Billy Elliot...what a fag

If I had a vagina I would place it on top of my right shoulder like an epaulette.

I would hide it under my shirt and whisper to it through my collar every day. I would tell it motivational things, things to boost its spirits because a vagina can get very down in the mouth.

"You're not a cunt," I would tell her.

"You're not stinky," I would say.

You are well trimmed and very moist and you haven't had a yeast infection for several months. You're the most triangular vagina I have ever seen and your clitoris is exceptionally well formed.

I'm sure my coworker would ask me who I was talking to. I'd tell her right to her ugly face, "Fuck you, Snoopy--go back to your stupid life."

If anyone patted my shoulder in a show of good will my vagina would bite off the hand that patted. No one pats my vagina. No one.

Culture for you, culture for me, culture for her and then we go pee

Well, bad news. My youngest son wants to take ballet classes. I'm not a homophobe or anything, it's just that ballet is so gay, you know?

So I did some soul searching. Really deep down, some several inches from the bottom of my sooty soul and then I realized something.

Lynn Swann of the Steelers took ballet. Won Superbowls, is now a tv color man...or I think he is...he mostly is the guy on the sidelines who says about six words a game...I'm not really sure what his actual role is, but he's made it, baby! What's more...he took ballet lessons.

I read somewhere...sometime...that he attributed ballet to his super-style catches.

Man, Lynn Swann. That fag could play.

Stories from my basement

So there I was...in the laundry room doing laundry when a shirt comes down the laundry shoot and hits me squarely in the face.

This shirt was a man's shirt and totally unknown to me. I wear a medium...this was a large. My shirts all have my logo on the chest..this one had one of those bumper flap women who are naked and silhouetted with their knees up in the air.

Then it hit me. My wife is having an affair and she's also making me do his laundry. Ugh. This was really too much. I work, I clean...I well, I work and I clean and that's quite a bit, and now this.

I really considered going up to her and confronting her on the issue. Maybe even going "a few rounds" with her new gent. Then I remembered the shirt was a large and I sorely hate to have my ass kicked.

Then it hit me...again. I quickly loaded a red load and threw the white t-shirt into the mix. Not to stop there I turned it from the traditional cold...to hot. That's right. Hot.

I smiled at the thought of her boyfriend wearing this new...shrunken pink shirt. His belly poking out a little, him..slowly turning gay.

Then I really sat down and thought about marriage. It's pretty cool, but don't mess with the person who does laundry--they can turn you gay.

Time for the Groping

If I were the janitor at a public swimming pool I would spend most of the time standing in the shade, leaning on my broom and just watching the babes.

Every so often as I saw a babe go into the rest room I would accidentally stumble in and wander around for a bit...then shuffle out mumbling my apologies.

The chicks would start to call me, Stumble-in-Sam.

I'd watch them as they sat poolside...smoking their cigarettes...every pull a notice that they wanted to suck my dick.

Women send signals that way. I used to be ignorant of that fact, then I wised up.

Women especially like to give blow jobs to jaintors in bathroom stalls...at least I think that's true. I hope it's true. I'm pretty sure it's true. That's kind of the plan, anyway.

I'd also pretend I was blind and walk around...hands out in a groping for wall stance...looking really for boobs.

But I won't do this. Women aren't stupid. You can fool them with stumbling around, but not groping. That crosses a line, my friend.

Well, well, whale

Well, I've been reading about evolution the last few days. Interesting stuff. Apparently we're all ex-monkeys. Who knew?

I'm allowed to read about evolution because I'm a non-traditional Christian. By that I mean that I don't believe in Jesus or God but I do believe that when I die I'll go to heaven.

I think all of my old pets will also be in heaven and they'll greet me as I cross over. I think they will also forget about the times I had to shock them with the shock collar for barking too much. Who wants that memory in heaven? Not me. Not them, either.

So I guess whales evolved to land...then back to water. Stupid whales. It makes me laugh when I eat them. I think to myself...I probly wouldn't eat you if you hadn't evolved back to the water. Especially the sperm whales. I love me sperm whale salad.

More fun with fruit and veggies

Well, more e-mail in. This time from the lovely Min who sends us new, fun pictures to peruse and ponder upon. Beware...those among us who have weak stomachs for phallic foods and vaginal plants may wish to look elsewhere for entertainment. This is not for the weak of heart or timorous spirit. Not here. Not today.

Feel free to click the pics for a close-up. I shrunk them down because I'm pissed that IE munges my border. Use Firefox, darlings. You'll thank me.

