It is funny how people mistake me for much taller than what I am. I'm 5'4", but people tell me that they thought I was 5'7". Some others tell me they have always had the impression I'm taller than them, and they are like 4'11".

Well. If she is made of Matter, she needs to be at least four or five inches taller than I. I really like to look up to my woman. Plus, I save a ton on pedestals!!

But if she is a fantasy woman, then she could be any height, from a few inches to several hudred feet tall.

That way I can mistake her for my penis, which creates quite a giggle between her and me.

Like, for instance, I would say, "honey, please go down on me!!" to which she'd reply, "what d'ya want me to do... take the top of my own head in my mouth?"

And then we're rolling in the isles, before we return to the hay to do the same thing there.

Every good Christian has doubts. "Maybe I should have been born as a protestant. Or maybe we all should have stayed Jewish. Either way."

Candy; or gun, banana, crucifix.

Well. Depends on how many feet you got. A six-footer guy can rely on it for six feet into the distance.

Not to mention living in a house that is made of twigs and has no roof, working almost all day, and having to sit half time on the eggs for very long periods of time to make them hatcha.

Or a culture so different, that you have to breathe with gills, and catch Florida beach hotel guests with your mouth when you get hungry.

Progressive structure!! Yehaaa!!

Esp. honourable and traditional.

I don't think your poor ma' raised you to talk badly about psychos.

Remember, anyone could be a psycho.

I sure as hell am one.

Remember, a psycho is a mentally deranged and emotionally
deformed human being, but he is still human and he may
be a pscyho+ in need.

And the last thing a pscyho needs is to be put down for
his unfortunate nature.

And the last thing a non-pscyho needs is to put a psycho
down for his unfortunate nature.

I don't blame you. I mean, who could. But remember,
she works 970 hour weeks. That will get in the
way sooner or later. I mean, she just spelled
that out clearer than the azure sky in the deep
summer.

Men never learn. The pull of their insidious
testosterone is stronger than the wild horsepowers
of a Testarossa Ferrari.

Granted, it keeps making the world turn around,
but it's so dang predictable.

In this sense we are all winners.

Coz everybody's lover and their brother
turns out to be a psychomatic nervewrangling
egomaniac, sooner or later, in or out of
print, no difference. Human nature is
what we do, remember.

The daydreams do change my situation. It changes it by making me less uptight about the whole thing.

In fact, I had to decide at age twenty-five, after about five unsuccessful suicide attempts, whether I should continue with my then current lifestyle, or take up humour as a hobby.

When you can laugh at your own jokes, and then later, years later, when others start to laugh at your jokes, then the issue of "hope" loses a lot of its edge.

My recipe.

Make sure that she does not retain more than half of all the organs you got inplanted while you were seeing her, and none of the organs you had had before you had your first visit at her office. And watch her hands at all times, esp. when she holds a scalper or is handling hydrochloric acid, or smallpox bacterial cultures.

Let's face it: those who have to hide their faces don't like it any more than you do.

I agree. "the picture of a face speaks a thousand words". But let's face it, so does the face.

Oy, you are wrong. Are you ever wrong. wrong, wrong, wrong.

Take me, for instance. (Please!!)

I only have eyes for me, and I make love to myself almost every day.

My love for me is growing stronger every day.

I've been loving myself so long, that I can't stop now.

I can't get enough of my love.

I hold my own hand, and I know I can only truly rely on myself and on myself only, if I need a shoulder to cry on and some sweet, tender lips to kiss.


Oh, i almost forgot: I think and feel like myself, all the time, and I feel myself very often, and interestingly I am not lonely for even a minute, despite your spiteful prediction that I will be if I try to hold out for the "soul mate" lover.

--------------

The person who makes up aphorisms, and English proverbs, and similes and idiomatic expressions, would quit his job in anger and in shame, the next day if he or she and I ever met and talked for an hour.

1. I have no friends, never had any.

2. Colleagues couldn't care less whether I eat breakfast with King Kong and do the rhumba with Eva Braun.

3. My family is too painfully aware why this I never got married. Esp. my exes and the grandchildren.

Why do I think I am single? I loved my wife too much. I knew she'd be incomparably better off if I never married her.

In fact, she is still completely unaware of my existence. Her name is Raquel Welch, then she anglocised it to Morgan Fairchild in the seventies.

Relax, honey. I did not say blues. And there was a Herman (newspaper cartoon joke) in the sevneties, which showed a long-haired hippy at the family dinner table, he was tall and had a used-up body though he was barely 24, and he lamented to his parents, "if you hadn't made me take singing lessons, I could have sold a coupla million records by now."

Singing is not done by the throat and lungs. You should know that. Singing rock n roll is done from the heart. No other organ needed to do it well.

However, an organist in the band is always a good idea.
-------------

**In other words, you are right, i am eating the Humble Pie, and am red in the face like a beat. Like a back-beet you just can't lose.

No, no. It has everything to do with the pics.

You see, Americans are so superstitious, relgious, and into movies, that all that mixed in with reality is too much. Just plian f too much.

So they figure if you show a picture of a lock with a key and a pen, then you won't attack them with a nail pick, because no pen and lock has attacked them so far. With a little luck.

If you show them a picture that shows some gas, a tasteless, smell-less, odourless, weightless, colourless and see-through gas, they will reach for their pepsodent.

If you show them a picture of charlie manson, fine, they know what it is, they are prepared to received him or Hitler or even Satan in their living room. The devil does not stand up to the fire power of the average American household.

But show them nothing... oy, vey. Americans will think it's Nothing, or Bad Luck, or Unlucky Charm, or a slim woman (if the American looking at it is an "few extra pounds" woman), or they see Invisible Man, as Presidential Candidate. Americans had had a lot of trouble surviving one visible minority group president, and what they don't want at all is an invisible minority group president. The godless Devil that the free men will vote in may be even Russian Orthodox or Coptic. Yikes. Might as well get a Jew or a dog, you goons, the newspapers will headline Americans as leaving the polls. Yet the majority cut out the chit from the election rhetoric and voted for him. And that is so because nobody wants him. If you are a devout Christian nation like America, that's obvious enough for you how one follows from the other.

I propose that in the United States a Grand Jury be set up that decrees that free, non-slave owning American Citizens with no criminal records, be entitled to line up anyone they want to against the wall and shoot them, including their own selves, as long as all people, alive or dead, are proper United States citizens, white, born on the soil, and maybe harbouring communistic values.

Gimme bloodbath or gimme Milka milk chocolate with Alpennussen und Graetchenkusse.

Oh. I take it then, that when a man in Maine is thinking about asking a girl's hand for marriage, he first kicks her in the shingles and listens intently for some bad prattle in her screams, looks under her hood to check for liquid levels, and takes her for a test drive in the snow and slush.

I also heard that the "Gail from Maine stays mainly in the plains". You are in Iowa now, or some prairie state, no?