Silence = Death

Well, I'm rotisserie-cooking some chicken legs. I had a brief conversation with my girlfriend but she was on her way home and I guess too busy to bother with the likes of me. That's okay, since the beautiful smell of roasting chicken legs is enough to boost my bottomed-out self-esteem, for some reason. My problem with women is that they don't seem to realize that once they get their hooks into me, their time is mine and I expect service! It's not my fault they've got lives.

While I'm waiting for those legs to quit a-walking, since that's what they look like they're doing as they slowly rotate in my George Jr. flesh searing device, I thought that I'd go through my unpublished drafts and see if there was anything even remotely interesting in there since it's been a while since I've published anything new. Here's something sorta interesting . . .

I would like to propose that marriage is inevitable. Not the "horse and carriage" variety, but that of modern man (or woman, for you sticklers) and the confounded Internet, as envisioned by that champion of environmental doom, Albert Gore.

Now, I think a little background is in order. I have been "surfing" (and sometimes drowning in) the Internet for, oh, I don't know, twenty years or so. I used BBSes (Bulletin Board Systems) extensively and was able to access early public connections via EDU organizations to what we now call the Internet. I had company websites up and running by 1992 and was even first in Google (when they started out), Yahoo, AOL and whatever else was popular at the time.

In the late nineties, there was a sort of IT movement toward thinking about thin clients and web-delivered applications, including OSes. This meant that the end user would have a disk-less workstation and that he could rent application time for Word or Lotus Notes or Borland dBase and be constantly using the newest app without having to own the "seat." That didn't quite pan out, as we know, but lots of other things did happen and the common folk discovered high-speed connections through work and hep friends.

Today, media delivery, social networking, dating, bill pay, tax filing and job searches are all done online. When was the last time you used a phone book to look for services? Food shopping and pizza are easily available online. None of the Fortune 1000 rely on faxed or mailed resumes for vetting applicants because the software used to score the applications won't work with those forms of application. Oh, yes, humans only come into play later - if the score meets their requirements!

That's as far as I got with that draft. I guess it stayed in the Drafts folder since it was just okay and displayed little of my searing wordplay (thinking about the chicken again) or the Bon Mots my Dear Readers crave. But yesterday, I read about how Comcast is limiting downloads for their customers! The story is this: Comcast has been sending out warning letters and disconnecting customers that exceed their usage limit. Comcast had been, until recently, advertising download quotas as unlimited but apparently, they have throttled back on this policy in order to manage their bandwidth buys.

Some customers have asked Comcast, according to the CBS article, for information about their usage and for information on what the limits actually are, only to get no answer whatsoever. So, a customer has no idea when and if they're crossing the line. Shame on Comcast. Further, shame on Comcast for cutting off their service for twelve months if they continue to cross the moving, invisible line.

I happen to dislike DSL. It's kludgy and sometimes unreliable in my somewhat rural area. I did use cable, not provided by Comcast, and found if was faster and totally reliable. But I thank my lucky stars that I have DSL at this point because what would happen to my ability to look for a job, do graphics or video editing work or web development without a high-speed connection, not to mention, surfing for free porn and chatting to my girlfriend? I also have no short-term memory left, so, without Google I'd pretty much be a drooling idiot in white CRT glow.

What worse is this kind of shenanigans will lead to regulation, which is a really bad thing for the brave new world of the Internet. In the news this week are the preliminary arguments in the Yahoo/China case, where Yahoo is alleged to have shared IP addresses and other information about bloggers in China that lead to ten-year jail sentences for a journalist and another man. Not cool at all.

To make a good solder joint, one needs the right amount of flux. Too little and the solder won't stick. Too much and the joint may be cold and fragile. Bummer.

So, my chicken's done and I need to get back to the kitchen at this late hour here at Chaos Manor, but I'm a little shook up by all these eyeballs on my Internet pipe. I sure wish they'd cut it out.