Why is it that the only carrots I grow turn out like this? I think the most disturbing part of the picture is the dangling...spermy thing that seems to be leaking out MANHOOD.




If I had a vagina topiary it would surely look something like this. I suspect I would groom mine a bit better...this one's a bit shaggy.




When I die, bury me at penis rock. Please.




Let me translate the Mexican that's in this picture. My secondary job is translator for a local hospital. It says...something like...Hey, look at my big wang, Gringo. Gringo seems to mean darling, or cherished one. Not really positive on that one.




This one is almost...alluring...almost seductive. If not for the giant tree dong going into the hidden giant tree vagina I would have cried a small tear. Instead, I got an erection. Erection > tears.




If I were a tree, I'd look like this one. I'd bite you if you got close to me, though. Unless you were coming to suck my tree dick. I'd know.




Finally, my favorite. This one is the best one...both from the vulgarity factor and the "I'd sure as hell hit that if I came across it in the wild" factor. Is it me, or is that thing calling to Ho? Ho....oh, Ho...come nurture my roots with your seed.

Flowers for you?

If I were a serial rapist, I would be the kind that first started out sending a dozen rozes to my victims. I would compose two verses for the card, the first would be:

roses are red
violets are blue
i'll have you
before the week is through.

The first will be for my mind, the second will be for the card and it will read:

roses are red
violets are blue
after dinner and a movie
i might just love you.

After delivery I would make the call. My voice would shake from nerves because even serial rapists get nervous. I would ask her out and she would accept, of course. Who doesn't like roses and shitty little poems?

We would have the best time. Bowling and dinner and a movie. I would spend like I had more money than Napoleon Bonaparte, though I would not mention money once.

We would go back to her place...because I live in a crate under the freeway...and we would make sweet love.

I'd fall in love, as would she and we would be married for life. It's hard to be married for live, you try it.

I think I would somehow later gain control of the English language and redefine serial to cereal because boy...i do love granola.

Dedicated to that guy who made one movie ever. It was a pretty good movie.

What many of you don't know about me is that my real first name is Juan, not Blog. My real last name is Ho, though. Juan Ho.

I'm also 3000 years old. That surprises most people, and I try to keep it kinda quiet because people always ask me what it was like to go to a Beatles concert and I get kind of tired of answering that question again and again. But we're all friends, so I'll admit my age to you.

Another thing is that I'm a Highlander. Like in that movie. Highlander. The first one. Not the shitty next one where they said we're aliens. We're not. But there are several of us left. We procreate a lot because we're all either very hot (like me) or we have our head stapled on with safety pins (like Chief and AB).

I used to really mix it up with the other Highanders. I'd get close and I'd feel "The Quickening." I'd whip out my sword and lop off their heads with a giant Spanish battle cry....El Rar!

There was this one time...this one guy...well known for a Highlander. Very good chopper of heads. Well, we were facing off and I smiled at him and said..a wise man told me once this prophesy..I hate to tell you this because it will make you feel bad about yourself, but here goes: There can be only Juan. And my name's Juan.

I gave him a smug smile. The smuggest of smiles. A sly wink. Twisted my pointy mustache. Another sly wink...and the tiniest...El Rar from the corner of my mouth.

"The real saying is There can be only ONE, dipshit. One, not Juan. Damn you're stupid."

He had me there. I am stupid. What could I do?

Well, I got the hell out of there, let me tell you. He still chases me, that guy, but Juan can run when he wants to. Fast.

Domestic Virtue

If I had a maid I would clean the house to a state of perfection before she arrived.

I would greet her at the door with the greatest of hugs and a warm, "How have you been?"

I would usher her to the coziest chair in the house and get her a nice cup of tea and we would sit around and chit-chat all day long.

I would fix her lunch and we would take a long afternoon nap to sleep off the food.

When five approached I would tell her I have a marvellous time and that I looked forward to her next visit.

After she left I would call her boss and complain that all she did was sat on my couch all day and gossip and eat my food and drink my finest tea. I'd demand that she be fired and to send a new maid next week.

Sometimes people really try to take advantage of my kindness.

The talk with the kids

"Retards are funny," said my youngest son.

"Yes," I said. "Retards really are funny creatures. Do you have any retards in your school?"

"We do. They're called resource children, though," said my oldest son.

"That's French for retard. Re...well, re is the same in both languages, English and French. In the word retard or resource..re means the same thing--just re. Source in French means tard. It's stupid, but you know how the French are."

