Dare to be taken to the heights of sexual ecstasy?

Flashback...sometime last month...

My meeting with the Wall Street Journal went great. The profile of me on page one was an idea cooked up by my PR team to facilitate my negotiations with high government officials in Maryland to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity; and how to import my image and style. I stand to make millions on the deal. A phalanx of high powered intellectual property attorneys are in my employ, but I won't bore you with the details.

Any, after the meeting my mind begins to wander back to last night's impotent sneak attack on yours truly. In whose employ were these ill-trained bashi-bazouks? Who would want to attempt to take away my dignity? I scan my recent memory of potential foes.

Mercury Fox? Blonde. Sylphic beauty. But don't let the looks fool you. She runs the most violent gang in Skandinavia called the "Sisterhood." They control the entire world market in Lutefisk, a kind of rotted fish cured in lye. Very addictive. Great high. No regrets. Anyway, tough gang. Each one are masters of the little known Sparv-Karate. Mercury's nose stud ...cyanide aerosol. She vowed never to be taken alive by authorities. I defeated her in the Shin Do Kumate in 1999. I was wearing my blue kurta and white trousers, an outfit much like the one Sushmita Sen wore in "Aankhen." It deemphasizes my abs and pecs, so she underestimated my muscle mass, density, and ripped definition. I sang "Silsila Yeh Chahat Ka." She was momentarily stunned by my precise but soulful rendition of the song as I moved with horrible fury, as only one can when they practice the deadly art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. In defeat I took her dignity and she has vowed to avenge her humiliation.

Paniagua? Danger is her middle name. Rogue ninja in diesel jeans and pumas. Her weapon of choice? Sharp and deadly bootleg CD Shurikens. She's also been known to use her iPod headphone cord as a garrote. Her stealth, along with her other ancient and deadly ninja skills, makes her a terrible and ferocious foe.

Then there is the woman I only know as "K Good." I know little of her, but I shamed her younger brother at the Malaysian National Bodybuilding competition. We were neck-in-neck through the compulsory poses and the relaxed poses. It was the free posing and pose down where I held an edge. My ripped physique, style, grace, and mental focus were too much for him. I won and he later took his own life by overdosing on ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and shots of Goldschlager.

I'm beginning to think that I am obsessing a little too much over last night's impotent attack on my dignity, so I figure a workout would be just the thing. I need a pump. In the locker room I slip out of the lemon ghagra choli that Urmila Matondkar wore in the movie "Deewangee" when she sang "Dholi dhol baajaa" and put on my tangerine posing banana hammock. Extra large. I'm sensing I'm not alone in the gym. As I work on my lats I notice a gorgeous woman in lycra spandex body suit and black feather boa. I give her my flex-point-wink. Nothing. I try my Front Double Biceps and Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation combo with a point-wink-trigger thumb. Still nothing. Could it be she doesn't know who I am? Impossible. I begin to introduce myself when she interjects, "I know who you are." I knew she must have known who I am. I'm like, "Cool. Who are you? And why no swoon?" She replies, "My name is Incognito Sweetie." She doesn't answer the question 'why no swoon.' Befuddled for the first time in my life, I hit the showers.

After my shower, I practice my pose down. For some reason, feeling safer, I slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I head for Angles. Jim's there and I order both of us shots of squirrel monkey growth hormones and Cointreau. Tonight I have no patience to dispense advice on hot man on woman sensuality. Thoughts of who is Incognito Sweetie and why is she immune to my charm, ripped definition, intensity, style, and stamina occupy my thoughts. So I ask Jim, "Ever heard of Incognito Sweetie?" He's all, "Hmmm. That name rings a bell, but I can't place it right now. Let me check with my people." His people? Furries? "Ok," I say, "thanks."

I head home, slip out of my Carla Behrle leather pants and climb in bed. I sleep naked. I've installed mirrors above so I can admire my physique if I wake up in the middle of the night. Me? I'm about Intensity. Style. Stamina. Bricolage. Langue and Parole. Form and Content. Dignity. That is what I am about. But Incognito Sweetie? I don't know...

Be not afraid. I will take you to the heights of sexual ecstasy, being that my expertise is in man on woman sensuality.

He gets letters:

"You make everyone else seem so dull...much obliged. I find my fingers accidentally clutching the mouse each night in search for your post."

My glutes can bend rebar into origami swan shapes

I want to commend all the lovely ladies of the Red line for their loveliness last night. Too bad they all get off at Metro Center where I am getting on. Me? I’m traveling all the way to Woodley Park. To my Adams Morgan compound. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. My head bobbing rhythm to music only I can hear. I’m wearing my gold medallion of Zhuangzi and Huizi strolling on Bridge Hao and contemplating whether or not the fish are happy. The medallion rests on my ripped pecs. I point flex and wink at a cute blonde wants a charcoal rubbing of my abs. Sadly for her there is no time. A sexy brunette who I point flex and wink at in a pink top wants to feel just how tight my glutes are. Feel away, babe. My glutes so tight they can bend iron rebar into oragami swan shapes. When I get on at Metro Center, I dive into my book, “The Great War for Civilisation” by Robert Fisk, proving that I am not only about the body, but the mind.

I am happy that my mastery of the ancient and deadly Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate has kept me relatively safe and completely bruise-free. I cannot afford any bruising with the Bally Jute Mill Bodybuilding Invitational in Bangladesh coming up soon. I am also happy that my marketing in Maryland of Hugger-Mugger Yoga Products, MuscleTech® supplements, such as CELL-TECH™ and ACETABOLAN III®, and feminine hygiene products like the menstrual cup with my image and style are reaping piles of cash. Maybe I should plan a junket? I decide to share all this happiness with the denizens of Angles in Adams Morgan.

I walk in, sit down at the bar and order a Higher Power Creatine Monohydrate and Boomsma Jonge Genevere Gin. Jim sidles up to the bar looking for more man on woman sensuality tips. I tell Jim about the sacrum. “What do I do?” he says. I’m all, “Use varying types of touch, starting with light pressure and moving up to harder touch. Watch for increased breathing and physical movement in other parts of their body to see which she responds to best. You can also scrape your nails against the sacrum or grasp the soft flesh back there, gently tugging the skin away from the spine before releasing it.” He’s then, “What in god’s name does that do?” And me, “It increases the amount of energy which flows into the pelvis and directly enhances arousal. Stretching the skin away from the spine opens up and unblocks the energy channel. After that, you want to work the outer lips of the yoni.” And Jim’s all, “Right on!” And me, “Jim, no penetration.” Jim’s puzzled. Poor Jim. Middlebury graduate. “Don’t go inside. Not just yet. S-l-o-w-l-y caress and tease the outer area only. Then stroke gently down to the inside of the groin and thigh on one side and back up on the other side, creating a circuit from her yoni to her thighs. It’ll drive her wild by creating and moving energy around her pelvis.” “Then?” says Jim. “Then,” I say, “Penetration. But switch to Tao lovemaking. Cat And Mice Sharing A Hole or Cicada On A Bough or even the Dragon Turns. Some of these might not be appropriate for your smaller penis though.”

I get up and head home to my Adams Morgan compound. Time to go to bed. Me? Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Total fitness and power. Mixing the best of Tantra with Tao. Flair. Dignity. That is what I am about. And if you want to experience the “goat and the tree,” drop me a line.

He gets letters:

"Hi, I am from the Metro area, I love baseball maybe you just running into the wrong people but there are a lot of us females that are into sport, such as myself. a serious sport loving black female"

Can you handle a guy who doesn't have "size" and "duration" issues

We left true tales of Mr. Banana Hammock with me heading home for what I thought would be an uneventful evening at my Adams Morgan compound. I had given Jim some advice on how to deal with his “size” and “duration” issues. I’m in my yellow bustier and with leopard print hipsters like Sushmita Sen wore in Tumko Naa Bhool Payenge. Anyway, as I turn the corner from 18th Street to Columbia Road, I am ambushed by members of Incognito Sweetie’s Tae Bo Underground. They’re pouring out of Pasta Mia.

Me? Surrounded. My totally ripped physique taught from head to toe. My mastery of the ancient and deadly Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate is once again put to the test. I fend off a series Knee-Front Kick-Jack Combos, Knee Cross Combos, Back Fist Punches, and Side Lunge Stretches from these practitioners of the apostate version of a generally benevolent martial art brought to us by the Blanks conglomerate. I then break out in song. “Dhakka Laga Bhukka.” I have no idea what the words mean, but my rendition is as exquisite as it is frightening:

Dhakka Laga Bhukka
Khayega Re Mukka
Ban Ja Re Ban Ja Mashal-E-Raah
O Yuva Yuva... O Yuva
Hum Albely Bade Manchaley
Dhum Jo Lagi To Chale Hum Chale
Chahee Phir Kaee
Yuhi Kisi Duniya Ki Kaamo Mein
Haath Milaye Na
Sang Chale Na

Confusion spreads among my foes as I lash out with savage intensity: Snake-creeps-down-and performs-the-dance-of-the-Shakti, Golden-cock-stands-on-one-leg-Dhandia, and needle-at-sea-bottom-Araalam mudra followed with a HamsaPaksham mudra. Those not left bloodied, battered and unconscious flee. I hope that they have finally learned their lesson.

