Dub T3h Effff…..

21 07 2010

So. I come into the library to check the intarwebs, because I didn’t feel like toting my laptop around. It’s crowded but there’s a station with cleaning supplies in its chair. Now I go to the library all. the. time. It’s shouting distance away from my house. Everyone that works there knows me. I know full well those cleaning supplies are the library’s to clean the computer keyboards when there’s a moment free. So I ask the guy @ the computer next to the cleaning supplies if they’re cleaning it.

“Oh, no. Someone’s sitting there.” he hastily assures me. I KNOW full well the freezedried wackaloon is lying. but I’m not in the fucking mood. So I sit down to wait. Behind him. He turned & said something about ‘ten minutes’ yackity smackity blahblahblah. I looked him in his beady eyes & firmly told him I was waiting where I was supposed to to be next in line for the computers & went back to ignoring him.


He promptly became Chary McSuspicious, photo evidence ->here<-. Because wearing cardigans on your body is SO fuckin’ passe, haven’t you heard? Nahhh, it’s all about the thriftstore sweater flung ever so nonchalantly over your greasy combover while you do everything short of monkeyhump the computer monitor so noone can see your flavor of kink. You are SO subtle, sir. No one would EVER think you might be looking at something illicit, oh, say, gay asian teen midget bestiality snuff porn or anything. Noooo. Because NOTHING says ‘casual’ like A SWEATER OVER YOUR HEAD while you surf the internet in public, while fidgeting & casting terrified glances over your shoulder every 1.34 minutes and/or whenever someone walks behind you.

Sure enough, once he got done looking at long lost nude pix of Minnie Pearl or joining the GOP or whatever, he takes the sweater off his head, takes the cleaning supplies out of the chair next to him & scampers off nonchalantly.

I cannot make this shit up, I can only display it to prove that I am NOT the batshitcrazyloon in this scene…


OBG Angels VS Squirrels

17 06 2010

This is an OBG (Oldie But Goodie) from a previous blog I had on myspace.  I will be editing & interspersing these with current blogs, drawings & story ideas. I hope you enjoy reading.

  “What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals! “– Shakespeare, Hamlet

Men: Aren’t they fuckin’ fabulous when they’re not being complete foofy-tailed squirrels? The strength and the power of them. The breadth of their shoulders, the delineation of their muscles. Muscles from actual work, not gym rats. And yes I’m prejudiced, thank you for pointing fingers. Gym rats are narcissistic twits, plain & simple. Never met or seen one that wasn’t. But I digress…

Bodies that look not only like sculpture, but architecture as well, the cables of tendon delineating their might as well as their weakness. The column of their thigh sweetly rounded with meat, furry and warm. Their great thick hands, gentle over skin, fondling, cuddling, stroking. Those same hands rough, grasping, needing. To listen to their heart beat when your head is against their chest, to giggle at the sounds their stomach makes. The faint rasp of their shaved cheeks and chins, or the fuzzy bristle of their facial hair. And Gods, those meaty curved asses that beg for bites, scratches, spanks and kisses. Rowr.

Men that stand their ground, without pretense or fear. Men who know who they are & don’t have to compete to prove themselves. The ones that stays clean without preening. How do you check this? If your man spends more time primping than you do, that’s the ponce I’m speaking of. Men unafraid of opening up to you, knowing that intimacy isn’t just sex. Men who know that sex isn’t just in the genitals, but in the heart and mind as well as the whole body. Open-minded men who know that pleasure isn’t just 20 minutes in the missionary position. And for some men I’ve had, that’s generous timing. I could spend days roaming over every inch of a man, learning and loving him.

Fucking hell I’m lonely.