Most times, I use this blog as a forum to talk about forced orgasms and tactfully inserting male reproductive organs inside female butts, pussies, and mouths, in no particular order. I am sure it is exactly what Dr. Watkins from English Comp had in mind when she was making sure my MLA format was top notch.
In most posts, I attempt ambitiously to craft a well thought out erotic visual in my head, with tongue-in-butt-cheek humor somehow weaved in, in only the way I know how to do so well. Foisted, nay, forced – like a dick in a face – in a lewd and yet somehow still stimulating concoction of words.
I walk the fine line between making my readers laugh, but cover their mouths and recognize their fingers are wet when they do it. How’s that scent, Miss Tumblr? I bet that it is fantastic.
My obvious goal is to raise Maya Angelou from the dead, gain her seal of approval, but not before she fingers herself and sends me a naked picture of her clam basket, circa 1969. You know, when she was pondering womanhood and just concluded: “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings”.
Sometimes, I use this blog for other reasons though.
I suppose I use it just to say things. When I need to say things, I just say them. Right now, I just need to say things.
Right now, my heart is a different place. In a very personal place. Today, I’ve shed tears and even now as my fingers tap away on my MacBook Pro, I am having a hard time seeing what I type, not because a fan is blowing in my face and my contact lenses are past their shelf life. No, because I am all welled up like a big giant pussy.
You see, I just miss my best friend.
He died, far too young, and every couple of months, I suppose for eternity now, this will just be a part of my life. I have come to terms with that reality a long time ago. Every quarter it seems, like the solstices and equinoxes, I go back for a new semester of Mangina 101, turning into a big fat sensitive puddle of tears over the loss of the only guy who ever really knew the hidden version of me.
He is definitely sitting up in heaven right now unless of course, the Mormons got it right, and he is laughing at me for being such a wuss, 60-inch with surround sound hitting the 15-second rewind and giggling like a dick at me. I can’t wait to punch him in his next world balls when I see him.
The difference between him and other people I’ve lost is that I still have a piece of him and his personality left behind, in written words.
Writing and blogging is a family crest, I guess; mine just comes wet feminine knuckles. So when I visit him and his words as I do from time to time, it still just levels me to see that person come alive to me.
I suppose I should feel fortunate, and I do for sure, that I still can see his sarcasm and asshole personality in the way he perfected so well. But it still is hard, nonetheless.
I don’ know. I don’t really have much else to say about this.
Abracadabra: go rub your pussies or something.
Note: I recall writing this Post in November 17’, back before I took the original TRD blog down and was lucky enough to find it from an old follower’s site. Bizarre that it still holds true and every couple of months, it still hits me; July was like that. I love you brother, fuckin’ dickhead.