Strengthen That Relationship

Hello everyone,

I believe in omens. And I am not alone. One of my dear blog friends does too, and mentioned her omen (a rainbow that lasted for many miles) in her latest post. The only reason I don't mention her by name, is because some of you delinquents will go out of your way to piss on her rainbow in a sadistic attempt to make the colors run.

But enough about people who aren't me. Just a short while ago, I sat down at a coworker's desk to browse for porn on her computer (it's where I'm writing this post), and it was there that I spotted my omen.

It's a reminder, in the form of a bookmark, that I need to work on my relationship. It's entitled: "Don't Let Stress Bust Your Relationship", and it has 9-bulleted tips for taking the wind from your shorts and putting it back in your sails.

You're asking me, will my love grow? I don't know.

How did the fine folks at www.zimmy.com know that stress was making my relationship its bitch? Well, no matter. It's a bookmark, not a woman, so I'll dutifully listen to it and heed its advice.

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1) Take a deep breath and count to ten before speaking

One ... two ... three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... eight ... nine ... ten. There. Ten good reasons why I need to kill you right this instant. Wait. Did I just say that out loud?


2) Focus on your partner's positive traits

I like the way you leave each morning to go to work. Sure, I hate you at first. But after awhile the anger dissipates somewhat. I like how your absence makes the heart grow fonder. Oh, not my heart. But somebody's heart, I'm sure. I like how you have the same number of limbs that I do, making those countless hours as a youth in front of a full-length mirror practice time well spent. I like how you just know when to stop speaking and move on to snoring.


3) Recall a happy memory the two of you have shared

Remember when your mom passed away and left us all of that money? Remember when that chubby kid with the Prince Valiant haircut tripped and fell on the midway, smooshing his chocolate ice cream perfectly into his face? Remember those crisp fall mornings when we woke up to find that George W. Bush had been elected and then re-elected?


4) Reserve time for each other by trimming your to-do list

Trimming your hoo-ha has been on both of our "to-do" lists. So be there. Friday, 7PM. Informal attire. Blackhead removal gun: optional.


5) Find something that makes you both laugh

Honey, let's go see CrashTestComic's act. Oh wait, it has to make us LAUGH. Nevermind. I'm sure we'll think of something.


6) Do something nice for your partner to show you care

Jim Morrison once took a ring from a groupie that he just had his way with, and gave it to his girlfriend. Though admittedly it's not a Hallmark moment, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.


7) Ask thoughtful questions about your partner's day

"So, how was the parking?" "Do they still have that vending machine on the 3rd floor?" "Are there any women at work that you consider to be more attractive than you?" "How many calories did you burn?"


8) Spend some time alone caring for your needs

Let's see. I'm low on hand lotion, so I'll need to swing by Walgreen's. Hmmmm, The Golden Girls comes on at 4. And then Katie Couric starts to weave her magic at 5. Then a quick sauna at the YMCA. That should do it.


9) Tell your partner that you love them, and why

Um, I love you. Why? Because if you love something, set it free. I saw a black-light poster like that once, from the hippy era. So you are free to go, my love. No, wait. Don't go. I just remembered that I haven't had my dinner yet.

***

Okay, you slackers. It's your turn. Love doesn't have to be a battlefield. It can be a beautiful field with manicured grass, fragrant flowers, and granite markers arranged in elegantly precise formations.

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Hot Christian Sex

Puerileuwaite just KNEW that you perverts would be drawn in with a title like that.

Hot Christian Sex
by A. Paul DeMasses
Special to High & Holy Times Magazine

SOMEWHERE IN THE GREAT SOUTHWEST — About 100 evangelical Christian couples stand in the convention hall of the Two Points Horizontally Parallel Sheraton, bow their heads and thank God for their lives and the new day. Then they sing the old-timey hymn “There’s Not a Friend Like the Lowly Jesus.”

Just then, a protester shouts, "Assholes! Not a friend? And who are YOU to refer to Jesus as "lowly"? Pricks! But I forgive you.". He then disappears under a wave of kicks and punches.