12 Step Program For Idiots

You know, part of my recovery (see the blog title, please) has to do with managing my impulses. My impulse, for instance, to use my Ninja Wordcraft Skills to hurt someone to the very core. Learned than from my dad, the great Master of If Looks Could Kill school of communication. Nowadays, I keep a lid on it, let the brain waves simmer, get a good night's sleep, take a dump and, lo and behold, I avoid adding another notch to my Idiot belt. I'm a proud boy.

Of course, there's the other side of it. The I'm An Idiot for Being Naive. That's getting better, too. I've come to realize that humans, like the beings from my planet, are formed deeply by their earliest experiences. When I hear a client trying to manipulate or bullsh*t me, I step back, think a little, imagine them as a five-year-old trying to get sweets from Mummy at the market and manage them that way. It actually works. Sometimes, though, I follow the impulse to react and answer directly and immediately. Once done, not easily undone. So, I'm learning, but it's a costly process.

Let's blame the parents: why not? My communication skills are those of my parents. Not so good. But I've learned new things, especially over the last year or so. As it's said, how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice!

That's it for now. I have to attend an event in honour of the Coastal Roach.

Depression

Here's the thing about depression. It not like feeling sadness. The glass isn't half-empty. It's totally empty, it can't be refilled under any circumstances, it's cracked, someone's going to get killed by the jagged edge and look - now it just burst into flames . . .

I realize that non-depressed people feel sad and dragged out sometimes. In this world, you'd have to be on major doses of amytriptyline daily to not feel it rushing past you sometimes. But, they just don't get it. Hey, depressives, can I get an AMEN!

I also realize that a) they think you're nutso, b) what's the big deal and c) they should be able to snap you out of it. Well, they can't and when they try and fail, they will get angry with the poor, hopeless depressive.

But, look here: it's like getting upset with a paraplegic for not being able to do a Walk To Fight Whatever It Is This Time. They have a disability, see? It's not willful. It's a chemical imbalance.

By the way, depression isn't sadness. It's a morose, morbid, chemically-induced state of mind that can be totally disabling. I've heard these words - "Don't be such a victim!" Well, I am a victim, you moron, of a disease that has no cure. Okay? Thanks.

She's A Maniac

The title just about sums it up. My girlfriend is a maniac. First, let me address the concept of what I mean by the term "girlfriend."

A girlfriend is a female human with whom a male human has an extended relationship that transcends intellectual intimacy into the realm of the physical. Such physical intimacy is indicative of more than simple sexual desire. It is a confirmation of trust built between the male and female so that the act of physical interaction in of itself takes on an additional dimension. This is why extra-relationship sexual exploits have an impact on said long-term relationships, typically.

Now: I'm neither old nor young, but middle-aged. I feel 28, but I'm 48. Ouch. Still, my girlfriend is a "girl" to me in so many ways. She's coquettish, feminine, supple, quiet, nasty (in a good way,) sexy, secretive. True, she's near my age but, oofa, I see her as if she's my age - 28. Go figure. Anyway, she fits my definition of a girl, fer sure.

So, after building our friendship for what might seem a long time, we merged. Not the way you might think, exactly, either. No parked-car, windows-steamed quickie kind of deal, but instead, an exploration of the wonderland that is the quiet space between us. She was exceedingly kind, in a maniacal kind of way, and oh, so hot, hot, hot.

I have no real idea of what the dating scene is today. I'm not sure what expectations women have or what their requirements are. What I've found is that she and I brought forward our sense of what is a good connection from the "good old days" and have wrapped it in the context of a lifetime of experience. She's definitely independent and a survivor of many life challenges, for which I admire her very, very much. She's had to bear up and stay away from the proverbial noose. No easy task and an inspiration to me. This is the more adult aspect of my appreciation of The Girlfriend. Still, she knows how to be a girlfriend in a most uplifting way. I feel positively kingly when I'm with her and I'm not kidding.

