Dear John and John and John,

Dear Marles,

I'm sorry I can not see you again. It's not you - it's me.


When I met you at the gym, you seemed like a very nice gentleman doing your leg presses very diligently. It was actually a nice amount of weight; your legs must be very fit.


I should have somehow gotten you to stand up. Totally my fault.


It's not that I don't like overweight people. Most of the people in this country are fat and I have many friends that are overweight. I just can't imagine spending the night with them. Well, most of them. And you.


And also, I assumed when you accepted my invitation, you were single. As you described to me in several details that most people would be embarrassed of and probably not even admit until at least the third date. Maybe ever.


Going through your boyfriend's Blackberry - not endearing. OK, so you found some phone numbers and messages that makes him seem untrustworthy. I give you that. Apparently, he has justifiable reasons to not trust you, also. Besides that you went through his Blackberry, YOU WENT OUT ON A DATE WITH ME!!!!


And really?!! You bit him?!?! On the cheek?! In an attempt to kiss him in the middle of the Blackberry fight?!? I'm trying to visualize how one tries to kiss someone and it turns into a bite on the cheek. Can't see it. Nor do I see it in my future.


So thank you for the text today, and maybe yes we can see each other again. But either you're paying or we're going dutch. No, you're paying because that'd be the only way it'd be worth it.


Sincerely,
Bob


p.s. Word of advice: don't get the tattoo of an arrow on your back pointing to your ass with the caption "Entrance Here." You'll regret it at some point in your life. And could you ever go swimming?


Dear Carlos,

I'm sorry I can't see you again. It's not you - it's me.

You are actually a very nice gentleman and you are going to make some one very happy. Probably. Someone really odd. And appreciates your 'visions.'

I just don't know how to take it when you look at me and tell me you see images of stags and dreamcatchers in a doorway. Is that a compliment? I mean I guess I'll take it that way, since you told me that most people give you panoramic visions, and I give you very specific visions. But can I really live up to it for a long term relationship? Or pretend that I find it unique and fascinating beyond the second date? And guess what - if you wake up with a different chant that is somehow 'communicated' to you each morning, and your chant for the day we got together had something to do with butterflies, and you actually SAW a poster of a butterfly when we were in Chelsea, it's not a sign. Butterflies are kind of gay, and Chelsea is kind of gay. It's like thinking about sand, and later that day you go to the beach. Not a sign of anything - it's just nature.

Also, don't order rose' wine on the first date. Or ever, but particularly on the first date. Does not
impress. Well, it actually does impress, but not the good kind of impressing.

Sincerely,
Bob


Dear Eru,

I'm sorry I can't see you again. It's you.


You are very very very cute and I wish it were different.


I'm all about a fantasy. In the right time and place, everything's game. But I'm probably not going to call you 'daddy' in public. And forgive me for being an ageist and an elitist, but shouldn't YOU be calling ME 'daddy?' It just seems more appropriate for a thirty year old dancer to call the older and, frankly, more established man the daddy. And giving me the nickname of 'Slip and Slide' was a little presumptuous and honestly, something you'll never ever know.


And I'm not sure if you are able to stop drinking. You drank A LOT. Now, you may say that it wasn't that much and you can handle your booze. However, the fact that you fell asleep in a position that most people don't really fall asleep in, tells me that you indeed drank a lot that I didn't see. There was already a lot that I did see.


You'll be fine. I don't think you even remember my name. Actually, I don't think I ever told you. Thank God.


Sincerely,
Bob

Here's a good tidbit

I'm in Phoenix now. I decide I'm going to cook dinner for the folks, but I need some items from the store. Like rice-mom has rice, but she has it already cooked and in the freezer. I have no idea whats she planning on doing with it. No wonder dad doesn't like rice!

So, upon returning from the store, about a block away from mom and dad's condo, there's an ambulance and a sheriff's car at an apartment building.

"Slow down!" Mom screams. So I slow the car down and mom is careening her neck to the building. "Do you see anyone?!"

"No, mom."

"Wait! Here comes the stretcher.. shoot! Turn around!"

"What?"

"Turn around! I want to to see if they bring anyone out."

"Mom, do you no anyone in that building?"

"No. I'm just being curious. Make a U-turn!"

So I turn - in the middle of the street - and we see the EMTs coming out with an empty stretcher.

"I bet someone hit his wife and she refused treatment. Mark my words."

