Diane von Austinburg blew in town last week and we had a wonderful time visiting. Spending time with the old dear is always one of my favorite things to do but this was an unusually amusing vacation, and for the oddest reason: absolutely nothing we planned worked out. Tea at neiman’s, Diane’s attempt at a trip up north, even something as simple as a Thai lunch, nothing came to fruition. There were lots of random reasons, all the way up to and including my genius at sleeping through an alarm, but it all came down to “oops.” And yet we both agreed it was one of the best times we’ve had together.
We hung out a lot with Super Agent Fred, making dinner here and then playing Yahtzee and Boggle. It might not have been the fast-paced life I fantasized about as a youth, but it was very pleasant. I was having an unusually bad patch with my back ache and I was pretty much not up for anything more demanding than that.
During one of those evenings, Diane looked out the window and announced that some guy was either attacking a palm tree out front or was attempting to assassinate one of my neighbors. We had both been trying out various edible marijuana delicacies from the fancy pot store up the street so I felt comfortable explaining that she was crazy.
Of course it turned out she was not crazy (she so rarely is) and instead, the city had decided to prune the palm trees late at night for some reason. I mentioned in a post earlier how unhappy I was with the sickly sycamores out front of my building and how glad I was when they finally got their justly deserved axe, but I haven’t discussed the charming palm trees in the middle of Market Street here. Or they were charming until the city got the wacky idea that whacking their fronds off would help in some way. In much the same way as someone cutting their own hair while drunk, as it turned out.
I don’t know if these guys didn’t know what they were doing or were pruning with their eyes closed or both, but oh dear, all of the poor palms look the same raggedly chopped, uneven, and sort of crazy, much like the homeless guys underneath them. Why on earth would the city do such a dreadful job of maintaining these beauties. Do you know how much a palm this big is worth? A buttload, that’s how much.
“Oh, I’m just hangin out with my big ol whacker. You know….”
Take your coat off and stay a while.
Today’s Naked Guys are brought to you by the letter Dick.
Fresh-faced and stiff. My, my, my.
I love boys with that blank, dumb look that says more clearly than words, “I will suck your dick until cum shoots out my ears.”
Meanwhile, back in the locker room….