Yet, what I have come to find, especially within the last few years, is how courteous they have become towards someone like myself.  For example:

1) “Sir“.  Now how incredible is that?  I keep running into this word when facing one of these adolescents or young adults.  Isn’t that amazing?  Pull into a drive-through for a milkshake…rent a movie from Blockbuster…grab a coffee from Starbucks…am served my meal in a restaurant…and with increasing regularity I am met with, “Here you are, sir.”  Or, “Can I get you anything else, sir?”  Now this never, and I mean NEVER happened to me years ago.  They must be picking up this new etiquette off some website or something.  Or maybe it’s some shared trend started on Facebook, or perhaps a new application on iPhone.  Whatever it is, it really is impressive.  America’s youth?  There on the rise suckers!

2) No longer asking to see my I.D. when I purchase alcohol.  God bless this new trend as well.  And obviously this includes people who are out of their teen years.  Still a possible product of the Spears generation, but really even blurring the line from those years and older.  Guys in particular…you know how it can feel a bit emasculating when asked to see your I.D. by some clerk in a liquor store.  It can make you feel like less of a man.  Like some perpetual boy wonder who even though chronologically has made the leap to manhood, is still questioned by Captain Liquor License if we in fact do have hair residing on our testicles.  If in fact we’ve not only seen a woman naked but could label the parts accurately on a diagram.  Now what is amazing to me, is that these vendors, clerks, what have you, have seemed to pick up on how insensitive these lines of questioning can be, and no longer are putting us through such…well at times offensive lines of questioning.  They recognize my manhood, can really infer the amount of notches on my bedposts, and with respect given to a returning Marine from combat, he gives me that, “Here’s your beer, sir” with nothing less than an apparent show of pride and appreciation.

#3 Young girls no longer “eye-fucking me“.  Sorry for the crude language, but I don’t know how better to describe it.  This one could be a viewed by some as a negative sort of trend, but I don’t think so.  Girls used to be more obvious with their interests, affections, and admirations.  The long stares, the sly smiles.  All great ultimately, but come on.  You have to get with the times.  Who are you if you don’t like a challenge?  They now seem to think it’s better to really make you work for it by pretending…oh these actresses…that they are not totally interested.  I for one am on to it and I actually appreciate their new game.  And really, to be honest, a large part of this trend seems to be based in common courtesy. Cause staring generally is rude behavior, right, and they now know that.  Good job girls.

#4 And speaking of girls…well ladies I guess would be more appropriate.  I have noticed that perhaps the good manners of the youngsters may be rubbing off on them as well.  Older women used to be this whole walled-off different breed of ‘thing’ years back. You know what I mean.  Polite, but kind of indifferent to us young men as a whole.  Of course there were those occasional alcohol-ridden mother’s of friends who gave you that little extra attention or underscored a strange tone when admiring how well we have all grown up.  But for the most part we were treated dismissively as the little hellions that we were.  And what now?  I know I am still the same person.  But I tell you, these type of women who once found me largely invisible are now engaging me.  And not just the drunk ones.  Perhaps it’s due to my higher education.  Perhaps that lends a certain amount of credibility or respect, but it’s interesting.  And to be honest, it really is appreciated.  No one likes to be ignored.

Well these were just my observations as of late.  Perhaps you all have been picking up on the same sort thing.  Honestly, I don’t know how you couldn’t really.  Anyways, I just had a big lunch and am feeling sleepy so may head down for an afternoon nap.  But a final word… for all the cynicism out there regarding the goodness and character of people, perhaps for Americans in general, I for one love the trend that I am seeing.  It is very encouraging.

