Pause button pressed on the spanky recorder. Will continue with the comments of daily life and the series; The Ages Of Spanky, with the next entry. My bosommy buddy ( I am making her full of bosom whether she is or not ) trancejen has begun an interview project. I volunteered for inquisition. The following is the aftermath.

First I am to tell you some informal contract business connected to this endeavor. Here are her rules quoted straight from the lovely mouth itself "1 -- Leave a comment if you want to be interviewed. 2 -- I will respond; I'll ask you five questions. 3 -- You'll update your journal with my five questions, and your five answers. 4 -- You'll include this explanation. 5 -- You'll ask other people five questions when they want to be interviewed." Learn it, love it, live it.

Promising not something I do. Regardless, I still cannot promise to respond quickly to requests for me to send five questions to you other bloggers. Especially if I don't read your journal on a regular basis. Disclaimers suck. Anyway, I will do my best to dish out the questions when asked.

TRANCEJEN QUESTION ONE: Spanky, Spanky, Spanky. You're one of my favorite Diarylanders, and I don't just say that to all the boys. You have a very unique style of writing, and I notice that it's become stronger over the years. Is that a conscious change, or would you say that you write like you speak?

SPANKY ANSWER ONE: Some of my quirky verbal weirdness comes through in the writing, like making up my own words, assigning people in my life secret nicknames and sound effect outbursts. For the most part, I have always expressed myself more effectively with the pen than I can speaking wise. My lips fumble over my own nutso thoughts, and often I say the exact opposite statement of what I was trying to convey.

I started this whole diary to get my writing wheels greased. I wanted to jump back on the script and short story writing horse. Basically, writers write. Sounds cliche, but it's true. Writing about yourself is an easy way to keep the author engines tuned up. So, I have taken a critical editor style look at my entries as they go along. Definitely a goal of mine to make my writing "better" and more engaging here. Thanks for noticing and I hope it's working.

TRANCEJEN QUESTION TWO: Talk to me about the whacky tobaccy. What's the appeal? Tell me like I'm a five-year-old, because all it personally does for me is make me hungry and even more silly.

SPANKY ANSWER TWO: Sigh, good old Green Lantern power. Not everyone is destined to join the corps.

First, it has to be acknowledged that everyone does a drug of some sort. Even retarded "straight edge" children with double black X written on their hands, do a drug of some sort. Humanity has intrinsic needs to alter their mind state. Sunbathing, for example, produces a chemical reaction within the metabolism that has a marked effect on one's mood. Just cause your not swallowing a pill or puffin on some smoke doesn't mean you don't seek outside influences to make your brain act different. We are naturally and irreversibly wired this way, everyone should grow up and get over it.

Right on brotherman, preach mutherfucker, preach!

Herb has many beneficial effects on me. It increases my already well honed observational and deductive powers. As far as creativity is concerned, it dumps in an activating catalyst. Some of my best ideas and compositions came from being high. Wouldn't want to write a complete story from one of those ideas in the middle of being baked, I put the pipe away when I am actually writing. It mellows me out. Ask anyone who knows me, I am a much more tolerable person when mellowed out. It also hightens my tactile pleasure. Which works wonders in the bedroom. Yeah oh yeah, it makes me ultrabonery.

Basically, THC is a substance that interacts completely differently from user to user. Some should step away from the chronic. Far away. Just makes them lazy, stupid, paranoid and/or nonsensical. For me it's a very wonderful symbiosis of enlightenment and calm joy.

TRANCEJEN QUESTION THREE: You spin a good childhood yarn. Relate your favorite tale from the Life and Times of Mini-Spanky.

SPANKY ANSWER THREE: Has to be an excursion out into the wilds of Missouri when I was nine that late spring.

The family who lived three houses down invited us to watch Kayak races out by Elephant Rock. There is a system of streams and tributaries that runs through the park there called the Johnson's Shut-Ins. The water cascades through rocky inclines, that form natural slides and mini clear whirlpools. It's a nature hewn water slide park essentially. It's fucking super.

Both families woke up sinfully early to get a good foot on the day. I remember thinking that this outdoor shit had better be worth it. Couldn't even uncross my eyes for two hours they rustled me out of the sack so early. It was a yawn cavalcade.