I cross the street and stop by El Safeway. I’m hungry for pygmy hippopotamus steaks. I also picked up a Ranch salad kit. Inside a lovely asks if she can make a charcoal rubbing of my glutes. As always I’m happy to oblige. Two minutes later I’m headed back to the Adams Morgan compound for dinner.

Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Eating endangered species. Poise. Grace. Power and intensity. Dignity. And if you think you can handle a guy that doesn’t have a problem with “size” and “duration,” you know where to write.

Mr. Banana Hammock, Irresistable God of a Man

Well rested from my night in, I am really looking forward to a night on the town. It has been said that I've favorably compared myself to the Dalai Lama and Jesus. This is true. Except I’m more pumped. Important meeting in the AM, so I put on my grey flannel suit. Blue shirt. The arms are ripped off of both to accommodate my rippling biceps. The shirt stretched taut against my ballooning pecs. My nipples hard from the chill morning air. To accent the outfit I throw on a Zadi tie from Milan. Blue with little yellow fish. Armani glasses with blue tinted frames to better stalk my prey.

I’m feeling the need for a pump. The multinational conglomerate that I help run was wise to consult me on gym setup and the training equipment necessary to keep our workforce in top-notch physical shape. I head down to the gym.

Well known to all, any slippage could be dangerous if there are women working out in the vicinity. Last time I had slippage at the gym, three ladies went into labor and four got pregnant. And me? I cannot afford another paternity suit. I apply some Bikini Bite to make sure nothing pops out unexpectedly and slip into my hot pink banana hammock. Extra large. I hit the gym.

You can never do too much work on your pecs, abs and biceps as far as I’m concerned: Preacher Reverse Curl, Seated Concentration Curl, Crossover Chest Fly, Pullover Crunch. The speakers in the gym pumping out Bob Seger. “Practicing our night moves,” I’m thinking: Bob, maybe later tonight.

After my shower, while I air dry, I do a Front Double Biceps, Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation, Front Lat Spread combo in the mirror and try to take it all in -- total fitness and power, muscle mass, ripped definition, stamina, intensity, mental focus.

Sensing potential trouble later in the evening, I might need to call on the deadly and savage martial art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate of which I am a master. I put on my yellow bustier and with leopard print hipsters like Sushmita Sen wore in Tumko Naa Bhool Payenge, and head for the Orange line at Dunn Loring, switch off at Metro Center, and take the Red line to Woodley Park. I step inside Angles and flex, wink, and point with a trigger finger to a couple of swooning lovelies.

I order a Cadenhead's Old Raj Gin and Hybolin Decanoate and settle in with Jim who is looking for more advice from the master of man on woman sensuality. He’s having “size” and “duration” issues, so I have to draw from my vast knowledge of tantrism. I say, “Jim, try this. First rub your lingam with wasp stings and massage it with sweet oil. When it swells, let it dangle for ten nights through a hole in your bed, going to sleep each night on your stomach. After this period use a cool ointment to remove the pain and swelling. Never fails. And her yoni will be pleased.” And Jim’s all, “Ouch. You did this?” And I’m, “Me? No need. Never had a problem in that department. I’m just here to impart my vast knowledge of tantric sensuality.” With that I head back to my Adams Morgan compound.

Me? Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Concern about slippage. Total fitness. Mental focus. Dignity. That is what I am about. And if you are tired of the whiny metrosexual denizens of craigslist, people like “Mr. Seriously Dude,” and want a man considered expert in all things related to man on woman sensuality, you know where to write.

He gets mentions on craigslist:

" its true ,its a joke or at least it was last year but he seems to have reached a new level of desperation or is unemployed maybe on disability or SSI judging by his prolific posting as of late
maybe someone should check on him ,bring him soup"

Mr. BananaHammock isn't only about the body. He's also about the mind.

Just to impress upon the ladies of craigslist that I am not all about the body, but also the mind, I saw “What The Bleep Do We Know!?” the other day on cable. I’m sitting on a leather couch in my Adams Morgan compound. I’m wearing my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. About to contemplate spirituality and quantum physics. WTF?

Anyway it’s this new type of film: part documentary, part story, and animations. The protagonist, played that deaf babe from “Children of a Lesser God,” finds herself in a fantastic Alice in Wonderland experience when her daily, uninspired life literally begins to unravel, revealing the uncertain world of the quantum field hidden behind what we consider to be our normal, waking reality.

Throughout, there is this chorus of scientists and spiritual types that act as hosts who live outside of the story and who comment on the actions of the characters below. They are also there to introduce the “Great Questions” framed by both science and religion. Through the course of the film, the distinction between science and religion becomes increasingly blurred, since we realize that, in essence, both science and religion are describing the same stuff. Pretty deep, huh?

Anyway, we explore the inner-workings of the human brain and find out that we’re mostly made of water which can somehow be influenced by positive thinking and proteins that our bodies create and stuff. And we can create our day by thinking about it in the morning. And the deaf babe’s roommate is this really hot blonde super-babe.

So flashback to this morning. I’m in bed. And I’m creating my day. And the day I created was that I was going to bring my special brand of man on woman sensuality to this really hot babe who sits down the hall from me. I figure I’ll bring give her my special brand of raw animalistic man on woman sensuality in one of the empty conference rooms sometime this afternoon. So far it hasn’t happened. I was also creating another part of my day to involve someone from Craigslist. Perhaps it will be hot man on woman sensuality. Perhaps it’s just coffee. Perhaps it is you?

Me you ask? Total fitness and power. Superior coition in the mouth. Quantum physics and religion. Flair. Dignity. That is what I am about.

He gets letters:

"Did I see you in Alexandria courthouse yesterday morning?"

"I have to say, your craiglist posts are interesting. It's fruitless trying to tease apart what is fiction and what is reality (do you ever wear a shirt with your leather pants?) and really, I don't bother. You are a completely fictional character to me--never having met you. So I just thought I'd say I switch from my home B-more craigslist page to the D.C. one to see your adventures. And if it's really what you are searching for, hope you find love. or whatever."

"Keep posting , you crack me up . I think you may have groupies :) . From , one of your female fans ."

Bringing My Image and Style to Maryland

So yesterday I was late for my meeting with the PR team. We finalized my travel plans to Maryland in October for a series of meetings with high government officials to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, flair, and dignity. Seems that they want to import some of my image and style. My PR team figures that Wheaton, Silver Spring, and Rockville need it the most, looking good and flair that is. We don’t want to saturate the market with my image and style, and we don’t want to connect my image and style with just anything and everything. So we are careful.

Previously they were thinking: Hugger-Mugger Yoga Products, MuscleTech® supplements, such as CELL-TECH™ and ACETABOLAN III®, and feminine hygiene products. Now they are also thinking we should add outfit knock-offs from my collection of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate competition gear: a kashmiri styled silk kurta-lehenga like the one that Karisma Kapoor wore in Baaz, a peacock green ghagra choli that similar to the one that Urmilia Matondkar wore in Deewangee, and a yellow bustier and with leopard print hipsters like Sushmita Sen wore in Tumko Naa Bhool Payenge. My head bobbing to the sound of music that only I can hear, I’m thinking: That should give the suburbs the flair they so desperately need.

It’s 5:15 PM so I am heading home. At Dunn Loring I get on the Orange line. Second car. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I do a Front Double Biceps, Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation, Front Lat Spread combo, and I point and wink at a few lovelies. They are not disappointed. Me -- muscle mass, density, power, intensity, mental focus. I switch off at Metro Center to the Red line to Woodley Park. I pick up a bottle of Ouzo at Sherry's. I’m pretty sure I have enough Higher Power Creatine Monohydrate back at the compound to go along with it. Then off to El Safeway. I pick up a lion-cub tenderloin and Caesar Salad kit, and head home to my Adams Morgan compound for a well deserved night in.

Love, looking good, flair, muscle mass, and dignity. That is what I am about. And if you’re tired of the whiny codependent (or already married) milquetoasts of craigslist, you know where to find me. And like I continue to say and almost nobody ever does, drop me a line. What’s up with that anyway?

Air Drying. Immaculate Grooming. Power. Style. That is what I am about.

I wake up. It's 6:30 AM. As I said before, this truly rare specimen of manhood's body clock is as precise as his body is well maintained -- muscle mass, density, power, intensity, mental focus, daring. I practice a couple of pose combos: Front Double Biceps, Back Lat Spread, Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation. Then I hit the shower. You’ll notice I don’t towel off. I like to air dry. The blinds of my Adams Morgan compound raised, I head to the kitchen for some herbal tea and some ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange. It’s loaded with Glutamine which helps me maintain muscle mass. Sit down on the couch and watch a video of the 2004 Hazarajat Bodybuilding Invitational. I won that one handily. My contest grooming is immaculate and my pose down unbeatable. But that was before the Taliban came.

Anyway, I slip on my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I put on my medallion of Aderbad Maraspand pouring boiling molten metal on his chests to show the spiritual power of the Zarathushtri faith. I strut to the Dunn Loring station. My head bobbing to music only I can hear, the heavy medallion is beating on my bare chest in rhythm. My well toned pecs are unharmed, much like Aderbad Maraspand’s pecs, I’m thinking, when he poured molten metal on them.