I have come here expecting exactly this scene. The occasion is a seminar called “Love, Sex and Marriage: Mutually Exclusive No Longer,” being given by Jethro BoDean Puerileuwaite, a Southern preacher out of the old school, a self-described “book-chapter-and-verse guy,” who runs an outfit based in Atlanta, Georgia, called Family Dynamic Tension.

So I’m anticipating condemnation of American culture — especially America’s sexual culture — that has made conservative Christians feel dorky and distrusted.

But then Puerileuwaite, a sleek and sexy tower of power dressed in khaki slacks, a "Show Me Your Tithes ... and Your Tits!" t-shirt and Doc Martens that make him look like a retired punk rocker, shimmy-shakes to the front of the room and proceeds to tell the men in the audience how monogamy is not just another word for monotony.

Welcome to the world of hot Christian love. Sex for salvation. A new approach where Jesus doesn't have to be the only one coming.

The message is simple: Married Christians ought to be having more — and hotter — sex. With EACH OTHER, no less.

You could be forgiven for thinking “conservative Christian” and “hot sex” are oxymoronic. The missionary position has a real history, after all, as the logical progression from kneeled praying for sex to actually having it. But Puerileuwaite is part of a burgeoning trend among evangelicals to bring sex out of the shadows, making it available to everyone for a nominal donation.

"For years, Christian publishing would not publish on sex," says Ima Vixen, a Christian sex therapist with the Sex & Ministry (S&M) Group based in Des Moines, Iowa. "If they did, it was so heavily edited nothing of value was left. Now, more and more pastors are preaching about it on Sunday, resulting in filled pews, though you still do not see classes in semenaries. We are seeking to do that."

Vixen thinks preachers like Puerileuwaite have seen — and even "felt themselves" — the impact of the sexual revolution, and realize the church has been left behind as a source of sexual information. Apparently, for some bizarre reason, people do not view the church as the obvious definitive source. Carnival knowledge, yes. Carnal knowledge, no.

“Sex is supposed to be a sacred subject when money is not directly involved in the negotiations," Ms. Vixen says. “The church generally prefers not to talk about it, since it currently is not a source of revenue. But that has several impacts. It keeps it shrouded in ignorance (resulting in dumbshits attempting to use rubberbands as condoms) and the implication is that since you are not talking about it, it’s bad (even though sex can be good when it's bad, although bad sex is usually not good). It also results in them learning about sex on the street, at work, and on blogs.”.

Puerileuwaite sees this attitude every day. Women tell him: “I feel like I am sinning when I make love to my husband.” To which he replies, "I've seen your husband. You're safe. It's charity. But demonstrate on me what you do, so that through my divine wisdom I can determine if it's sinful.". He then goes on to whisper, "Perhaps if you do it this way ...", and has them repeat the act with church-sanctioned modifications.

“They want help,” he tells the assembled crowd at the Sheraton. At least a score of heads bob up from laps in recognition. “It’s hard,” he continues, "but we must be equally rigid in our approach to relieving the problem.". He then proclaims, “sex is the most wonderful gift God ever gave Christians.” "However, installing Larry Flint, Hugh Hefner and Bob Guccione as it's official representatives was his "suckiest" gift.".

Purileuwaite, who is studying for a Sexology Ph.D. from Rancho Mustang Institute in Nevada, is all about shining the light into parked cars and closed minds. He and a few others like him have concluded that conservative Christians can cope with America’s hypersexualized culture by being given permission to "pluck much of its fruit". Another benefit would be the "infusion" of Christian morality into mainstream Americans.

The information he dispenses at 75-cents a pop as a cruel unexpected substitute for condoms, is a mix of scriptural interpretation and mainstream sexology. He does not speak in euphemisms or metaphors and his plain spokeness makes a few listeners squirm, at first. But Pueriluwaite is also part entertainer with a patter that is almost vaudevillian in its timing: “Why are women multiorgasmic and men not? Because I don't sleep with men! ... What’s the difference between a woman with PMS and a Doberman? Dobermans don't try to bite as you f*ck 'em! Thank you! CrashTestComic and I will be here all week.”.

The humor and the brazen talk, coming from a man who is not only one of them, but a leader who rubs penises with James Dobson and Jerry Falwell, gives them permission to relax and hear his message.