BN

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZiH8UT6hHA

BN

Not sure if you guys have followed this story, but six months or so back (maybe not that long) this LPGA golfer was found dead in an apparent suicide.  I found the whole thing upsetting, in part because she is a spitting image of the sister of an ex-girlfriend of mine.  Anyways, I randomly Googled her name this evening for whatever clairvoyant reason and saw that there was a civil action suit set in motion yesterday against the ‘doctor’ who made the 911 call.  Apparently he was her doctor, yet was dating her on the down low.  Ahhh….  Nothing wrong there.  And apparently nothing wrong with allegedly hiding her suicide note and prescription pill bottles he had prescribed her.  Fucking piece of shit.  Did I mention this all went down in Vegas?  What happens in Vegas….?  Fuck that.  No, fuck him.  Fuck him extremely hard.

BN

Here is the article.http://abcnews.go.com/Entertainment/erica-blasberg-pro-golfer-death-investigation-concluding/story?id=11437486

**Creepy update:  Check out the mug shot of the doctor.  Yep.  Nothing fishy here.  A dreamy 46 year old doctor.  Of course.  What woman could resist?

*Not an actual photo of a drive-up ATM, but who cares.  A nice ass is simply appreciated.

Add this to my growing list of irritations.  I cannot stand it when people hang out for a day and a half at these things doing what seems like their monthly finances while I inhale their exhaust.  These devices were created for speed.  For people on the go, sucking out another $20…$40…$60 that most likely isn’t financially prudent to pull out, but do so cause they’re living their life.

Really, it’s supposed to be a very quick and efficient procedure:

You pull in.  Type in the four digit pin code (for those who travel outside the U.S.) or six for those content to stay within the confines of our country.  Press the dollar amount. Decline to see the receipt.  Pull out the money, and ease off the brake pedal while inserting the bills into the wallet.  You’re in—you’re out.  (By the way, I do kind of miss the old school ones I remember as a kid.  Those cylindrical capsules that resembled something Mike Brady would use to transport prints to I assume, Mr. Phillips.  It was something I was slightly looking forward to as I got older.)

Anyways, as I was saying, these modern contraptions were built for the rapid exchange customer, not for…well the lazy sons of bitches I always seem to find myself stuck behind.  When I pull up and happen to find a driver in front of me, I should be seeing a sexy, firm, tawny arm emerging from the car window adorned with a shiny silver bracelet or two, ready for some quick typing.  Not these pasty or cigarette greyed weathered wings with 4-6 pounds of goiter-like material hanging down from the elbow like a todder napping in a hammock.  Going back and forth between buttons for a few seconds…dropping down to the car door to rest…typing  a few more…rest…insert a check… drop back down….and yes, repeat a seemingly infinite number of times as further checks, coupons?  articles?  are inserted in the machine.

Come on.  You’re freakin’ killing me.  And probably killing arm bracelet girl whose most likely now stuck behind me.  You people don’t belong at the drive up machine.  You don’t understand how it’s supposed to work.  Or maybe you do and you just don’t care.  Which appears to be consistent with your entire presentation.  Regardless, your privileges should be revoked, or you should at least be ticketed.  Now I know getting off your ass and using your legs to enter a bank or at least a wall mounted ATM takes effort and initiative but for the sake of all of us, and yourself really, dig a little deeper, and get out of the fucking way.

BN

Next Thursday, July 15th marks the first day for the competition.  Kelly Slater is back to leading the Tour in the Number One spot with a 9th, 1st, and a 2nd in the first three contests, so this stop here could prove to be pivotal for his 10th title if he posts another high placing.

Such wasted effort here….but here’s the link.

http://aspworldtour.com/2010/ 

BN

A few words on the Lebron situation.

I have to say that it has taken me a little while to understand what I was feeling regarding the Lebron announcement. Initially, I was caught up a bit in the circus of it all excited by the potential changing of everything. An excitement reminiscent I guess when the original Dream Team was concocted. “Wouldn’t it be cool if Jordan and Bird were on the same team? How about throwing in Barkley (CB) as well as Magic and David Robinson.” It was sort of a glutenous idea throwing a bunch of superstars together, but it was fun to imagine. Now that it has happened and Lebron has made the bold move of leaving Cleveland for Miami, I have been left with the conflicting feelings of what that action really means. The fantasy is exciting, but what really is the reality here? Was this a bush move? Is this the move of someone who is truly narcissistic, or is this just ‘biz-ness’ as Lebron states. Lets take a look at it…

Biz-ness.

