SO, WHERE'S THE WIERDEST PLACE YOU'VE EVER HAD SEX?

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POT HOLDERS AND POTATO MASHERS...

OK, so yet another country has legalized gay marriage.  Unfortunately it is France.  Do NOT get me started on France.  Or, as I like to say it, "france".   Anyway...

Gay marriage.  I am not a supporter of it.  Oh, hell, fucking NO!!!

Let me rant for a paragraph or two.  Legalized gay marriage can only lead to one thing:  legalized gay divorce.  That puts it in a court room.  With lawyers.  And a judge.  And an audience.  Think about it.  It's not going to be pretty.

I have been through three gay breakups.   Each one got progressively more toxic.  Breakup number three was frighteningly venomous.  It actually got down to pot holders and a potato masher.  In the middle of the living room.  In front of a dear friend.  Who eventually was forced to separate us.  I felt so sorry for her.  We were her first gay breakup.  We put her so deer-in-headlights it hurt!!!   She finally grabbed the potato masher and all of the pot holders that she wanted, said "these motherfuckers are MINE", tossed what was left of the blue ones to me, the red ones to the shithead and shouted "holy fuck, you two queens are a royal pain in the ass!!!!" and then stormed out of the door.   Yeah, can you see that one in a court room???   That would end up in cattle prods and straight jackets in about half a nano-second.  I am a firm believer in just walking up to the soon to ex-partner and saying "I break with thee, I break with thee, I break with thee" and throwing some of his cat's poop on his shoe.  Done deal.  Relationship over.  Cut and dry.  And free.  I like free.

Why do we gay folks get so hyped up about marriage?   Why do we want to model our relationships around a model that does not work?  55 percent of straight marriages end within 5 years.  That is not something I want to aspire to.  Strangely, this is why god gave us lawyers.  I have a love/hate kind of relationship with lawyers.  As Shakespeare said, "Oh, just kill all those bastards"  but in all honesty they do come in handy once in awhile.  Yes, I have done a lawyer or two in my time.  And at least one Rabbi.  But I digress...

It's not that I'm against gay marriage.  It's just that I see no real reason for it.  Sea Squirt and I spent about two hours in an oak paneled room with a really wonderful lesbian lawyer, put pen to paper a number of times and pretty much got "married" .  We legally merged.  We did the powers of attorney thing.  We did the executor thing.  We did our wills.   In the eye of the law we are better than married.  We have FUCKING LEGAL DOCUMENTS!!!  And we can change them in a heartbeat.  With just another swipe of the pen.  Yeah, I want to see you straight folks try to do that and not lose at least half of what you own...


I have loved wholeheartedly.  Yet I have consistently divorced like a ravenous hyena.  Oh sweet jesus, I can get really fucking ugly.  Don't even get me started on the pot holders and the potato masher.  Yes, there is someone out there reading this right now who knows what I'm talking about.  She was there.  Oh, god, girl, I SO apologize for that afternoon...   You did the right thing.  You physically separated us.  Somehow...

What lawyer in their right fucking mind could possibly be paid enough money to want to take this kind of shit into a court room???  Can you imagine me in front of a judge in a divorce proceeding???   A GAY divorce proceeding???   C'mon, you know me.  The bailiff  would have me in hand cuffs in seconds.  The judge would be holding me in contempt within nano-seconds.  You do NOT want so see a gay divorce in court!!!  Trust me on this one.

Sea Squirt is a damn nice snuggle under the sheets late at night but I am fully aware that I am capable of de-shelling him like a crawdad if push came to shove.  Especially if I am lawyered up.   Yeah, this is exactly what you don't need in a court room.

Just give me some damned cat poop and lets get on with our lives...

60...

60.  Oh, my.  I don't know what to do with this one.  60.  Yeah, I'm quickly careening into the big Six-Ouch.  60.  Oh, just fuck me.  I'm starting to feel like Barbara Cartland.  Without the perks...  Or the satin...  Or the nightly turn-down with a chocolate on my pillow...