Our relationship is complicated by at least two things. One, I'm out of work and this makes it nigh impossible for me to deal with her footing the bills for our activities. It feels odd, but even a soda - it just bothers me: I feel like a leech. I know she wants to, but I know she's just a working girl. It's not fair to her. On the other hand, I would have to not see her at all, more or less, and we barely see each other now. Our private time, just to be alone, away from the eyes of the world, is virtually nil. Yes, we have met and sat and talked in our respective cars, but that's not the same thing. I just want to curl up with her, to hear her breathe, to smell her skin. Right now would be good, right now. And I know she would take me on these terms right now because, like most women, she has a broad view of the timeline of life and knows that this is only temporary.

The other thing has to do with time and my bizarre home life. Right now, I'm working my ass off trying to find a place to work my ass off for money. Being out of a job most definitely sucks a big one. I have a daughter I need and want to care for, and I must not fail. On the other hand, I can't crank 24/7 without that human connection. My ex is right - I am a selfish bastard. Instead of spending time with my girlfriend, shouldn't I be working? This from someone who didn't work for five years and before that worked in my business at her leisure. Shouldn't I be spending time with my daughter? But I do, I do. And I'm human, for God's sake, I think, anyway. How long can I have this wonderful girlfriend anyway if I can't manage to carve out a few hours a week for her? Not long, I wager.

So, the best, most "correct" thing to do would be to set aside our relationship until I get my act together, so to speak. That is find a job, save some money, get a place to live, sue my ex to resolve the property issues and THEN be a good boyfriend. But I just can't do it. I cannot let her go, though I know it would be better for her. I know what she wants and why, by manipulating her emotionally, should I keep her on ice? It's wrong. So, the bleeding is slowed by lots of phone talk, e-mail, chats and the very, very occasional meet-up. Just to put it in perspective, I think we've been together - not for sex, damn you - perhaps four times? Over how many months? Six months (I know she'll correct me: thanks, hon.)

She's a great girlfriend. Attentive, interesting, smart, sexy - oh, I said that already. She's a maniac. The first time (and so far, only time) she stole my virginity, I thought she would break me in two but it was like a McDonald's milkshake - I'd just keep sucking even though I was down to the foam. Okay, that's not the best analogy. But we were together and I could not get enough of simply touching her. Smooth skin, lovely scent, very nice feet - and I'm not a foot fetishist, okay? And she's a maniac. OMFG. Explosive. Innovative. Surprising. Sounds like I'm talking about a new car, doesn't it. There's actually a correlation there, but let's move forward.

When I had to let her go, I couldn't even watch her leave. It felt like I should just run after her. Aye, there's the rub. Do the right thing, or give into my hedonistic self? Where's the balance in what's already a balancing act? New territory for me.

And she's concerned that she's "pushing." Ha. Push, push, in the bush, baby. Now, I'm not the most attractive prize at the carnival, but I am willing to wager that nine men out of ten would kill to have these "problems." Pushing me? I can't get enough of her as it is. I see not only the attractive, sensual "package" that she is, but also a whole panorama of possibilities for a future with her. I really see, in my daydreams of her, a good life together with family, children, grandchildren (yikes), hard times, easy times, happiness, sadness and mirth.

Still, I'm not sure. I'm not sure that I'm up to her speed and she's luxuriously languid but a high-roller in the love department. She's a true maniac in a press-forward but mind the torpedoes sort of way. She understands that I'm 48, not 28, despite my resplendent fantasies. By this, I come to believe that women in general are far superior to men in every way. And I think I love her very much. Which may or may not be a good thing. (Don't worry, honey, it's not what you think.)