Isn’t business about capital? Isn’t it about more bang for the buck? If his move was purely business then he would have made at least 30 million more staying in Cleveland. Yes, winning eventual championships would help the biz-ness aspect of things, further increasing stock in his product, but honestly, could this guy even make any more money? The shit ain’t about business. it’s about winning right now. Regardless of it being the right way or the wrong way. The “biz-ness excuse” to me feels nothing more than that. A convenient phrase to hide behind since business fronts as non-feeling, cold, impersonal, and calculating. An easy thing to lead with when arguably doing the wrong thing. “This is business people…I have to take personal feelings out of it.” In business, sure. In this case, not so much. The “personal feelings” which I’m sure he does have, is probably his inner voice/voice of reason/sense of right or wrong, saying, “Um…Lebron?”….or “Nigga please?” I don’t know the his inner voice. But I do know that he is an intelligent man, a passionate man, but also one who has the tattoo, “The Chosen One” brandished on his body. As well as, “The Answer”. One thing to have those ridiculously hyperbolic statements adorning the cover of a Sports Illustrated issue, but to display that on your own body, buying into all that shit? May as well tattoo a red flag next to those tattoos because that is what they represent. And that red flag is violently flapping in the breeze right now.

Do I blame Lebron? Not entirely. It has to be tough to be treated as God since at least Junior High. But I think we are getting a view of some of the short-sightedness that comes from living the life he has lived thus far. How does one have perspective when living in a castle their whole life? The dude has been a pre-destined King all along.

Anyways, enough psycho-babble on that. That is my take. I have sympathy for him. I like him as an individual. He is an amazing talent and does nearly everything ‘right’. I do believe he made a very bad choice as he allowed winning to trump everything at all costs. And yes that is what an athlete should do, win at all costs, but there is a caveat. You do whatever it takes to win, but you do so with your own team.

Jordan would cut the throat of any opposing player to win. Maybe chuck in a few of his own into a woodchipper to achieve that goal. BRRRRRRRRRRZZZZZZZZZZ Cartwright surely would have been Fargo-ed had Jordan the opportunity to do so. But never in a million years would 23, arguably the most competitive successful killer in the history of the NBA switch teams to win. (And by the way, this isn’t a Jordan getting his Pippen/s. These are the creme de la creme joining forces. It’s lame. It’s truly lame). You win where you are. And that is that. There is pride in playing where you are…hell where you’re from… and making your team a contender. Then a championship team. Then a potential dynasty. Lebron already had made his team a contender. They had the best record in the NBA the last two years, coming off of an NBA Finals appearance in 2007. He bailed while knocking on the door of the highest echelons. Saying he needs a team where he can win? He just left one.

I wish him the best, but the man in my opinion just made a mistake of massive proportions. Even if he wins a whole string of championships, they will feel somewhat artificial because it didn’t come from the house that Lebron built. He left that foundation to do a modified Dream Team. It is a short cut taken at the wrong time in his career. I think he will regret it, but that is life. We fuck up and we hopefully learn. Again Lebron is a smart cat so I think he will end up viewing this as a wrong move later on down the road, but unfortunately for him, his big blunder has witnesses. Witnesses who right now feel gutted and betrayed. I can’t blame them at all.

BN

**Updated irritation… I didn’t feel like weaving the point into the body of this post, so saying it here. I truly dislike how star athletes use God as a way to portray humility while being the opposite. “I thank the Lord for my God given abilities… I owe my amazing-ness to God…. I am the Chosen/Amazing/Deified mortal who shines above all because God picked me as the shiniest apple of the bunch.” It is just fucking lame. Humility doesn’t come from bowing down before God while urinating on the rest of us. It’s being humbled in the presence of both. In Bob Dylan’s, “Just Like a Woman”, there is a lyric that states, “Queen Mary…..she can’t be blessed ’til she finally sees that she’s like all the rest”.That’s true humility. That is true class. That is truly being blessed. Not posing as Superman and ‘humbly’ thanking God for making you better than everyone else.

