Sunday, February 14, 2016

Happy Valentine's Day





Happy Valentine's Day to all my friends who are in loving relationships with wonderful partners. I hope you all have a devilishly delightful time renewing your love one to another, both carnally and comaradarialy (?) Don't forget the chocolate! And wine! Wine's good.

Look! Little Cupids are here to drill drug stained darts into your genitalia! How sweet.

Happy Love Day!

So go, now! Go and do your loving thing. Seriously. It's fine. We're OK. Get some massage oil! Don't be too hot, though. You don't want the oil to catch fire!

Shew, now! Bu, bye! Scat!

G'bye!

Are they gone?

Really?

Whew! About time. I thought they'd never leave.

The council of Those Who Do Not Have Dates On Valentine’s Day is now in session. First order of business? Airing of the Grievances, also known as Aire (not) on a G String.

Sex is a sexually transmitted disease. You get it at birth and it stays dormant until you reach puberty, then it ravishes your living soul. Gone, soul. Bye, bye! All of your body is belong to us!

Well, that's a bit harsh. There must have been a common path we males and females once trod that shared a common ground. Why did we diverge?

I wish to turn the genetic clock back. You can never go back, so they say. But, who are these, "They", anyway? Not those guys! You'll never get anywhere listening to Them. Not that crowd. Give me a second in the past and I will move the world. So move I do.

I would like to have a little friend. A girl friend, for sure, but not that kind. One back when girls and boys got along, sorta. Well, kinda. Sorta. Better than they do when they grow up, anyway. A pally-wally I could look forward to seeing at night from the front steps of our houses, after school, after dinner, as the sun hangs happily in the sky, and we go outside to play.

I'd see her and say, "Pssst! Come here! Hey girl pal! How ya doing? Wanna have something to eat?" And then we'd go down to the end of the street, by the docks and the shore of the water, blinking at the sun across the cove, and have make believe steak or lobster claws or ice cream or just pretzel crumbs from the bottom of the tin I smuggled out of the house, which is just the same. Then we'd go off to explore.

She'd be someone I could always be excited to be with. Someone I could see and say, "Look!" waving my hands and jumping up and down. "Come here!" and take her by the hand and run, heedless of traffic, out past our houses and across the street and out to the woods beyond our neighbors back yards and into the trees and the overgrowth and the gravel pit and more trees beyond. And a little way off to the side, beyond the houses and the traffic and the neighbors back yards and the gravel pits, is a way into more woods, and more overgrowth, and more trees, and another path to a secret place. A secret pond. A pond with logs. Logs, and...

"Frogs," I say solemnly, holding her hand to share the gravity of the situation.

And she looks, solemnly, and says, “Whoa!” She's impressed.

And then she takes me by the hand and rushes me to one of her secret places beyond the lands of back yards and gravel pits, and shows me something she never showed anyone else ever before.

And I say, "Whoa!" And I am impressed.

Then she says, "Wanna color?" and color we do.

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