There is a delay on the orange line today. I’m late for my meeting with the PR team. We’re finalizing travel plans to Maryland in a couple of weeks for a series of meetings with high government to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity. Seems that they want to import some of my style in a state not known for style. Best of luck to them. So I make the most of the crowed train: flexing, winking and pointing with the thumb trigger to all the pretty ladies. One in particular blushes. I know what she wants to ask me but she is shy. I approach and tell her that I’d be more than happy to let her do a charcoal rubbing of my abs to remember me by. She has no charcoal. No paper. I tell her that she should probably carry a charcoal pencil and paper with her in the future. Who knows when she might run into me on my morning commute.

I get off at Dunn Loring, then off to work. Air drying. Precise body clock. Contest grooming. Style. Power. Dignity. Grace. That is what I’m about. And if you want to do a charcoal rubbing of my abs to remember me by, please come properly equipped.

Inside the psyche of Mr. BananaHammock: My youth

I first got interested in bodybuilding back in 1978. At that time Mike Mentzer was rocketing up the bodybuilding ranks. I was pretty young. Elementary school. I wore my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I was still working on my point flex wink at the lovelies on the swing sets and jungle gyms. Anyway, Mentzer won the 1978 Mr. Universe and became the first bodybuilder in history to get a perfect score from the judges. His last contest was the infamous 1980 Mr.Olympia, where Arnold himself came out of retirement. The rumor was that Arnold was tired of hearing Mike say that “Heavy Duty” was the only way to train, and that by beating Mike he would prove him wrong. Arnold won the contest even though he wasn't in top shape. Mike who was in better shape then the previous year only placed 5th, people yelled "FIX!", and Mike, fed up, retired from competition.

“Heavy Duty” was never my way though. I worked on my routine, cutting it to only three days a week and interspersed it with the ancient and deadly martial art Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate which got me to where I am today -- total fitness and power, muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, mental focus, dignity.

My routine then was I’d get up at 6:30 AM. My body clock was the same then as it is now. Work out. Preacher Reverse Curl, Seated Concentration Curl, Crossover Chest Fly, Pullover Crunch. Practice my posedowns. Front Double Biceps, Back Lat Spread, Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation.

Breakfast? Froot-Loops and Hybolin Decanoate. Shower. Air Dry.

I’d slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Head off for Lawton Elementary School in Ann Arbor. After school, I put on my kashmiri styled silk kurta-lehenga and mom would drive me out to the local Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate dojo, where I undertook intense training. Snake-creeps-down-and performs-the-dance-of-the-Shakti. Golden-cock-stands-on-one-leg-Dhandia. Learn songs to frighten our foes in combat. Songs like Tere Bina Zindagi Se.

Tere Bina Zindagi Se Koi, Shikva, To Nahin,
Shikva Nahin
Shikva Nahin, Shikva Nahin
Tere Bina Zindagi Bhi Lekin, Zindagi, To Nahin, Zindagi Nahin Zindagi Nahin,
Zindagi Nahin

Kash Aisa Ho Tere Kadamon Se, Chun Ke Manzil Chale
Aur Kahin Dur Kahin
Tum Gar Saath Ho, Manzilon Ki Kami To Nahin
Tere Bina Zindagi Se Koi, Shikva, To Nahin, Shikva Nahin

It was only later, at Huron High School, that I undertook study of man on woman sensuality which made me what I am today. Disciplined. Controlled. Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate master. Foremost expert in man on woman sensuality. That is what I am about. And if you think you got it goin' like a turbo 'Vette and are tired of MWM looking for BBW on craigslist, look no further.

He gets letters:

"I have read this post many times both in public, to friends, foes and to collegues... If you are as silly as I can only presume; then you and I need to meet immediately...if not sooner. : )"

I won't hang from your nipples like a nursing baby.

Rough night. I wouldn’t recommend mixing baby fur seal somatotropin and margaritas at Mixtec in Adams Morgan. Bartender is heavy on the tequila. After work that is where I went. Looking for a change of scenery. Perhaps looking to avoid dispensing advice on man on woman sensuality to the truly lovelorn and inept Jim. I pray he learns to respect the yoni soon. I ordered the macaque flautas rancheras. What impressed me the most was the dish's golden corn tortillas that harmonized finely with the refried beans which, it should be said, were not over-burdened with lard as are their canned cousins. Important to me in particular, since the Bally Jute Mill Bodybuilding Invitational in Bangladesh is coming up soon. I need to preserve my lean muscle mass. I owe it to the fine ladies of Washington, DC to look good in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt.

After dinner I head to Angles for a Higher Power Creatine Monohydrate and Boomsma Jonge Genevere Gin, hoping it is late enough not to run into Jim. That would not be the case. Me in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Jim sidles up to the bar next to me in his Sugar Baby fur suit. He’s all, “Hey. Got any more sex tips for me? That woman I met on craigslist can be so cold.” I’m all, “Babe. You’re still concentrating too much on the yoni. You need to think about it as pleasuring her. Drive her wild. Make her want you.” So he’s, “OK, so what do I do?” Ok. I’ve given him the Root Meridian. The frenulum. The puppet. I’m trying to keep him as far away from the yoni as possible. Build up the arousal. That is why I am considered the foremost expert on man on woman sensuality. This is why nobs like Jim come to me for advice. Anyway, I’m like, “Babe. You’re going in. The nipples.” Jim’s, “The nipples? Isn’t that obvious?” And I’m, “No. Not a big surprise, but you have to have an approach. The nipples directly correlate to the clitoris. So for obvious reasons you don’t want to hang from them like a nursing baby. Tickle, tease, caress, kiss, nibble. Focus on giving your craiglist woman a variety of gentle, pleasurable sensations.” He’s, “then I can tackle the yoni.” I’m, “Tackle. Not the word the foremost expert in matters relating to man on woman sensuality would use, but I guess.” Hopeless.

Back at the office for a late night bull session with my PR team. My itinerary set for my trip to Maryland to meet high government officials to negotiate terms on importing my image and style – looking good, stamina, ripped definition, intensity, and dignity. We don’t want to saturate the market with my image and style, and we don’t want to connect my image and style with just anything and everything. So we are careful. They’re thinking: Hugger-Mugger Yoga Products, MuscleTech® supplements, such as CELL-TECH™ and ACETABOLAN III®, and feminine hygiene products. My head bobbing to the sound of music only I can hear, I’m thinking: Yeah.

I head home hungry. A bit woozy from my baby fur seal somatotropin margarita at Mixtech. I’ll finish off what’s left of my manatee-pate and toast points. Total control. Image marketing. Grace and Dignity. Eating endangered species. Dispensing advice on man on woman sensuality. That is what I am about. And if you want a guy that won’t hang from your nipples like a nursing baby, you know where to write.

He gets letters:

"[Mr. BananaHammock], my nipples are cringing just thinking about your friend's crude attempts. I hope he will be sober enough to recall your advice at crunch time."

Men want to be me. Women want to be with me.

I wake up. It's 6:30 AM. This truly rare specimen of manhood's body clock is as precise as his body is well maintained -- muscle mass, density, power, intensity, mental focus. I don't wear clothes to bed so I can admire my ripped definition in the mirrors over my bed if I happen to wake up in the middle of the night. Anyway, here is my morning routine:

Wake up. Practice my pose combos: Front Double Biceps, Back Lat Spread, Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation. You get the idea. Breakfast wine with a shot of Somatotropin on the side. Baby fur seal bacon and soft boiled condor eggs on toast points. Whole wheat.

Shower. Air dry.

Hydroxy masque to remove impurities and gently exfoliate. Futur E moisturizer. Jan Tana Hair Remover on my washboard abs and cut pecs. Who knows if some lovely on the Orange line will want to do a charcoal rubbing to remember me by? It happens all the time.

Today I'm putting on my medallion of a Buddha Vitarka Mudra flanked by a couple of Bodhisattvas for my AM commute from my Adams Morgan compound to Dunn Loring where I help run a multinational corporation. I slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt.

Sorry for the lame narrative, no adventures and such, but many of you have asked about me. To get inside my head and figure out just what makes me tick. In that spirit, I'm bearing my soul by taking you through my morning routine in this aside. You know, just in case one of you lovelies gets invited up to my compound in Adams Morgan, you know what to expect.

Ripped definition. Perfectly attuned body clocks. An uncharacteristic use of an aside. Skin health. That is what I am about. If you can handle the fact that men want to be me and other women want to be with me, you know where to write.

He gets letters:

"do you jo in the mornings too?"

Mr. Banana Hammock dispenses hot sock puppet love advice

So after work I head for the gym. Tonight I'm working on my lats, abs, and pecs. I shower. Slip on my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I'm practicing my posedown in front of the mirror when I notice that there is a problem. Damn. Another $2000 down the drain. Ruined another pair of Behrles because of a muscle I don't need to work on. My pubococcygeus. I throw on my heavy gold chain with a medallion of a Buddha Vitarka Mudra flanked by a couple of Bodhisattvas and head out to Angles to meet up with some of my fans. My strut is somewhat muted because of the bagginess up front, but that doesn't stop me from flexing, pointing and winking at the women that catch my eye.