So, I turn to you, guys, and tell you one more time - listen to the poets. Give it all you got. Make every day, hour and minute count. Keep in shape. Stay employed and educated. Be a mensch. Do a good deed every day. Think up new ways to keep her loving you, and she will. Don't stray. Be a man, goddammit. As Bruce says:

She'll let you in her house If you come knockin' late at night She'll let you in her mouth If the words you say are right If you pay the price She'll let you deep inside But there's a secret garden she hides She'll let you in her car To go drivin' round She'll let you into the parts of herself That'll bring you down She'll let you in her heart If you got a hammer and a vise But into her secret garden, don't think twice You've gone a million miles How far'd you get To that place where you can't remember And you can't forget She'll lead you down a path There'll be tenderness in the air She'll let you come just far enough So you know she's really there She'll look at you and smile And her eyes will say She's got a secret garden Where everything you want Where everything you need Will always stay A million miles away

Copyright © Bruce Springsteen (ASCAP) © 2007 Sony BMG Music Entertainment, Inc.

I Hate Hotmail

I'm about to f*cking scream.

I have had a Hotmail account since it was invented. I never did like it. It's clunky, slow and messy. Sometimes, it's not even accessible, depending on their server load. I don't really care, since I use GMail all of the time at this point BUT I've had the Hotmail account so that I could manage my web logons for clients and for InterNIC, which uses an antiquated, e-mail-based system for handling handles and registrations.

Since I am so old, I actually write down, or rather, store in a PDA, my passwords. They're not stored in plain text. I have an algorithm that I use to decode the PSWs based on what I store in the PDA. Of course, I freakin' forgot the PSW for the PDA!

After I cracked that, I retrieved my Hotmail password and sure enough, it doesn't work. I don't know why that should be. Of course, if I want to reset the password, Hotmail will send me a reset e-mail - to the account I CAN'T ACCESS. Further, although I'm inputting the right reset info (I have one and only one set - e.g., favorite team, zip code, sh*t like that) THAT DOESN'T WORK EITHER!!!!

So, I have e-mail details for work I did for a client that they now say I never did. I did them a favour and billed for only one-quarter of the time I spent and they never paid it. My fault for not being my typical asshole self and chasing after them like the dogs they are. I figured, why burn a bridge? Now, I'm going work for them and I want to collect. They say I never did the work and have some bizarrely convoluted logic about why this is so. Like the good business person I am, I simply said, "Well, look: I'll dig up the e-mails that support the billing and then you can review it. If I'm wrong, I apologize and if I'm remembering correctly, you can decide whether you should be taking care of that amount." Simple, no?

Because it was consulting work, I made the HUGE mistake of using Hotmail to store the dozens and dozens of e-mails that went back and forth on the friggin' project. And now, I can't get in. Now - I did about $1500 worth of work, probably more, since I'm such a god damned perfectionist, but I know the billing was about $1500. I want to collect about a quarter of that. I bill $125 an hour. I've already spent three friggin' hours trying to get into my stupid Hotmail account - that's $375. And I'm still not in, so I can't even break even. F*ck!

Oh, I can log into my Live Windows Password Net Key or whatever the freak it is, but NOT the e-mail. What the fruit? God, am I steamed.

Do yourself a favor - if you don't have a GMail account, get one. Now. Right now. I've never had a problem, not once. It's secure, it's free, it doesn't carry the low-brow Hotmail stigma and, most importantly, IT DOESN'T SUCK. God, as Napoleon Dynamite would say.

Love and Death and Networking

I just called a long-time industry acquaintance in my bid to open up my network. Anyway, it was mostly friendly chit chat until I said, "So, how's (your sweetheart)?" And there was a pause and he said, "She passed away a little over a year ago. She fell, hit her head and had a stroke." This is not a joking man. I was dumbstruck, still am. He was and I assume, is, so in love with her. Sorta high school sweethearts, just never could get enough of each other. 26 years together. He adored her. I can't imagine it. There aren't words.

The Vulva Revolva

Unlike the day before yesterday, when I was consumed with penis enmity, I find myself considering the Heavenly Gates, the Shining Path, the Portal of Iniquity - that is, the vulva. Actually, vulvae in general. I think we should dive right in.

