I DID IT MY WAY

well i was all set to vomit out another  hard hitt'n holiglazed masterpiece 

about my fav-o-rit top 10 inches...par doan me...i mean my fav-o-rit top 10 incentives to make it a very happy snappy hanuqwanza XXXmas fer all the single desperado's out there beat'n their meat like a prisoner in San Quinton’s solitary confinement (especially this unintentionally internationally unknown perform'n illusionist of my own universe) however...as i sat down at the keyboard at my local uptown library...the fuck'n computer rejected my password advances (apparently some fuck'n lezbitronic squirrel decided to try and eat out the internet cables and turned into a crispy critter...ALLEGEDLY!) so instead...enjoy this deliciously dirty diabetic ditty from CHUNKY PAM and s few of my past XXXplorations

this is a real addiction...confusion and cheap tattoos

a princess...a car thief and a lost shoe

loneliness...laughter...lust the promise of pain

Judas in blue jeans tell me your name

~ Boy George

there has never been a person that has resonated with me more...thru melodramatic melodies...about the hopeless art of the instant oatmeal hook-up's betta than the BOY has himself 

we...and i'm speak'n only to the non heterosexual has-beens and has-been-nots out there...all desperately yearn'n to be temporarily tingled at some point thru-out their journey on this planet...just like all those other

"unnatural types" that choose to be non homosexual...not to be confused with the "wasbians" = used to be carpet cleaners but could never fully commit to shop classes

or the "unfageluffigus's" = used to have style and savoir flair but ended up with a prolapsed ass due to one too many "mission impossibles" in their unmentionables durin' the 80's

i can recall back in my days...before that dreaded trilogy of terror...simply known as my smart phone that my dumb ass is STILL try'na figer out after 5 1/2 years of marriage...that the only means of communicado with someone to help scratch that friday nite "itch" (that you hoped didn't need a spermicidal application and a razor) was accomplished by 3 huge ways

1. BARE ASS BEACH....

located just a handful of very large red rover red rover steps away from the U of M...along the mighty Mississip..where my most preciously precocious Petrinella (and her minions) would indoctrinate me to the ways of the instantaneous gratifications under the pale moon light...(that is...if you fergot to bring yer chloroform spray with you to the bar)

this was accomplished by walk'n down a long stairway to a sandy hell in the middle of the nite...to the desolate open beach down below...like we were castaways that just got off the SS Minnow on a 30 minute tour to titillation town...

eventually we would be greeted by a plethora of unimpose'n figures emerge'n from the behind the bushes along the shore line in the still of some random hot summer nite...sadly though...it felt more like a scene that was straight outta the night of the living dead

and thanx to Peetrinella's infectious cackle echo'n amongst the seediness of the even'n...this avenue was unfortunately no longer a viable option for me to participate in future out'ins

2. BLOW JOB VALLEY...

you heard me right kittens....what is now a sprawl'n 4 story high subsidized house'n complex...that is home to many air bnb affiliates on the edge of the downtown Minne-Apple area in Loring park...was once a spacious and vacant park'n lot...

much like this anti everything human repuglicuntess fuckery

that housed many suburbian commuters by day however would turn into a circus arena of salacious sidewinders by sunset...where you would learn yer ABC's of the STD's that were readily available on any given nite...that me and many of my inept bar "friends" would participate in back in the early 90's...

corralled to the center of the park'n lot like a no-gag-reflexed cattle of cock...while the outside perimeter of perverseness would unilaterally and literally drive around us in a complete circle...single file...no more than 2-5 mph...as not to avoid any missed "purchases"...since they had no luck at the side walk sale outside the saloon...cuz this would be their last chance to get down anyone's pants...

 before they would have to head back home to their pabst blue ribbon past out on their unpaid ashley furniture...while we [the inept] waited anxiously fer the high beams to hit us from behind from some hot high roller that would flag us down and open us up like a lotus flower...though i would never be so lucky

after months of study'n the "art of the sale"...i would finally get a high beam i could call my very own...that would sadly only lead to the 1st...

10 minute feature film as a solo performer i would ever perform in...but incidentally...would be where i also successfully negotiated my 1st apartment deal on my very own in the uptown area 10 years later...

and sometimes...fer a lil extra street cred (*wink*wink*)...you (insert ME here) would be summoned by a "famous" heavy hitter on some seedy saturday nite in '94 that wanted you to "hit them" into next week...before they would have to take that long uncomfortable walk down that forced aisle of misery

BUTT...wait there's more

3. PHONE LINES...

i've always had an over active imagination when it came to plausible pleasures...but i always kept my expectations exceptionally low...so they'd be alot easier to attain that way...cuz i knew i would end up in pictures...

i just wasn't expect'n this was how it would all come to be...but i learned how to turn a tragic embarrassment into an animalistic ambush...the mo's went ape shit when i used my mug shot on gofuckyerself.com or somethin' like that...fer a short period of time

of course...i blame it on Jeff Stryker flicks and shows like OZ that made all those horny toads think'n they've hit the jack-off jackpot with a real life felon...and who was i to disappoint their twisted fantasy...but before the world of visual stimulation's were at my finger tips...

i would spend endless hours fall'n asleep on the free side of the phone lines with my over active imagination work'n in over drive...just to find that perfect mistake that i would eventually regret 10 minutes later (Peetrinella tried to curb my "addicktion" once...too many times...to no avail of course)

 cuz i was hooked like Steve Erwin to a stingray
(hey...hush the fuck up...more than enough time has passed!)

on any given day or nite...the typical gentleman caller genital wart...who was between the ages of 25 and dirt...6ft tall or above...with bushels of brunette follicles as thick as the amazon forest strategically placed thru-out their sculpted body...that consisted of 180 pds of pure 100% grade A chemically enhanced beef...enclosed in a 48 inch chest and a 32 inch waist...with enough italian sausage to wreck yer windpipe...

regrettably...reality would eventually set in when we met up...and just my luck...it rarely ever panned out the way i was expect'n it to...99 times outta 100 it was usually somethin' i personally would'a never ordered off the menu (if we had had today's technological advances back then)...only cuz they always ended up invert'n the numbers...and use'n the metric system where it mattered the most

so one particular restless early morn'n nite that i can recall...i met some casual caller (who i hoped was accurately describe'n themselves from the pre-approved menu fer a change) that was just a stone's throw away from my back yard (that is....if i was a hungarian shot putter) so i decided to meet him half way...why not!

and once again...my over active imagination waves were way outta sync...but instead of ridicule'n his very existence and turn'n back home alone...which was a perfectly shallow...yet viable...option i...like many others in my position...have used many a times before...

i just didn't wanna end up as some damn moo juice model in yer kids cafeteria

so i decided to look fer an easy exit stragedy...but most regrettably & very tragically (FER ME) when i invited him into my shitbox...ummm...i mean my quaint lil shitbox...i heard a sudden thud on my entrance floor as he...

turned to shut my front door...i couldn't believe it...his left sleeve went limp on me as he turned back around...well that's cuz HIS FUCK'N LEFT ARM FELL OFF...SERIOUSLY!...and this was not just any old hand...like i know yer think'n lincoln...NO...this was a hook hand!...A HOOK HAND!...i nervously waited fer his response before i would give my constrained retort..."oh...did i ferget to tell you that i had a prosthetic arm?"...hmmmm?...i hesitated fer just a mere moment before i could come up with the only non judgmental serial killer response..."yea...sorry sailor...but i've already done my charitable act fer the year...plus...i don't want you to be late to yer peter pan rehearsal" 

see you in salutations...now GET OFF MY DRESS!