At Angles I order a Cadenhead's Old Raj Gin and Hybolin Decanoate and settle in with Jim. He is seeking love advice. One of the three types of advice I normally dispense. Love, looking good, and dignity. Jim's like "Look, I'm hot for Anita." And I'm like, "Way out of your league pal. There is someone for everyone in this town. Check out craigslist for instance: Married women searching for a long-term EMA, she's 5'4, 190lbs, well-proportioned, large chest, long brown hair with natural red highlights, brown eyes...or how about this one? Men please stop posting here. I like to read replies to posts here."

"Her?" he says. I'm just nodding. It could've been the movement my head makes like I'm listening to music only I can here, but it sounds like he's set on tackling that project. "I'm going to write her when I get home. What'da think will drive her wild?"

I take a sip of my Cadenhead's Old Raj Gin and Hybolin Decanoate, crack my neck and scan the room. "Her knees. Put your fingers on one hand as if it were a sock puppet with its mouth closed. Better yet take one of your socks and put it on your hand and make a sock puppet - now place the tips of them lightly on her knee. Let your fingers slide apart and down her knee as if it were an egg in a hand-sock puppet running down and bring them back up in a similar fashion. Move your sock puppet hand above her knee and do it again. (Keep going up to about half-way up and then move to the side of her leg so that you don't make her uncomfortable.) Try at various speeds and forces and do so until she orgasms. Never fails."

I order a Sambuca and stacked amino acids and secretagogues shot, down it and head home. My work here is done.

Power. Inner dialogue. Punctuation. Advice. Dignity. That's what I'm about. If you can handle the intensity, drop me a line.

He gets letters:

"You truly have the most amusing posts on cl. How many are you up to now? I remember not too long ago when you reached a milestone. Keep 'em coming. Sometimes they're the highlight of my day, and that's just sad."

"Can't help but notice the repeated references to leather pants, lats, and Buddha. Strictly from a literary point of view. I use the serial comma."

Can you handle my supreme potency?

Early morning for me. I teach a class of Shohei-Ryu Karate that combines aspects of Bollywood dance and costume. The singing and music are great but it is tough to execute the intricate snake-creeps-down-and-performs-the-dance-of-the-Shakti in a silk printed salwar, kameez, and lilac chiffon dupatta. It’s an ancient martial art that is as terrifying as it is deadly.

After class I shower. I practice my Front Lat Spread and Back Lat Spread before slipping into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Important meeting at work today. My heavy gold chain with a medallion of a Buddha Vitarka Mudra flanked by a couple of Bodhisattvas is probably a little to showy for my meeting with a reporter with the Wall Street Journal, so I opt for the medallion of a humbled Gajamugasuran bowing before Vinayagar. I stand in front of the mirror to take it all in. Total fitness and power--muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus.

I’ll be jetting to Maryland in a few weeks for a series of meetings with high government officials to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity. Seems that they want to export some of my style across the border. For the time being I am free. So if there are any ladies that want to explore hot man on woman sensuality instead of what is offered by the escapist neo-classical pagan milquetoasts who frequent this message board, send me a note. Can you afford not to?

Power. Punctuation. Bollywood. Bricolage. That's what I'm about. If you can handle my supreme potency, drop me a note.

He gets letters:

"You CL ads are hilarious. I sincerely hope that you find the right lady. You should post a photo of yourself in those Carla Behrle leather pants, sans shirt. I bet you look totally hot!"

Do you need attention from an expert of man on woman sensuality?

I meet Jim for dinner at the New Big Wong in the heart of Chinatown. I’m wearing my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Jean Lafonts with orange-tinted lenses. My gold medallion of Zhuangzi and Huizi strolling on Bridge Hao and contemplating whether or not the fish are happy is slapping against my ripped pecs. I think they’re happy. The fish too. Anyway, Jim calls me out of a late afternoon meeting with my PR team for this early dinner. We’re working out strategy for my negotiations with high government officials in Maryland to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity; and how to import my image and style. Jim says, “Meet me at the New Big Wong. I spoke to my people and I think I might have something on Incognito Sweetie.” So the furries know something after all. My office is far. I am there in about an hour. I could’ve made it in 30 minutes, but there are way too many pretty ladies out today. I have to stop a few times to give them my trademark flex-wink-point with a thumb trigger.

Waiting for my General Tso’s chicken, Jim proceeds to let me know what he’s found out about Incognito Sweetie. Jim, “I spoke to my people. PeterBunny and JulieRaccoon say they know of her. As you know, she runs the Tae Bo Underground. They’re apostate. Shunned by the Blanks conglomerate. They threw out all the faith and spirit aspects of the martial art and use its tenets for the forces of evil. You name it, they traffic in it: Lalique Crystal, human hair, bubble gum, soap. They run the entire Jambupati statuette trade out of Myanmar and distribute throughout Southeast Asia.”

“Ok, Ok,” I say, “I get the picture.

I can just imagine how formidable a foe Incognito Sweetie will be with this information. Tae Bo. Unleashed. Total commitment, awareness of the world, excellence in whatever they do, the body as a force of change. Obedience to their will. My head spins. I might soon find out the level of Incognito Sweeties’ total commitment to excellence. I’m not looking forward to do battle with this group. I encountered them earlier, but I think they were merely Tae Bo Boot Camp beginners, not the fearful Boot Camp Elite. I’m going to have to meditate on how to counter the Hip Flexor Stretch, the Side Lunge Stretch and the Knee-Front Kick-Jack Combo. I’m going to have to draw deeply into my knowledge of the ancient and horrible martial art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate.

“Does she have any trademarks? I saw her in a lycra spandex bodysuit at the gym the other night, but I doubt she goes around town in that,” I ask Jim. “Not much,” says Jim, “PeterBunny agrees with your assessment that she’s totally hot. Apparently he heard she wears a signature black feather boa. He didn’t mention anything else.”

The General Tso’s chicken arrives. We’re eating. Jim says, “I tried your tip of the nose Root Chakra thing and nothing. Any other suggestions?” I’m like, “I shouldn’t be giving you this. It can be very powerful, but very, very dangerous. Go for the dan-tian.” Jim says, “The dan-tian?” Rolling my eyes, “The dan-tian. The elixir field. The area just above the pubic bone. Where’d you go to school anyway?” Sheepishly Jim replies, “Middlebury.” Rolling my eyes, “Ok. You use S-O-F-T, L-I-G-H-T touches or just R-E-S-T your palm on the elixir field, um right above the pubic bone, letting the energy flow from your hand into her body. Too far south and you’ll ruin it.” Jim’s like, “What will this do?” I respond, “Touching her dan-tian stimulates her sacred spot from the outside. When pressure is lightly applied to the area, she starts to breathe into that area and experiences enhanced arousal.” Then Jim’s all, “That doesn’t sound like a lot of fun for me.” Me, “Well, Jim, sometimes it’s more than being just about you. Sometimes it’s about the lady. Trust me. I didn’t become the foremost expert of man on woman sensuality and intense psychological and physical pleasure by going strait for the Yoni.”

With that I head back to the office. I’ve got some planning to do, some research to do on what makes the Tae Bo Underground, and the mysterious Ms. Incognito Sweetie, tick.

So I begin to wonder how she strayed from the honorable and ancient art of Tae Bo in a way that I would never stray from the ancient and horrible martial art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. But that’s just me. Poise. Dignity. Advice. Bricolage. Langue and Parole. Form and Content. That is what I am about.

Be not afraid. I'll always respect your Yoni, being that my expertise is in man on woman sensuality. And if you care to be lifted to new levels of sensuosity, you know where to write.

Care to experience my version of hot man on woman sensuality?

Up late last night practicing my bedroom eyes. Wake up late, shower and slip into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Late for work. I head for the Orange line on the 42 bus. Farragut West to Dunn Loring. The train seems oddly empty for 8:15 AM. Very few women to give my wink-flex-point with a thumb trigger. I'll do it anyway. If I can give them just a little piece of me to make their day, I will. Jim calls me on the cell to tell me other furries were whispering rumors about the return of Paniagua. Danger is her middle name. Rogue ninja in diesel jeans and pumas. Her weapon of choice? Sharp and deadly bootleg CD Shurikens. She's also been known to use her iPod headphone cord as a garrote. Her stealth, along with her other ancient and deadly ninja skills, will make her a very dangerous opponent.

Maybe I should hit the gym. Get a pump in. Prepare for battle. My brand new lime green banana hammock is unusable. Already stretched out. Any slippage could be dangerous if there are women working out. Good thing I buy them in bulk. Extra large. I apply some Bikini Bite to make sure stuff nothing pops out unexpectedly and slip into my hot pink banana hammock. I hit the gym. Working on my pecs, biceps, and abs: Preacher Reverse Curl, Seated Concentration Curl, Crossover Chest Fly, Pullover Crunch.

Sweaty. I give the mirror a Front Double Biceps and Side Chest combo before hitting the shower. I'm thinking, Babe. You are way too much – total fitness and power, muscle mass, ripped definition, stamina, intensity, mental focus. I change into my plain white churidar like the one Esha Deol wore in "Na Tum Jaane Na Hum." Low profile. Low flair. My inner flair will be concealed as much as it can. I don't want the beautiful but deadly Paniagua to get the jump on me.

