A Short Explanation Of My Absence

I shall attempt to be brief.

There I was, doing my best to write something witty and comment worthy on my silly website, when what did I get for my troubles but a mid-afternoon phone call from a frantic client who needed me to fly out to New Orleans right now to save their buttinsky’s. So, after this worthy and exceptionally wealthy client agreed to throw substantially large sums of money at me to appease my monetary compensational needs, I packed an overnight bag, grabbed my computers and headed to the airport. When I landed I was met by a man holding a sign with my name on it, spelled incorrectly, of course, and he drove me to the hotel I would be spending the night in and, once checked in to said hotel, I went in search of my frantic and deep pocketed client.

Yada, yada, yada… I saved the day.

Being groveled to in public has never been my favorite means of receiving payment for services rendered, preferring as I do large sacks of coinage with immense green ‘$’ symbols emblazoned upon them, so whilst my afore-mentioned clients of largess were upon their knees in supplication to my Superman-like day saving skills, I hastily made my escape. I then went through the whole travelogue exercise I related to you above, but in reverse you understand, and have so come home yet again.

And home is now where I seem to be.

Which is all to say, in an abbreviated form, that I was unable to write yesterday not because of my own laziness, which you understand is not in question here for I am truly one of the worlds’ most lackadaisical and slovenly sloth-like lazy people, having once been so lacking in verve and, for lack of a better term, ‘gumption’, that I refused to move out of the way of a speeding automobile because doing so would be far too much like work, which will bring to mind once again that it was not my laziness that caused me to miss a day of writing, but my monetary need to be someplace else.

In other words; I didn’t write because I was busy. So bite me.
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Summer Camp I

Heidi was my girl.

Well, she wasn’t really my girl, especially since she was 18 and I was only 11, but still, she thought I was cute and didn’t flee my presence like all the other girls in camp. Plus, she was the counselor for Girls Bunk 5 which was the camps’ group of 15 year old girls, all of whom had boobies, so when I visited her I might get lucky and see some cute girl in her bra. However, contrary to popular camp lore, I never once witnessed one of the infamous lingerie pillow fights all the boys in camp just knew the girls had every night. I could only conclude they were controlling their base nature until I left for fear of warping my young and impressionable mind.

Damn their good intentions.
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The Re-Rising

I’m back from the dead… again.

And, as a measure of atonement for my disappearance these last few weeks, I am willing to humiliate myself to a degree not reached since the time I thought it would be cool to show up to the school dance wearing super-tight, black pleather pants, a shredded white t-shirt, a red jacket with a thousand zippers in it and one shiny, glitter covered glove. I won’t tell you any more about that night, at least not yet, so let’s just leave it alone by saying teenage girls are the cruelest, meanest and most spiteful creatures on the planet.

Even today I still want to cry when I think about it.

So, enough strolling down the land-mine infested path I call memory lane, let’s get back to my humiliation of the day. I’ve decided to share with you another picture of my youth, but unlike most of the other pictures I’ve shown you, this one is from my high school years and not from a time I could be considered ‘cute’ or ‘innocent’. I cannot blame my mode of dress on my mother or my hairstyle on some farfetched modeling school disaster.

No, for this picture I can only blame myself.
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