Wait, wait, wait, wait.... Michael Jackson died?
My toilet has given up on me.
I guess you could say it never really started.
I miss my old toilet.
It liked to be challenged.
It used to beg me to flush down in-bone pork roasts and you know what? I did. That toilet was probably made by the hammers of Hephaestus but porcelain.
In five years I clogged it one time.
ONE TIME.
The next day, flowers arrived from an anonymous donor--maybe not an anonymous donor, I never asked. Mrs. Ho thinks they were from her because it was her birthday. They were my favorite. The red and yellow kinds--kind...I didn't really look at them. Only gay men can really appreciate flowers. In fact, I intentionally avoided their stare on me to prevent a possible gay infection or ... subjugation or... possession of my rock of hetero (sexual). The point is, I'm pretty sure it was the toilet asking for forgiveness for not flushing all that I had given.
Forgiveness!
If you can believe that. It should have been me asking her for forgiveness for not understanding the prize that I had... the magic... the gift from the gods.
And I left it all behind.
Surely you know that because of the spy satellites.
You think I don't see them.
I see them.
I live in space, don't you think I see them?
I see them.
So I left it all behind for a blue house, blue the color of a newborn babies eyes; blue the color of a calm sea; the same blue in Jesus' eyes when he rode dinosaurs and launched death rays in the early days of earth's formation.
I hate it.
I'm sandwiched between an Indian family and a retired couple, so you basically I'm half-way between India and death. Technically, I'm Pakistan. What could be worse than that? Cockinmyassistan comes to mind.
It has three stories... I have to hike up 900 flights of stairs just to masturbate. By the time I get there I'm exhausted and shaking and I don't want to even touch myself anymore.
That's how bad it's gotten.
My toilet is an effete pompadour-wearing lag about with the most tender gag reflex a toilet has ever had and I can't even masturbate.
But how have you been?
I guess you could say it never really started.
I miss my old toilet.
It liked to be challenged.
It used to beg me to flush down in-bone pork roasts and you know what? I did. That toilet was probably made by the hammers of Hephaestus but porcelain.
In five years I clogged it one time.
ONE TIME.
The next day, flowers arrived from an anonymous donor--maybe not an anonymous donor, I never asked. Mrs. Ho thinks they were from her because it was her birthday. They were my favorite. The red and yellow kinds--kind...I didn't really look at them. Only gay men can really appreciate flowers. In fact, I intentionally avoided their stare on me to prevent a possible gay infection or ... subjugation or... possession of my rock of hetero (sexual). The point is, I'm pretty sure it was the toilet asking for forgiveness for not flushing all that I had given.
Forgiveness!
If you can believe that. It should have been me asking her for forgiveness for not understanding the prize that I had... the magic... the gift from the gods.
And I left it all behind.
Surely you know that because of the spy satellites.
You think I don't see them.
I see them.
I live in space, don't you think I see them?
I see them.
So I left it all behind for a blue house, blue the color of a newborn babies eyes; blue the color of a calm sea; the same blue in Jesus' eyes when he rode dinosaurs and launched death rays in the early days of earth's formation.
I hate it.
I'm sandwiched between an Indian family and a retired couple, so you basically I'm half-way between India and death. Technically, I'm Pakistan. What could be worse than that? Cockinmyassistan comes to mind.
It has three stories... I have to hike up 900 flights of stairs just to masturbate. By the time I get there I'm exhausted and shaking and I don't want to even touch myself anymore.
That's how bad it's gotten.
My toilet is an effete pompadour-wearing lag about with the most tender gag reflex a toilet has ever had and I can't even masturbate.
But how have you been?
posted by Blog ho at 4:18 PM
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