9-Inches Of Terror

"Who knew that the 9-inches Sara has to deal with when it comes to sex is not what I'm packing but the snow that will keep me from getting to see her."

-Me

Weather. Gotta love it. Unpredictable and damn right annoying at this time of year. I really, really want to get laid but my town is expecting a lot of snow tomorrow as does Sara's. Mine is very good about snow removal but Sara's? Eh, I've seen better done by blind cerebral palsy victims when it comes to their own sidewalks or driveways.

Let's face it. Sex is best when it's cold outside. Why not? Where the fuck are you going when it's at a point where your balls or tits feel as if they no longer want to stay attached.

"Oops, there goes my ball in the middle of Target! I hate it when someone sees this when I forgot to make them a wee bit less hairy! Razors are so fucking expensive!"

While I might think that those of you enjoying much warmer weather down south or in a tropical climate have it made, your time will come. Do you fuck during a hurricane? I'd laugh if someone put on The Scorpions and then proceeded to act out the part as some sort of bizarre mating ritual. "Yeah! I'm gonna fuck you like a hurricane!" Role playing does have its uses, I guess. There are times I wonder what I'd look like in tight leather pants.

Then again, all this thinking about how much I will miss getting laid just might be missing the point. Digging yourself out when it comes to that many inches of snow will wear you the fuck down, man. Too tired to fuck? You better believe it if you like to put your back into it, ol' chap. A bit of pounding on a lady's muff needs the kind of energy even spinach couldn't provide. We're talking about me, a shovel, and the results being too tired to fuck or do anything afterwards. There is fun in this because I do get to build a maze in the backyard for 4 little dogs that make sure they don't get lost by peeing on every corner.

My gym had a grand opening celebration. Not bad at all. For me, I did my workout and proceeded to enjoy the festivities where I got myself a toe ring from the local tanning place, ate a strawberry on a stick, and drank some sort of weird juice designed for those that need a pick-me-up after the workout. Richard enjoyed everything, too, and even gave me his t-shirt given to him for taking aerobics. Yes, he may be taking his weight-loss a little too serious while dancing around with ladies as they use their fists on imaginary speedbags. I, personally, draw the line at laying on the side to lift legs up and down. Farts happen and they will be fanned out for all to enjoy.

So, I'm going to leave you here as I am about to go look at my loot once again. New t-shirt! Everyone loves new t-shirts. My gym's logo and location are placed firmly on the chest area for advertising. We humans are label whores and free advertising whether we want it or not. Happy twats all around.