So of course I say, "Now mom, how do you know that?"

AND she says, "Well, of course that's what happened. This is that type of neighborhood. Why else would they bring an empty stretcher?"

This is where we have all learned to just nod our head and say, Oh. OK.

The Joy of Finishing Time Off

No one meant any harm, I'm sure. My family is really not intentionally malicious, I don't think. But the best kept plans....


I'm just finishing up a stay with the family. I haven't seen them in many years. My brother has been at least ten years, and probably much much more. My sister has been maybe five years, and I think the same with my folks. Ahhh, my folks.


So I arrived in Phoenix the day after I was scheduled to arrive (Delta has the collective communication abilities of a kindergarten class. The short story is that they sent me to the wrong terminal to catch my flight, and when I asked when boarding was, they basically told me to sit down and shut up and read the screen. Maybe I'll write about that at some point. It's SO not the story!) Everything's great on arrival to Phoenix. I meet up with Mom and Dad, have dinner with some family friends and call it a night. Nice.

The next day, we hop in the car for a lovely and scenic drive to Colorado. Now, my dad has cataracts in his right eye and can't see out of his left, so the driving is going to be divided between Mom and me. Me as the primary driver, of course. Oh wait! I forgot to mention we had to pack up some food for the trip (we were staying in time shares) that was going to go bad if we didn't take it with us. Like the Jell-o with carrots and celery shavings in it (I told mother that I doubt anyone would eat it. "But it's healthy!" was her response.). And the leftover pasta with marinara sauce (or 'noodles with the red topping,' as we like to call it). Of course, the travel time is a day and a half, so the ice all melted into the leftovers, and we had to pat the 'food' with papers towels to try to absorb the water out of the noodles and Jell-o. It went uneaten, even after we salvaged it (!) with paper towels. Mom really tried to martyr that one - '(sigh)I guess I'll just throw this out. Are you SURE no one wants this?' Oh, and Dad's deaf, but I'm convinced that those 'hearing aids' he's adopted are actually ear plugs.

So I drive quite a few hours. It's a long, boring drive. And lots of U-turns. "BOB! That's your turn!" was a common scream en route. My navigator was less than effective, hence the U-turns. "What!?" was also a common scream. "Goddammit, Roy!" - another favorite.

After quite a bit, Mom says, "Let me drive." I'm thinking that this is OK; I need to rest my eyes and our goal is to go only maybe a couple of hours more to Santa Fe.

To say that Mom swerves while driving is like saying whales enjoy a nibble of krill now and again. A massive understatement. At first I thought it was just the wind catching the car causing it to veer. Just a gust of wind nudging the car into oncoming traffic, and Mother thankfully corrects this near catastrophe. Not the case. After the eighteenth near head-on, Dad yells, "Carol, what the Hell?!" Mom screams in reply, "Goddammit Roy, I'm cleaning my nails!"

Thirty-second swerve: "Mom, do you want me to drive?" "No! I just need to get a Kleenex out of my purse." (She keeps her purse on the floor under her feet when she drives. Just in case she needs to grab anything.)

Seventy-fifth: "Mom, really. Let me drive." "I'm fine! I thought that lady in the lane next to me was reading a magazine I wanted to pick up. I was trying to see the cover."

And to say that Mom tailgates is like saying George Bush doesn't care about black people. Another massive understatement. You know how angler fish have that glowing little worm thing that attracts the little fish to its mouth? Well, tail lights are like the angler fish to my mom's little fish, only this little fish has two other helpless fish in tow.

As I involuntarily grab the dashboard to prepare for the impact, mom says, "What is the matter with you?! I have the cruise control on!" as if the cruise control somehow corrects itself before collision. Maybe she has an idea that cruise control is sort of like the Autopilot in "Airplane!" and is going to drive the car safely into the passing lane. I don't know. That whole game of 'Guess what Mom is Thinking' has become a very old game for us siblings.

The next day I resume driving ("Why don't we stop in Albuquerque tonight instead of making it all the way to Santa Fe? I'm sure it'll be cheaper." That's how I got Mom to give up driving - just throw the $ sign at her.), and we stop for some gas. Mom says, "Bob, let me drive now." I said, "No. Why?"

"Because I feel like I'm going to fall asleep."

"WHAT!?! Then you REALLY aren't driving!"

"Oh, just keep me occupied. I'll be fine."