The law passed a couple of week ago. I agree. Although I have several advantages over people that just jump the border, I have had to comply with ALL the rules, so did my sister. I still live in the US because my employer decided that I had something to offer and it was decided that I would get my sponsorship. On the other hand, my sister was kicked out of the country ( I mean, she left a couple of days before her VISA expired - the way it should be). I miss her and we have been separated most of our adult lives. It sucks.

Considering that a big percentage of the crime rate in the region is attributed to illegal aliens I see how fitting this law turns out to be. Makes absolute sense and the bullshit of being targeted, so it is.

ANY other country in the world they can pull that shit on you, so move on and get with the program. If mexicans are being targeted than so be it, Mexico borders the US, makes sense. The Mexican constitution prohibits any other person (non mexican) to any of the states rights…

OK, I know I offended a lot of people, BUT I have some sort of experience in this matter and honestly think that if the rules are there, they should be there for everyone.

JH

I was going to keep this thing under wraps (if you will), however, since you guys have been such loyal readers and participants, and since I have taken my innermost stuff out of the equation a long time ago, perhaps nothing’s more correct than to end this son of a bitch by going old school, to candidly tell this final sordid tale.  TW make sure the door’s locked.  GW, do what you need to do.  JP resist taking your wiener out of your pants.  The rest of you who still may be lurking around, bring your jaw up off the table and commence reading if you feel comfortable, or head off to another site if not.

You ready?  You even believe me?

Well believe it suckers.  BN went to a brothel.

Now…of course the details of what actually happened there…well you will have to wait and see…

I have been spending most of my time up at South Lake Tahoe this past month, looking on the internet for jobs down south in Santa Barbara and Santa Monica.  Needless to say, I am alone most of the time, so half of the days are spent in a coffee shop with laptop digitally sending out resumes, while the other half has been spent snowshoeing all over the mountains.  Now a steady woman is not a current part of the equation for BN.  And as we know, a man has urges.  And a man in isolation, well those urges can get a bit askew, or bent if you will, when faced with an echoing cabin and a head full of unchecked thoughts.

So what’s a fellah to do, I ask you?  There’s no internet to divert.  The only salacious material to potentially aid in answering the call of the wild, I discovered, are the adult ads in the back of the local phone book.   Escorts and….well…real live legal ‘working girls’ 20 miles away.

Now, I had no intention of self pleasuring to the phone book since that would just be an embarrassing low for this age.  Age 13-15, it would be more than appropriate.  A current yellow page tug…well it wouldn’t be as much sad as ridiculous.  Hell, it didn’t even cross my mind, to put this thought to an end.

Anyways, I flipped a page, and there it was…  The Moonlight Bunny Ranch. (AKA Red Ryder B.B. Gun -to use a hardly akin visual metaphorical response).  A full page spread trying to coax immoral assholes out of their creepy depths to partake in this hard to conceive of world.

Now my pulse didn’t rise (nor anything else for that matter) however I simply got really curious.

“Eat some lead, Black Bart”.

Curious not in the sense of what it would be like to fuck a prostitute, but more curious what that world is even like.  Like how strange and odd would it be to actually walk into one of those places?  The only time I could ever see myself ‘normally’ doing that is if I were 25, with a bunch of guys and thinking, “What the fuck.  Let’s go!”  All load up into a car hooting and hollering.  Get there pretending to be seriously interested, and fuck with the non-alpha dog of our pack and try to talk him into ruining his life.

“Dude, we’ll pay.  You need to get over Angela”.