It’s a simple one: Sex is good. Sex is great. Sex means you don't have to masturbate! It deepens relationships. It strengthens business associations. It makes it more enjoyable to be at work. It makes waits at the Department of Motor Vehicles less frustrating and tedious. It ensures a steady stream of quality people to populate Mother Earth. It gives Rev-Ree new posts for her blog.

There are rules many in the secular world reject. You have to be married. You have to be heterosexual. You have to wear pants in public. Other prohibitions include no sex with animals (not even if it tends to dramatically increase zoo attendance), no incest, no lust for people other than your spouse (especially you heathen bloggers reading this post), no adultery (but hell, if this is the ONLY way some of you can approximate "adult" behavior, he'll make an exception) and no porn or prostitution.

He argues that if the Bible does not forbid it, you can do it. So bring on masturbation! Try any position in the Kama Sutra. But refer to drawings, please, not pictures of real people, unless you already have some. And if you do, could you send him some?

Better yet, purchase his special bed from an earlier "Bed For Sale" post. Wife away on business? Have phone sex. Better yet, have it WITH YOUR WIFE! Birth control is good. Even anal sex is OK if it works as your "bar pickup line". Annual sex is also acceptable, though worthy of pity and self-loathing.

If you are a married Christian, not only can you do all this, but you should be doing it. So get busy, do the nasty, and turn yourselves into PROcreators.

“Our church has tried to be more open about sex, and to be more real about it,” Marsha (The Wad) Wadsworth, a member of the Brooklyn church and, along with her husband, Greg, one of the organizers of today’s sessions, tells me half-way through Puerileuwaite’s lecture. “There are lots of hang-ups ingrained on you every day: only 2-people per bed, no ceiling mounted appliances, no suffocation for pleasure, and no food items to be used in the bed chamber.". Bastards.

That’s very clear after Puerileuwaite takes a break, giving time for attendees to fill out question cards. They’re supposed to be free to ask anything that’s been on their minds. But when he returns, he flips through the cards and sees that they've all drawn Kama Sutra stills in sequence that create a mini-movie of a most reprehensible act featuring Puerileuwaite himself.

Everybody cracks up yet again. He begins reading from another set of cards: Is mutual masturbation OK? "Yes, but Mutual of Omaha is not, you sick f*cks."

Which sex toys are good, and can we use them at all? “The best ones are those you can accidently leave out in plain site, and no one is the wiser. If asked, calmly state, "Oh, that's a drink mixer. Here, hand me your cocktail and I'll show you how it works. (Inserts it into the glass, and momentarily turns it on.) See? A PERFECTLY mixed drink.".

What can you do if your wife is having trouble reaching orgasm? “Try having sex doggy-style and simultaneously masturbating. If that doesn't work, ask her lover what he (or she) does to get her motor runnin', and headin' for the highway.".

He offers another suggestion: “You’ve heard of the proverbial 69?” Someone in the audience naively asks, "Wasn't that the Tokyo mafia gang from "Kill Bill"?" At that point Puerileuwaite realizes he has his work cut out for him. For while his congregation does not yet know how to properly suck, their comprehension skills obviously are a "head" of them in this department.

Now morally unburdened, the attendees are eager to get home. The explicitness causes some jaws to drop, but not because people are offended. They're gettin' ready to do the holy hibbity jibbity.

“What is new for me is not that kind of talk,” Wadsworth says. The church has had some sexual conversations before, but only via Instant Messenger and Blog Chat Holes.".
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Holy Shit

If you give the Pope enough rope, so the saying goes.
By quoting a 14th-century Christian emperor on an ‘evil and inhuman’ Islam, Puerileuwaite I ignited a global storm. What was he thinking?

By "Scoop" Pyles
Newsweak

Sept. 25, 2006 issue - The setting was familiar, the occasion, the speaker thought, fitting. At three in the afternoon last Tuesday, after a quick ride from lunch in the PopePimpSnizMobile, Puerileuwaite I began a lecture in the Vulva Magnifico of the University of Himmler Learning in Germany.

