Abs, and obsession

I spent some time this afternoon in IM.

Well, before that, I spent some time with the FloorMate making my kitchen safe for democracy. I also vacuumed and cleaned my bathroom for use by some as-yet-unknown hygiene-centric woman.

But after that, I talked to Heather in IM. She told me about her New Year's, which was odd but encouraging and involved no men over the age of eight.

She is very, very hopeful about her year. In so being, she has made me more hopeful about my own.

Goddamn, sometimes I can craft a short paragraph.

STOP!

Go back and look at that motherfucker. Step back. Revel i its spare perfection. Look at its neutral gentility. Call your old fourth-grade teacher and read it to her. Listen to her cry.

Goddamn, I can write.

And women don't give a shit. They only care about the dimensions of my cock and whether I have good muscle definition in my abs.

My cock is just fine, thanks, and my abs are more than strong enough to lift attractive middle-aged women onto it.

Volunteers are encouraged to apply.

Kiss me once, and kiss me twice, and kiss me once again, it's been a long, long time...