch."

rock < me < hard place.

..that may be overstating things. but just a bit, and anyhow this is a blog. if i wanted to go around being proportionate and fastidiously rational all of the time, i would refer to myself as a blogonomist or a blogitist or the blogger general. but, nope, just a blogger. as such, i am free to invent crises as i see fit.

today's 2-dollar-tuesday crisis feels heavier than it might because i find myself suddenly regarding life in longer- and bigger-picture sorts of terms. fortunately this is somebody else's fault: there's a girl i keep thinking about. with me being not-so-distant from a relationship, i am something less than glib about asking her to wear my letterman's jacket. but for some gd reason i haven't been able to keep myself from drawing lifelong-compatibility hypotheticals, like picturing a wispy-haired me in a too-small leisure suit and her with laugh lines and a bad perm. ..and that is the issue: she will have laugh lines; she is familiar with joy in a way that will not dissipate with oldness. certain things you can just tell about people, you know? and certain things about yourself, too. like, i know that i shall be a sarcastic old fuck; i Will Wear Purple, too; and damned if i don't know with a pervasive, sub-atomic certainty that my old self would enjoy her old-self company--would get what old people call a "kick" out of watching her dance while i played percussion on my iron lung.

so. to put this crisis to bed, what i've decided is that i would ask her to marry me. every day. just to add it to my routine: rub eyes, get up, brush teeth, shave face, shoot her an email and ask if she wants to jaunt up to the casino and get hitched--if we left now, could make it back before lunch. when she and i are old and tired, maybe it'll be funny. either because old people like tired jokes, or 'cause it worked, and that's funny.

What should you do if you find an Atheist?

i love crotchety old mr. gruff the athiest:

"coffee's the only thing that gives me solace!"


"...i feel empty. i'm gonna drink some more coffee."

the ship : it be sinkin'.

at least, that is what we had agreed upon. now, in fact, it may prove wishful thinking, seeing as how we abandoned said ship in favor of a paste-colored and surprisingly scratchy but otherwise bang-up rubber raft. as we do not wish this decision to prove premature, we freely and continuously make declarative statements and ignore the fact that the ship's keel looks to be returning to even. it's still sinking: we done decided to jump ship, therefore the ship it must be sunk. and, if this means we must spend the better part of a week on a desert island with only anne heche and an ill-fitting taupe button-down to keep us company, then ... then f us. maybe if we pull alongside and shout, they'll let us back on the ship.

i don't like to be caught up in the details.

look. i’m not trying to be difficult. but i believe if we’re going to make any real progress, then we can’t afford to be static. we need to leave our old ways behind us, move forward---and in order to accomplish our goals, we must look at the situation ergonomically. now. i have heard myself described by some of the members present as a "hair-splitter;" nothing could be further from the truth. unless of course we were to refine the accepted definition of "hair" to mean a determined Euclidian span which, though it may be bent and arranged to represent any number of slopes, nonetheless yields a function of time (t), enabling us to subtract t(i) from t(f), with a result of delta t; and, also, we understand "splitter" to mean a given object in motion through which we can arrive at delta v. --were we to put delta v [splitter] over delta t [hair], the resulting ratio would give us an accurate summary reading of forward motion and acceleration. then, in that situation, hey, absolutely: me equals hair-splitter. let’s just not lose sight of the fact that we’re never going to get anywhere without some more comfortable chairs.