Vulvae have reared their wrinkled beaks all through history. It's said that women of means of the Nile Delta some four grand years ago invented the concept of lipstick by painting their (face) lips with red vegetable dye so as to make their lips look more like those other lips - engorged and ready for adventure, so sayeth Desmond Morris. Early advertising at its best, I think. The truth is probably more like older women wanted their lips to look like those of nubile young women, which would be redder and fuller and so, dyed them. Being that there are no surviving copies of Vogue from that era, we may never know.

Painted or unfinished, the vulva seem to get short shrift in the service department. Penny, penny, where's the penny is the game of finding the clitoris and why that has to be such a mystery I'll never know. Just because women need to be excessively obtuse, I guess. And, of course, the Pleasure Palace itself, the Canal of Satisfaction. But, who here among us spends countless hours spit-shining those delicate petals of lust? Not, I, he said. Nor I, said another onlooker. So, why?

Time. Time is short. Pick up the kids from soccer practice, get home to make dinner, watch 48 Hours and Bridezilla and then, try to get hubby erect. Now where in that busy schedule is there the time for labia lappin'? It's a luxury we simply don't have the time or energy to pursue. Not to mention all that goddamned hair. Someone have a toothpick? And a dish of pineapple chunks?

Further, vulvae don't have, but need, their very own PR team. "Vulva - it's the other red meat." How about, "Got Vulva?" with a current Hollywood hunk sporting a moist mustache of implicit origin. "when it's time to relax, one thing stands clear (don't have no fear . . .) Vulva tastes real good and keeps ya light . . ." Maybe "Easy to find . . . easy to love," for the clit-challenged. "Pink - it's the new black!" There could be Vulva Day at your local pro ball park. Vulva Support groups. Vulva Pilates! The list goes on and on . . .

But, alas, I believe vulvae are destined to be overlooked rather than idealized. Which is too bad, considering that without them, and without form-fitting garments, camel-toe would be a sorely missed sight. Shucks - why else should I watch women's pro beach volleyball?

For my part, the next vulva I am near enough to touch, and that isn't attached to someone who has a court-issued restraining order against me, will receive my fullest attention. At least until I can get to the good stuff.

Next time . . . the Mons Pubis!

Wouldn't You Know It?

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The Whole Shootin' Match

I've been married at least once before. It was fairly young - 24, I think. I'm not sure why we got married, since neither of us wanted to have kids. She kinda insisted, I sheepishly remember.

When I told my best friend (who had been cheating on me with her behind my back, that f*ck), he said, "So, you're finally going to pull the trigger." I said, "What do you mean, 'pull the trigger'?" He explained that I was going to make a life-altering decision that couldn't be undone, that once it was done, it was a part of my history, my pattern of existence. I gamely said, "Yeah, right, that's what I'm going to do."

So, when that marriage evaporated eight or nine years later, that was another trigger pull. Then, a second marriage and a child and another divorce. Suddenly, I've fired more shots than a dude trying to impress his dame at a shooting gallery at a county fair, yet the star isn't completely shot out. And I'm starting to feel like Sonny at that toll plaza.

I look at the future, at the possible decisions to be made and not made, the scenarios that build in my head, the powerlessness I feel at present and I think, no, I'm not pulling that trigger again, I'm just not going to do it. But then, that's the same damn thing - letting someone else pull the trigger for you, only, the barrel may be pointing at your head. More likely, though, it'll be a gut shot with a long, slow, languorous death.

I was fairly chipper when the dog was barking her brains out at 5:30 this AM, now, I have been wrested back into reality by my own brand of bullsh*t and rather poor aim. I think I should spend time at the target range so that when I pull that trigger again, I kill rather than maim when I'm a-shootin'. That's much more humane for all parties concerned.

Oops, There It Isn't

As usual, I'm thinking about penises. Wait, wait - it's not what you think. I'm not thinking of them in a gay way, okay? I'm thinking what I suspect most men think - is it a source of pride, or of prejudice?
Though this has never happened to me, I supposed there are two opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to the subjective opinions, usually delivered in private, at least at first, about one's penis, probably by one's love mate. The preferred response, for most men, I would think, is "Oh, My, God - it's huge!" This is the ultimate compliment for a man, I am most sure. On the other end of the spectrum might be something like, "Oh, how cute!" Oh, how dreadful that observation must be for the receipient of the compliment.

