Whips, Arses, Thanks

I surrender.

I tried to stop cold turkey. I tried to kick the habit. Some of you, however, insist on my being as hooked as you are. You want me to drag my ass back here to tickle the keyboard and spew words onto the electronic page.

(Ew! That isn't a pretty picture at all!)

I've been able to ignore most of your entreaties to return, but this...

The Most Ridiculously Slimy Award Ever Given!

... just won't let me sleep until I say something.

You may remember a dope who calls herself Sweet Pea. A few months ago, she gave me an award. At that time, I took a whip to her bum (figuratively, as I'm wont to do, although I might literally want to do it, if I ever actually meet her) and the thing is, she thoroughly enjoyed it! So, in order to get me to spank her again, she gave me this:

Understand something, please. This is not one of those awards that sprout on the internet like a pus-filled boil on a wino's nether regions...

(Hmmmmmm. The imagery isn't getting any better. I'd bail, if I were you.)

... and which she then passed to me because she couldn't think of anyone better to torture. Nope. Some others have tried that trick, in an attempt to get me to return, but I was strong enough to thank them kindly in their comments sections and then go about my non-blogging business as happy as the proverbial clam (which begs the question of why clams are so damned happy, but we'll leave that for another day.) No, Sweet Pea invented this atrocity in her own diseased mind, specifically to award to ME. Nobody else has been given this award. Nobody else will ever be given this award, I assume.

Hooray for me.

(I have a theory about why clams are so happy, by the way. It's because they're not oysters.)

(Hey! Have you got a better theory? Shut up.)

So, we were talking about Sweet Pea. If you used one of the handy links above and went to her place, it should be clear to you that she wants me to slap her around a bit. She has literally asked me to figuratively do so. What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn't?

(Figuratively, of course. I'm not so sure I'm a literal gentleman, nor do I really hit women.)

(Unless they hit me first.)

(Or unless they ask me to hit them. So far, nobody of the female persuasion has asked me to hit her. I suppose the possibility exists that it could happen, though, so should you desire to have yourself slapped around, just let me know and I'll try to clear some time with MY WIFE. Maybe she'll even join in. She probably wouldn't like the idea of some other bimbo making time with her husband.)

(Hmmmmmmm. That sounds as though I'm calling MY WIFE a bimbo. I don't think I worded that very well. Ah, screw it. I can't possibly word it in a way that would make her happy when I'm talking about putting a whip to some woman's ass.)

(Or, in this case, arse. She IS from the U.K.)

(Sweet Pea, I mean. MY WIFE is from Duxbury, Jamaica Plain, Roslindale, and Beacon Hill. Yes, it took four different locales to make MY WIFE what she was when she met me, which is to say terribly confused, and that's why she was amenable to my blandishments, whatever in hell that means.)

Anyway, look at that photo.

(It's the only one available on her site, so far as I can tell, so I have no choice but to extrapolate upon it. Don't worry, though. I'll clean up afterward.)

I can only imagine that she's naked in the part of the photo we can't see, her butt sticking up in the air just waiting for the whip to crack across it.

(Well, maybe it's not the only thing you can imagine, but you're not me. Thank God for small favors.)

See that hint of anticipatory smile? Oh, yes.

(Obviously, somebody already popped her one in the eyes. You don't get shiners like those from bumping into a door, although that's probably what she told them at the National Health Service.)

You know, I said just about everything I could possibly say about her photo the last time I whipped her bum. And, if I keep on going on about beating her, some folks are going to think I mean it. I don't mean it. I don't get my kicks from that sort of stuff.

(At least, I don't think I do. I've never actually tried it. Maybe I'd enjoy tanning her English posterior. I'm pretty sure the Irishman in me would, anyway.)

(I bet you didn't know I had an Irishman in me. The son of a bitch has been trying to escape for about fifty years now, but the Hispanic, French, and Scot in me keep him in his place.)

(It's crowded in me.)

Anyway, never having actually tried slapping someone on the bum, I'm not certain if I'd like it or not. And I have no idea if she'd particularly enjoy it, either. But, if she would, and I denied her that pleasure, that would be sadistic on my part. What sort of a person would I be if I denied someone such painful pleasure? I'm so confused!

(But, hey, I don't even know if she has a butt. For all I know, her body ends at her shoulders, the poor kid! Maybe, in the same way that blind people sometimes develop amazing hearing to compensate for their loss of vision, Sweet Pea's blinkers have become so big because she has no lower body at all and, to make up for her lack of mobility, she has developed prehensile eyes that can reach out and grab stuff.)

Well, now, this is just getting weird. But not as weird as Sweet Pea! Did you know she was invited to the Royal Wedding? It's true. She couldn't go, though. She...

Hmmmmmmm. I could give you the punch line, but something just occurs to me. Now that I think of it, I'm not truly sure she IS from England. I've been laboring under that assumption (among other things I've been laboring under) but I can't find proof of it anywhere. I think I may have just built up this picture in my mind of a butt being whipped and just naturally associated it with the United Kingdom for some reason. Probably something to do with Eddie Bluelights.

Quack.

Geez. Now that the possibility exists that Sweet Pea is from around here, that takes some of the thrill out of it. Well, at least for that Irishman in me. The Frenchman is still up for it, but he's always up for it. As Winnie Le Pooh says, "Zut Alors!"

This has deteriorated into something I wouldn't feed to my dog, if I had one. Hey, thanks a lot for telling people I'm hilarious, Sweet Pea. If I can ever do you a favor, like, say, severing your jugular, just let me know.

(If you want to make it up to me, you could pretend to be a young girl from England who wants her bum whipped. Send me photos.)

(No, wait! The Apocalypse is scheduled for this Saturday, and I'd better be on my best behavior. Tell you what... If we both get left behind, then you can send me the photos.)

(Photos of your left behind! Hah!)

Before I go, which I'm sure you're all wondering when that will be now, I'd like to thank the following people for taking the time to say nice things about me when I supposedly retired from blogging. They would be Knucklehead (if you go to his place, you'll find all sorts of deluded people bidding me a fond adieu, and there are links to their places, too. You could just go on and on and on with visiting the links, and maybe by the time you reach the end of the internet I'll be done here) and Expat From Hell (who wrote a poem and stuff, which he probably wishes now he had sent me some anthrax, instead.)

(There were others who wrote nice stuff, but there's nobody reading this damn thing by now, so probably no great loss if I don't mention you by name. Suffice to say, I love you, such as I'm able to express it.)

(Or even ground-ship it.)

Whatever this was, it is now done.

Well, except you should go HERE.

Soon, with more bugger stuff.