When of course he doesn’t, he get’s all flustered, defensive, angry, and quietly upset.  And later only do we tell him that we were fucking with him and go grab some hamburgers.

Well, that situation logically wasn’t going to present itself, so what now?  I had time on my hands, and I was certainly intrigued.

So…I got into my car and headed in the direction of Carson City.  That’s what normal people do, right?

The directions were a bit hard to follow since I didn’t bring any with me.  I hadn’t fully planned on going.  More curious to see if I started driving, would I actually end up there.  An adventure in itself.

And if I did end up there, what then?

It was snowing the whole way as I made my way into Carson.  All I could think of was how funny and appropriate it would be if my car broke down out that way.  Try explaining that one.

Anyways, after a few wrong turns, I finally saw this turn-off garnished with these slew of slutty signs (say that three times fast).

I cranked the wheel to the right.  The brothels lay straight ahead .

Gulp.

Now my heart was fucking pumping at this point.  This felt a little too insane.  What in the hell was I doing?  Gut check and head check time.  Was I actually here to just see, or was something more sinister lurking below, tempting me to do something totally out of character?  I mean hell, my car was revving in front a fucking whorehouse for Christ’s sake.

Was this like a cheating analogy where one puts themselves in such a ludicrous and dangerous position that they inevitably fuck up and go, “what was I thinking???”.  Was I being that guy to a grander scale, deluding myself that I was simply here for a field trip?

Cause if that were the case, and I were to cross that line, the mental stigma of that action wouldn’t be something I could wash off with soap and water…

I can only imagine running into the next/last? love of my life and gazing into one another’s perfectly clear eyes…until…until something catches her eye and she goes, “Hey…hmmm….what’s that little black speck?”  And I would say, “Oh, that.  That’s the time I fucked a hooker.”.  BN and the bathwater would be violently thrown out.  Or at least I hope it would be.

But here I was.  Here’s the check.  Was I in fact curious or was I being self-destructive.

You know, it is possible I could fall in love with a girl who’s farsighted and she may never notice black specks so perhaps the stakes weren’t as high.

I sat in my car for a few minutes and realized I was pretty centered.  I just felt adventurous and thought…rather said aloud, “What the fuck.”

JH and I are honorary Scientologists.

So I head up to this gate where they buzz you in.  I walk up the steps and amazingly I don’t feel like a creep.  I feel ok.  A woman greets me and asks if I’ve been here before.  I can honestly say no.  Then all these girls rotate out and circle me as if they were skating on ice.  I was expecting a slower introduction and acclimation to the place, but this is how it goes.  They all were standing there like shiny fem-bots and each said there name and smiled waiting to be chosen…or waiting to be rejected.

Now, straight out I knew that my member was going to be staying trouser bound, so it was nice to know that my demons aren’t all that subversive.  So for me, it was going to be an interesting experience.

I chose this black girl who was the definition of sex.  Or at least a definition of sex.  5’4”, fake orbs, long silky black “hair”, you name it.  She was also wearing this lattice-esque yellow dress that barely covered anything.  She took me to this rather elegant back room and sat on my lap.

By this point I just felt undercover and it became fun.  She told me that for $200 we could have a quicky right then and there, and if I wanted things to get…well…more “interesting” then the prices and time escalated upward.  She the proceeded to take off her top and asked me to get naked.  A smile radiated from ear to ear, and it was my own.  It was just too entertaining.  I denied her the BN show and said sorry that $200 was a bit too steep and thanked her for her time.

Now, $200 is a lot of money for any type of purchase.  No matter how much you may have stuffed in your pocket, that amount or more spent is always followed with a twinge of buyer’s remorse regardless of the necessity of the purchase.

So what if she had said something lower?  Cheaper?  Would I have been tempted to cross such a forbidden line?  Does a demon still lurk?

It didn’t matter because it wasn’t an option.  I was told $200 was the house minimum.

I left actually feeling kind of energized.  I found it kind of fun and entertaining because how many people really see this side.  Scratch that.  How many relatively normal people ever really see this side?  Not too many I would imagine.