And this is just the flipping trip TO our destination! I thought it was my neo-conservative brother that was going to screw up everything.

Well, not him exclusively.

A Haunting

There's something wrong with me. Horribly horribly wrong with me.

I don't think I have intimacy issues. 'Think' being the operative word here.

I love Antoni. He has been a sweetheart and an amazingly dear friend for 1.5 decades. I met him in Hawaii (I think he was trying to pick me up, but he was too young to know how, and I was too insecure to think that this adorable young man could possibly be interested in li'l ol' me!) and he moved away, ended up in Europe, and we lost track of each other. Until I moved to NY and found him online (don't spread it around, but he was on Match.com - I had to subscribe to get his email - that friend cost me $19.98 and countless spams!)

So we got in touch, and we hung out, and laughed and shared. I went to his house for Christmas. That was the last time I saw him.

See, I know that Antoni and I are not meant to be coupled up. We just aren't compatible. But he was after me many MANY years ago, I think, and I guess I was hoping that there was some bit of interest between us. And he looks good, and he would look good on my arm (that's so shallow, but I love going out with societally attractive people - I want to flipping turn heads when I go out!), and maybe I would have learned to tolerate him. You see, he's very sweet with nary a complaint at all. That's so not me. It'd be like the Elmo and Oscar the Grouch coupled up - both are sweet and endearing in their own way, but truth be told, you know Elmo would break out a frying pan and bash Oscar's head in after 2 months of that shit.

So at Antoni's Xmas get-together were his sister and her husband, some giant silver belt buckled, cowboy booted drawling Texan and his Mary Kay'd chiffon pantsuited truck driving wife (they were very nice, I just don't know how they fit in the picture), a co-worker of Antoni's, and Antoni's date. D.A.T.E.

And not only that, but he was the quintessential stereotypical obnoxious rich queen. And unanimously decided ugly. I was mortified by his existence. AND that Antoni saw something in him.

It made me think, 'If that's the kind of person Antoni's attracted to, and Antoni was attracted to me, then I must be.....HEY WAIT A MINUTE!!!!'

So I was scared to talk to Antoni for a while, lest I open my big yap and tell him things that are none of my business to say.

But I have since talked to Antoni and he has thankfully broken up with that guy (actually the guy broke up with him- pissed me off when I heard that), but now I feel awful and need to get together with Antoni, if for no other reason than that Antoni does provide humanity to my circle and I truly envy his outlook and demeanor and attention to self without being self-absorbed.

For some reason, I shun that. So resolved: I will be a better person and allow Antoni to humanize me. More.

Soon.

Bitter Old Nelly Country Bumpkin Queen

I have been called a homophobe.  It's true.  I don't know how it's possible, but there is a thought out there that I may be a homophobe.  I'm gay, for those of you to whom I have not come out of the closet to.  There may be a Zimbabwean reading this.

So I'm at the gym today and I see this guy working out.  Very attractive gentleman, mid thirties, muscular, shaved head, masculine,  Latino origin.  My type.  Nothing happened from it, I just noticed him.  

Ultimately, I'm wailing on my triceps and he gets on the machine next to me.  And a friend of his flounces over to him and they start dissing, and gossiping, and the lisp is in full gear, and the wrist is at an absolute 90 degree angle through the whole conversation.  My interest waned.

My question is:  where does that come from?  It can't be in any way connected with the part of the brain that makes us gay, can it?  I don't have that behavior, and most of the gay people I socialize with don't either.  Now granted, no one has ever accused me of hyper masculinity, but I have surprised a few people when they discovered my sexual preference.  (Apparently, introducing yourself to a friend of a friend by saying 'Nice to meet you, man' is very straight)  And not that that's a good or bad thing, because it's neither.  It's just that we don't HAVE to have a common bond in our mannerisms.

I blame the Christian white man at the end of the day.  I think that 'gay' behaviors are a learned action begun from the pre-teen years when one begins to orient.   Let me go back:

I didn't acknowledge my sexuality until I was 17.  I'm from a small town in Illinois where we just don't have any gays.  Being as such, I had no role models to initiate me or that I could mimic. The only thing I knew about 'the gays' was their annual parade in SF that made it on NBC news, so I witnessed a bunch of men in dresses and leather marching through the city. So, while I did have an interest in men, I wasn't that interested in dresses or leather, so how could I have been gay?  I just assumed it to be a teen sex phase that we are all warned we would go through.  My phase just happened to be taking a very VERY long time. 

