T R U T H

This will NOT be about sex. It may come out as spiritual or contemporary culture or advice to the sprockets, but not about sex. It's what happens the day after a typhoon of spine tasting and spontaneous poontangery hit the homestead. The need to write about it hits the wall of no words to describe it. All the casual observations about this one looking good and jazzing up corny pics are just background when the sensational is fully engaged and the couple with the oh so simple life is transmogrified and traverse that edge risking maybe not being around to tell about it. But that would make this about sex and it's not. There's a scene in Annie Get Your gun . . . . . . .Really? is that what's called for here? There's plenty to talk about but this level of JBFd is like voodoo and minimizes everything but that feeling goin' on inside you. It's not about sex, mind you, but day-um it's the turnbuckle on the lampcord of lasciviousness. There'd be some strutting goin' on but physically I barely made it through the workout in one piece so lounging seems the better choice. The year of LXIX - I'll refer to the day with reverence and respect.

are 11s possible? seems like the gong went off and it wasn't because the hammer landed with force. Reminds you of what happened to the Pope when he went to Mount Olive - Popeye beat the shit out him.