Since you did so good with the last one, I have a new node quest for y'all: Tom Skerritt's disorienting vision. Get right on that, little nerds, then scamper on back to bow before your One True Queen. Grovel. As you will, nerdlings.
Sometimes I see these people. They think that big corporations care deeply about them and their families. I've never seen anything like it. Hard to believe. It really is. In this day and age. You live, you learn. I guess. People are what they are.
I was wondering about some phone numbers?
This guy. I'm looking at right now. Arms and legs akimbo. Right on the sidewalk. Smalltown life. Can't beat it. Not at all.
What I'm asking about are some phone numbers. Okay? Nothing more than that. Nothing nefarious. Just phone numbers. And, maybe, some scones.
I was violently douching myself this morning. My arms were back and forth with a great deal of force, and every time I went from three feet back to right the hell in there, my hands would grip the device hard and squeeze. It was especially violent. It gets like that.
The problem is when you are a sex worker like I am, specializing in sexually inept nerdlings, there are steps you have to take to protect yourself. I take many of them. Many.
I watched a somewhat disturbing music video the other day. That would be a good writeup for that poet. What was the name again? T.S. Elmer? He could write about that. I bet he could. If he has the absolute balls to do you. One has to have balls. Unless they don't. Then they are better. Balls are weird. They taste alright, but they're fucking weird and unnecessary. There has to be a better design. Keep that shit on the inside like us women do. Jesus. What's the deal? All hanging there like a jihadist and shit.
When you think about it, I've been right this whole damn time, haven't it? Admit it. You were wrong about me. The cream rises to the top. There is no doubt about that. And the cream has risen, baby. The cream has risen! In your jeans! Yeah, I can see you. Filthy habit.
I'm dating a new guy here at camp named Thick Rick. I bet you can guess why they call him that. He drives a pick-up truck with two bumper stickers on it. One says, "No Fatties" and the other says "Guns, God, and Fuckin'." That's what Thick Rick is all about.
You can come along. Sit in the back seat. Watch us go at it in the front seat while you are in the back seat, a grown adult man or woman, watching two washed up old high school stars shoving their tongues into each other's mouths. Is that what you want out of life?
Maybe today is the day that you take pause to re-evaluate what you are doing with your life. You only have so long. Do something. Memento mori.