Nights In Tuneful Satin

"Humidity is measured by how hard it is to peel your underwear off your butt. Or how bad your asshole itches during a walk in the park. It's all relative, really."

-Me

Nothing like a large fat man telling me he is going to get laid. As I was walking to the locker room to change before I left, Richard comes up to me to announce that he's got a definite shot at sex tonight. He's sweaty. He's smelly. But goddamn, Richard is off to get laid after a long drought where celibacy sucks major ass. He was so happy he walked around the locker room with nothing on and announced he lost 2 pounds. You know a man's happy when he neglects to forget his usual routine of covering his hairy ass and balls.

To be truthful, I am very happy for Richard. He's been in a bit of a downfall after his divorce. Various aerobics classes to help him keep up some sort of fitness show me he's trying, trying to get rid of at least some of that very obvious belly. Plus, I love it that he might be having sex because I hate how there are people not enjoying the only activity we adults have left since the playground is off limits. Just how sad is it when all I wanna do is teeter-totter?

Warm nights remind me of something many summers ago. When we first moved into this house, just about everything was boxed up. The storage room held a few things that kept my mind off of boredom, a time where a new neighborhood brings too much strangeness. Like LL Cool J would say, I couldn't live without my radio on nights like this. A 2-cassette player and constant playing of whatever the Top 5 At Nine was and we were in business. A few large boxes around me as I sat on the bed to listen in on Joan Jett til I was too sleepy. I miss how easy things seemed back then.

Warm breezes lightly touching my window also bring back those memories of laying on the bed with my radio. Not sure if I wore pajamas or old clothes to sleep in. Even my steel-trap memory gets fuzzy on such trivial things.

How long til the dog starts looking like the owner? 5-Pound Phooey kind of looks like me these days. Her hair is all matted and mangled because she won't let us touch her with the comb. After a long time, this adds up majorly so we're gonna have to shave her. My own hair is longer on top thanks to growing out my old Tyler Durden spiked hair. Seen Fight Club? That's where that character is from and, yes, it's the Brad Pitt one that is a bit insane. Loved that hairstyle but I grew up and have to start looking like my dog.

The count for now:

Chewed out 1 beagle, chased a basset hound, terrorized a mutt after it chased geese in the lake, told off a schnauzer, and nearly got a squirrel due to its confusion as to which way to go. All in a day's work for 5-Pound Phooey.

To end this, I do love knowing that people are having sex. It's not only the fact that the act relaxes you but it makes the person feel much better about him/herself. Yes, getting laid makes me wish others were spending evenings or mornings getting pounded from behind. The funny thing is that I think sex is losing its power thanks to the excess of porn and how people are finding it hard to talk to people after spending so much time on the computer or video games. We've lost our humanity!

So, I leaveth you here as I take in this nice night's light wind. The weekend's a horrible one as rain is on its way for both days. Ever smelled wet dog? How about the number of leaves I have to peel off her butt that somehow just attach themselves to her? And the answer as to what Rick Astley would do? He'd never give you up because he's been waiting for so long. I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling, try to make you understand. Happy twats all around.