The Power of the word Penis

When I looked at my blog stats, my blog for one particular day was about 6000% percent higher than every other post around it and I realized it was the one where I discussed the educational background and general behavior patterns of my penis. Now, either my Han Solo is that magnetic or putting the word penis in my blog is  traffic magnet and so I think somehow I’m going to find a way to relate every future blog to my penis; then, once I have all of Ashton Kuchter’s followers, I’ll spring upon them my doctrine to take the Lord Jesus Christ as their savior and copilot and endocrinologist.   Or wax on about my passion for filmmaking and arts in general, which is a drag compared to my penis and it’s own life path and dedication to ending world hunger by designing a little ribbon-pin celebrities can wear during the Oscars;   designs are forthcoming. or that it is learning to sail.  Or that it can tie a cherry stem into a knot with its tongue urethra. It’s too bad I don’t have a vagina; maybe I do; I’ll take a rummage around down there next time.

I, or the collective we, are close to casting actor number four for Whorapy and possibly Meghan for Frenemies. Right now, I am healing from a lower back muscle pull and a slight cold; and also being pushed towards a gambit of faith, something that’s a lot harder to do than Morpheus led on in The Matrix.  Quickly on a tangent built of trees, there are particular films that I do watch over again even though they’re pretty soggy because I really really believe the film will be different when I watch it;  the two sequels to The Matrix are examples of that. When it’s on cable I have to watch.  Romantic hearts have a thousand eyes and a million blind spots.

I am a wit’s end or three or five.  There’s massive tsunamis inside me and they keep battering a very hard skull and closer and close I get to this giant Life Yawn, little bit by little bit, grappling quietly while my body gets tossed around while scraping until the absolute LAST MOMENT to plunge ahead into the unknown largesse of it all, to drop off the dead leaden parts and end the loitering around the gates of a higher life.  I’ve never been one for compromise; if even a whiff of a puff of it is inside an action I don’t do it; sometimes I think it’s perfectionism gone wild.  Magnetically grand stretches like this one, where I know the end of the month is going to look a lot different than the start, can make it hard to tell.  I don’t know why I have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the strange light but drama is drama.

Facebook Twitter Linkedin Email

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Post Navigation