60.  It's the new 59 from what I'm being  told..  60.  I remember my grandparents being this age.  Lord they were old...  So was their car.  It was a Plymouth.  A four-door Belvedere.  It was swimming pool blue.  Inside and out.  Yes, I am old enough to remember such abominations.  It was a truly weird colored world back then...

60.  Hmmmm...  60???  Yeah, 60.  Hmmmm...

OK, I've done me some stuff.  Went some places.  Tasted WAY too many strange things.  Fucked a lot of strangers from just about every timezone and latitude.  Hell, I once picked up a guy from Ireland in a gay bar in Mexico.  OK, I  did the same thing in Australia but at least his wife was out of town visiting family.  I think it was in Canberra.  Who knows???  The shower heads were nice as I recall...  I sort of remember a hot little stud puppy named Cal from New Zealand.  I think I shagged him a couple of times in Sydney.  No, wait, that was Robin.  We shared a meat pie.  And then we shagged.  In Sydney.   I'm sure I shagged Cal a couple of times in Sydney but I don't remember sharing a meat pie with him.  Just about everything else though...  Kind of.  Well, sort of.  Actually, it's just a blur to me now............  Can you say self medicated soft focus???

OK, so this 60 thing...

FUCK ME TO TEARS!!!

In what's left of my mind, I am 18.  My head still thinks it has a full covering of hair.  LMFAO!!!  My knees and ankles still think they do not make noise when I attempt to use them.  They are wrong.  Don't even talk to me about my fingers!!!  Yes, I am considering employing a "helping hand" to facilitate my serial masturbatory "needs".  Oh, just bugger off!!!  Just because you're 60 it doesn't mean you don't get horned up anymore!!!

60.  You would think by this time I would have settled down.  Calmed.  Been euthanized.  Something...  Anything...  A dart gun...  Where are Marlin Perkins and Jim Fowler when you need them???  What can I say, a rhino dart is like mother's milk to me!!!  Sort of takes the edge off of things...  I wish it came in an inhaler.  Or a patch.  Maybe a subcutaneous time-release kind of thing...  Epi-pen???

60.  I do not fear you.  I am homo, hear me giggle.  Disregard that my dimples are where my nipples used to be.  And that my nipples now occasionally get caught in my belt..  (I used to suffer from dishpan nipple until I switched to new Ultra-Dawn.  It has conditioners, don't you know.)   Gravity.   It just sucks ass!!!  You would think that the centrifugal force from the Earth spinning would lift things up, but no, gravity over rules it and I puddle like a failed souffle.  At 22 I was almost 5' 11''.  I am now barely 5' 8".   I now use a step stool.  To get the ice cubes out of the freezer.  I now refer to the things on the top shelves in my kitchen cupboards as the nose-bleed section.  I can still see them but I just can't get to them anymore.  Oh, well...

60.  In quiet desperation  I count the upsides.  Discounts for the "Early Bird Special".  Dedicated "Senior Citizen Parking".  The ability to talk about adult diapers in a crowded elevator.  Not having to care that my pants are down around my ankles while I am in the dollar store.  And that I have somehow forgot to put my underwear on...  Fuck you, I'm almost 60, I get to do what I want now!!!  I am your grandmother.  On the brown acid.  Two tabs of it.  With a tequila chaser.  Or two.  Or three...

I will embrace this madness.  I have earned it.  I have paid for it with the better part of my sanity and most of my ability to retain urine until I am in a proper place to dispose of it.  I shall wear purple and a red hat that does not suit me.  No, wait, I do that now...  Oh, shit, what do I have left for shock value???  Ink?  Exotic piercings?  (EWW!!!)  Adopting conjoined twins from Malawi?  How about just having it lopped off and changing my name to Peggy?  Trust me, I will NOT go silently into that great weirdness of my "Golden Years".

60.  I shall start to grow a pony tail.  With my back hair...

I'm not sure if I'm ready for this.  The count down is officially started.  In 90 days I turn 60.  SIXTY???

oh, fuck me...  And fasten your seat belts.

LADIES AND GENTELMEN, MR. HAVENS HAS LEFT THE BUILDING...

OMg, Richie Havens was amazing.   The right voice, the right thoughts, the right place at the right time.   America was knee-deep in shit and desperate to hear something true.

