In Which We Are Crippled. Again

I went over to Secret Agent Fred’s place this evening and hung out with the dear old thing yucking it up and discussing the decline in porn quality the 21st century has brought. As I was leaving, I strode confidently down the five steps in his lobby only to discover there were, in fact, six steps which caused me to go tumbling through space and come to Earth less than gracefully.

It is a testimony to my vanity that immediately on landing I thought “Thank god nobody saw that,” even before I had time to see if anything was damaged. Once I was able to turn my attention to my frail bag of bones, I let out a ladylike cry of “Fucking fuck, that fucking hurt.”

I had somehow managed to land on both my right ankle and my left knee. I can only imagine it must have looked like some kind of figure skating technique gone horribly wrong. As I later mentioned to my old chum Brain, that meant that I couldn’t even limp properly. My knee is now purple and my ankle is swollen, or maybe it’s the other way around; I don’t even want to look to make sure.

This is just one more salvo in the ongoing campaign my own body has against me as I plow further into old age. In an earlier, simpler time, I might have emerged from this disaster shaken, but not actually mangled. It is only as the years go by that my fuselage has become so fragile. I get out of bed and my voyage to the toilet is a symphony of cracks and pops. I sound like a basket of kindling being thrown down the stairs, like a rhythm section warming up. Listen to me children, you do not want to get old. Kill yourself now, it’s the only sensible option.

I think I need a squadron of humpy young men to take care of me in my declining years. Guys like this maybe:

Sometimes a nice, hot bath is the only answer.

You cannot hide that from me, I have had too much experience tracking dicks down.

Buttchops like this need to be squeezed. Lovingly.

Put that phone down and come over here.

Goodness me, his butt is so massive, you can only tell he is wearing panties by seeing the image in the mirror.

Sometimes I choose to include Crimes of PhotoShop because they re so ludicrously amusing.

The Chaturbate gang and I are planning on watching a movie called Glorious, a horror movie centered on a glory hole. I think that’s a brilliant idea; every time I stuck my dick through one, I would briefly think “Is this the time the serial killer is going to bite off my wiener?”

I always liked sort of sweet, homely guys, especially if they came equipped with a big ol’ fat fatty.

Here’s another one. Mmmmm, meaty.