Today's topic is one inspired by the arrival of new fodder here in the Windy City.
Cracker is young and beautiful with a body ya just wanna rub hot oil all over.
The hands of time carry a toolbox and with each passing day the chisel and hammer come out with no other purpose than to crack that smooth, boy-like skin into a mass network of worry lines and broken hearts, not to mention all the booze and drugs you've yet to discover and consume like a fly on a fresh horse turd. And also in this tool box is a crowbar, but this is for the solely for spreading those virgin like buttocks of yours and pumping you like a Texas oil well. This rant comes not from bitterness and sour grapes, but I think from a good jolt of mid life crisis. You've just turned 37. An irrational flash of my own mortality, but intense nonetheless.