In Which We Think About This and That


You know when you’re at work and you have to poop and it turns out to be so massive you’re afraid you may have damaged the pipes and the management will send a firmly worded email to your boss and when you finally escape, your butthole feels like a ripe mango that’s been turned inside out and you have to go sit in a meeting and be all professional, but still spend most of the time thinking about the word “prolapse?”

I wouldn’t know because that’s never happened to me, but it does sound very unfortunate.

I’ve really been impressed with the television adaptation of my favorite graphic novel ever, Y: the Last Man. I could explain why I like it so much or what I feel like are the improvements they made over the book, but what the fuck, it’s canceled. The producers are making some noises about maybe some other platform will revive it; great, string my poor battered heart along even further. But even if they find a new home and then tackle another season, I’m sure I will have forgotten what I liked about it when it eventually airs. “Is that the one about zombies in outer space?” I will ask myself. Hint: it is not about zombies in outer space. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it also leads me to find something else to watch. Maybe something with zombies in outer space.

In the last post, I pointed out November 9 was our good friend Mikey’s birthday, but I failed to mention it was also the 40th anniversary of the evening I met my beloved husband, R Man. I tend to ignore anniversaries of all sort; I can remember the past just fine, thanks, and dwelling on them can make even someone as cheery natured as me all sad and boohoo-ey. I do not enjoy being boohoo-ey. But a 40 year one is worth a shout, especially one of an event so vital to the happy life I was able to lead. So here’s a toast to the time R Man suggested I pull up my pants and come home with him and without even realizing it, I started my life.

The always charming smut icon, Al Parker

Yeah, summer is over, get used to it.

The first time I ever came to San Francisco, in 1980, I went to these very baths. I thought they were called the Turk Street Baths, but that just goes to show that memory is an unreliable narrator. They actually had that truck in the middle of the joint so you could indulge in some trucker based fetish, should you care to. The seat was sticky.

Somebody has been a bad boy.

Ass candy at the nursery.

Outside daddy.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

12 responses »

  1. Re: Your prolapsed anus adventure-
    I could write a similar yet different story, but I won’t.

    I know we’re not besties, but I was around when you went
    through your hell with R Man. Glad that you can look back with happiness now.

    Had my 2 shots in March & my booster 2 weeks ago. Have been working since June ’20. Always masked. Always masked in public. No problems. Well, I have Covid.

    I won’t die, but this sure fucked everything up.


  2. I thought of R-Man on his birthday and remembered how close it was to the anniversary of the day you met. Lots of love. And see you next weekend, if all goes according to plan.


  3. Anniversaries are always poignant. September just gone marked 25 years since I lost Garry. Sometimes you need a little “boo-hoo”, then get on with the “now”. Jx

    PS I have never blocked the loo, in work or otherwise. WTF do you eat?


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