Puerileuwaite said early in an address on faith and reason, that he was in favor of the first thing, but staunchly opposed to the second. Citing an off-color joke about a 14th-century Christian Byzantine emperor and an Islamic Persian involving a horny jackal, Puerileuwaite I quoted Manuel II in a III part joke with IV separate punchlines: “Show me just what Mohammed brought that was new, and I'll show you a mountain. No, no, wait. I told it wrong. Mohammed was brought to the mountain. Yes, I'm fairly certain that was it.”

Within days Puerileuwaite had the globe engaged in a “lively exchange of nuclear proportions,” but it was not, one suspects, the exchange the pope had in mind. The Pakistani parliament voted to condemn him; the leading Shiite cleric in Lebanon asked for a personal apology. Puerileuwaite in his response referred to his detractors as "Fudge Pakistanis", and that he couldn't "stani" those "Good for Shiites". For emphasis, he made a sign of the cross with his middle digit.

He then scurried inside the Vatican and concealed himself under a gathering of nuns.

The pope’s intentions in discussing “holy war” were presumably good — he approvingly quoted an early Qu’ranic “surah” (chapter), which says “there is no compensation in religion” — just like crime, it doesn't pay.

Sadly, though, he clumsily and obliquely exacerbated tensions between Christianity and Islam by consuming a burrito and loudly expelling gas during his visit to a nearby mosque. The episode marked the first widely noted breaking of wind in a purely religious context, and he managed to project an air of ecumenicism while holding in deeper fundamentals.

He was later quoted as saying that "irrational violence is displeasing to God". To which his companions responded, "How does God feel about rational violence? Is he only mildly irritated by that?".

“We must seek paths of reconciliation and learn to live with respect for each other’s wacky belief structures. And by the way, I have never spoke before such a pleasant smelling assembly” he told a Muslim audience in Cologne last year.

The pope must have known his words would carry, as he had just finished listening to "Voices Carry" by "Til Tuesday" on his iPod. Puerileuwaite seemed to be denouncing Islam while failing to acknowledge that any religion, including his own, can be manipulated and perverted to evil ends. Bake sales were cited as but one example.

Two years before he became pope, Puerileuwaite published a book with Madonna (no relation to Jesus' mother) entitled “Truth or Dare,” in which he wrote that all faiths can be tested by playing this game at parties.

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By Special Request: Whole Lotta Led

Hi all,

Apparently I'm not posting frequently enough for some of you Internet-vultures. Why, just this morning, Jmeped sniped:

***

"Geez, I thought I was M.I.A. you live here and the posts are sparse. Do you need inspiration? Here I'll give you some topics; my new found love for Led Zeppelin, how your so in awe of my beauty, your fetish for live stock, and side show acts, Paris Hilton and all other celebutaunts, Global warming, the war in Iraq, and how one can survive on ice cream alone. Last but not least famous movie quotes from several movies that make up one new Pug production. By the way, I think you're incredibly sexy, and I want to pump out your babies like sugar peas from a pod".

***

Okay, Miss PERFECT!!! The same person, by the way, who DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING on her blog for hours upon hours, a couple of days ago. But I can't fault Jmeped's logic; or lack thereof. For all I know, she may have "accidentally" ingested a Peyote Button or hallucinogenic mushroom at that flower shop. Perhaps she surrendered to the temptation of the 99-cent "Don't ask what it is, or else you'll have to pay $1 more" tinfoil-wrapped botulism special. So in the interest of seeking to understand the other degenerate's point of view, I'll cut her some slack. And I'll also watch "Little Shop of Horrors" this weekend in my quest for enlightenment on her situation.

Psychedelic Mushrooms

Peyote Button

So here goes, a post dedicated to addressing at least one of the topics that my deer (get it?) Jmeped suggested.



But first off, let me say that I do NOT "LIVE" here. My blog and all of yours are nothing more than slightly urine soaked cardboard refrigerator boxes, conveniently strewn along the streets, underpasses and alleys along my daily route from morning's hope to late evening's despair. Momentary respites from sunlight and reality. So let's get that straight. I do have a life! I simply choose not to remove the plastic covers and taint it with grape juice spills, mysterious odors, bodily fluids, and wear and tear from constant use.

Example of a Cardboard Box

And no, I certainly don't need inspiration. I can live without it, thank you very much. But hey, if you're offering, then fine. I'll accept your topics with the same false gratitude that parents display when their kids bring home those hideous popsicle stick and macaroni noodle "creations" from school.