Oh, and the few guys that would be walking out…  Wedding ring still on the finger.  Ring hopefully excretion free.  I had no problem with eye contact that not surprisingly, never came.  I had nothing to hide.

Anyways, there were two other brothels right there and I was just getting warmed up.  For whatever reason, I felt like doing the rounds.  An Earclops undercover exclusive.  However I feared that the last brothel I would visit, I would enter and find Chris Hanson:

“Take a seat”.

“No, it’s cool.  I’m on your side.”

“Well, we’ve found the ads in the back of your phone book”.

“Can I leave now?”

“You’re free to leave”.

“Ooh.  Lemonade”.

Nah, fuck that guy.  I was on a mission.  I walked into the next one like an old pro.  There were only three girls here.  Oh, and by the way, the previous one, the women were pretty damn attractive.  That was observation number one.  Resembling more Vivians (Pretty Woman) than street walkers.  Some certainly had the stripper slutty vibe, but others seemed more apple pie.

Anyways, these three girls lined up instead of ten.  They didn’t glide out so I figured this must be a lower end house.  I chose the blond one and we quickly embarked on the tour.  She showed me a dance floor (was dancing an option?) and the sauna (ugggh).  All in all, it wasn’t too impressive.  I now had a comparison group.

She then took me into her room labeled ‘Coco’ ( though this one was white), sat me down on her bed, and told me that for $100 we could go at it like monkeys.

Monkeys.

$100

Now that is a number that would do away with buyer’s remorse.  It’s a figure that can be rationalized away.  “Ahh, I’ll drive a little less over the next month and it will be like I never spent it”, type purchases.

So there I was.  It was so amazing to me.  For $100 this moderately attractive girl and I would be having sex on this bed.  Here and now.

And this is the beginning to what I found so interesting.  For one, it felt so normal and unseedy even though it was the definition of the opposite.  The concept though just baffled my mind.  She seemed so normal.  Could have gone to high school with us, and didn’t overtly radiate depravity, though she was a bit of a dead fish personality wise.

So I responded honestly,

“Wow.  For one hundred dollars we can have sex.”  She smiled and said yes.  I said, “Unbelievable…  But, sorry.  I was just curious how this all worked”.  She nicely got up and led me out.

So that was that.  I got in my car and began to leave this bizarre little world that had just adequately satisfied my curiosity.  However 100 yards down the highway on the right I saw the sign for the Moonlight Bunny Ranch.  The one from HBO.  The one that was featured prominently in the back of the South Lake Tahoe Yellow Pages.

What the fuck?  May as well round out the experience.

I pulled in and quickly realized that this was the crème-de-la-crème (spared the obvious crude renaming) of the brothels.  Helicopter landing areas, lavish gates, what have you.

I rang the bell and headed up.  A woman answered.

“Hello I’m BN a reporter for the exploding yet ending site called Earclops.”

“Come on in handsome”.

No footsteps.  No sounds.  Out of nowhere twelve beauties are stretched out in a beautiful sweeping arch.  It was amazing really.  Perhaps they floated down from the ceiling or arose out of the floor.

Maybe they were actual fem-bots.

“Which one would you like?”

“Groovy baby, yeah!”

I did a near 360 to take in all the women and locked eyes on this young girl who looked like the late Brittney Murphy to an alarming rate.  Now if I saw a man resembling Elvis sweeping the floors then perhaps this expose would have become much larger than originally intended in finding that this may be the place where celebrities go after faking their deaths.

But no Elvis in work gear.  No Tupac watering the plants.

She took me by the hand and didn’t bother showing me much of anything.  Just took me back to her bedroom.

And her bedroom was a typical looking girl’s room.  It was warm and comfortable and the only thing giving away its other function, was that there were sex toys displayed ON the dresser.  As we all know, “normal” women keep them IN the dresser.

