Why do I do this you ask?

I wake up this morning thinking it was Friday instead of Saturday. For a minute there confusion as I was creating my day. I was going to create me working out in the gym, me practicing the ancient and deadly Shohei-Ryu-Bollywood Karate, and then perhaps me seducing a woman, bringing her back to my Adams Morgan compound. creating, me unclothed contemplating my body in the mirrors on the ceiling of my bedroom -- total fitness and power, muscle mass, ripped definition, stamina, intensity, mental focus.

I shower, slip on my hot pink banana hammock and my Carla Behrle leather pants. No shirt. Breakfast? Sea turtle eggs and macaque bacon. I head down to Tryst to pick up a double-cap-frap-half-caf-mocha-something-or-another and head to scout talent at the Safeway.

I return to my Adams Morgan compound to write this missive. My chunky gold bracelet keeps clanging on the keyboard as I type. Why do I do this you ask? I can't leave the exploration of hot man on woman sensuality to the polymorphously perverse anti-intellectual milquetoasts who frequent this message board.