But for most of the gay men that are aware of their orientation earlier (which is a bulk of the gay population), there are role models and rituals established from the time of Adam and Steve (or at least Oscar Wilde).  We had to be closeted, or risk getting jailed or beaten up or killed.  Maybe this was a code system set up and it became the expected behaviors to keep us in society, but separate.  

Or maybe this is dictated to our psyche as the behavior we are SUPPOSED to adopt because that it is how we fit in. Maybe the lisp is the gay version of the rings that certain African women put around their neck.  Or foot binding.

I don't know where the gossiping fits in, but for God's sake, stop it!

On the subway the other day, a seemingly harmless youth (say 15 or 16) is sitting in a full car when I step in.  So I grab the bar to hold on, and this kid says, "Sir, would you like my seat?"  I said, "No, it's all right,"  and he says, "No, really.  I can stand."  So I belted him to the ground and stomped on his stomach while screaming, "How The Fuck Old Do You Think I Am, You Bastard Child Of Satan!?"

Where ya been?!

I'm SO SORRY!!! I feel so terrible that I haven't been able to talk with you recently, but I've been super busy, what with packing and moving and all.

What?  I didn't tell you that I was moving?!! Why, yes, yes I did move.  To Manhattan, of all places.  You know what my cross street is?  Broadway.  If I can make it there....  

I think I need a new job.  Being at Foam Creepo does not mix well with new city lifestyle.  Not to mention that I'm really starting to hate it.  

OH!  I ran into a gal the other day, and her husband is a puppeteer, of all things!  Did I mention that I'M a puppeteer?  Well, I've operated puppets, anyway.  And I made a couple in my life.  Not the traditional type like you're thinking of (Charlie McCarthy, Howdy Doody, and the ilk), but more of a body puppet type thing, a la Julie Taymor.  Look her up if you don't know and enlighten yourself.  So that got me excited to pursue that avenue, as I've always been more creative than what my current job allows me to be.  I'm horribly miscast in my role as tool supervisor.  Angela Lansbury would be better cast in that role than me.  John Waters would be better cast.   Lassie would be... you see where I'm going.

So anyway, it's really hard to move when you have a very dramatic situation happening in your life.  Israel, my Mexican mantart was visiting for a week.  Boy was that great!

He was living in Canada for several months as sort of a social experiment.  He went to Canada to work as an illegal immigrant, just to get a feel of what his countrymen are going through.

Apparently it's Hell.  He had several jobs, one of which was SHOVELING THE SNOW OFF OF ROOFS!!!  From 5PM TO 5AM!!!!  IN MONTREAL!!!  AT -16 DEGREES!!!  Can you imagine a scenario where there would be an American on a roof in -16 weather for twelve hours?  I gotta tell ya, we Americans really screwed things up.  Because you know that everyone knows that these soul crushing jobs are manned by the illegal immigrants who are working in basically indentured servitude, and we do nothing to stop it, or make sure that these people are making a decent wage, and not being exploited.  

And yes, I know, he was in Canada.  But the only difference is that Canada at least has a bit more humane treatment of any illegal caught in their country.  Because the USA is a whole lot worse.  And the only reason we have undocumented workers over here is not because we can't get them, but because our economy would be twice as worse off if we didn't have slave labor.  Fucking Republicans.

And I think Israel got his soul beat up pretty bad in the five months he was experiencing that.  Not that I knew him all that well before he came here, but he was pretty deflated.  I think by the end of his visit though, without going into detail, he was re-inflated.  I hope so.  Very very very great man.  At the age of 27.  Born in 1981, for the love of Pete.

I have a really good new roommate who loves to clean the bathroom, but I'm going to miss the shit out of my old roommate.  You remember Brandon, right?  Teen Wolf from Halloween?  Good people.  Gave me a beer tonight when I went back to get a few odds and ends, like my loofah pad.  And don't tell Israel, but I can't find the scarf he gave me.  Pissing me off.

Alright, no more talking -  I gots to go to sleep in my new bedroom.

This just in--

JHitts hates Rachel Maddow! He's starting a war!

This - time - it's - personal.

Nah, I'll shut up.

Trying to begoode? No, trying to BeGOAD!

I haven't been writing much recently- not that I'm not thinking about you. My computer really needs a doctor, and until he gets a checkup, I never know if it's going to have a stroke midstream. Little frustrating. Understatement.

