small brush shouldn't fuck with big timber

Death's Door, the view from the Spanish announcers table: <strong>horntoad</strong>

Friday, April 30


I’ve been the worst kind of horntoad lately, it’s like my meter is off the fuckin charts. It’s like that thing Spock goes thru every seven years and shit. You know where he gets so horny that if he doesn’t sink the pink soon, he’s gonna blow up and all that? Well that’s me; usually on Saturday or Sunday mornings. Like I need to be horny on the fuckin weekend.
It’s so bad that even though the Stressed out Italian EX-stripper’s been calling me lately, if she ever comes over I’m afraid I’m gonna jump her like a bad disease. I’ve even been looking at Michelle wondering what would happen if I just reached over and smacked her on the ass. Hmmm, most likely get the remote jammed up my ass, so I best not be doing that.
Plus I’m too much of a gentleman to go where I’m not invited. Even back in the day I was like that. A friend of mine called it shaking the grate. Like a miner looking for gold, they’d sift through all the dirt and chaff until it all fell thru the grate and left the gold exposed. Except in my case, instead of pocketing the gold I’d poke it then throw it back in the fuckin river. What it really is I think, is that I’ve spent so many years watching assholes work their fucked up shit that I want to be absolute sure of a woman’s meaning. It’s like I know all the signals and signs, but something in my head refuses to go “me? You talkin to me”?
It’s like unless I really know the woman and feel really comfortable around em, I almost need a fuckin affidavit from em stating that yes, I do intend to go home with Greg and have unholy sex. I’ve always thought of myself as a sexy beast, but sometimes the beast isn’t sure if he can still run down the kill. I’m no Dirk Diggler and shit, but I’ve always been told I was fun. Hell, back in the day I used to keep a bubblegum machine by the bed and when we were done doing the deed that hath no name, I’d reach over a slap the lever and hand her a piece of gum.
Plus living all those years with hot strippers changed me a lot. Most cats would think that living in a house with hot woman would be the shit. But that only lasted for a while, cause even though they ran around buck assed nekked and shit, it made me immune to nudity. And after a few years of seeing em nekked, sleeping in the same bed, sharing the shower. It went from a huge turn-on to the most normal thing in the world. Like the cat in prison who fucked other cats in the ass for years. When he was finally released back into the world the first woman he tried to have sex with kicked him to the curb. Because the first thing he did was flip her over and try to poke her in the butt. And when she flipped back over and said try here, he became all unsure of himself cause he wasn’t used to going in the front door. I know, I know, some kind of fucked up analogy huh? But you see what I’m sayin right? Damn, did I really use that story? Anyway, times have changed and I’m quite a bit older, so nothings as it ever was. Maybe I should just realize the truth, that I’m a corvette head stuck on a fifty-eight Buick body. says, "and the monkey flipped the switch"


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