drive up posting/update

1. Rewrote the fookin’ test yesterday morning: cent pourcent. Woo hoo!

2. Dinner with Ian Thorpe and Grant Hackett last night. No altercations, but don’t think we’ll be pursuing them socially much anymore: I mean, phags who support John Howard are frightening. Truly.

3. Chatted with Ma last night; she won 700$ at Atlantic City last week.

4. toneyvr can’t find seats on an award ticket to come here for Xmas. Wah!

5. We’re having a puttering day--as soon as I finish my Canuck taxes. Owe some $$, but that’s fine. It buys me healthcare, civility, bilingualism, multiculturalism, This Hour has 22 Minutes....I’ll stop there. Sorry.

C’est tout.

gum de gum gum

[inspired by grizzlyjack, but totally true. Swear to gawd

I was at Notre Dame de Vapeurs one evening (the tubs, sauna, baths for those outta da loop). This fella offered an extended bout of analingus (rimming for those outta da loop), him linging me analing. Cute, pleasant enough, I was squeaky clean--pourquoi pas?

We did that, it was fun, we parted amicable, and I headed to the shower. As I was washing, uh, down there, I felt something stuck there. And very quickly realized what it was . . . chewing gum. My mind instant replayed to his greeting me, gentlying chewing. I couldn’t remember him depositing his gum in the conveniently located poubelle in my room.

Bastard. Stoopid bastard, more specifically.

So it was coming out, so I sheepishly when to the desk attendant, to quiety and discretely borrow a pair of scissors. I got about 15 seconds into my story, when the attendant interrupted me.

“Oh, you were playing with B____?” he asked? I blushed, he gave me scissors, I walked (not run) point down (not up) to my room, snipped snipped snipped, washed the scissors, dried them, and returned them.

Then phreaky B____ comes back and requests seconds. I told him what happened, he shrugged it off, and began babbling incoherently about analingus, how it’s the only thing that gets him off, how whenever he’s seen me he obsesses about my buttocks...except in less polite language. And about 100 words a minute. Showed him the hand, gave him no chance to even talk to it, and I left.

Dissed. Missed.

He would periodically approach me for a repeat, I’d tell him (again) that he was out of order, he’d ignore me. Eventually he got My Death Glare and avoided me.

And I never had sex with another man again. Well, at least not that man.