Fortunately for me, my partners have been kept gagged by legal agreements and monetary settlements, some quite generous, I think, so hearing such commentary hasn't been an issue for me. After all, I wouldn't want to frighten off any potential, new playmates (heh, heh, heh!)

Still and all, what constitutes an adequate penis? The bad news is that penis size and breast size for men and women respectively are about equal in terms of concern. This has to do with body perception. The fact of the matter is that most men and women are average, that is, they are more like the majority than like the minority of either being very large or very small.

Photo: Rasputin's penis on display at the St. Petersburg, (Russia) Museum of Erotica ->

For men, the average size, according to my scientific research, is about 5.5 inches in length. Circumference averages at about 3 inches. So, that's about 15 square inches of cock surface or about 9.7193 cubic inches. (Here's a tip, guys: start expressing your size in cubic inches - just like a Chevy short-block!) If we use the weight of water, which is 0.036 pounds per cubic inch, the the average cock at full attention would weigh 0.35 pounds, which is just a little more than the weight of a Royale with Cheese, sans condiments, but with the seeded bun. Betcha wisht ya stayed awake in high school geometry . . .

BOTTICELLI'S BIRTH of VENUS, c. 1485

So, what happens when the unthinkable happens, a la Lorraine Bobbit? First of all, it happens WAY more than you think. Women don't seem to respect the fact that their little tantrums may result in eunuchdom for their mates, and that they know it. Hence: "Yes, dear." Oh, yes, we wish to retain our penile appendages, please. Nevertheless, women around the world have been hacking away at the Great Stalk for millenia. Even the mythical god Uranus (stop snickering) had his tallywacker terminated by his son, Chronos (Saturn), tossed into the sea, whereupon his daughter, Venus, rose up from the foam. Frankly, we wish it would stop.

Why Bobbit-ism? First of all, some men, myself not included, except for that one time in Las Vegas and that time in Anchorage, but I was cold and drunk and that time in the back of that van, but I digress. Some men just don't know how to keep it zipped. It's said that men are only as faithful as their next opportunity.

Let me comment on this. Research has shown that 40% of women are likely to have a sexual "affair" outside of an otherwise monagomous relationship versus 60% of men. Without going into the anthropological reasons for this, let's apply a little common sense. More men than women have affairs while married. Okay. This makes men dogs. Women, of course, are neglected and lonesome and thus, required adequate porking, while hubby was out bringing home the bacon. Hubby, being a horrible swine, glommed onto the first hair clam he could snatch - that's a pun. No, not punnany! What's the matter with you? Therefore, the oinkster should have his weenie whacked. Makes sense to me.

Bobbit-ism lives on, so, guys, I suggest a stainless-steel cup, 24/7, preferably electronically alarmed.

Here are excerpts from the latest penis-hacking stories from around the world:

Anchorage, AK - Anchorage woman cut off boyfriend's penis, police say
"Surgeons reattached an Anchorage man's penis over the weekend after his girlfriend, apparently upset over a pending breakup, cut it off with a kitchen knife, Anchorage police said Sunday. A city wastewater utility worker recovered the penis from a toilet down which the woman had flushed it."

For some bizarre reason, the man allowed his girlfriend to tie him to the bed after letting her know he wanted to break up with her. Not too swift, I must say.

But wait, there's more:

Thailand - Wife cuts off husband's penis
"She hoped he would stop philandering and stay with her if he could no longer function sexually. "I love him and I don't want him to leave," she said."

Yeah, that would keep me at home, no doubt.

China - Wife cuts off hubby's manhood
"On the way back home, Yao threatened to 'disable' his husband but he thought she was bluffing. Li went to bed early but he was woken at midnight by a sharp pain.