"Dad, why do we make such fun of retards?"

"God hates them, son. We're doing His work."

"How do you know God hates them?"

"Were they born retards?"

"Yeah."

"There you go. Hates them," I said.

"Hey," I said. "You know what the word France means in German?"

"Retard?"

"I love you kids."

Cow love

I have 2 small admissions. One: I have never unloaded ejaculate onto someone's face. Well, once on my own but that was because of the force of my ejaculation powers. STRONGEST EJACULATOR IN THE WORLD.

I once suggested that we try that move with my wife once and she suggested, "why don't you go fuck yourself."

She accented the word yourself. I was going to enquire what the hell she meant by that, but I know which battles to fight and when to back off.

Two: I always thought cows were stupid. I used to drive by cows...of which there are plenty in the midwest and say, "I'll eat you next, cunt."

Recently I saw something on television to convince me otherwise. Cows ...apparently... shoot gallons of semen through their many pronged penis. Gallons and gallons. Kilos to you outsiders. Kilos and kilos. Kilogallon I think is the correct term.

Bonus idea two? They go through this giant cock pull every day. Some farmers have machines that suck the semen out. Gallons and gallons.

Finally...I saw a picture this morning where a cat was begging for a squirt of semen...right into her mouth. I assume it was a her, anyway. Begging for a spray!

Oh, those Hindus...bonus admission number 3: I always thought all those Hindus were pretty stupid. And they are, but stick with me here for a minute...they were right about cows. Go figure.

Dogs and Squirrels

Yesterday was gorgeous. I was in the park trying to catch squirrels for my fetish chamber when I noticed something. There was this dog broadcasting into outer-space to...what I can only assume to be...the dog star.

He was sitting there looking at the same squirrel I was...a squirrel who fiendishly would not come down to play despite my missives.

I'm used to competing with the dogs in the park, but this dog was different. This dog had a satellite dish on his head.

I was going to tackle him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing..but dogs have sharp teeth, so I thought I'd just warn you instead.

Tree Reaction

There were notable reactions to the tree post, notable in that they were terrible and made me cringe and in that spirit I bring them to you. Let's start off mild...shall we? These were brought to us today by both Chief and Tim and the letter C.

If you're unmoved by any of this...and I wouldn't blame you one bit if you were both unmoved, disgusted and..downright angry...demanding money back..carrying torches to burn my house down..then you can check out the unauthorized biogoraphy of my life.

It's mostly false, of course. My life had much more sex involved and it's really too well written to fully capture the badness of my writing and art..but it's worth a laugh. One small laugh. The sperm part is true, though. It's found here.

This looks like a good ole' fashioned gang bang folks!



This one...I just stare at and wonder. I mean on one level..he's really taking care of business..on another level..he's fucking a tree.


This one just makes me giggle. I'm not sure why.


This one reminds me of both Hermie and the Hermaphrodite pron I watched as a young man. I still pour hot coffee in my eyes over that one. I mean...I dig a good androgynous ass fuck as much as your next guy...really...well, not really.


This one...this one reminds me of home and apple pie and deep plunges in the hot, hot springs buried neck deep in moist wet.



Goana Pie

If I were the last ostrich alive in the world the first thing I would do is stop looking for an ostrich date. I mean come on...an ostrich can't fly. How can you get laid if you're a flightless bird? Sure I could kick things. I could probly outkick a kangaroo, but I wouldn't fuck her. No way. Pouches are just gross.

I'd probly spend a lot of time drinking and picking fights in bars...looking for Crocodile Dundee so that I could take my extinct rage out on him.

"What do you think now, Dundee? You've eaten your last Goana, bitch! RAR!"

Then I'd get another idea. Emus. Of course. They're flightless and totally hot. Plus they're very skanky. Why didn't I think of this before? Everyone knows the emu is the slut of the flightless bird kingdom. First emu, then chicken, then Non-Girlfriend and finally...that duck who had an arrow in its wing. Stupid duck.

I would raise a 1/2 ostrich, 1/2 emu army. I'd call my children...oemus. Shit. Too many vowels.

I'd sneak up on people and look docile. They'd say...Oh, look...an ostrich...I'd like to pet it. Then I'd put my head down as if I wanted to be petted...then YOINK! Talon to the groin!

When I cleared Australia I'd move to New Zeland. Then Asia. Then...THE WHOLE WORLD.

