I swear, if I hadn't spent so much of my life obsessing over the infinite possibilities of places to put my dick I'd be a millionaire. I mean, as far back as I can remember, potatoes, water jugs, the tiny space between my matress and box-spring, holes in the wall, humans (and some only purporting to be so).... Practically anything was fair game. (I speak in past-tense out of a false dignity, not honesty...) THIS is where I spent my think time, not mathematics or (as you can no doubt tell) English classes.
It seems there is a drug for everything these days. Might I have benefitted more from Ritalin or Valium. I've got one for ya.... Find me a pill that specifically quells a 14 year-old boy's urge to come into his window sill to see if he can fertilize spider eggs.... (Don't worry, I think they drowned).
Poorly Trained Monkey
I keep thinking about those monkeys on the city streets attached by a leash to the organ grinder. It's amazing to me how well trained those little fuzzballs must have been, to dance on cue and all... but even the best get nowhere. This is me. Maybe it's a phase, maybe my life took a wrong turn somewhere down the line, dunno... Just know that I can feel the tug of the leash and as hard as I dance, even with my cutest face, I fall back upon it endless paradigm," all I can do is my best." Is that enough? It sure feels like I'm cumin up short and tomorrow, or the next day, I expect to see a younger fresher monkey on my chain. And right now I think they can have it.
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