For whatever reason that reminded me that I should be masturbating soon.

It hath been proclaimed that sire spanky's lascivious side shall break from it's shackles and run feral once again. Deposited startup capital in the mack bank with the improv queens on Saturday night. Monday I paid a visit to a porn star looking bartender that had previously mentioned that I might look good on her during my stint of attempting to be a good boy.

As I walked in she squealed "S.O.S. rescue me!". A solid contingent of insane drunks were on hand. She parked herself in my corner and would only acknowledge the slobbering crowd when they actually had drinks to order. We started the heavy flirt as Fugazi blared on the juke. Pleased to discover that my intial impression of her lack of intelligence was merely a shyness thing, I was delighted by her suggestions of what products I could represent in commercials. Internet protection from pervs, I would be the perv obviously. Dressed up as a paramecium, I'd be the offending virus being squashed by some disenfectant cream. She likes the twisted humor. Joy.

She has an outstanding body. I'm ready for her to throw on the ten gallon hat and the cowboy boots with red leather flames stitched in, and rodeo my ass into the dawn. I can tell when a chick can fuck like a bunny. She can fuck like a bunny.

I mention this cause it was slightly amusing, but Jack Osbourne walked in the joint that night. I love Ozzy. Don't find it necessary to drape myself across his children and inform them of how cool their daddy is. Soused little psuedo indie rockers, "yo Jack, I'm in a rock band!", pitiful crumb snatchers. Yeah don the kneepads for the son of the prince of darkness, I'm sure you'll get more than mouthful of teenage spunk. Tards.