Well...Hello

Earlier I heard a terrible ruccous outside of my house, there was screetching and scratching on my walls, it sounded like a herd of elephants were scratching their asses on my shingles.

I jumped up and ran outside and then I saw her. A female tree, naked, exposing her cunt...just standing there and looking at me.



Either there was no wind in sight, or this tree dug me on a deeper level than just tree/man because she just sat there. Staring at me. Not moving a limb.

I played it cool.

"Well, hello..." I crooned.

"Did you hear that terrible noise?" she asked.

"I did. Say, why don't you come into my pad and we'll talk about that terrible noise over a nice bottle of wine."

"Fuck you, pervert, I was looking for the cause of the noise."

I pretended to look around with her while considering my next bold plan of attack to woo her. I was considering my vast collection of tree pron when I saw him. A naked tree with the hugest erection I've ever seen--man or beast. Then I realized that these two trees had been fucking against the side of my house.

"You there, with the giant dong. I see you. I'm going for my axe straight away. I'll have no tree fucking in my yard."



"But it wasn't me, I was just standing here," protested the cunt tree.

"Yeah, yeah, save it, lady."

I turned to go to the garage when I saw him. The tree's lover. Yep. Gay trees.



Some would cut them all down. Her for spurning and the other 2 because they were gay. Not me. I say let them romp. And she's still a virgin, I'm pretty sure. I saw her kinda looking at me out of the corner of my eye. I'll let it be for now.

Tired ... Magic Beans

I'm pretty sure if I had giant boobs on my head I'd be pretty popular. Mere popularity is not enough for me, I'm a man of excess. So if I had boobs on my head I'd also like handles where my ears should be so that someone could drink from my boobs in case I was lactating.

While I'm at it, I'd be very popular if people could drink Root Beer from the lactating boobs on my head. Hell, I'd try to catch a spray or two. I do like Root Beer. But not warm Root Beer. I'd probably need to ice the tits down with...ice. Or something.

Oh, and if I had one blue eye and one yellow eye that would seal the deal.

Mason Jars

**Warning..It has been brought to my attention that today's words of Hotown are..well, I would use the word provocative, but I suspect most would say disgusting. That being said, you may read Saturday's post which was pretty funny and skip the gross..if you so choose. God's peed.

If I had a vagina I would take one week a month off. In that week I would carefully collect all of my menstrual blood. I would squat over a mason jar and let the small drips fall into the jar, slowly filling it.

I'm not sure how long a menstruation lasts, but it seems to be at least a week. I think a week would do it, but I'm not positive.

I would carry my jar of blood around me everywhere I went and carefully listen to other conversations. Whenever someone said that they were having heavy flow..as they do often based on those tampon and panty liner commercials I'd whip out my jar of blood and say, "As heavy as this?"

I would emphasize the word this and give the blood in the jar a little twist to create a vaginal blood vortex..which is a nice effect.

I wouldn't throw the blood on them, though. I've seen Carrie and I know that makes a woman mad.

When I had a full jar I would travel to MTV studios. It would be there that I would record my video based on the Milkshakes video by Khalis. The hook line would go something like this:

My menstrual blood brings the boys to the yard
and they're like, it's better than yours.
Repeat until tedium strikes, then go on and on.

Then I guess I'd retire on my earnings, or marry a rich rapper like Queen Latifah.

Connect the dots

Well, I've been busy. A bunch of blind retards have been ALL OVER Ho for making so-called disparaging remarks about...retard blind people. Such loose skin, these days. Is it me? Can we no longer bandy about the word retard with impunity? Apparently not.

Get this...I am not supposed to tell you this "under severe threat of litigation" but we're friends...so I'll just let this little bit out. They threatened to bring a blind mob to my house, pull me out into the streets and beat me down like a sick dog.

Oh, I laughed pretty hard about blind people hitting people willy-nilly. Is that you, Ho? Then I'd be off in the bushes...Yep. That's me. Strike away. Oh, that kills me. Anyway...my wife would NOT be down on a scene like that. More likely she'd act as a seeing eye...wife and point out where I was.

All of that is a preamble to the fact that I promised to make a braille poem for them to "read." LOL. read. jesus, i kill me. So, without further ado...here it is:

..::::..:..:..:.
::....:...::::.:::!!!
...:::.:::......:::::?
:.:.::..::..::::::..

Translation:

An Ode to a Pack of Angry Blindies
Hey, blindie...it must really suck to be blind!!!
Quick question: How many fingers am I holding up?
Wrong. Nice try though.

