2006-02-13 - 9:01 a.m.

He asked me so presumptuously in the obsessive compulsive manner of his if I would like to watch him masturbate on the White House lawn but I told him I was busy picking pomegrantes with some Zulu natives over at Martha Stewart's house.
Then he picked his nose and wiped it on his shoe before he jumped into his army tank and sped off into the night leaving behind a trail of steaming icecubes in the undertow of something closely resembling the scrotum of a 90 year old bisexual man.
But I never had the chance to tell him how much he reminded me of a small child eating soggy potato chips on the 4:33 train headed for Solomon's Cavern down by the Missippi River across from the Starbucks where Roger Rabbit lost his virginity.
I guess the whole point of the story is that I would love nothing more than to eat cream style corn off your enormous hardon while you sing "Lady Marmalade" for the American Idol judges who are all coked up and gay anyway. And that's all I have to say about that...