Okay…sing it with me now. Remember, we do this to the old Howdy Doody tune…
…and a one
…and a two
It’s mani-pedi time…it’s mani-pedi time…
Rather than subject you all to another live-tweeting of the event, I thought we’d be different this time as I offer a stream of consciousness piece that is due to empty into the river of dreams right before my train of thought crashes into them.
Besides, there is nothing like the thoughts of a six-foot Irishman kicking a petite Asian woman across the room when she tickles him accidentally.
As Mrs. Stranded keeps reminding me, it is a good thing I’m not ticklish.
Of course, mani-pedies are much more important now…Seeing as Canada now has a rock star as prime minister, we have to keep our image up…in the snow…under our parkas.
I know, I’m a sex blogger…rule 8722, line B of the sex blogging handbook states that we are not to discuss parkas unless they are scattered on the floor by our characters currently engaged in hobble-dee-gaga.
Look up the definition of hobble-dee-gaga, and trust me, it means mind blowing sex to the level that one can only drool and no longer speak after…and has nothing to do with getting a pedicure from a tiny woman who would likely be shot against the back wall as if from a cannon if I sneezed on her.
Okay, enough with the size jokes.
How about some aging jokes, instead?
Let’s start with the fact that I think I need bifocals.
Seriously…how can I be seen as a sex blogger, erotic writer, and swinger if I’m wearing bifocals? I have a hard enough time overcoming the fact I’m a frumpy middle-aged male.
Frumpy is such a lovely word, isn’t it? And although all the online definitions say it is a description of a woman, I dare say the word is not gender specific. In fact, we should use it to refer to non-evolving members of the animal kingdom as well.
*wife note…Mr Stranded is not frumpy regardless of his exaggerated claims*
Take the platypus, for example.
I can’t decide if the platypus is too slow to evolve…or too cool to. It is certainly too cool to have anyone try to humanize it in one of those silly “were” combinations. Who’s ever heard of a wereplatypus? How would it kill its prey? Whack it with its tale or quack at it.
Right. Rule 72056, line Z of the sex blogger handbook clearly states, “Never talk about the platypus.” Coincidentally, line U says I should never discuss ducks or quacking. However, earlier on it does encourage discussing beavers.
Regardless, I may be fined over these indiscretions. I’m hoping the fine includes giving a random willing participant an orgasm…I’m usually good with those fines.
The tiny woman is currently punching the bottom of my foot. It seems she has anger issues and she likes to take it out on one’s sole.
Anyhow…I think we’re done here…
As the old saying goes…nothing to see here, please move along.
I’ve missed doing these occasional rants, though…thinking I need to return to more of these.
Thanks for reading…and may your next orgasm be one that you often chase for quality…or at least one that you will recall my words assisted with.