First I have a shoulder chip needing dusting. Why won't the disgruntled readers voice their final straw anger when zapping my name from their favorites? Trick ass list constantly on a confusing adding subtraction. Nearly impossible to determine who just signed off to the spank joy. I'd be the first to calmly grant passes to those whose stomach soured once too often reading my insanity. Just wish these herbs would have the yams to confront me.

Only once did this happen. A submissive chick filling my notes with exclamations of puddles pooling in her cotton after reading my entries. Wanted me to lodge junior's head in her larynx. I later wrote a past admission of picking up chubby ladies in bars, dumping it in their ass and then never calling them ever again. I was basically making a pledge to avoid boning the full figured woman, strictly since it was tragically easy to get them to open the backdoor wide and willing. Also, kinda a steaming jerk move to deposit some vanilla in somebody's rectum and then pretend they no longer exist. Anyway, the aforementioned buttered spanky fan took an effrontery to it. Wrote me a scathing admonishment and dropped me like a snotty hankerchief.

Truth be told, this chick was, herself, amongst the Rubenesque brigade. She also wrote numerous personal diary tales of satisfying her burning anal hunger. Methinks the piggie dost protest too much. Struck a nerve with my written root canal I did.

Speaking of scatological topics that cause audience flight, I have been battling an irritated roid all week. Too much Gruyere in the diet, stretching log ruptured one of the little varmits. The world is a wonderful place when blood drips from your ass. Again, thank you Mr. H for your preparation solution.

Another lovely genetic legacy. Hemorrhoids. Passed on down through the patriarchy. Gimpy bungholes. Apparently, as dinner table reports have told, Granddad had his surgically removed after they were hanging down like a bunch of grapes. Blamed the six years as an Air Force drop pilot, grinding away on metal slabs while flying noisy tin cans. Second most painful operation. Well, even liquid shit wouldn't feel so comfy flowing through a sutured sphincter.

Remember difficultly holding back a spit take. Grandpop, after listening to Granddad explain his butt woes, mentioned how he rubbed Bengay on his ring, the one time he ever had trouble down there. Granddad lost all color, wavered a moment, and literally fainted at the thought of putting deep heat on his throbbing anus. I had to remove myself from the area to have convulsive laughing fits.

So, Sunday. Nadir of emotional states being had the day before. Javier suggested taking advantage of the fleeting Spring weather. Hinted at shopping for clothes. I am a bit of a skirt in this arena, but clothes shopping raises my spirits. I needed sugar pills. Got enthused about shopping.

A delicious Latina with a bubble butt served us brunch at Yuca Bar. The warm air kick started engines inside me that were clogged rusty. Looked forward to walking towards Flatiron to buy stuff. Great four corners on Fifth Avenue and Fifteenth Street. Picked up two pairs of shoes at Kenneth Cole. Black leather Italian driving mocs and luscious natural skin tailored loafers. Nextdoor at JCrew grabbed a couple pairs of jeans, some striped cotton shirts and snug black boxer briefs. Jav and I both decided we had enough, skipped on checking out Banana Republic or Aldo.

Monday, blank day. Spent the hours watching useless television and jerking off. Made my aparment reek of unwashed sweat and semen.

Tuesday. Decided to force my body into changing metabolic gears. Left the crib and would not return till I was exhausted from peddling up and down the sidewalks of LES. Weirdly, I encountered all three of the sucking wounds that are causing lease grief. First, the upstairs weasel dogface ratboy ran into me on the corner outside the local bodega. Recently shaved his head, looks even more larval now. He motions as if he is gonna say hello. I stop in my tracks, growl audibly, and tell him and his companion, who I've never met, to go fuck themselves. His pal shoots him a look, searching for signals of a fight about to step off. Sipping slowly on the bottle of water I just bought, my eyes centered on his irises, sneering. I knew his head would crack on the bumper of the Volvo parked next to him. He nervously turned away, and left the vicinity, checking over his shoulder. I licked my teeth as he rounded the corner.

Picked up a smoothie at Lucky's. Wandering down Seventh alongside Tomkins. Deb, the illegitimate broken condom mistake offspring of the Ramones and Olive Oyl, was walking somebody's dog. I heard her talking self congratulatory shit after I passed by. She has burgeoning pride over helping getting me ousted from the building. I stopped, and slowly turned around for more staring. She tried to play off gossiping about my landlord woes that she has contributed to. I wished virulent scabby vagina cancer on her, spit at her feet and kissed my bird finger. She had righteous indignation dripping from her dangling chin.

As I was wrapping up the outdoors jaunt, I ran into Larry the redheaded stupor. About a week ago he refused to fix my toilet since I "wasn't the legal tenant". The village idiot actually said "hey spank, how's it going" as I purchased provisions. I asked him if he was serious. With vacant, special school district eyes, he tried to compute what I was asking. I told him to never talk to me again and that he could go fist his mutt of a mother. "Heeeeey!" Slightly lurched like he was gonna grab me. Fingered the Bic pen in my pocket that I would jab in his face if he just grazed me. "What?" I asked. He rushes out the door fuming.

I hope the three of them get together and have an informative conversation. I wouldn't puke in their mouths if they were starving. I don't play that shit anymore. You wanna bully fuck with me, I'll make it plain as day, I'd feed you to sewer rats given the chance.

Wednesday. Interview with a staffing firm. Looking for legal document scanners. Scoffed at the hourly wage offered. The interviewer chick said she would keep me in the ranks for supervisor gigs. All print shops suck. In my head I was already refusing to ever work for them. Actually, the dominant thought was how hilarious it would be to turn off the lights after she left the room. Barely the size of a closet. Leap at her from the dark as she returned. She gave a worried look as I laughed during the recanting of my work history.

Thursday. Another interview. This time with a charity promotion group. Company began in the UK, just began operations here in Manhattan. Plenty of immediate room for growth. Just gotta kick out the superstar moves. I often find it difficult to get hired. Once on task, people can't believe a massive freak is their best employee. So, I start on Monday. Pay is shit, functional, but shit. Fantastic hours, cool people, and low low stress. I'm down like a clown in a crown. Finally a job I won't be ashamed to admit that I work for. Triple five dope.

Alright, and now back to insulting readers. Ya gotta imagine Christ had an absolutely magnificent cock. No way is god gonna let his favorite son walk the earth swinging dinky. I bet it was the most gorgeous, satisfying, robe snake ever seen by man and woman alike. Probably had a sweet smelling halo hovering around the knob. Perfect shaft skin tone. Delicately gourmet palate ball juice erupting from the tip. I imagine he could command it to vibrate and pulse. How could people not say that Jesus could lay some serious righteous pipe. Holy woodsman.

Any takers?