Today America lost a musical icon.  And a political icon.  A man of incredible insight into just how "human" we can be.  Or can't be.

He had a voice like sand paper.  Fine sand paper.  INCREDIBLY FINE SANDPAPER!!!   He couldn't play more than four chords to save his life.  But when you put a bass player, a lead guitarist and conga drum behind him that stage just fucking kicked ass!!! 

He helped define part of my generations social and political views through his music and his actions.   No one sang "Here Comes The Sun" the way he did.  Not even George Harrison and he's the one who wrote it. 
Richie Havens had me tapping my fingers on the steering wheel late at night more times than I can remember.

You, my dear sweet man, were an American I was truly proud of.

You were the opening act at Woodstock.  And you opened it with "Here Comes The Sun".  'nough said...

Travel safe.

SIX THOUSANDS POUNDS OF GUACAMOLE???

Mexico, I salute you!!!   Now,  I know that Vallarta can run through that much quac in less than 24 hours but they don't make all of that in one place.  A town called Tancitaro decided to take up the challenge.  420 noble citizens got together and decided to get into the Guinness Book of Records with the worlds largest guacamole.   They did it.

Lord, I just love Mexico!!!   Those folks got some fire in them.  Some spunk.  And apparently enough time and energy on theirs hands after a 6-day, 60-hour work week to tackle making 3 tons of guacamole.  Hell, I burp and I'm ready for a nap.

OK, so picture this.  110 people dicing tomatoes.  110 people dicing onions.  110 people coring avocados.  50 people cutting and squeezing lemons.  And 40 people stirring this thing up.  With boat oars.  In what looked like the largest horse trough in the known universe.  While it sat on a truck scale so they could weigh it.  With all of them gowned, masked and hair netted so they could legally sell it later.  One hour and 40 minutes later a new world record had been established.  420 people???  An hour and 40 minutes???  Boat oars???  (Sorry, I have a "thing" for boat oars...).   6 THOUSAND POUNDS OF GUAC???   I am SO futhermucking impressed!!!

It seems that the town of Tancitaro bills itself as the avocado "Capitol of the World".  They have more than 55,000 acres of avocado plantations around them.  55,000 acres of avocados???  HOLY SHIT, THAT'S LOT OF AVOCADOS!!!  55,000 acres???

I am going to move there.  OK, where's the tortilla chips???

WHY DO I DO THIS KIND OF SHIT???

OK, picture this.  It's July of 1971.  I have just graduated from high school and I am happily back-packing my way across Europe.  Let me tell you, it was Hospice Hell!!!

So one day I regain consciousness and I find myself laying naked on a balcony in Greece.  The island of Santorini to be exact. To this day I don't have a damned clue how I got there!!!  But I quickly realized that I was crusty.  And sort of stuck to the tiles.  Which, BTW, were lovely.  Oh shit.  Realization finally set in.  Yes, I had been whoring  my way around the Aegean. Oh, and this surprises you how???

Once I had finally managed to pry myself off of the tiles and hose myself down I decided to go to brunch.  Aah, yes...  "brunch" in Greece.  Oh, lord...  Twenty minutes later I am surrounded at a table by a bunch of loonies from Harvard. Harvard???  Trust me, this young queen was WAY out of his league!!!  A couple of minutes, half a bottle of wine and the better part of a pack of cigarettes later I am letting a woman with the biggest tits I had ever seen up to that date order my entree.   It was pronounced something like "2*%#@HH7$$()())%:{[{]]||*8".  Of course I say, "Sure, what the hell...".


Ten minutes and the rest of the first bottle of wine later, brunch  arrives.   OMg!!!   I had no idea that what she had said meant "really, REALLY lightly sauteed LIVE octopus".  IT WAS STILL FUCKING MOVING!!!   Badly, but still FUCKING MOVING!!!  FMTT!!!!  HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!   So, I'm looking at this thing.  Oh, my...  I actually had a plate full of live octopus with 3rd degree burns in front of me.  Yeah, I went a bit deer in headlights at that...  Little Miss Harvard gives me that "look" and asks what's wrong.  What's wrong???   BITCH, THIS THING AIN'T DEAD YET!!!  IT'S STILL FREAKING MOBILE!!!  Hell, at one point it tried to grab my wine glass.