Walking home today. Me in my plain white churidar. Low flair. My head bobbing in rhythm to music only I can hear. I stop in at Tryst, flex for the ladies and grab an iced-double-half-calf-mocha-latte-something-or-another. I need to clean my Adams Morgan Compound.

Me you ask? Total fitness and power. Grace. Dignity. Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. That is what I'm about. And for that “special” lady who wrote the other day and said that it makes no sense that I ride metro AND have a private pilot, I think we should get together so I can school you on my version of hot man on woman sensuality. If there are any others who would like to experience this true wonder of nature, you know where to write.

A totally ripped physique that can induce labor

My weekend retreat to my island hideaway in Pulau Tinggi was just what the doctor ordered. Recharged my batteries and it shows. Relaxed. Even tan all over thanks to my Jan Tana Hair Remover. I'll need to hit the gym soon to be ready for the Bally Jute Mill Bodybuiding Invitational in Bangladesh later this month.

I head to Tryst this afternoon for an ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and Strawberry Smoothie. I'm in my Carla Berhle leather pants. No shirt. I walk in the room and all the ladies are looking up from their laptops. A pregnant woman almost went into labor. I tone it down as much as I can. I give them my Front Double Biceps and Back Lat Spread combo before taking a seat at the bar. I scan the room. Hot blonde lady in a sheer white top and short black skirt. I notice she is noticing me -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, raw animal power. I give her a point and wink.

While I'm drinking my ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and Strawberry Smoothie Jim stops by. He wants to let me know that the Furry Nation is behind me and my battle with Incognito Sweetie and the Tae Bo Underground. They appreciate the sex advice I've been dispensing. I'm glad to hear I can count on the furries and their lethal animaru-Karate, Their soft suits make them invulnerable to most forms of Karate. But they are untested against apostate version of Tae Bo practiced by the Tae Bo Underground. Along with my practice of the ancient and horrible art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate we should be up to the challenge.

Jim wants more sex advice for his lady. The Root Chakra technique did nothing and he was having trouble with the dan-tian, always wanting to go straight for the Yoni. He is a selfish lover, unlike yours truly. This time I try to keep him as far from the Yoni as possible. "Gently suck her upper lip between your lips, so that your lower lip lightly rubs her frenulum, " I say. "What does that do," says Jim. I'm, "The frenulum is a direct channel to the clitoris. Women have been known to get clitoral orgasms from this." Jim's all, "then I can go for the Yoni?" Shaking my head in disgust, "You're too quick on the Yoni. Patience. Trust me. I didn’t become the foremost expert of man on woman sensuality and intense psychological and physical pleasure by going straight for the Yoni.”

My work there done, I head home to practice my bedroom eyes. Patience. Dignity. Advice. A totally ripped physique that can induce labor. That is what I am about. And if you are tired of the guys on craigslist who don't appreciate women who speak in meta-messages, you know where to write.

He gets letters:

"Want a massage? NO recip. IM lookin for a clean Str8m."

"The furries are coming...And they're going straight for my frenulum!!!! Ab Fab, this time...lad!"

Bad Poetry Thursday: PUMP TECH™

I’m cranking out the reps
My blood is flowing
And my muscles are feeling full
I’m training hard
It’s all about getting the pump
Is there anything better?

Yes! A supplement
For the ultimate pump
A supplement like no other
Mind boggling muscle pumps
And crazy vascularity
And I keep it for hours
After I’ve left the gym

PUMP-TECH™!
It jacks up my Nitric Oxide levels
Increases my pumps
Increases my vascular response
And contains two proprietary blends
Blends that have my muscles
Blow up like balloons

My workout
For extreme cell volumization
Has me looking forward
To hardcore workouts
My muscles will be pumped
Up to shirt-splitting size

Need the kind of hot man on woman sensuality that only I can provide?

Ugh. Too much ISS Effervescent Creatine Orange and shots of Goldschlager at the Raven last night. I need to watch out. K Good's little brother overdosed on the stuff after I handed him a humiliating loss at the Malaysian National Bodybuilding Championship. My ripped physique, style, grace, and mental focus were too much for him. But I do that to most men.

I can't think. Much has been weighing on me. My PR team and a phalanx of lawyers are working out strategy for my negotiations with high government officials in Maryland to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity; and how to import my image and style. Now this revelation that the Tae Bo Underground, led by the beautiful and mysterious Ms. Incognito Sweetie, might have it in for yours truly for some reason I know not. Sitting at my desk. I'm in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I take off my orange tinted Jean Lafonts and rub my temple. My next move. My next move. Hit the gym. That always clears my head.

I hit the gym. I change out of my Carla Behrle leather pants, apply some Bikini Bite to keep things in, and put on my tangerine posing banana hammock. Extra large. Spray on a little Hot Stuff to increase enhance my vascularity and slather on some Jan Tana posing gel to highlight my muscularity. The mirror does not lie -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus. Maintaining the specimen that I am is no easy task. Pecs, abs, and obliques are on the agenda today.

Good workout, but still I am unfocused. After I hit the showers I practice a Back Double Biceps and Front Abdominal-Thigh Isolation in the mirror. Throw on my Carla Behrle leather pants and head home early. A few hot ladies on the Orange line to Farragut West. One special one, I give her my bicep flex swivel-wrist point and wink. I can tell she needs the kind of hot man on woman sensuality that only I can provide. But no. Not today. I've decided I need to get away. Weekend retreat to my island hideaway in Pulau Tinggi. Recharge my batteries. Devise my plan for taking out the Tae Bo Underground. Meditate. Tan naked.

On the way to National I call up my pilot and tell him to fuel the plane. We're going to Malaysia. It's been a rough week and I need a break. I'm not about being tired. Inner dialogue. Subtext. Poise. Dignity. Enhanced vascularity. No tan lines. Full frontal male nudity (mine). That is what I am about. And if you think you're pose-worthy, you know where to write.

He gets letters:

"YOU ARE EITHER SICK, LUNATIC OR MENTALLY CHALLENGED!!!!! what's with the f... leather pants and tangerine and orange pieces?????? riding the metro and having a private pilot????? you just DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE!!!! YOU ARE EXTREMELY WEIRD!!!!"

Can you handle the power I project

Great meeting this afternoon. They were probably dazzled by my washboard abs and cut pecs. I am the total package. So I'm walking down K street around 3:45 and there are a couple of lovely ladies with a guy I clearly out-class, out-muscle, out-pose. The kind of guy you could tell wanted to be me. To prove my point if give him my Front Double Biceps, Front Lat Spread, Side Triceps combination. I'm in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Orange tinted Jean Lafonts to better stalk my prey. I give the better looking one of the two my flex, wink, double-point with the thumb trigger. She swoons. Who wouldn't?

I figured that since my earlier trip to the office was quiet that meant the Tae Bo underground were still licking their wounds. Arriving at the office, I hit the office gym and work out my abs. I practice my posedowns after my shower in front of the mirror. Take it all in -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, endurance, mental focus. I change out of my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena Kapoor wore in the movie "Jeena Sirf Merre Liye" and into my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Kareena gave me the outfit after I saved her from an elite force of geriatric pygmy ninja when she was filming "Jeena Sirf Merre Liye" and an intense night of lovemaking.

I am still wondering which one of my sycophants set me up last night for that ambush that nearly became disastrous. Someone at Angles might know. I leave work and head for my local watering hole. I order a Complete Creatine Effervescent Power and scotch and settle down next to Jim. I'm checking out the room and ask him about advice I gave him to improve his techniques concerning man on woman sensuality.

"How'd that sock puppet technique work," I ask.
"No orgasm," says Jim.
"Jim, give this one a try. No lady can resist. Begin simply by lightly caressing her nose with your fingertip. Gradually extend the caresses down to her neck, armpits, breasts, stomach, genitals, and back up again to her nose, slowly creating a circle of energy which encompasses her from nose to yoni."
"Yoni?" says Jim.
"Yoni. You know. The female genitals," I respond, "The tip of the nose is on the meridian which connects to the Root Chakra. Touching it sends energy flowing through that meridian. When you trace the meridian with your fingertips down to the Root Chakra and then up again to her nose, you create a complete circuit of energy which awakens her sexual desires."
So Jim's like, "OK, I don't know what the heck you are talking about, but you are the master of all things dealing with hot, expressive man on woman sensuality. I'll give it a shot."

Jim takes off and I order a shot of Drambuie and Goat Anti-Rat Growth Hormone Polyclonal Antibodies. I drink it. I don't think Jim betrayed me, but who did? I go home.

Drifting off to sleep I continue to wonder who it is that betrayed me and why. I'm not about betrayal. Stealth. Poise. Dignity. Advice. Bricolage. Langue and Parole. That is what I am about. And if you can handle the power I project, drop me a line.

Can you handle the power and intensity of my animal sexuality?

After last night’s poorly thought out attack on yours truly, I thought it wise not to leave the house today in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. I’ll recap. Last night upon leaving the gym I was attacked by the Tae Bo Underground, led by Incognito Sweetie, armed with spears and light machine guns. But me in my lemon ghargra choli that Urmila Matondkar wore in the movie “Deewangee.”, I was totally prepared to unleash the horrible fury of my Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. With savage intensity I sang “Dholi dhol baajaa” (E-groove mix). They were all dazzled by my speed, style, the flourish and panache of my lemon ghargra choli, my strength, and my precise but soulful rendition of the song. I don’t know what possessed me to put on my lemon ghargra choli that evening, but doing so saved my life. I’m not taking any more chances until I find out who among my sycophants betrayed me.