And on her queen size bed was a Playboy bed cover.

So there you go.

And this would actually turn out to be the highlight of my experience.  With this gal, there was no act like one might encounter in a strip club.  It was hardly flirtatious and was more of a natural encounter of chit-chat.  For some reason, we just clicked as I have done with many girls in my life.  Not in the girlfriend/boyfriend sense per se, but in that weird nearly audible click where we are both totally relaxed, are tuned into one another way too quickly, and they in turn begin to reveal too much-too soon in that comfort.  With girlfriends I get to their secrets and what they think they hide, in an evening.  With said hooker, I get to her real dreams and desires in which she confesses with real vulnerability saying, “God, I’ve only told my best friend this”.  I am even more taken aback by her resemblance to the late actress as she answers.  Her mannerisms and energy is eerily similar.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes pass.  We are probably only five minutes away from building a fort we’re so at ease and playful at this point.  I swear I could have grown up with this girl.  How she ended up here though….doing this….a question certainly not asked.

Anyways it was time to go and she well knew I wasn’t there for sex.  I did ask though what she charges and she said the minimum was $400.  That sounded far more correct than $100.

We said our goodbyes and I made my way out to the front door.  From behind a call girl beckons, “Where you going red?”  (I was wearing a red North Face parka).

“Church”, I replied.

A chorus of fem-bot laughter sounds behind me.

The door closing marks my exit.   I pass through the iron gate and fire up Pathy.  A few turns down dusty roads and I’m headed back towards the state line.

So here’s my debriefing:

I got to say that I truly enjoyed that whole experience.  And this is what I’m taking from it:

First my eyes are speck free, so let’s celebrate that predictable fact.

Second, I feel like I de-mystified (for myself) that whole other world.  When put in that foreign element, it basically all melted into a sense of what it truly was.  A big old glittery show to pay for the very normal and natural act of sex.  I wouldn’t cross that line in paying for it, but it wouldn’t be hard to imagine what it would be like.  You would do it, be done, and be like “that was it?”  Then obviously suffer endless waves of pain, guilt, and humiliation.  But it really isn’t anything so crazy.  The taboo of it all is.  But I’d imagine if it was socially acceptable it would be more seen as a waste of money more than anything.  And that’s of course suspending the obvious moral implications of exploitation of these women.  Cause I’m sure all of them were molested or whatnot as young girls, or suffered some other heinous, or multiple heinous acts which enables them now to do such work.  (What’s your story “Brittney?”)  But judgments and reasons aside, it is just sex.  It’s just encased in a hard to conceive package.  But when stripped away…it is what is.

A day in the life.

So there you go.  A good, filthy post to end on (so to speak).  Sure, at some point there could be future posts but saving you the time of checking this site like a Blackberry because nothing will be written for a long, long, time if ever.  So in essence it is over, but you’re right GW, one never knows.

BN

-BTW, I am reading Anthony Kiedes’ biography Scar Tissue for the third time.  I am hooked once again.  I believe it is my favorite book of all time, believe it or not.  Who would of guessed?  My final recommendation here…

Maybe JH and I will use this site again in the future, but for now there will be no more posts.  Thanks for playing along.

Later alligators.

BN

One question… Is the New York Times trying to squelch the student uprising by putting these two intimidating wolverines on the front page?  Look at these savages.  5’4” 135 a piece (or collectivelly), Zapitistan/terrorist bandannas and headwear, and a confusing Blank Panther fist raise.

So what is this?  Black Pride?  La Raza?  Kill Americans?  I’m confused by all these messages.  One thing’s for sure, is that these smurf-esque radicals have balls the size of cannon balls.  According to the article, these brazen individuals were each risking a count of misdemeanor trespassing for being in this stairway along with the sign.  Amazing.  I mean sure we all have faced the same counts for countless sneaking onto-s of country clubs, but we sure never ended up on the front page of any newspaper.

Impressive.

BN

-At least put down your fists.  Please.