OK, I'm a bit perplexed as what to do next.  I was starting to get a bit "green" if you know what I mean.  And then little Miss Harvard reaches over, jams a fork into this thing and starts hacking off tentacles!!!  Oh, shit on a shingle!!!  Not only is she cutting my meat for me, but my meat is not at all happy about it.  Oh, lord, not happy at all.  The next thing I know we have tentacles working their way across the table in all directions and I have one in my lap doing things I just don't want done in my lap  Of course, I let out the gayest dog-gamned shriek you can imagine.  And this was back when I thought I was straight.  Oh, just stop laughing...

Well, I'm pretty much "put off my food" immediately.   Then she does the unthinkable.  She cuts off the end of one tentacle and starts to eat it.  It was still moving.  I damn near hurled.  Then she cuts off another slice and sticks it into my mouth.  It was still moving.  Next thing I know I feel a couple of suckers clamp down on my tongue.  OH FUTHERMUCKING gOD!!!  I hurled. Oh, my, did I hurl.  Apparently octopus are immune to puke because the damned thing stayed tightly secured to my tongue.  And sort of massaging it, in an octopus kind of way.  I hurled again.  Trust me, you just don't want anything hugging your tongue.

Half an hour later I'm down at the shore, on all fours, gagging.  But I had somehow managed to get that damned thing off of my tongue.  It lay there in the sand.  Still kind of convulsing.  I hurled again.  Just to cover it up...

I learned a valuable lesson that day:  if it ain't got a foreskin on it you better think twice about putting it in your mouth!!!



 

WHEN ESCALATORS GO BAD...

DATELINE:  Seattle, WA.

Some one please go check Charles Darwin's tomb, there must be noise coming out of it right now.  Laughter to be exact...

Only in America...   Some idiot in Seattle got caught up by his clothing on an escalator at the downtown Greyhound bus terminal and was actually strangled to death by his own shirt.   Yes, I am laughing my ass off at the moment.   In the name of god, dude, how fucking stupid were you???   This is the first time I have ever heard of escalator poisoning.  Apparently this idiot lost his footing at the bottom of the down escalator and got caught up in the stairs and damned near got drug into the grate as the stairs go under.   How the hell do you get strangled by your own shirt???   It's fabric.  The stairs should have just shredded that thing off of you.

So, this guy is at the bottom of the escalator, being strangled by a moving set of stairs.  People are behind him.  They had to step over him at the bottom.  Yeah, that must have been pretty...   Did no one think to just tear the shirt off of this idiot???   Oh, wait, I forgot, Greyhound bus station.   Usually not the brightest Crayons in the box at those places.

EMT's were called to no avail.   Then they discover that the guy was WILDLY drunk and had an open bottle of brandy on him.  Again, Greyhound bus station.  Security cameras showed him staggering around the terminal prior to the accident.  They also show him literally launching himself down the escalator.   Hell, he probably didn't even know he was on the damned escalator.   Dude you were killed by your own clothing!!!

Mr. Darwin, if you're listening...  We have a winner on our hands!!!

I HAVE BEEN WARNING YOU STRAIGHT GUYS FOR YEARS!!!

But did you listen?  NO!!!  And now one of your kind has paid the consequences.  Yes, there is a dead straight guy in Belarus due to a savage beaver attack.  ?????  WTF!!!

Sorry, I had to pause there for moment.  I was laughing hysterically.

Yes, a savage beaver attack.  From what I have read so far I haven't quite figured out if the beaver was savage  (a savage beaver???) or if just the attack was savage.  At any rate.  Have you heard about this yet?  It's just too bizarre for me to make up even if I tried.

