The Porn Version of Yesterday's Post

Because I can only be serious for a little while.



Metaphorically speaking, I think that any inhibitions of being large and in-charge and dancing in front of two (three?) mirrors to Justin Timberlake's Sexy Back was the cancer and the guy shaken his thang was my Dad (although, Dad is about 150 meals short of this guy), right up to the credits.

I remember reading a quote a while ago and I can't remember it verbatim, or who even said it in the first place. It may have been Oprah, or Pee-Wee Herman or fucking Brian Boitano, I don't know. It said something about how there's plenty of people who want to ride you in the limo, but it's the ones who will gladly sit beside you and feel you up on the bus that you want with you...

Or...there's plenty of people who want to make out with you in the limo and the peeps on the bus just want to steal your money...

Or...there's plenty of people who want you to bend over the limo and also blow them in the backseat of the bus...

Or...screw the limo and the bus, let's get busy in the bushes.

I don't think that Oprah said that. And if it was Brian Boitano, taffeta and snow cones would've been involved. That leaves Pee Wee and his peepee and his playhouse, or his playhose.

I suppose I figure that the recent altercation with my Father's health was the bus ride and I'm honored that so many of you chose to sit beside me...but none of you physically touched me and that's just crap.

More flesh, please.

My Father was diagnosed with stage 1 bladder cancer. I refuse to capitalize any of those letters. They don't deserve the distinction. In fact, it can eat my shit.

We're EXTREMELY lucky that it's stage 1. His bladder was scraped and they removed a tumor the size of Dick Cheney. The treatment now consists of BCG, which is an immunotherapy. And dousing Dick Cheney with lots and lots of Comet to get rid of all those nasty STD's that he caught from that ho, ann coulter (she doesn't deserve the distinction of having her name capitalized either).

This will not kill him. As I've stated below, it will hopefully be all the booze and sex that will finally do him in, in another 80 years. Although, hopefully, it will rid the world of Dick Cheney and his crabs...and herpes...and teensy flies that keep buzzing around his crack. I suppose ann will be around forever; desperation and fungus never dies.

I often think of how all of life is interconnected on some massive web of creation. That there really isn't any "us and them". I believe that it's all "us" and that we should all touch one another inappropriately and use tongue more often. I just feel very fortunate to have stumbled on many of you who reminded me of it.

I just wished that some of you had web-camed.

You reminded me that I'm not sitting out here on this web by myself touching my peep in the darkness. That somewhere, sometime, you were thinking of me and my Dad, and my family and touching your peep too.

I could feel it...the perspiration, that is. And it felt damp. Truly, it did.

So, thank you...you naughty readers.

I hope that I can do the same.

I hope that I can make you feel damp.

I hope that I can remind you that we're all in it together. And that right now as I write this, there's a drip of perspiration working down the arch of my back to my firm, yet supple ass. And somewhere, sometime, I know that it's dripping towards your ass too.

And it gives me great comfort to know that we're all getting bent over together.