Biiiiiyaaaatttcccccchhhhhh!

Rainy Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

Yeah that was the day. I remember that big stiff collar. If you didn't know I was an eye-tie R.C., the collar gotta give it away. It was a rainy overcast day. I found an eel in the street.

Did first confession the day before. What did I have to confess? They should have confessed that they filled my mind with endless stories of torture: The passion of the christ, long before Mel Gibson started masturbating, the stories of how the Chinese communists drove nails into the heads of Catholic missionaries so as to remind them of the crown of thorns. St. Lawrence got grilled and I only got beenie weenies. They never mentioned the torture they inflicted on protestants and jews. Oh yeah, and the communists....electricity comes in handy for that.

No wonder I was scared of the dark.

P.S. We did NOT have plastic slip covers.

MANHUNT Today

His Profile (edited for time and to fit your screen):
Don't think that just because I am on here I am looking for now. I treat others the way I expect to be treated. I never have asked anybody the size of his penis. I think it is really rude. Don't expect a response from me if you ask me that.

No ass fucks, no warped used assholes. My ass is tight and unused here and I seek the same so no ass pics with white stuff coming out of your ass hole please. What the hell is that anyways? KY, Lube, Cum, or some kinda white moss, fungus or mold? Whatever it is, it's fucking gross!

My Reply (with fictional comeback):
It's typically a combination of Crisco and tree fungus. If it were the red bark variety it could be used to treat malaria, but unfortunately, the white bark variety cannot even be used as fertilizer. (I understand that the Department of Energy is doing a feasibility study on the use of White Gunk coming out of butt holes as an Ethanol supplement.)

By the way, how large is your penis?

Care Bear Meets Papa Smurf

I baby play you safely
No risk to your platoon
I make you lakka wanna
And then come back full moon.

Sing to me of safety
Sing me a little song
A song of playing safely
A saran wrap nice sarong.

Your dick is wrapped quite snugly.
My tits are all a-wired
Oh give me pretty che-che
And put it on the fire

I care for you to satisfy
Your ego baby dear.
I want you feeling good 'bout me
When you find out I'm queer.

Mom and Donald - His Wedding Day

Don't sue me bro!

I didn't think I'd get a picture of Mom on my blog for mother's day. Thought I'd probably missed it by a minute. Anyway there's a lot I could say about mom. Like how she announced her pregnancy with either Kathy or Nancy. At the dinner table, on a Sunday I think. She said, "I've got good news for everybody!" She meant it too.

Like how she used to sew dresses for the girls for school and dashikis for me. I was the only white boy at Pompano Beach Senior High who wore dashikis. I think she found the pattern easy. Good thing I liked to be different. How she put dinner on the table every night is beyond my comprehension. I remember the mother/daughter dresses she and Gerri wore to the Statue of Liberty. And how she cried, "Poor little man" at grandpa's funeral. She loved him, I sometimes think, more than his son did.

Miss you mom. Oh, by the way, don't get any smart ideas, Donald. I just used this picture cause it was easy to find. I AM THE ONE WHO PUT THE GRAY IN MOM'S HAIR.

A Feast Day of No Particulars

Saturday afternoon errands were joy today because the grunt work was done in the morning. First to the optical shop to get my contacts upgraded and pick up my glasses. Ah, but I also got freebies: a pair of amethyst and a pair of blue lenses.

With this good fortune I went to Poverello, the thrift store. I found a nice coverlet for my bed for only $5.00. But I couldn’t make out the name on the tag, Blechstein? Black Stein? I unfolded it over by the mattress and found out that the secret words were bleach stain. And even for $5.00 it wasn’t gonna work.

But grace was with me now and I saw a folding fan with three scenes from the life of the Virgin. How much is this fan? “It’s only a dollar.” Can life get any better than this? They didn’t even collect the 6 cents tax.

I was just fabulous as I walked past the Alibi, glad to know that men in their 70’s still find me attractive. In I went to Ball to see the Queen of Scotland, but she wasn’t working yet. She grew up Protestant anyway and this fan was way too R.C. for her tastes.

On to that really expensive store in the corner. The first clerk told me about the obligatory sales and discounts – no kidding at these prices. The cute sales boy in the back said, "if you're going to carry a fan you have to open it up."

Needless to say he was bowled over by the images: An adoration of the Christ child in the manger, a standing Madonna and Child, and our favorite - the Blessed Virgin Mother suckling Baby J.

“My mother collects fans,” he said. “She lives in South Carolina.” Immediately, Here give this to her. If she lives in South Carolina she needs it. Tell her it came from St. Sebastian.

As I left the store I reminded him about St. Sebastian – a hunky military type, stripped naked and shot through with arrows. What’s not to like?

For more than I could ever tell you about St. Sebastian see:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Sebastian

Cut Ear Teacart Review

There are memories I have that are so old, stories I’ve heard stories so many times, home movies I’ve seen in 8 mm, video, and DVD that I don’t always know what is the true memory.

My cousin Dennis was two years younger than me and was there for some of the more freak show aspects of my life. He could tell me a story of something that happened and see it in a different way than me (like maybe he wasn’t in a blackout or something).

And I have memories of Dennis that go way back, stuff he would never remember except if he heard the story.

Like the time when we were in the hospital together. The picture in my mind is of Dennis standing in a crib and me in the same room. It is a picture in my mind, like an old black & white photo, but that photo never existed in reality.

I asked his mother, my Aunt Eleanor what the true story is. Here’s what she said:

Dennis and I were in the hospital at the same time, but not in the same room. I was in because they thought I had appendicitis. Dennis fell and cut his ear on a teacart. I was crying when my mom left and Dennis was crying when Aunt Eleanor left.

When Aunt El came back later that day to pick him up the nurse said I had been going back and forth from my room to his, visiting him throughout the day.

He was 20 months old; I was 3 and a half. Ummm, do teacarts still exist?