I'm not wearing pants.

I'm not wearing pants.

(Sometimes I miss the pockets.)

It's one of those 'cowboy' shirts with snaps rather than buttons. The purpose of the snaps, I suppose, allows a cowboy to rip it open and expose his manly chest to a cowgirl. I doubt that the cows would be impressed.

I have known a cowgirl or two. They smelled funny. One expects a cow or a horse to have a certain odor about them but when a woman exudes a barnyard smell, well, I simply find no arousel in that.

If you want to have sex with a smelly cowgirl, take her to the hayloft. Hay smells wonderful.

Oh. While you are boinking her, remember to say "moo" every now and then, you know, to focus her attention on you rather than the bull.

Anyone got a cigarette??

I've been caught. Either in a quandry or a lie or both...

I HAVE pants. I loaned them to еdë §téè£ so he could take his wife out to dinner without getting arrested.

(Hey Zen? Does the term 'compounding a lie' mean anything to you?)

No. If one goes about without pants why would one care about scruples?

The foregoing post was very esoteric and probably excluded most wandering souls who lurk here (With the exception of Mister Wu and perhaps Rex.)

(Hey Zen? Everyone knows this is you.)

Rats!

*drops trousers*

"YOUR MOTHER'S LIPSTICK!"

Of course a donnybrook ensued, hair was pulled, kilts were ripped off, the local harlots joined in, baring their breasts and fondeling the two men locked in combat.

This took place in Ormskirk. Matt was manning the bar and in order to restore 'order' he declared "Drinks on the house."

CJ ordered a double.

(YOU need a conclusion, you fucking idiot!)

The blokes shook hands, tossed off a few drinks and all was well.

CJ had another double.

She woke up on the lawn outside of her house, thankful that she was still wearing her knickers.

(Lucky for you CJ is too far away for her to beat you senseless.)

I tend to use my double for dentist appointments. I am told my teeth are coming along nicely.

I find myself in the throes of recrimination here.

(Why, Zen, have you never learned to spell?)

I leave that meanial task to my editor.

Where was I?

(You were beginning to grovel.)

Oh, yes. I probably should apologize to CJ. That ravishing redhead...

(STOP IT!)

Ok...Sheesh.

Did you mean 'drunks' or is this as vile as it appears?

(That's Linky, not you. You're the village idiot.)

Whatever.

I rolled over one morning, quite abruptly, and pole vaulted myself out of bed. I had been dreaming of Sue and hatpins.
To keep that from happening again, I have installed restraining devices.
The dreams persist: I dream that I am moss on a horizontal limb of a large tree and Sue Denim is sitting on me, sans knickers, like Maureen O'Sullivan in "Tarzan and His Mate".
If she could have wielded a hatpin as Sue was wont to do...those lions would have steered clear of her.

"Those dreams are all in your head.", someone said.

I suppose, but sometimes, like birds, they migrate south...

Ner.

Before the neighbours see.

Oh...too late for that.

Dont get me wrong, I enjoy a gentle wafting breeze every now and then. However, when that same gentle, wafting breeze turns into a violent wind that cuts through me like a knife through butter, that is when I decide it is time to head for shelter where I can warm myself up, and allow my testicles to drop once again.

I know some catholics that would argue with you. Of course, that's not to say they'd be right.

I wear all Ghost clothes, all day every day. Some of my friends think I look like a moron, but they are comportable. I tried to put some on, on the inside of my body today, but they wouldn't go. How do I put them on the inside of my body.