Well planned idea though. Before the races started, the other dad took me and his two sons on a nature hike through a well established but fairly untrafficked path in the woods. Holy fuck was that mind clearingly fun. Early morning forest canopy filtered light, tinted the foliage and soil as far as you could see. The air was complicated with numerous intriguing aromas. My favorite is the smell that tree moss gives off. The path required we climb over some moderately sized rocks. Came across owl fur pellets they spit out after devouring enough rodents. Small little spindly packages of gray hairs and miniature bones. Also scored a shedded snake skin.

The path came across a deep dry fallen leaf filled gully. Only way to traverse it was to walk across a giant tree trunk that was laid across both sides. I felt like an adventurer escaping my captors over a shaky wood bridge. It was thrilling and one of the most gorgeous communions with nature I have ever had.

After that we had a great bratwurst and hamburger grilled lunch at our campsite. Ma's sweet vinegared three bean salad. Pop's German potato salad. Other mom's uber rich chocolate brownies. Both families laughing boisterously, not a care for the troubles of the world. It was good heart medicine.

The kayak race itself was amazing to watch from the banks of the torrential river. Guys spinning their paddles around to get themselves back from underwater. Rocketing off the top of a rocky water cliff. Had my own action music and secret agent story running in the background of my mind while the race played out in front of me.

Didn't want to leave that wooded spot.

TRANCEJEN QUESTION FOUR: Sex appears to be tied up with a bit of the bitter for you. Explain yourself. Feel free to ramble.

SPANKY ANSWER FOUR: Maybe ya hadn't noticed but I tend to be bitter about most stuff that involves other humans.

Well.

Dime store analysis would have to come into play here. The entire spanky family, extended and immediate, are sexually repressed. Affection was just not expressed. Mostly out of complete uncomfortable unease with the topic and activity.

Then Ma goes ahead and squirts out a little deviant fucker. Namely me. I was continuously admonished for my tastes and habits. Granted, I wouldn't want to come across my son's crusty spankerchief or haphazardly discarded used condoms either. Or come home to see him nailing a girl, who was the daughter of one of the fellow church goers, furiously doggy styled, on their own bed. My folks were actually fairly accepting, not understanding, but accepting of my antics. The rest of the family is certain I trade recipes and fashion tips with goatlegged lucifer himself. So, that's one part of it.

Second, the fucking 80's. Am I the only one that was shitting black rocks over all the footage of AIDS hysteria when us Gen X'ers were coming up? Delightful time sandwich too. The older kids ahead of us had the free wheeling no worries dope toking fertility pill popping 70's nookie romp. We were told that either we were gonna become nuclear fallout zombies or seeping sore ridden disease dumps. Then the 90's kids after us got this whole world was designed for their promising future bullshit. And liberated girls these days appear ready and willing to give head at twelve. Feel quite cheated.

Third, I ain't packing a fun bite sized treat. It's well settled into average woodie specs. In this society though, average might as well be a thimble. I tend not to let that affect me on the whole. But every man feels the pain in the shorts when women start in on the size queen lingo. So, for what I lack in pornstud plank proportions I make up in multitasking tricks and giving women a rough ride.

Lastly, unless baked, I am useless with a rubber on. Can't feel a goddamn thing. If the chick is looser than a liver sandwich, forget it. I've often shoved my disease paranoias into a locked vault to swing numerous bareback sessions. But, having kids scares the shit out of me. Scratch that, it's not fear, it's an overwhelming fever that makes me think bringing a kid into my personal shit pit would be the absolute worst thing that can happen. So, can't wear condoms, can't bust a nut in somebody, have to live with a shadow of sickness doubt constantly. It's gangs of neurotic fun.

Until recently, if you followed my exploits at all, you would notice that none of these foibles kept me from sticking it to as much young tang as I could. People wonder why I can't sleep at night.

TRANCEJEN QUESTION FIVE: If you had to pick five people to stab to death with a ballpoint pen, who would you pick at this particular moment in time?

SPANKY ANSWER FIVE: Rudolf Guiliani, my landlord, Rush Limbaugh, the Asian fucker who attacked my sister fifteen years ago, and the founder of New Jersey. And they better not get any blood on my fucking shoes.