Won't You Come In?

"The story of our life is never an autobiography, it’s always a novel—that’s the first mistake people make. Our memories are just another artifice: go on, admit it." —Julian Barnes, "Love, etc."

So I admit it, Julian. It is not the complete, unvarnished truth; I've watched too many episodes of Trading Spaces for that. My truths have been varnished, painted, stripped, and painted over again. I am of the Hildi Santo-Tomas school of decorating: why use wallpaper when you can use hay?

I have art-directed the scenes of my life and then presented them for your perusal. I have filtered the lens, adjusted the shot and placed myself in a good light. Even when I am covered in dirt, I want for you to want to fuck my brains out. I want to fuck your brains out too, but maybe that would be too presumptuous. May I, please?

Brian asked me, "Why is it that the first thing you do whenever you get home is to check your blog?" I know the answer to this question even if I don't want to admit it: it is because each comment you put in my posts is like a stroke to my ego. And given enough strokes...ahhh, you know where this is leading to, but before I let your imagination finish the rest of this sentence, let me remind you of the length and girth of this beer can...

I hope I have not turned you off now, especially you straight male readers, all two of you. You know reading this won’t make you gay, just like having a finger up your ass won't make you gay. But I wouldn’t tell your buddies anyway, they might get the wrong idea. It'll be a secret between you and me. Like Vegas, what happens here, stays here, as long as your girlfriend or wife doesn't have my URL. But please make sure to clean under your fingernails.

I hope y'all won't think less of me for using the words "fuck," "stroke" and "ass." I'm just keepin' it real, n'est-ce pas? Plus, it really helps in getting hits from search engines. They are the literal counterpart of breasts unencumbered by bras: your eyes are drawn to the jiggling, like a worm on a hook. My mom always said, "Use your boobs to get him to the altar. Save your mind for when you are negotiating the divorce settlement." Wise words.

I have provided you with the flashing signs, the garish neon lights, the late night advertisements, all directed to my blogwhore-house.

Now, won’t you come in?