I did get a chance to meet a seemingly charming podunk from Missouri online. You can read his comments to me on my previous post. Sort of a bunch of non-sequiturs, unless you know the background. I suspect he doesn't even know the background. Idiot.

So I was just surfing through some fellow bloggers and read some entries and happen to find a particular entry with added comments by JHitts. He had some rather obnoxious neo-naziesque additions to put on to someone else's blog. I can't even remember what it was he said, but at the time it was ENRAGING! And really important that I let him know. Not sure why now.

SO, I tracked down his own blog site, and he had done some rather infantile music reviews of some groups that I had never heard of before, as they never recorded a cast album. And so I innocently commented on his entry that his writings are that of an illiterate Midwestern inbred swastika-wearing lamb-humping backwoods maleducado.

AND THEN he had the nerve to put some stupid comment on my blog! And it wasn't even in response to my blog! But he corrected me -- he's a self-proclaimed Libertarian, not a Republican, as I accused him of. Pardon-ay moi! The only difference between a Libertarian and a Republican is that Libertarians are scarier. And stupider.

But why did I even go there in the first place? I DID start it, after all. I could have lived in total anonymity and left this trash alone. But I didn't. And so now this JHitts guy (probably a gun carrier, for Christsakes!) has me on his radar.

I think horrible is a really bad thing to call someone. Don't you find it a little more lucid than calling someone something more typical, like ass or bitch?

This lady cut in front of me at the deli the other day and made a huge scene by holding the line up while deciding which 4 of the 17 yogurts to buy she grabbed from the cooler. AND THEN pulling out her cash to pay -- one bill and one coin at a time. This was all after she had already basically pushed the lady in front of her (who was in front of me in the first place, before she flounced herself to the front of the line) out of the way. So when she takes TWENTY MINUTES pulling her money out of this huge black patent leather quilted bag (Chanel -$16,000), I mutter 'Jesus!' under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear. Admittedly on purpose. She turns back to me and says, "You got a problem?" I told her yes, I have problem because you're horrible. Then she called me an ass.

I don't mind being called an ass. I get it more often than you might think. Or not. Water off a duck's back. But being called horrible, I think, would cause pause. And not a sissy thing to say at all.

Some people think it's a rather limp-wristed insult (homophobia unintended). I continue to believe otherwise.

Oh God, am I going to get obnoxious comments from the gays, now? Just great.

Don't be prostertizing on me!

So first of all, thank you to all my faithful blog followers. I'm fine, first of all. Computer-not so much. Stupidfriggingcomputercrashinginmidstream! I'm not even sure I can make it through this post without my computer crashing, but it seems to be getting better. Can computers fix themselves? Now that I think of it, all was well until I filed my taxes online. That was when the shit hit the fan and now my computer stays on for like five minutes before just going down. It's awful. But today, it stayed on for like an hour! Can computers fix themselves? If it's a virus, does it go away like a human virus and some sort of microchippy white cells attack it until it's all better? Should I feed it soup? And if so, which hole do I put it in?

Oh, so it leads to my new theory: George Bush is really pissed at me. All was well until I asked for my money back that I overpaid the government. THEN the computer crashes!! What a vengeful fucker. But color me surpised.

In the several days that I haven't been blogging, I've discovered a new love: sardines. They are de-lic-ious! And oh so good for you and oh so satisfying. They are one of the top 150 foods in terms of nutritional value. As are blueberries. I've yet to find a recipe mixing the two, though. I tend to be a bit monotonous with my diet, so this may stay with me for several weeks. Sardines on bagels with a side of asparagus and blueberries. I'm going to live to be 100. Not sure I want that though, so I'm going to have to revive my bad habits, I think. Just to level the playing field.

I'm on the subway (F Line) the other day, and there's a lovely young gal on the subway walking up and down the train singing. I have my iPod on, so I can't really hear her, so I turn my iPod off, but leave the earphones in, just so I can hear her but she doesn't know it, as my earbuds are still in my ears. And of course she singing Christian songs and is very happy about it, even though singing is not really one of her assets. But she's smiling and not hitting the notes exactly and I suspect just making the words up as she goes along. This is not too unusual on the trains in NY - there's always someone begging or singing or preaching. Kind of pisses me off. I mean, while I can appreciate that some people may enjoy mariachi bands or some guy that plays some sort of weird keyboard that he has attached a tube to and blows into to make the sound come out (I don't know how he does it - but he always plays the same songs, including 'Happy Birthday To You.'), or really loud drums, I also appreciate that many people probably don't share my taste in Dorothy Loudon or Bea Arthur, so I choose not to share it with them. Keep your flipping music to yourself and I'll keep mine to myself! You're welcome.

