Let Me Rock You Tonight

Back when I was growing up in Manchester, I used to love being on the crest of my manhood. I'd strut my stuff downtown, get some action at the arcade, make some hookups with the cross country team out by the archery range, etc. It was kind of like that Rolling Stones song that says "All the daughters, all the sons, all were welcome, all would come."

What I wanted to mention was that you haven't been coming to my semi-nude pancake breakfasts on Elizabeth Street. What's the problem? Have I done something to offend you? Look, MY penis always works, it's my ass that I have troubles with.

By the way, my friend Phil Kirk makes some great art.

Now Playing: "High, High, High", Paul McCartney

Just because I like to spank you doesn't mean we're friends

Look, we all know I'm a nice and desirable guy - I have to beat off women with sticks and men with my hands every other day!

But lately things have been a little tense around the office, George's, and the Department...and I mean, Really!

Just because I have spanked, sodomized, fellated or cunnilated you does not mean we're friends!

Haven't I told you this a hundred times?

No, no...look, I hear you. Just because I sobbed in your arms last night doesn't mean that we're buddies. We were just two ships that passed in the night, or rather, a Titanic crashing into a hot hot iceberg that was melting from how hot it was.

And yes, I meant to tell you about the infection, but it slipped my mind in the heat of passion. It's not like we're pals.

I am the Master of the Clit

Look, I don't like to brag, but sometimes I have to. No one in at least the state and most certainly in Johnson County performs better cunnilingus than me. Nobody.

"What about the lesbians?" I hear you ask.

As I've said before, I have had to teach lesbians many things, amongst them proper technique of both performance and reception. It's all about technique of both performance, agility, and attitude, as well as proper receptive behavior - you know, the right, grunts, moans and "Holy Bejeesus, Roger! Master that Clit!", and other euphemisms.

Why am I not announcing myself as Clit Master of the World, or even the country? Two things. Ever since reading Erica Jong back in third grade I've had a terrible fear of flying. I was about ready to give it a try and join the Mile High Club but then September 11 happened and I was forced to redouble my efforts in motor vehicles and bathroom stalls - I've been told that my performance in the latrine of a Greyhound Bus is a very close approximation of the speed and power of a 747 water closet, and in most cases superior ("Gee Roger, that was great. I'm going to recommend you to all my friends.")

The second part is kind of related - since I can only get to Europe via a slow boat, and I've had a phobia about that since Titanic, I can't fully compare and contrast myself to the hotness and abilities of Euro Trash. So there you have it.

By the way, I am ready to put your money where my mouth is if you don't believe me. Any takers?

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Personal to "Big Red": Don't be alarmed - it's perfectly natural that your urine smells like Campbell's Chicken Noodle Soup. I would only call a doctor if it approximates Chili or Chicken Tortilla Soup (take it from me, these consistencies are no fun). Then you are most likely dealing with a potassium shortage.
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Now Playing:
"What the Hell is a Stipulation?"

The Man Date

now, granted, I may both be old-fashioned and socially progressive, but apparently they're hiring New York Times reporters from Ames or somewhere:


Anyone who finds a date with a potential romantic partner to be a minefield of unspoken rules should consider the man date, a rendezvous between two straight men that is even more socially perilous.

(Note that the article is written by a woman. I'm not complaining, just saying if I had that kind of luck several of my papers may have already been published in the few remaining feminist journals.)

((It's almost like me writing a book on cunnilingus, except that I know what I'm talking about.))

Granted also that when I am meeting my men, I usually have the crutch of several alcoholic beverages, playing cards, sporting events, television, juke-boxes, the authority of the cab or the insitution, etc., etc., but that is all beyond the point. The point is, I am a good man date, and I dare any one of you wusses to be as good a Man Date as me.

Although rumor has it that Zornig likes to visit an Art Museum or two, particularly if you leave him a plate of fresh fruit the next morning to show that he's not just a piece of meat.

Except, like me, he is just a piece of meat, one that likes to get passed around! Here's to sharing the beef jerky, boys! No carbs and high in protein...

I will fuck "the 49" and make it my bitch

Look, I suffer a lot of indignities being a taxicab driver, and usually I don't complain unless there's a body fluid involved that I'm not being paid extra for...

but, really, I must protest. Driving around the suburban neighborhoods of our fair city, i see these signs, signs which more or less look like realty signs, which advertise "the 49.blogspot.com". Notice that I am not linking to them because

1) they suck ass
2) there is nothing there
3) this is partially why they suck ass
4) umm, let's see, advertising...nothing? Yeah, I'll take some of that.

Something is lost on me somewhere, the blog has a title, that they are the 49% who didn't vote for Bush, we know that, but why advertise the utter lack of anything to say about it is not just beyond me—it's beneath me. And I'm crushing it with my weight.

Now, before I arouse myself any more, let's give them a fair shake of the analysis stick and see if we can determine if they're up to anyting positive. Hmm, let's see...they're waiting, not like a shark, but like a stone, almost about to pounce. Just wait a while, and that rock might get up and come over and say "Hi!"

Oh, and I didn't mean to complain at the beginning. I am compensated for all the indignities I'm subjected to on the job.