Well, it rhymes way better in braille. I hope this ode gets those crazies off my back.

Billy You're a Star

What many of you don't realize about me is that I'm the coach of my son's soccer team. It's so cute. All those little kids calling me Coach Ho. I dress up like that guy from that sit-com Coach. The big blonde retard. The kids love it.

What many of you don't realize about me is that I'm not the actual coach of my son's soccer team but the assistant coach. It's so cute, the kids run drills when I send them. Run in circles, run, run, run. Ok, assistant coach, Ho, ok! Watch me, ass coach, watch me. They like to call me ass coach and I like it when they call me ass coach.

There's a new boy on the team. A new boy who needs special care. Many of you are thinking that I'm the new boy on the team and you would be wrong. His name is Billy.

There's a new boy on the team. The new boy is a transfer student who was bullied something fierce. The new boy needs special care and protection. He's a nerd. Pure nerd. I sensed it when I met him.

When the real coach was running drills I called Billy over to me. Yes, ass coach, he said.

"Billy?"

"Yes, ass coach?"

I squated down to get on his level. Kids dig that when you get real close to their face.

"Billy, look down there. You see those goal posts waaaaay over there?" I pointed far down the field in the other direction. He hobbled his nerd legs and turned around.

It was then that I pushed the little nerd right in the fucking dirt. WAM.

He was crying and I helped him up. I wispered to him, "Crying gives you cancer."

The real coach came over. "What happened?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing, I said. The little nerd kid's just a klutz. I'll work with him on his coordiation. We'll make a winner out of him."

And we will.

Dan Brown? I don't like to be ignored, Dan

Hey, Dan Brown...did you forget about me? Did you forget about our little grudge match that I challenged you to? Are you going to try and say I just ended a sentence in a preposition? I thought so.

Listen, Dan Brown, we all know you're a big fat pussy. Your mom told me you were last night after we made love and I shaved her back hair--you'll need to get a new blade on your razor, by the way...sorry.

Dan Brown, because you're a pussy who writes shitty little books that sell like a gazillion copies and people invite you everywhere for lectures and book signings...just like me...someday... I'm going to hook you up on a new challenge.

You are officially off the hook for the physical fight. I will no longer flatten your nose and write messages in your boogery blood. The new challenge is a write off. My VAGINATION versus whatever else you can steal from that one dead English chick who wrote all those books with the endings that you could never figure out with that gay Poirot...and yes, he was certainly gay.

Book Ho

Well, I've been reading. I popped by the used bookstore and bought 100 lbs of books--they're actually sold by the pound--mostly the books are for burning, but Spring is here and there were a few that made it through the long cold winter.

I grabbed one off the top of the stack because I'm pretty random by nature. The title? The Last Lion. I know what you're thinking. Sweet! A book about the last lion in the world who escapes from the zoo and totally attacks the zoo handlers and then runs off to Africa to attack the poachers who killed his wife and baby daughter.

A book filled with blood, violence and the last lion ever...to be followed by a sequel, The Return of the Last Lion...and then Return to the Valley of the Lions when the lion discovers he isn't the actual last lion, just the last lion in that particular zoo. Oh, and his wife and daughter also live there...big misunderstanding...sorry poachers.

Well, I'm almost 300 pages into the book and not one fucking lion. Not one. Not a tiger, not a lioness, not a Thundercat, not a liger, not a cat, no nothing. Just Winston Churchill.

So I'm kinda hoping that it turns into the kind of book where Winston teaches the lions in the London Zoo how to recognize nazis and attack them. Then they swim the English Channel and storm Omaha beach...all of them are shot down except for the last one. He fights his way through The Battle of the Bulge (some kind of dick battle) and storms Hitler's condo and eats his head.

That would be sweet. I hate nazis. I think a lot of things are funny, but not nazis. Cancer can be funny. Girls yelling "Look what I can still do..." and then falling out of windows can be funny. Armless cripples can be funny. Not so nazis.

For one thing, they were heartless bastards. For another, the z is missing from my keyboard and I have to use ascii codes and the number pad every time I need a z, so they're really on my nerves.

In summation:

1.) nazis suck
2.) The Last Lion is not about lions...so far.
3.) Winston didn't have a huge sex drive which makes me wish I was his neighbor so I could take care of his wife...even though her name was Clemmie.

