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Tease Tuesday, Apr. 22, 2003 - Inelaborate fragments of the week that was: Wednesday, Apr. 16 Last Sunday, naked, we watched the final round of the Masters. Jer slept through most of it, on his stomach, with a chenille throw wrapped around his shoulders and torso, exposing his sweet 18-year-old ass, long shapely legs, and furry ankles. The Fiend, worried that his feet might get cold, tossed a quilt over his legs but left his bottom bare, loathe to eclipse such glory. But�furry ankles? ~ entry 214 Congrats, your journal has been accepted for review. Thank you for your application. date: 7:05 pm - Thursday, April 17, 2003 ~ Thirty-something Canadian queer male. Proud owner of a bewildered heart and a bewildering hard-on. ~ Friday, Apr. 18 A minor complaint: Someday, just once, I'd like to be googled with a buoyant hypotenuse or a lusty fiend. Why doesn't any one come here looking for the dewiest dawn? "Older woman love to give blow jobs" just doesn't do it for me. Of course, my Lenore, My Almost Wife, is an older woman. Yeah. Hell, I almost married her for her blow-jobs. That and other things. The Almost Wife was complaining that I had been neglecting her. "We never see each other any more," declared the munificently bodacious Queen of the Cowgirls*, watching with a serene but hypercritical eye as I hefted a lumpish tin-clad santos onto its pedestal. It was a satirical twenty-first century interpretation of St. James of Compostela, aka Matamoros, Killer of Moors, patron of warriors, horsemen and cockfights. It was unwieldy, gaudy, ugly, and awfully expensive. And damn heavy. Sometimes I think Lenore prices the art in her gallery by the pound. After shoving St. James into place, I turned to my former fiance and said "Hey, I'm looking at you now." For which I earned an affectionate thwack on the arm with her clipboard. Which hurt, ouch. But hey, if ya dare to trifle with an Amazon, ya gotta expect bruises. * Dale Evans dominates Google in this category, but Lenore makes it into the Top Thirty. ~ The Sensuous Immortals, 1977, Pratapaditya Pal, Los Angeles County Museum of Art Mark Rothko, 1998, Jeffrey Weiss, National Gallery of Art, Washington ~ Saturday, Apr. 19 "I make no secret of the fact that I dislike television news. I think reliance on pictures and the advent of the Action News format have done more to harm the American public's perception of the world, and of their own neighborhoods, than enhance it, because the infotainment aspect of news forces producers to impose a dramatic narrative with a beginning, middle, and end on every news item, whether it's a complicated, on-going event or not." Sooner, the Gayest Boy in Law School ~ ~ Monday, Apr. 21 The man called Josie phoned me last night. Those who know their Steely Dan will have a fuller inkling of why he is called Josie. He would also be called The Man Most Responsible For My Musical Career (even before the Producer Who Sez He Can Make Me A Star) in my Grammy acceptance speech for Best New Artist, if I had chosen to have a musical career, but I didn't. I could say the Fates chose for me, and whisked me off to prison at the tender age of nineteen, but to be honest, I declined my chance to be a teen idol. In fact, I declined it thrice. Soy un hombre muy honrado last eleven:
Sa r'ji�o oss�vel meninonceiv �o poshik m�'�nch uscantebatahla o�r musiu o�r muiko.
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