So I’m going through my closet. It’s stocked with the kind of garments you’d expect from a master of the deadly and savage martial art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. Maybe my white churidar like the one Esha Deol wore in “Na Tum Jaane Na Hum.” Hmm. Too plain. I’ve got a reputation to uphold. I possess an inner flair that must be buttressed by my accutrements. Or maybe my blue kurta and white trousers, an outfit much like the one Sushmita Sen wore in “Aankhen.” No. Deemphasizes my abs and pecs. Aha. How about my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena Kapoor wore in the movie "Jeena Sirf Merre Liye." She gave it to me after she experienced my version of man on woman pleasure that no other man to this date has ever been able to recreate. And the outfit has a lot of flair.

So, I’m riding the Orange Line to Dunn Loring. I’m wearing my orange and lilac choli and lehenga that Kareena gave me after some powerful and intense lovemaking the likes of which she has never experienced and will never again. My head and shoulders bobbing to the sound of music only I can hear. I throw a few flex-point-winks to the ladies on the train. Give them what they want. A little slice of me. Brightens their day.

I’m running late for my meeting with reporters from the Wall Street Journal. They want to run a profile on me and my upcoming trip to Maryland to meet with high government officials to consult on what I am known for: love, looking good, and dignity and how to import some of my style to Maryland. Branding feminine hygiene products, maybe cookware, maybe crockery. More on that later.

For now, let it be known. Ripped definition. Intensity. Style. Stamina. Bricolage. Langue and Parole. Dignity. That is what I am about. If you think you can handle the power and intensity of my animal sexuality, get in touch. Grrr.

He gets letters:

"You are oddly but distinctly amusing. However, we are sworn enemies via my family ties to the Tae Bo underground. So I will merely smirk and flip my hair."

"Dude I have read your ads & you crack me the hell up. The Menses one, eh, that made me me a wee bit nauseous. I thought I was gonnaa hurl, but overall you rock! Good luck sir."

New-Age Milquetoasts of Craigslist continued...

Earlier, on the way back from Tryst to my compound in Adams Morgan for my dinner of manatee-pate and toast points, I thought I would stop by the El Safeway. I want to grab a crudité platter to go with the pate and pick up a panda tenderloin and a Ranch Salad kit to complete the meal. Lucky for me that earlier in the day I put on my lemon ghargra choli that Urmila Matondkar wore in the movie “Deewangee.” As I am leaving El Safeway with my purchases, I am jumped by Incognito Sweetie and members of her Tae Bo Underground.

Surrounded. My totally ripped physique taught from head to toe. I am anticipating a furious attack from the group that practices the apostate version of this ancient and honorable martial art. We will see if my mastery of the ancient and deadly Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate is up to the task. I fend off a series Knee-Front Kick-Jack Combos, Knee Cross Combos, Back Fist Punches, and Side Lunge Stretches. I then break out in song. “Dholi dhol baajaa” seems appropriate since that is the song Urmila Matondkar sang in the lemon ghargara choli that I am wearing. Confusion spreads among my foes. As I sing, dance, lunge, punch, and kick, it seems as this group is no match for my skills. Snake-creeps-down-and performs-the-dance-of-the-Shakti, Golden-cock-stands-on-one-leg-Dhandia, and needle-at-sea-bottom-Araalam mudra followed with a HamsaPaksham mudra.

I am total concentration. Total control. Savage intensity. Grace and Dignity. I defeat the minions of Incognito Sweetie as she flees the scene. One thing I notice about her as her feather boa trails in the evening breeze. She is beautiful. I must stand guard that I don’t fall in love with this woman who controls the dark forces that are the Tae Bo Underground.

I pick up my crudité platter, panda tenderloin, and Ranch Salad kit, and head home for dinner. In the morning I will be sore from the fight last night, but for now I am distracted by other thoughts. Thoughts of Incognito Sweetie and her incomparable beauty. But I must somehow resist.

Total control. Savage intensity. Grace and Dignity. Crudités. Eating endangered species. That is what I am about. And if you think you can handle the total juggernaut that is me and are bored with the prehensile denizens of craigslist, drop me a line. And as the ancient Chinese storyteller ZhuangZi was oft heard telling his disciples, “please reply with a pic.”

Are you tired of the new-Age milquetoasts of craigslist?

Back in '04 before I started keeping a log of my forays into Craigslist, I posted a serial satire based on a sort of homage to Mark Leyner and kept it up for many months before giving him up (though not completely). I kept these postings in a Word file. I am very busy at work and don't have much time to write, I thought that instead of going silent for a while and disappointing my 3 readers, I would repost these gems on the blog. I've updated them somewhat but they are more or less verbatim what I posted on Craigslist two years ago...

So I hop on the Orange Line this morning at around 8:00 AM at Farragut West. I’m wearing my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. A gold medallion of Bushyasta, to always remind me of the yellow demon who may attempt to disrupt my mental focus, jangles on my ripped pecs as my head bounces in rhythm to music only I can hear. I smile, wink and point with a trigger thumb to the beautiful young woman in a blue tracksuit. She pretends not to notice, her head buried in a book. But from years of experience, I can tell. I’m too much for her all at once. She has to take it in a little at a time -- muscle mass, density, ripped definition, intensity, stamina, mental focus.

I’m late for my meeting with my PR team. They have been working night and day to set up my itinerary for my trip to Western Maryland. I will be meeting with high government officials at an exclusive resort to consult on what I am known for: making love, looking good, and my image and style. Needless to say, I’ll be raking in millions on the deal. A phalanx of high powered intellectual property attorneys are in my employ and have already started negotiations to license my image and style on lunch boxes, tee shirts, salt and pepper shakers, feminine hygiene products. Stuff like that.

After my meeting, I call up Dr. Major and ask her to meet me at Tryst later for a drink and then head for the gym to work on my traps, my delts, and my quads. I apply some Bikini Bite to keep stuff situated so that nothing pops out suddenly from my brand new lime green posing banana hammock. Extra large. Last time I had slippage at the gym, three ladies went into labor and four got pregnant. Luckily no incidences to report this time. I shower off, practice my pose downs and I slip into my lemon ghagra choli. You know. The one that Urmila Matondkar wore in the movie “Deewangee” when she sang “Dholi dhol baajaa." I trust my senses and I am sensing trouble ahead.

I order an iced-double-half-calf-mocha-latte-something-or-another with a shot of baby fur seal Somatotrophin and settle into a big overstuffed couch with Dr. Major, an old friend. She wants to talk about my man on woman sensuality. She’s all, “as being fully functioning and very alive female I have burning sensuality. You might be coming on too strong.” I’m all, “Too strong? I’m toning it down babe.” She doesn’t fully understand. I know that women have their own burning sensualities. I’m not trying to sell a product like my image and style. I’m just trying to let the people know that there is me and there are the new-Age milquetoasts of craigslist.

I head home for dinner. Manatee-liver pate and toast points. Style. Grace. Dignity. Shameless self-promotion. Langue and Parole. A ripped physique that can induce labor. That is what I am about.

I Know Your Relationship “Deal-Breakers” (September “Men’s Health”)

Some guy posted under the same heading with different answers. He has since taken it down before I could capture his "gentlemanliness..." Here were my answers to the same questions...

See how I rate.

According to "Men’s Health" Magazine there are the 10 relationship deal breakers (September issues, Page 57). I’ll respond to each:

“1. You still live with your parents.”

That would sure be a money-saver, but my folks live too far away to make a reasonable commute.

“2. You skimp on foreplay.”

Nope. I love boobies!

“3. You never stay at her place.”

Three words: I love boobies!

“ 4. You can’t stand kids.”

Are they mine?

“5. You have yet to open a car door for her.”

What? You don’t have arms?

“6. Your gym bag makes her eyes water.”

My gym bag is a Safeway bag that gets thrown away after every use.

“7. Your idea of a romance is candles and Coldplay.”

Yuk! I stick with the classics: Barry White and Boone’s Farms Strawberry Hill.

“8. You have the new Barbara Streisand boxed set.”

No, but I have ELO’s Greatest Hits.

“9. Your dancing is not quite human…”

I can only dance to 80’s Alternative dance music, the YMCA, and am proficient at the White Man’s Overbite.

“10. You slap her bum and call her “babe.”

Um. What is wrong with that?

Vitals: A young 37, average, tall, have a car, have boney girl arms, have big feet, tiny penis, broody.

Photo please, and be ready to roll your eyes.

He gets letters:

"correct use of punctuation ... and you admit to reading something that has more words than photos. good job!"

"Hi, I am considering leaving a relationship (very strongly) but I could be a good friend too when bored I guess. Here is a quick stats list:..."

"Once again, caro mio, you made me laugh!!! Brilliant!!"

Chilled Monkey Brains Tonight

Because I'm not in the mood for sushi (permalink).

Is there a fun, cute, easy going lady out there intersted in getting some chilled monkey brains tonight? If so, please email me back for more about me and a photo.

Let Me Be the Keeper® Menstrual Cup that catches your menses

Let me be the weirdo that proffers a really bad metaphor (permalink)...

