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Charlie Hatton
Watertown, MA
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Folks, I was just doing something tonight. I can't tell you what, exactly -- you'll just have to use your imagination.
(Or better yet, don't use your imagination, and just let the story wash over you. Which means that you'd especially better not use your imaginateion, because the combination of what you're probably about to be thinking, and the 'wash over you' comment... not good. We'll all lose some sleep over that one, if we're not careful.)
Anyway, I was just doing something. And the last time I did this unspecified, completely innocent thing, I came out of it with six. Or 'six', if you prefer, but I'm pretty sure those quotes are going to lead to the imagining thing, and it's all downhill from there. But, if we must, I did this thing a while back, and got 'six' out of it.
So, tonight? I did it again. And what did I get -- six? Or even 'six'? No. Not quite. No, this time, much to my wide-eyed delight, I got ten. Not ten, or even 'ten' -- which would be lurid enough, mind you -- but ten. I went from 'six' to ten. Maybe even TEN, but let's not get ahead of ourselves here. Let the smoke and confetti clear, and we'll determine exactly what's what later on, with a clearer perspective.
And really, all I can tell you is... it's got nothing to do with my penis. Really. I know that if it did, I'd have some miracle story to tell about a wonder cream, or amazing exercises, or the importance of living right, eating healthy, and stretching daily -- or maybe that's 'stretching' daily -- but honestly, this is so not about my penis. Promise.
(On the other hand... in the thing that it is about? I just went from 'six' to ten. It's not about my penis, per se, but yeah -- the room's feeling a little woodier right now, if you smell what I'm cooking. I'm all jazz hands and hard-on right now.)
So, unfortunately, that's all I can tell you right now. I can't share any details, but I did want you to feel my excitement. In an entirely non-creepy, penis-free, leg-humping-less kind of way, of course. Let's keep this tasteful -- or as tasteful as we can, after seven paragraphs of penis enlargement euphemisms, anyway.
(And I repeat -- it's so not about my penis. I can't possibly stress this enough. I may have to hire a skywriter, in fact, just to be certain. My penis? Not the thing. Scout's honor.)
Anyway, there you go. Last time: 'six'. This time: ten. Sure, you know nothing else about what's going on, but still, just aak yourself -- if it happened to you, how happy would you be right now, eh? I think we should all take a deep breath and smoke an afterglow cigarette, just to commemorate the occasion. I'm talkin' ten, people. That ain't chopped liver, no matter what you're talking about. Booyah.
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Shelly,
His spam-o-meter eats EVERYTHING. The solution, as I have found, is to let the spamsucker eat it, then when it redirects you to whatever page it is with the comments and the "post comments" box all by their lonesome, repost the comment and it will go through the SECOND TIME. Of course, this means copy/pasting every single commment from now until A) eternity or B) Charlie fixes it. Since B=impossible, A is our only option.
Damn.
I was laughing my ass off when the first parenthesis opened. Having finished that parenthetical comment, I'm too scared [of homo erotic thoughts] to finish.
Hmmm...what could one do at least twice, 6-10 times, and make the room feel woodier? Something women typically do? So many references to food too.
Okay...I admit, I thought I could guess before finishing my comment.... Wrong.
My first thought as I read your post was "Laundry loads" and trust me, you deserve to 'smoke em if ya got em' after ten loads of laundry ;)
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Hmmmm. This is extremely disturbing. I mean, I like to think that I'd be happy if I went from 'six' to ten of something, but then I think, what if it was breasts? I'd be fine with two. Or even 'two.' Even two or TWO, if you must know. But not 'six' or ten or whatever have you. So now I'm just completely creeped out. But, you know, congratulations and everything. 'Cause you seem all happy. *shudder*
[Hey, am I the only one that your spamsuckerthingy doesn't like? 'Cause it seems like I leave comments and they disappear lately. Or else you screen them and decide they're not good enough for your crummy blog. Not that your blog is crummy, of course, but that it's very judgmental, maybe. Anyway, the above is what I've tried to submit about seventeen other times today. If you hate it, or me, then please have the good grace to tell me personally. I mean, really.]