What HAVE I been doing?

Note: I had actually ended the previous night, jacked up full
of expensive caffeine and absolutely romantic, determined to
write something absolutely fantastically romantic. Who
knew that inspite of doing the contrary, I had even written
a post laden with so much sexual innuendo. Goes to show how
bizarre and messed up my head is now, eh?


Well, in a phone conversation that I had, in the not so
distant past were I was typically whining about the lack
of readers/commenters, the drastic demise of my readership,
why my penis is so big my life has hit a such a low, what I'm
going to do for money, what I'll do with my pay come the 7th,
what I should blog about, to slowly piece back the popularity
that I had at my peak, a few months ago.



Oh, you know. Typical bitchy stuff.
That I've been reduced to that no one
will listen to, save that special someone, you know
that special someone who you want to spend your
entire life with, living as a couple, together.
(Gay partner, I tell ya. Could only be gays.)


Well, she said
(Well, of course it had to be a she right? I'm too manly
to be the female in a homosexual relationship.) that I need
to stop complaining about not having money and start
blogging about wanking instead. Because afterall as she said,
wanking is much more interesting and more people can relate
to wanking.

And after much thought, I've realized that IS true.
No one likes a poor bastard. He doesn't have any money you
can take, he isn't good company because he'd be whining
about not having money and worst of all. He might even
want to take YOUR money.'

Whereas, a wanker. Man, a wanker you can share porn with,
a wanker, you can pool money together to get higher quality porn,
with a wanker you might even learn new wanking techniques!
You know, with these new techniques and high quality porn,
you'd never have to look for females to have sex with, you'd never
have to worry about STDs, you'd never have to worry about a chick's
menstruating on you, you'd never have to worry about bad
temperament.

Well, in other words. Wanking=Good.
Poor bastard= Bad.


So, this morning I woke up bright and early at 8am.
(Well, actually I couldn't sleep. Must have been all
the 6 cup of coffee I downed at yesterday's store meeting.)
Feeling not so refreshed, and with an extremely dull headache.
For the first time, in a very long time, I proceeded to flip through
the papers, looking for pictures of sexy women in underwear
advertisements. You know, things I could wank to.


And then, epiphany.
I couldn't.

I'm sure you people are hankering for details,
but in view of good taste (whatever good taste there is left,
amidst the constant swearing) I'm not going to document how
one goes about wanking.



Simply put, I couldn't.
And you know why?

Because only you know how to push all
the right buttons, sweetie.