How do they pull it off? Do they rationalize that these "works of art" may someday serve utilitarian roles as emergency tongue depressors and macaroni dinners* (*If only the infamous Donner Party had the option of boiling their children's school projects into nourishing meals!)? Perhaps this is a reality parents everywhere are forced to accept as karmic punishment for breeding. One can only hope.

Your first suggested topic was Led Zeppelin. One of my favorite bands of all time. And Jmeped, anytime you're ready, I would love to recreate with you the "Fish/Groupie/Hotel Room" legend that is part of their mystique.

But I got to thinking that some of their songs make me wonder: What The F*ck?! In fact, here's a suggestion for posts that any one of you can write. Pick a song that makes you wonder: WTF?!, and write about WHY it does that to you. Here, let me do a few Zep tunes.


WTF?! 001 > "Baby, I'm Gonna Leave You"

What were these numb nuts thinking? You NEVER NEVER EVER tell a woman you're gonna leave her before you do it. Fools! Then they wonder why all of their shit is out in the front yard when they get home. Neighbors picking through it, dogs pissing on it. The better strategy of course is ... and I shouldn't write this for at least TWO reasons. One, you guys out there should already know this. Two, we don't want the women to know, as it defeats the purpose. Okay, I'm in a good mood today, so I'll tell you. Two words: Fake abduction. It's clean. It evokes sympathy instead of rage. And it's fun. The note writing is the best part. Here is an example.

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Dear Pug's Girl,

We regret to inform you that we have kidnapped your Pug. Do not contact the police. We demand the entire contents of your bank accounts, along with all of his personal items, including electronics and associated media. You are to carefully wrap and place everything into a U-Haul trailer which you will then drive to the parking lot of the Gentlemen's Club on Mississippi Blvd. Leave the U-Haul at the rear of the lot, with the key tucked under the driver's seat. Then return home and wait for further instructions.

Warm regards,
The Mighty Terrorist Network*
(* A Mighty Dyckerson Subsidiary)

***

Then you dig up a cadaver, place it in the back of the emptied U-Haul, and burn everything beyond recognition.

Example of a U-Haul Truck


WTF?! 002 > "Over The Hills And Far Away"

The first problem I have with this song is the title. If something is over the hills, it's ALREADY far away, dumbass. And WTF were they thinking when they wrote: "you've got the love I need ... maybe, more than enough"? A surplus of love is a bad thing. It's like having way too much toilet paper in the house. If you've got boxes of Cottonelle stacked in various rooms, you better make damn sure your fire insurance is paid up. It's also like having way too many carbohydrates in your system, only way more sinister. All of the extra love has to go somewhere. And sure as shit, it becomes obsession, jealousy and eventually: hate. Love is optional anyway, so a deficit is okay, as long as you're gettin' "some". So consider yourself warned, and beware of those "more than enough" psychos.


Okay, let's do one more.


WTF?! 003 > "D'Yer Mak'er"

Surprisingly, I don't have an issue with the song's title. For those of you who don't already know, it's a cute play on words. Properly pronounced, it approximates the word "Jamaica". You can always spot a Zep newbie, because he/she will inevitably say "Die-er-Make-er", which is laughably incorrect and fodder for intense ridicule.

My problem with this tune is the way that it repeatedly reassures: "Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, you don't have to go". WTF?! Any self-respecting dude knows better than to encourage the female to stay. Unless he's in the remedial class, and still is trying to get her to do the "horizontal bop". So please indulge me, as I attempt to rework these lyrics to more accurately reflect reality.

"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, I'm done with you, you know"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, so I think it's time you go"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, didn't know you were so slow"
"Oh oh oh oh, oh oh, I think your car is being towed"

So there you have it; my inaugural attempt at playing music critic. And a damned fine post topic that anyone can do anytime. I was finally able to add pictures, so I hope you enjoyed the additional flair. Have a great weekend, everybody!
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Health Care Plans

A wealthy hospital benefactor was being shown around the hospital when, during her tour, she passed a room where a male patient was masturbating furiously.

Oh my GOD!" screamed the woman, "That's disgraceful! Why is he doing that?"