He said: "My wife was holding a large part of my penis, and I pleaded with her to send me to hospital immediately, but she refused firmly, and when I pleaded with her to give me back the cut penis, she threw it out of the window."

The hospital carried out emergency surgery and sent staff to look for Li's severed penis, but found it had been eaten by a neighbour's dog."

Yow, Yao! Snausages! Oh, I'm not going to say that the dog was hungry again a half-hour later, c'mon.

Harris County, Texas - Girlfriend accused of severing man's penis in Harris County

A Harris County woman cut off her boyfriend's penis with a kitchen knife while he was sleeping. Delmy Margoth Ruiz, age 45, said she attacked her ex-boyfriend, Rene Aramando Nunez, 33, because he had been unfaithful and had physically abused her. Eighty percent of his penis was severed, detectives said. The severed organ was not found after the attack Thursday morning at the woman's home."

She got a whopping two years in the joint for removing this poor fellow's, well, joint.

And it should be said that women are not the only ones to blame for willie whacking weirdness.

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia - Man severs penis to prove faithfulness

". . . got into an argument last Friday with his wife, who found a text message on his mobile phone from another woman."

I guess we know who won that argument, huh?

Chicago, IL - Distraught man severs own penis, throws it at officers
"Fik, 33, cut off his own penis during a Northwest Side rampage Wednesday morning. When confronted by police, Fik hurled several knives and his severed organ at the officers, police said."

Sort of like throwing an empty shotgun at a charging elephant, I would say. I can just imagine the poor cops thinking "ew, ew, ew . . ."

And, for the piece de resistance:

London, Merry Olde England - Man cuts off own penis in restaurant
"A man cut off his penis with a knife in a packed London restaurant."

A pizza restaurant, to be exact. Their featured pie? MEATLOVER'S!

By the way, if you share my level of concern about penises in general yet haven't the time to devote to tracking the topic, as I apparently do (someone give me a job, please!), you can visit altpenis.com for a digested daily update of this topic most central.

Let's try to answer some of the questions posed. Why are men unfaithful? Opportunity. If the babes aren't giving it up, they're not getting any, so, it's actually women's collective fault. That one is solved. Next: does penis size matter? Yes. If you were wondering, yes. Women prefer penises with greater girth, greater than average, in 71% of those polled. I would say that's a majority, wouldn't you? But being that greater girth is harder to find, women tend to be unfaithful less oftern than men, throwing back, if you will, the girth-less. Great - another mystery solved. We already know chics are picky, so this makes sense. Finally, anatomically speaking, does size matter? Actually, no. The vaginal canal with sufficient arousal (can you say foreplay, boys and girls?) will compress or expand to more or less perfectly fit the ol' backstabber, pork sword or custard-hurler. So, size matters IN THE MIND, if you don't mind, if yer flicking the bean or polishing the button correctly, it should not matter that you're hung like a gerbil. Excellent!

By the way, the God of Phalluses has been kind to me. Very kind. Very, very kind. Get my drift? Heh, heh. Heh. Ahem.

Linkage

I don't like doing linkage just for the sake of it, but I spend a considerable amount of time wandering into interesting back alleys of the internet, sometimes randomly, sometimes because I follow long, tortuous paths based on a ridiculous pairing of unlikely keywords I even use misspellings of common words, just to see what'll come back. And then, there are sites that I think are unique and valuable, unusual or just plain absorbing. So, here is a collection of a few that I think are kewl (ack ack):

http://www.sphericalpanoramas.com/ - A site focusing (ha ha) on VR panoramic photography.
http://www.squareamerica.com - Simply amazing, apparently found, snapshots.
http://nodalninja.com/gallery.html - This company makes rigs for VR pano photography and this is a link to their QTVR panoramic images from some of their clients.
http://www.museumofhoaxes.com - Is it true or is it bullsh*t? The Museum of Hoaxes has a great section on the top 100 April Fool's pranks. Hard to believe what people take as real.

Much more to come . . .