Even if you don't menstruate due to low body fat....I hope you can still consider....as my main objective is to please you in your knowledge that I am a guy that is not afraid of your cycle.

37 WM 6-1, brown eyes, in average shape. Enjoys a lady who knows that the smooth surface of the Keeper® menstrual cup allows the mucus membranes of her vaginal wall to continue their essential cleansing and protective functions.

Let me know if interested.

Sparkly Flair for International Barbie

This one is for Mir who sent me a link to a poster looking for a pocket-sized, read 6", girlfriend. Unfortunately he took his post down before I could capture it for posterity.

Ciao Bella

Si tu parles anglais, frances, Tagalog, Judeo-Crimean Tatar, Jewish Babylonian Aramaic, Jamaican Country Sign Language or anything else that has a cute accent or involves using your hands to communicate, even Sipakapense (love that Guatemalan charm), drop me a line with a pic so I can see your cute smile. In terms of physical attributes preferences, since I am 6’ and average, I tend to like shorter than me and have dated Barbie DollsTM who were 14" so I am not opposed to being the tall one. Lets get together for drinks or else and get to know each other.

Please weigh around 115-130 pounds, have 30 to 36 inch hips, an 18 to 23 inch waist, and a 38 to 48 inch bust.

Bad Poetry Thursday: Belgium

Koninkrijk België
Royaume de Belgique
Königreich Belgien
Trilingual country of northwest Europe
I’ve only visited you via train
From Amsterdam to Paris

The cockpit of the West
From the Middle Ages
Until the seventeenth century
You were a prosperous center
Of commerce and culture
And the battlefield of Europe

Founding member of the European Union
Oh how I love your mayonnaise and frites
Your endives
And the whipped cream
And fruit compote
That you put on your waffles

Fun Together! Lets Make IT!

Say what the fuck (permalink)? Intelligence vampire seeks smart woman...

Hello; Please see the end of my posting because. I am new to this grammar and punctuation thing. I figure I'll give internets dating a spin or swivel because I keep so busy with work and other non-work activities. I am very sociable and pleasant painless to get along with. I’m sparkly but not gay! I love to walks on the beach and swims in the ocean. I am very unprejudiced and unique in a lot of ways. I love to rub boobies and make sex. I also like receiving oral sex. I am very unique. I am looking for someone equally unique so I may share the joy and fun in my life inside her. I think life is very short and you should enjoy it as much as possible so why not do it with someone who cares and is worth sharing it with rather than meeting someone at a bar for doing it. I don’t play games because I am too old and tired of that. You shouldn’t play games because you’re not old and tired but young and hot and just not a game-player. I am very blunt at times and call it as I see it. Like, “Your butt looks big in those jeans” or “Ouch! Not so much teeth” or “Since you was up, could you grab me a beer?” I think it would be so nice to find someone to do that with instead of lying to someone. Lying ugly, truth nicey nice. I want someone who can communicate because clearly key is clear communication, right? I'm sure you understand too been there done that. If you would like to know more I can be reached at mrbananahammock where the mail is geeee..... (gmail) or on the linkey above. I would like to meet someone who is fun to be around, young and hot, bendy, and a person who likes to make inside loving sexy bed adventures.

The qualities I am looking for are someone who is fun, young and hot, bendy, and who likes me inside their bodies. Someone who is not afraid to express herself and not player of games. I am not fond of mind tricks or gameplayers or unbendy ladies. Someone who likes good times and good bed joyfulness and hippity hop and try new things together, maybe even get wild and do different positions like you on top! Wow. Feeling the hotness now….are you? Please be lady as I am gentlemanly. Life too short why not enjoy it with someone worth time and qualities that won't judge unless it is required that to be judged. Please have qualities that I mention.

No freaks or people from Ohio.

Adams Morgan Day-A-Palooza Missed Connections-A-Go-Go

9 out of 10 women seem to wear those oversized sunglasses that seem to be all the fashion this summer....

1. Cute short-haired blonde, skinny and height challenged, pink top, wearing those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Coffee?
2. Cute, skinnky diswater blode, jeans, zig-zag patterned top, flip flops, black purse. Drinks?
3. Way out of my league brunette wearing brown top and black skirt, wearing those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Ruffies?
4. Girl with ample buttocks, tramps stamp, t-shirt that said "utterly adorable" wearing those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Pancakes?
5. Cute young brunette with green skirt, white top, possibly with boyfriend, wearing those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Ice Cream?
6. Tall, skinny, blonde wearing a black tee and khaki pants and those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Spanakopitas?
7. Cute blonde wearing purple top and black capris, talking on the phone, and wearing those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Pupusas?
   
8. Dirty blonde eating tex-mex food, wearing an orange "City Sports" tee and those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Chicken on a Stick?
9. Cute curly haired redhead, too skinny, wearing green city shorts, a black top and those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Steak?
10. Skinny cute blonde wearing a blue sundress and those oversized glasses that seem to be in fashion this summer. Salad?

He gets letters:

"you are one desperate fuck head"

Feel free to contact – I have a hidden agenda

He just seems creepy (permalink).


I wasn't sure whether or not I would get a better response if I went platonic or just romantic looking. It is Sunday morning and the pit in my cellar is bare today. I'm too tired to stalk, big night last night, so I thought I'd try to meet somebody electronically.But either way here here is my post. I'm a true Gemini. I moved here from Michigan via Pennsylvania and Virginia. Been here a year. No family or friends here. I'm the quiet loner type. I am looking for attractive girls with sexy womanly curves to meet. I like women who aren’t very vocal, are compliant, and give in easily. I am very attracted to curvy attractive girls with nice skin. I am 6 ft tall and have an average build. I like curvy women with nice skin that don’t have a lot of friends or family (like me). I like women with nice skin whose friends and family, if they have them, wouldn't miss them if they didn’t get in touch for a day or two. Unfortunately, I am not open to any race. I prefer white, but not too white. So if there are any curvy women out there with nice skin, please respond. Nice skin and curvy is essential to the completion of my female-skin “suit.”

So I will attached my picture,

He gets letters:

"'It puts the lotion on it's back' No harm meant, but I couldn't resist. LOL."

Meet my best friend - 37

It's totally not me. Honest. I'm really looking for a date for my best friend (permalink).

I'm posting this for one of my closest friends and he has no idea! He is always there for me. He is the one that introduced me to eating exotic and endangered species. He is the one that has a big medallion of gold. He taught me that wearing leather pants and not shirt can look good on some people. He taught me how to love again. He is attractive and tall with ripped definition. He likes looking at himself in the mirror, posing for what he calls “the lovelies” in metro stations and the 42 bus, Deca-durabolin, and working out. He’s a triple black belt in the ancient and deadly art of Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate. He drinks a lot of Goldschlager because he says it enhances his “inner bling.” He has been known to compare himself favorably with the likes of the Dalai Lama and Jesus. He has a solid career with a large multinational corporation, which he talks about incessantly…stuff like “I took a meeting today with Isaac Mizrahi to discuss the creation of a line of flannel shirts with the arms pre-ripped off for yours truly and others who appreciate a good pump. He wants me to endorse the product line.” But you can usually get him to shut up if you show him your breasts.

He has never been in a long term relationship, but he’s dated a lot and has told me on numerous occasions that he is expert in the art of man on woman sensuality. I asked him once what that meant and he said, “For example, Tao: Cat And Mice Sharing A Hole, Cicada On A Bough, and the Dragon Turns. Also, the secrets of the Yoni: the Uchchushita then the Jihva-bhramanaka, telling him to cleave asunder that archway with his nose and letting his tongue gently probe her yoni with his nose, lips and chin slowly circling. And don’t forget the Mausala, where stiff as a pole in the bed's center, I make love to a woman in way that would make her coo and warble like a woodpigeon.” Huh, I replied.

I asked him what age range he would prefer (I was secretly planning this) he said: 24-35 or so. He told me he would ONLY want a woman who was down to earth, easy going, not demanding or smothering. An insecure woman whom he can fix. A woman who knows that being with him will enhance her life in tangible and meaningful ways. She might even like guys who brood rather than are sparkly. She would have to care about her body since he does. NO BBW's, Rubenesque, Curvy, Cuddly, Irish, or Fatty Fat Fats. She would not be judgmental or stereotypical, but she must love to laugh, be sarcastic and not take life or herself to seriously.

With all this being said I thought I would try a CL ad to see if anyone could be a match for him. I know what he likes. I know what he hats. I can tell you he is not desperate. Please send me an email and a picture of yourself. I will forward it to him If I feel he would be interested.

Hope everyone finds what they are looking for!

Peace

Bad Poetry Thursday: Hulking Out

A scientist I am
Nuclear physicist
Working for the man
Developing a new weapon
The gamma bomb

Caught in the blast
Trying to save a teenager
Absorbing gamma radiation
I am transformed
Into a raging monstrosity

Pursued by the military
General Thaddeus Ross
Pursued by a love
Ms. Betty Ross
A palimpsest of paradoxes

Normally shy, retiring
With my anger repressed
Using yoga to control my rage
I can retain my form
As the genius professor

But torment me and I will hulk out
Get all green and big and stuff
And become impervious to bullets
And fall from orbital heights
Without so much as a scratch

"Oh Mr. BananaHammock! Your bigness excites me!"