The doctor who was leading the tour calmly explained, "I am very sorry that you were exposed to that, but this man has a serious condition where his testicles rapidly fill with semen, and if he doesn't do that at least 5 times a day, he'll be in extreme pain and his testicles could easily rupture".

"Oh well, in that case, I guess it's ok." commented the woman.

In the very next room, a male patient was lying in bed, and it was obvious that a hot young female nurse was performing oral sex on him. Again, the woman screamed, "Oh my GOD! How can THAT be justified?".

Again the doctor spoke very calmly, "Same illness, better health care plan."



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A Nature Story To Inspire

In 1986, Mkele Mbembe was on holiday in Kenya after graduating from college. On a hike through the bush, he came across a young bull elephant standing with one leg raised in the air.

The elephant seemed distressed so Mbembe approached it very carefully. He got down on one knee and inspected the elephant's foot, and found a large thorn deeply embedded in it.

As carefully and as gently as he could, Mbembe worked the thorn out with his hunting knife, after which the elephant gingerly put down its foot. The elephant turned to face the man and with a rather stern look on its face, stared at him. For several tense moments Mbembe stood frozen, thinking of nothing else but being trampled. Eventually the elephant trumpeted loudly, turned and walked away.




Mbembe never forgot that elephant or the events of that day. Twenty years later he was walking through a zoo with his teenaged son. As they approached the elephant enclosure, one of the creatures turned and walked over to near where Mbembe and his son Tapu were standing. The large bull elephant stared at Mbembe and lifted its front foot off the
ground, then put it down. The elephant did that several times then trumpeted loudly, all the while staring at the man.

Remembering the encounter in 1986, Mbembe couldn't help wondering if this was the same elephant. Mbembe summoned up his courage, climbed over the railing and made his way into the enclosure. He walked right up to the elephant and stared back in wonder. Suddenly the elephant trumpeted again, wrapped its trunk around one of the man's legs and swung him wildly back and forth along the railing, killing him.

Probably wasn't the same elephant.

My Confession

Hello everyone,

Be careful what you ask for. Here is an excruciatingly long and equally tedious post, chock full of crap that I've written on autopilot. So enjoy!

Though I was delighted by the wild explosion of comments for my last post, I was a little disappointed that some of my blogging friends haven't stopped by to leave a comment. That's okay though. I realize that sometimes people get overwhelmed with their own lives, and that I can - and unfortunately do - slip out of the top-3 on your priority lists. I recently nudged a tad closer to the darker/bluer side of blogging, and this "change in course' may no longer be in alignment with some of your tastes. That's okay too.

You see, I knew as early as my second post (The Great Bowling Analogy) that I would have to take risks with my blog. Ones that might alienate and lose readers, yet hopefully capture new audience members, ultimately helping my overall circle of blog buddies to grow. What can I say? I'm a whore! It's much more gratifying to post for dozens of lurkers than for a handful. Ditto for commenters. So even though I miss those of you who no longer comment or choose to visit, I've got to be me. As disgusting as that sounds.

And while I'm on my soapbox, it's no fun to consistently comment on other blogs just to not to have those bloggers reciprocate. It's even less gratifying to have one's comments consistently go unacknowledged. So unless a blogger is just doing it for a gaggle of friends, and is uninterested in meeting new people, he or she should take heed.

I'd been considering a separate blog (or even two more) in order to segregate my posts according to content. But I came to realize that I have my hands full with this blog, and maintaining another blog just to hang onto 4 or 5 viewers is not a luxury time-wise that I can afford. So for the present, this is it.

Then I sold my soul to this Clown. What can I say? With "Jughead Goober Cokehead Mo-Fo" still in the White House, it remains a "Buyer's Market" for souls.


I am now a proud(?) affiliate of his Mighty Blog Network. Apparently among other perks I'm entitled to any virgins remaining in heaven after the rest have been allocated to Al Queda nutjobs.

But there is a problem. I have a deep dark secret. One that will eventually defy any of my futile attempts to conceal it. A secret SO heinous, so sinister, and so reprehensible, that even THIS man would recoil in disgust and refuse to discuss it on camera.


