Some people might think “surprise party”, my immediate thoughts ran more towards “serial killer”.

Turns out not so much placed as dropped. But there was a moment…

From a predetermined list, of course. No writing your own questions, that might lead to answers you can remember.

I wonder what it says about my life that there was an entire list of questions where the only answer I could think of for any of them was “None”.

Is that a duck on your hand or are you just pleased to see me?

Thank God I occasionally wear a hat.

Not when I can be foiled by my own hubris.

Hubriiiis!

Don’t go streetwalking with your 60+ year old mother. That’s just creepy.
Do let go of my arm.
Do have more sexy talk that “My hotel. Good fucking.”
Seriously, let go of my arm.
Don’t grab my crotch instead.
Do let go of my crotch.
Don’t make me drag you ten meters down the sidewalk by my crotch.
No, seriously, let go of my crotch, lady.

This has been todays case study in the do’s and don’ts of prostitution.

That is all.

Here’s a step by step walkthrough of the thoughts in my head as this situation occured:

If there are any typos in this post, bear with me. Most of the screen is just a big ball of white. Most of everything is.

So what follows is a completely fictional account.

This guy, handsome, funny, hung like Judas Iscariot, has a job that involves him looking at other peoples mail. Not like opening it, but if a postcard comes along, sometimes you read it. He reads it. Sometimes.

Couple of days ago, a postcard showed up. From a man who had found some girl’s Facebook account and instead of writing to her on Facebook, had tracked down her home address and sent her a postcard to make things “more personal”.

Who was this man? Well, he described himself as a “fresh kind of guy”, somewhat short, gray hair and almost 70 years old.

Why contact this girl, who looked 25 tops? To ask her out on a date that could end up becoming more than just a date. “(Hopefully)”.

He sent her a postcard to her home address to ask this girl, some fifty years his junior, on a sex date! Because he’d found her on Facebook! Not even a dating site, Facebook!

That’s just creepy.

Also fictional, very important to remember that.

But creeeepy.

So far, it’s okay. I need to find a happy medium between two DPI settings. One is just a tad too slow, the other just on the other side of controllable.

New mouse. Weee.

Alrightey then.