Some idiot in Belarus goes out fishing with friends and decides to take a picture of a beaver.  OK, I'm curious, why do you straight guys like taking pictures of beavers???  And why do you go fishing with a camera???  Anywho, the beaver was apparently not cooperative.  Yes, the beaver got surly.  Nothing is more frightening than a surly beaver.  The beaver went into fight or flight mode and laid a big old load of wup-ass on this guy.  He's dead.  Yes, he died of beaver poisoning.  This dude just happened to fuck with the beaver that bites back.  I wouldn't fight with anything that bites back.  Let alone a beaver.

I have known a few beavers in my life.  Some were shaved.  Some were natural.  Some were, well...  just beavers.  Yes, beavers.  In my own way, I salute them because without beavers we would no longer have young and upcoming homos.  And lord knows, without young and upcoming homos the world would be without window treatments.  I even have a few pictures of some beavers.  But I have never taken a picture of one myself.  Why the hell would I do that???  So I can put it on the mantel and have friends say "Shit, that's a good picture of you and Santa and the beaver!".  Oh, hell no!!!  I have as much use for a beaver as a bowling ball has for nipples.

So, this idiot in Belarus get attacked by an angry beaver.

Sorry, another pause there due to laughing....

Dude, now badly did you piss off this beaver???  Why would a straight guy piss off a beaver???  I mean, think about it...  At any rate, the beaver charges.  And apparently damned near severed this guys leg.  Yep, bit him so deep that it severed his femoral artery and this guy bled to death before his friends could even start to help him.  Beavers are dangerous.  Yes, they are furry.  Yes, they are wet.  And lord knows you straight guys love a furry wet beaver.  But, I mean c'mon, stop taking pictures of the damned things!!!!  Trust me, go to Google.   There are more pictures of beavers on the internet that you can shake your stick at.  Hell, I find them by accident.  Or by pop up windows.  Jesus christ, I'm gay and I'm up to my THREE tits in beavers!!!

This poor idiot was besieged by a beaver.  (Sorry, I''m laughing again...)  Attacked by a beaver.  (Sorry, I'm still laughing...)  Bitten by a beaver.  Laid siege to by a beaver.  (Good lord, can you imagine a beaver with a trebuchet???  What the fuck would a beaver toss over the walls???)   Dude, you were taken down by a beaver.  (Sorry, laughing again...)  Dude, what the fuck did you do to that beaver!!!

When are you straight guys going to learn that you just don't piss a beaver off???  Beavers are mean.
They can (and will) hurt you.  A beaver is NOT a pretty mistress.

Dude, you were killed by a beaver.  (Sorry, still laughing...)   A beaver???   Dude...  (Still laughing.)  You were taken down by a beaver???  A BEAVER?!?  Dude, you're not just pathetic, you're a standing ovation of idiocy!!!   You were mowed down by a beaver.  And lord knows, you straight guys just love you some mowed beaver.

I am going to nominate you for a "Darwin Award".  You deserve it.  You have earned it.  You were an idiot!!!

I have normally shied away from beavers.  Yes, they are kind of cute.  But they are beavers.  I am gay.  WAY gay.  WAY too gay for beavers.  What have you straight guys got going on with beavers???  Why do you feel the need to fill a photo album full of beavers???  My photo albums are full of pictures from Australia.  Hong Kong.  Korea.  Mexico.  Egypt.  Trust me, pretty much everything but a beaver.

Beavers are dangerous.  Beavers bite back.   And you don't even have to bite them first.  They just bite back out of instinct.  Do not fuck with a beaver!!!  A beaver will indeed hurt you!!!

Dude, you are dead.  The beaver is still building damns.  Yeah, you lose...

Yeah, I'm laughing my ass off...

OH CRAP!!! ANNETTE HAS LEFT THE BUILDING!!!

Damn!!!  Shit!!!  FUCK ME TO TEARS THREE WAYS FROM TUESDAY!!!  Annette Funicello has actually left the building.  Forever.  Oh, just fuck me...

I'm so shocked right now it hurts.  She was my "older woman:".  I was 5.  She was almost 15.  She had mouse ears.  And tits.  She was the only Mouseketeer  with tits.  Oh, just fuck me.  I can't believe she's actually gone...