So I am therefore doomed to a fate of never being featured in any of his shows. No "American Justice" or "Cold Case Files" for me. Not even as a victim. For if Bill Kurtis were to even utter my name, the resultant self-loathing would prevent him from ever smiling again. This was his reaction when only the first 2-syllables of my name were mentioned.

So what is this horrible secret? Was it my narcotics-induced fling with Courtney Love? A relationship so twisted and bizarre, perhaps, that it was I who was considered the more pyschotic one?


No, it was much worse than that.

Was it that I fell in with another* (* I mean BESIDES my current crew of commenters) bad crowd? One that still held a candle for Charlie Manson and also one that sadistically assigned Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme to be my life partner?


No, unfortunately it didn't have that glorious, spiritual edge to it. My crime was way more revolting.

Well then, what could it be? Did I become involved with one of these shady ladies of ill-repute?


Even though I do have many "Chicken Foot' tattoos winding their way throughout my barnyard of a body (which, so I've heard, Rev-Ree is into), no, it's not that either.

"Well Puerileuwaite, you recently mentioned being voted "Creepiest Trenchcoat Guy" by "Bad Touch" magazine. Have you been consorting with this guy?"


No. I haven't seen him since our last matinee in Florida together. By the way, if he offers you popcorn, but insists on keeping the bucket stationary on his lap, consider that a big, red flag.

Is my deep, dark secret that I arranged play dates or sleepovers for Jacko?


No. So you can just "Beat It" with this crackpot theory.

Was it my clandestine trips to Boulder, Colorado and Thailand with John Mark Carr, alleged slayer of JonBenet, and possible illegitimate son of the actor who plays Eric's dad on "That 70's Show"?


No. Although I DO recommend seeing Thailand. It's very affordable and the temples are absolutely stunning. Plus you can buy Lotto tickets RIGHT IN THE BAR.

"Oh! I know! You married your 13-year old cousin."


Though my talent and boyish yet still rebellious good looks have often been compared with Jerry Lee Lewis, the answer is no. It's not that either. Although the Girl Scouts never come to my door anymore to sell me cookies, for some reason.

"Okay, was it you who killed JFK?"


Although I HAVE been named by Oliver Stone as a possible member of the alleged conspiracy, no. You're way off.

"Is it that you know: not only did John Wilkes Booth escape, but he was in fact, your Great-Grandfather?"


Lay off the Lincoln Logs, pal. Although the resemblance is uncanny, I do own a Ford, and have been to the theatre, there is no truth to this persistent rumor.

Well, am I a souless serial killer, slaughtering teenagers as a form of symbolic punishment for underage fornication and negligent babysitting?


Unfortunately, no. But what a tremendous service to the community I would be providing if this were the case.

Was I an accomplice to this monster's awful path of destruction? Or - even worse - a blog buddy to his pen-pal CrashTest Comic?


While CrashTestComic is a member of my blogging circle - a reality that I am both grateful for, and embarrassed about - this is not my (most) traumatic secret. At least, not the one this post is about.

"Okay! Enough already! Puerileuwaite, if we all take an oath that we couldn't possibly: think less of your character; be more disgusted by your existence, or continue to curse your name on an hourly basis - will you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS DECENT tell us your horrible secret?!?!"

Okay, I can't go on prolonging the inevitable. Hate me if you must. Ditch me if that's what you need to do. Just go then. Don't look back. You see, my deep, dark secret is that I finally watched ALL of the "Harry Potter" movies. And, get this: I ENJOYED them. There! I said it. I feel like dirt. And yet, I don't mind, entirely. Actually I kinda like it.

So what if this means that I must now lurk in the shadows? Hiding during daylight hours. Venturing out only after midnight. Throw stones if you must. But first consider that you too have questionable tastes. You can lie to me, but you can't run from the truth. Perhaps you enjoyed the original "Star Trek" a wee bit too much. Maybe you fantasized about Frodo from "Lord of the Rings". Is it possible that you identified a tad too closely with Gollum? Quick: name 10-Star Wars characters. I bet every one of you nerdy S.O.B.'s can do it. And some of you with your O.C.D. wouldn't stop at 10. You sicken me.









So there. I feel better already. Oh, and I'm gay.

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