120718
06:25 rogue thoughts
Confession:
Attendance to Sex Addiction Anonymous, no shame in that, especially
now that I know friendship more better than the act; acrobatic or
not. What I neglected to mention keep it in you knickers (Brit
euphemism for under drawers) in this case I refer to knickers as in
golf pants with argyle knee socks shoes on with little pointy things
called spikes worn. Sex has become instead of a sacrament lethal to
body and soul. Best remembered the dictum no fool'in around until
after the first 100 dates not the kind you eat but the kind were you
meet and get to know each other not Biblically . . . you know that
little red book in the bedside table in the No Tell Motel: Gideon
International' Tract Rack . . . why don't they issue them with
Shagging Wagons? Like a GPS!
I know.
I know.
I too
Bitched Wined and Moaned . . . you know the superior race who wrapped
their lamps with flesh of dead Jews? For status sake referred to as
B.M.W. or to the initiated as “Break My Wallet.”
Let
your most ardent desire be congress with a partner who you can grow
old together with and still have something to converse about – not
some fantasy regarding how good it was in the good old days before
you were parents & when you can't get it up and she is desert
dry.
Tits
and Ass eventually slide downward; like my wattles wrinkles and
posterior. Best friends make the best bed partners and you can take
that anyway you want but not to the bank where they steal it from
you. . . .Bank Of America comes to mind; they take your house, your
car, your child's advanced education in another vocational school for
jobs that the Uncle Tom or should I say Uncle Romney. That child of
pot growers Mexico's cash crop. Avarice no matter how you dress it up
remains greed good for them but for us po'folk disaster &
bankruptcy.
Of
Mormons I could speak about brain washed breeding stock women held in
captivity – kiddy porn anyone? Truth is difficult to find but I
know things that not even I want to report. Nice choir though.
Reminds me upon discovery my father's Masonic Apron I said if you get
buried in that I'll pass a quart of Glenlivet Single Malt Scotch
Whiskey all over your corpse.
You see
he was in life a social alcoholic invariably @ cocktail hour he
submerged into a stupor while mother, his drinking buddy rocketed
around the ceiling allergic to the stuff not gin but scotch and
towards the end when she didn't come home she could be found @ The
Greenwich Yacht club after a coupla days unconscious. I never had a
father. He told me he found me behind a rock in the desert shat out
of a buzzard but he was my best friend ever.
May he
rest in peace God bless his soul. & dear old mom wanted me to be
her girl and she da man.
© 2012 by Jack Spratt All Rights Reserved
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