What I didn't mention was that this gal was direct off the boat from Asia. Evident by her command of the English language. So it was particularly odd to see someone who probably had not grown up Christian preaching on the subway, and rather hysterical that after she sang, she began to quote scripture. With lots of 'Hallelujah' thrown in. Only she didn't say 'Hallelujah' - she said 'Harerujah.' Lots of times. I really tried not to laugh, but I wasn't very successful at it. So you know like when you're in church and something strikes you as funny, but you know you can't laugh, so you stifle it, and end up shaking and bouncing in the pew? That's what I was doing. I had to turn Dorothy Loudon back on, so I didn't embarrass her or me too much.

AND THEN, that same day, en route back, there was another lady sitting across from me on the train. And she decided to eat a piece of pie from Trader Joe's she had bought. They had packed it in one of those clear takeout containers (clamshells they're called in the biz). So she opens the clamshell and has a plastic fork and plunges into the pie. But the crust must have been a little tough, because she struggled quite a bit to cut off a bite with her plastic fork. And the pie is sliding all over and she can't quite get through the crust. Very funny. So I'm trying not to giggle again, and I'm doing pretty good at it, until she finally gets a bite off the bigger piece. She stabs it with her fork, and brings the piece up to her mouth, and it falls off the fork back into the clamshell. She tries again. Same result. And again. And again.

So after like seventeen more attempts (at this point I'm laughing my ass off), she finally decides to get the clamshell closer to her mouth. But not like how you or I would do it. (Or me, at least. I don't even know you.) She instead bends her head down to her lap and then shovels the pie into her face! So she's eating out of her lap! I am of course, rolling on the floor at this point, and she is completely oblivious to the fact that she is being observed. And then, after two bites and twenty minutes, she decides she can't eat another bite she's so stuffed, and puts the pie back in her grocery bag. If it were me and I went to that much trouble, I can tell you that that pie would be totally eaten. Out of vengeance.

Life isn't funny, but idiots are.

p.s. http://www.asknataliehawaii.blogspot.com/

http://zerub-babel.blogspot.com/ (click on the fotolog link on the right hand side of the page to see some interesting artwork - I am not, unfortunately, one of the models. For now.)

Rotten Sex

So this morning I'm eating an orange, and I start choking. Not just a cough type choke, but the air passage blocked, no ability to breathe, total Heimlich time. I had to reach into my throat and pull that skin-membrane stuff out in order not to die. And my roommate is out of town, so in the worst case scenario (subjective), I could have been dead and lying there for days.

The theory of gravity was developed by Newton watching an apple fall. The wheel was invented by cavemen observing a boulder roll down a mountain. Archimedes figured out volume from getting in his tub. Bob discovered the purpose of sex by choking on an orange.

So maybe the purpose of sex isn't for procreation. I think that's pretty much disproved by gay people. And that sex doesn't necessarily make babies. Maybe pregnancy is just a side effect of sex, like drowsiness or nausea.

And maybe its not for recreation. Lord knows there is such thing as unfun sex. Did you know that there is a fetish where people want you to puke on them?! It's called 'emetophilia.'

Maybe sex is so we don't have rotting corpses all over the place.

If you think about it, it makes sense. If we're sexually and monogamously active, you have someone out there who is going to notice you're missing before your decaying body starts to become a nuisance. If you die. Even if it's just your jump-off (if you don't know what that is, look it up or figure it out) and there's not really any connection other than physical, that person(s) is gonna get the urge within the next couple of days and look for you. They (or their genitals) is gonna seek you out and find your dead body laying in the kitchen with a half-eaten orange in one hand and orange membrane sticking out of your mouth. IF you die.

So sex is like the urbanized version of the vulture. Or maggots. Like these scavengers, sex prevents decaying flesh from littering our streets and polluting the air. That's the Republicans' job.

And you always hear these stories about the spinster that was found in her (or his) house after laying there dead for like days or weeks. Do you think these people were getting nookie before they keeled? I don't.

Where did Einstein publish his theories? I got one for 'em.