"Oh my god!" I am such an idiot (permalink)...

When was the last time you were in the company of a man as robust and intense and, well manly, as yours truly? A man of power and purpose? A man whose ripped definition lights in you the desire to make a charcoal rubbing of his abs? A man so sexamalicious that his Front Double Biceps and Back Lat Spread combo posedown routine followed by a bicep flex swivel-wrist point and wink causes you to scream at the top of your lungs, “Oh Mr. BananaHammock! Your bigness excites me!”?....when was the last time an absolute stranger on the 42 bus turned to you and stuck his tongue down your throat while groping your breasts and your only thought was, “take me now Mr. BananaHammock! In front of all these people. I don’t care!”? ....when was the last time you were undressed by a man using only the power of his mind, and while you stand before him in your resplendent naked glory scream, “Mr. BananaHammock! Rub my buttocks and bosoms! Your touch sends shudders throughout my body!”...when was the last time a lover concentrated on almost all of your wants and desires, and that while he will make you repeatedly moan and scream "your powerful manliness electrifies me in tangible and meaningful ways", he will want to be on bottom so he can admire himself in the mirror on his ceiling?....perhaps you have been with the wrong man...

Men Suck...

Hello. My name is XXXX and I am an ass. Hi XXXX! (permalink).

I know this as a fact because I indeed am a man. I am highly educated, independently wealthy, and in superb physical condition. You might call me a sophisticate. I know how to spell big words like salubrious and sebaceous, know what they mean, and can use them in a sentence:

The man considered himself salubrious in spite of the numerous sebaceous cysts growing from his neck.

I expect a lot from a woman I court and I will not tolerate being second or third. I expect this woman to be sufficiently commodious to my wants and needs and to be respectfully worshipful of yours truly. You will know every thought as it crosses my mind because I have no impulse control or boundaries. If you displease me once, you are reprimanded. If you displease me twice, you are history. If you think you are attractive and have a great body and can please me the way a man deserves to be pleased by an attractive woman with a great body then you may respond. Please don't waste my time and yours if you don't have the goods: 1) attractiveness, 2) great body, 3) firm buttocks {see #2}. Pics necessary for response. If you don’t have firm buttocks don't even think about it. I like firm buttocks. Also include in your response language praising me in two different ways. This should be the easy part.

No freaks.

He gets letters:

"good one dude."

" bananahammock strikes again!"

"Men suck...and you are right, they do. They suck toes, pussy, titties, and if you can find they right one they will suck your ass too! Damn, I miss a good man!"

ANY COMMENTS ON THESE PICS?-SEXAMLICIOUS SWM

I'm too sexy for, hmm, let's see: my shirt, this candelabra over here, this tire that I'm holding up, this towel wrapped around my waist, and I guess, underpants that don't cover my butt crack (permalink).

I decided to post the following pics because I am feeling sexamalicious today...grrrrr.

I am looking for young, hot, fit arm-candy. Please send a recent full length pic with your reply.

What do I mean by fit? Skinny with any-sized boobs up around your neck and firm buttocks.

What do I mean by full length pic? A pic so that I can ascertain the truthfulness of your skinniness and the firmness of your buttocks.

I'm attracted to women with firm buttocks.

Thanks for stopping by.

Let's eat pancakes and take a bath together!

Let's unwind (permalink)... Ok, so that is NOT my tub.

Are you totally stressed out and looking for a great way to get relaxamalicious with a complete stranger and be naked at the same time? I'm loads of fun and spontaneous guy who's always up for eating pancakes and bathing!

I'm getting the bath water ready. Soothing. Warm. Sensual. Candles. Mr. Bubble. A nice stack of pancakes. Ready to join me? I've got candles and and the syrup nice and hot.

Please send me an e-mail and let's eat some pancakes together in the tub.

I look foreard to hearing from you very soon! :)

No freaks.

He gets letters:

" EWWWWWW...look at that grungy tub...you're nasty and good luck finding someone to get in that gross tub with you. "

"Now it's MEEEESHEGANDER DELIGHT ona Moonlit Night" :)

More sexy accents (permalink)...

Hi'ya guys,

I'ma 37 year old fella from Meeshegan (not some bunkin’ from Minnuhsoda, eh?). I have white complexshun, brown hair and brown eyes.

I came ta da big ciddy 10 years ago frem aehNarbor ta werk fer en NGO en then fer a law ferm. (yes I know, didn't we all? :) )

In mah free time I enjoy ice fishin', haahkee, sitin' ahn my davenport drinkin' a Strohs, da Canadian ballet, deer camp, takin' mah Chrisscraft owtahn LayKEEie, en playing Euchre. I like learnin' about new cultchers en people, especially New Yorkers.

I'ma laid back, easy goin', fella with ah strong affinidy fer bolth Vernors and high fashin'.

I would like it if yer pretty, slim and younger. No fudgies. :)

Lookin' forwerd to yer reply.

p.s Been tole I'havea *SEXY ACCENT* :)

Jesus/Dalai Lama-Like Male Proficient in Sensuality. Jealous Attack!

Short, old, way too impressed with himself, former government cipher seeks (permalink)...

SWM, Who Favorably Compares Himself to Jesus/The Dalai Lama Seeks, Smart, Professional Woman

I’m sitting here at my keyboard digesting my lunch. Panda-burger with cheddar. No bun. Listening to plaintive vocal stylings of Lloyd Cole. His voice soothes my growing anger. Anabolic-androgenic steroids, natch. His lyrics are, like me, smart. I’m in my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. As I type this missive, my thick gold chain bracelet clangs on my keyboard. The noise it makes reminds me of Tibetan prayer bells and I ponder the essence of me -- muscle mass, power, endurance, style, mental focus, manliness. My ultimate goal is to bring you to new heights of sexual ecstacy employing my unique version of man on woman sensuality. Please include your recent photograph in your responsive response. My response will follow your responsive response and will be equally responsive. Then you will respond again. Then I will respond in kind. We'll make plans to meet for a couple of Goldschlager shots to enhance our inner bling but then one of us will cancel at the last minute and we will never meet. The loss will be yours, of course.

This shouldn't be necessary, but in response to requests for clarification --

Examples of "worthy of my supreme hottitude":

• Cool like Pinky Tuscadero (don't ask; use Google)
• Clever like Dorothy Parker
• Sexy like Lisa Loeb
• Funky like a girl version of George Clinton
• Glasses girl like Lisa Loeb
• Smart like Sally Baliunas
• Self-effacing like Jill Sobule
• Jewish like Lisa Loeb & Jill Sobule
• and (not "or") smart enough to be able to distinguish satire from reality.

Examples of "Professional":

• Professional Musician
• Professional Lion Tamer
• Professional Professional
• Somebody who works in an office
• Somebody who considers themselves professional in whatever the do
• Doctor (I wouldn't mind being a doctor's "wife")

Meaning of "Responsive Response":

• A response that demonstrates that the writer is not a spammer and is woman and is worshipful of yours truly.
• A thoughtful, considered response that takes no more than 10 minutes to draft and praises me in at least two different ways.
• A response that is suffieciently worshipful of yours truly.

Criticism of This Ad (Let me know what you think.)

"No one could be that much of a self absorbed asshole as MR. Banana!!!. It made me laugh. If it is true and it's about you, please don't tell me. I live in Falls Church and it would worry me that I might cross paths with you."

"I've read your posts before. You're so full of shit. You can't ride metro shirtless."

He gets letters:

"Cigar! That was GOOD! The 'thick gold chain bracelet' was an especially fitting addition. Well done."

viscous liquid made from the distillation of organic matter baby

TAR! Baby (permalink). I think I get why he titled his craiglist ad in a forum for men seeking women to date. What I don't get is why his posted his ad in a forum for men seeking women to date. I also don't entirely get his post. I must admit I also don't really get his fear of proper sentence construction, proper spelling, proper punctuation, un-mixed metaphors, and making sense. I wish him luck though...

words have never failed me before. why would they do so now? even if i wrote a million words on a million pages, you will never find a single capital letter used. i think my shift key is broke. i, also, have a slight problem with proper grammar; and punctuation. i think it is the result of her. yes her. while it’s been a long time i haven’t been able to let go. well, i have let go. somewhat let go. i told her and she told me back and then i spoke and she said, “whatever.” i told her that wasn’t very polite. i am a gentleman and deserve to be treated as such. then she’s all, “people who pick their noses and leave them on little pieces of paper all over the apartment aren’t gentlemen for that matter, nosepickers aren’t gentlemen. so then i told her what she didn’t want to hear. i told her that her ass did indeed look fat in those jeans and that i’d been lying all these many years, whether it makes a difference to her in her crazy mixed up bizzaro world is up to her in that world.

i’ve never been afraid to be myself with myself. or even in front of other people. some people may have hated me for it, but they’re just jealous of my greatitude. others, the smart ones, sing my praises. on several occasions i’ve favorably compared myself to the dalai lama and jesus. i mean we strike a similar pose, don’t we? i’m still here. breathing and waiting. waiting and breathing. taking bathroom breaks from time to time. waiting and breathing (with the occasional bathroom break) for a sign. a sign of something. listening closely i await for the red light to turn green.