2 pictures:

Caurifrower Flesh

If I were Asian I'd have the sweetest time around town. First off, I'd speak pidgin Asian. I'd use n's for m's like Pacino did as a Cuban in Scarface...I don't know if that's a common Asian pidgin dialect trait--because there are no Asians in Omaha; there's one Asian restaurant and it's run by Mexicans but they make some sweet lo mein...which is Asian.

I'd also transpose l's for r's. I saw that on that Xmas movie where they have to go to that Chinese place when the neighbor's dogs eat the turkey...remember that? Fa ra ra ra ra...lol. Jesus, that just kills me.

At doctor's appointments, when the nurse asked me if I was allergic to anything, I'd say, "I arrergic to dog...big tine. Him bad stinky from rong tine in sun, but we eat. Him maybe lotten but I no dog no more."

I'd laugh all the way home but I'd drive like a crazy bastard. Those Asians can't drive for shit, man.

I'd hang out in math labs and offer bad math advice, too. Everything would be..."You need inverse, YOU NEED INVERSE."

I'd yell that out leaving off the R so it just kinda slid out in a rabid wail. Then I'd pull out the chucks. I'd shout out, "You die now by Asian NUNCHAKCAH." We always called them num chucks growing up, but Asians know the real name.

Then I'd get the hell out of there and get another coffee. Asians dig coffee, man.

Fun with the fecal ray

So I was travelling and just getting home. I'm tired and cranky and I've been jostling the kids around the country on a Ho two state tour. I'm just sitting down for a moment of rest on the couch which I surely and sorely deserve when it hits me. Someone has been using my fecal ray.

Who's been using my fecal ray, I ask my wife.

I was spraying the neighbor kids, she says.

...which is fine. I totally spray the neighbor kids. All the time. It's a game with us. Well...a game with me. Mostly for them...it's not.

So the thing is, she doesn't clean the fucking thing.

So I get up off the couch, start cleaning it and it goes off...right in my face. I see the shit spraying and I open my mouth to shout something like, You dumb cunt, you forgot to put the safety on.

Right in my mouth. Gobs and gobs of it.

So, it's now clean, I have some kind of fecal/mouth infection--and I'm going to take the well deserved nap.

I love you.

Warning...DaVinci Shit his Pants here

Ok, so he has a gunshot wound and he's bleeding to death and he has the wit to sit down and write out clues to where the grail is hidden--and to top it off do it in anagrams--and to top that off write it in his own blood?

I can't solve the Sunday jumble with an entire pot of coffee, a supremely satisfying shit, 3 good eggs and a fucking dictionary.

That's it, Dan Brown. I challenge you to a fist fight. No rules.

I can totally picture me beating your ass down then writing a message to you in your own blood.

xus nworB naD

And 2 Harvard doctorates can't recognize a page of words written backwards? Am I taking crazy fucking pills here?

"It's not Aramaic," he says.

"Nor is it Semitic," retard-too says.

No shit, jackoff it's English written backward. Get me a fucking mirror and sit down, retard.

Jesus.

Sorry, this is all I have, today.

Slide Show

It was a day like no other. Big meeting in the big conference room. The room was packed except for the seat of honor...the seat of slide show running.

I sat down with confidence and poise...all eyes on me. It was reserved for me, clearly. They knew that I was the BEST SLIDESHOW GUY EVER.

Immediately the meeting started and I was put to the test. Normally the first slide is lingered on, savored, but not today. BAM! Page 2. I was flustered, my hands shaking from the pressure, but I was equal to the task. I pulled out my mighty cock and struck the spacebar advancing the slides...one slide--then quickly put my cock away. It was like lightning.

The speaker lingered on slide 2. Savored it. Ran his tongue over it and reveled in its glory. It was a slide depicting the future of my company. We were going to work SMARTER, not HARDER. God knows we work HARD enough.

On and on and into ages he led us into the trenches. We can't survive as a company if we don't work smarter, on and on and on and on and I was lost in the cadence and almost missed him say, "Next slide."

I paused. I let all eyes fall on me and I defied them all in that moment. I looked at their demanding eyes, their hurt and wanton eyes, their eyes of savagery and shame and I paused a bit more. AB--who I may work with--actually spit at me. Again...flashlike...dong (mighty)...keyboard...replace.

The meeting lasted and lasted and grew longer and longer and we get sweaty as the slides slid by under my confident hand, slide 3, 4, 5 and on up to slide 37 and at 37...the last slide...we exploded in a giant orgasm out the door and back to our cubicles.