Annette.  OMg...  She was America.  She was my youth.  Which, BTW, is long gone.  She was the only girl in the beach movies who wore a one piece bathing suit.  She was too classy to wear a bikini.  She was Annette.  And her hair was perfect.

Damn it.  Damn it!!!  DAMN IT!!!

She was the 50's.  She was the 60's.  She was the Pineapple Princess.  She was peanut butter.  She was Disney.  She was Annette.  Oh, crap, how can you be gone???

I was in love with her.  Hell, who wasn't???  She was Annette.  Her and Bobbie Rydell defined an era.  Of sun and sand and surfboards.  And aerosol hairspray.  Shit, you're gone...

My dear sweet woman, you were a class act that was called away too soon.  You made me laugh.  You made me sing.  You made me wiggle my toes in the sand.  You made me buy Skippy peanut butter.  Oh, hell, I'll admit it, I actually went as you one Halloween when I was in college.  Lord, I love me a pleated skirt and some mouse ears!!!  Yeah, that should have been my first red flag...

Right now I have one of the biggest holes in my heart that I have ever had.  And it's got your name written all over it.  How can you possibly be gone???

Tonight there are mouse ears ballet-dancing on the stars...

 M.  O.  U.  S.  E.........

AHH, TERABYTES...

Not to be confused with trailorbites, chiggerbites or moskweetoes.

As you all know by now, I am a porn whore.  I started out with glossy magazines.  Then I went to 8 mm silent loops.  I worked in a porn store when I was in college.  I was in heaven.  Then came video tape.  I loved my VCR.  It had "pause".  At one point I had 5 VCR's.  All hooked up together.  Copyright laws mean NOTHING to me!!!  I bought VHS tape by the case.  Then came DVD's.  Again, heaven.  Then I got a computer.  Need I say more?  Al Gore, I LOVE YOU!!!

I have worn computers to a frazzle with porn.  Hell, I had to put my first computer into detox.  It drank like a chimney and smoked like a fish.  When I finally got it back out of the Betty Ford Clinic I started downloading peters into it immediately.  It just giggled and rolled its eyes.  Yes, I am an enabler...

I am happily leading my new computer down a path of ruin.  It's the biggest computer I have ever porned on.
Let's just say that this bad boy has some serious ass Gigs for daddy to work with.  Keep in mind I was slogging away on an 11 year old coal fired Mac laptop until about a month ago.  This little puppy is like a HAL-9000!!!  I am taking it down some of the darkest alley's I have never been able to access until now.  I didn't know heaven had a second floor...

Well, of course, I start gobbling up memory like crazy.  JPG's.  WMV.  Quicktime.  FLV's.  AVI's.  MPG's.  My god, a plethora of initials was suddenly at my disposal.  Even better, at my demand.  Nothing makes me hotter than to hit the "save as" command key.  I have managed to bring this computer to a total grinding halt on more than one occasion.  OK, I was downloading some stuff.  OK, I was downloading about 8 porn files at once.  And sending an email.  And doing some Googling.  While I was gambling on line.  And playing with PhotoShop.  Hey, what can I say, I'm a born multi-tasker.  At any rate, I finally realize that my poor computer has so many peckers pointed at it that it just doesn't know which way to turn its head.  And yes, I can sympathize with that one.  Been there.  Done that.  Got the t-shirt.

Enter my next great technological epiphany.  The Flash Disk.  Yes, I have raved about these things before.  Get over it, it's my Blog.  Anywho, you all know that I love these things.  Well, things have changed a bit.  I have gone from a warm and loving relationship into twisted, co-dependent addiction.  I buy those things bulk now.  I've worked my way up from 16 gigs to 32 gigs.  32 gigs was the only I way I could think of putting the "edge" back on it, if you know what I mean...  What started out as a happy walk in the park has somehow degraded into a back alley lap dance with a rolled up newspaper.  Flash Disk, you are a wicked Mistress!!!

I now have an old mayonnaise jar FULL of Flash Disks sitting next to my monitor..  For easy access, don't you know.  They are numbered.  They are cataloged on a cheat sheet.  They are categorized by genre, performer or studio within the Trash Disk itself.  OMg, I have a Dewey Decimal System for my porn.  I am so freaking anal!!!  All of them are full. Totally maxed out.  Completely full of peckers.  Again, I can sympathize...

So, Sea Squirt is looking over my shoulder the other morning and sees the mayonnaise jar.  "What the hell is that?!?" he queries.  "What?", I respond, first cup of coffee still in my hand.  "Uh, those!!!", finger pointed.  "Oh, those are mine.".   Yeah, I think REAL fast on my feet at 7:15 AM.  So he picks it up and he looks at it.  I love it when he does that, but I digress...  By this time I am starting to get that "look".  I knew I was in trouble.  I exercised my only option.  I decided to lie my fucking ass off.  Yep, I put on the turn signal because I was definitely going to be taking the smoke and mirrors exit on this one.

"Umm, oh, those?  I found them."

"Oh, those are for the children."

"Those are just my research.  I'm writing a thesis.  I'm sure I told you about that.  Didn't I?  Really???"

"Those are just Gummi Bears, honey."

"Oh, I thought those were yours."

"I don't see anything."

In two words:  LEAD BALLOON.  OK, so I'm busted.  I'm over it.  But Sea Squirt did get me curious.  Just how many peckers have I got packed in that jar???   Can they still breathe???  Should I poke a couple of holes in the lid???  So, I dump them all out on the desk and grab the calculator.  Then I start plugging them all into the remote docking station and going through them.  And crunching the numbers.  OMg!!!  OMg!!!  That damned mayonnaise jar had 6 gigs shy of a quarter of a terabyte of peckers in it!!!  Holy shit!!!  That's enough peckers to reach to the moon if you put them all end to end.  I have enough peckers to do a tight-rope act to the moon with.  And they all fit in a mayonnaise jar.  On my desk.  I LOVE TECHNOLOGY!!!   Who would have ever thought that if you just made it smaller you could pack more peckers into it???  I know, it just doesn't make any sense but I'm liking it on paper.

Terabytes.  I love them.  I want a terabyte of peckers!!!  Yes, I am sitting here, rubbing the inside of my elbow and considering ramping it up a notch and going for the 64 gig ones.  Wicked, wicked Mistress!!!

Terabyte.  MAKE ME YOUR BITCH!!!

LACTOSE INTOLERANCE.

I just cannot imagine that.  Allergic to milk?  Milk eventually transforms into ice cream.  Of varied flavors.  All of which, I love.  And lots of stuff in between.  Again, all of which I love.  Allergic to milk?  Dude, that has to suck ass big time!!!  Yet, on the other hand, I used to suffer from this.  I just don't remember it.  I was only 9 months old.

I was a breast fed baby.  Which was unfortunate since I was lactose intolerant.  Yes, I was actually allergic to my mother.  At the ripe old age of 9 months I was in surgery for a double hernia from convulsing and screaming.  Yes, my parents let this madness go on for 9 months.  What were they thinking???  Anyway, I suddenly became a formula baby.  It was new back then.  Sort of like the Smartphone of nutrition.  My word, I was cutting edge at 9 months old.

Yet, from my earliest memories, I've always been a milk junkie.  In all of it's wondrous forms.  OMg!!!  I really was just allergic to my mother.  That answers SO many questions.

At the age of 13 my latent lactose puberty gene kicked in and my life was transformed.  I started consuming milk like a new born calf.  I discovered cheese.  OMg!!!  Cheese!!!  Oh, wonderful cheese!!!  I could smell a dairy across the next time zone.  I drank milk by the gallon.  Hell, I wanted to "dock" with a cow!!!  What can I say, I put cheese on cheese.  And then I deep fry it.  After I beer batter it...

Yes, I am a lactose whore.  Anytime.  Anywhere.  Oh, hell, just flip me over and slip it up my backside.  Oh, yeah, put a 5 pound brick of extra sharp brie up my pooper and I'm happy.  OK, tmi...



I have done things with cheese that would scare you.  Actually, I have done things without cheese that would scare you.  Don't ask...

I am old.  And yes, I look like morel.  I blame my great-grandmother for that.  Paternal side.  What can I say???

Again, what can I say....