Penis Posse Are Go!

Hiatuses are silly, and so am I.

This is what happens when Etsy and I are left alone. Things happen. Silly things.

This photo is fairly unflattering, but it made me laugh, SO IT'S IN.

Lord Chubbington oddly does not think this is the FUNNIEST THING EVAR

COME ON! BUNNY EARS! FUNNY!

I kept trying to give Lord Chubbington bunny ears. NOT. INTERESTED.

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33 thoughts on “Penis Posse Are Go!

  1. Oh my jesus….
    I laughed my ass off-I have to admit.
    I think that in your “unflattering” picture (as you call it) , you look like you are about to stick that pen up somebodys ass!

    Your dog looks fairly interested in your one woman show. That’s good-right?

    Glad your back sweetie. 🙂

    ((Hugs))
    Laura

  2. Er look I’m down with the penis possee and all but it’s taken on trust, right? I mean, you know, not photos and rulers and such because I’m a modest sort of guy, gnome sayin?

    Heh heh youse very funny but Lord Chubbster does not seem so impressed. WELCOME TO MY PARENTHOOD!!! The RSI incident reports for round here are for excessive eyerolling.
    Yay you are back too.

  3. Sturm and Drang took me for a boat ride. I am back now.

    Wiley has been on an hiatus of sorts. It’s called “lock-down”. Two nice officers did quite a good job of restraining me.— they only left five or six bruises and didn’t do any damage to my joints or bones. The hospital staff was sure I was on meth (ew.), but the nice police officers that took me to the hospital had concluded that I was “strong”, because they had a hell of a time getting me in the car.

    My family taught me how to fight, not the Air Force.

    That brings the number of times I’ve been man-handled in my adult life up to four, and the number of times I’ve been restrained up to two. The first two were you should have seen the other guy stories. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody this time.

    Poor clouds has been awfully worried, but he helped me a lot and picked me up today.

    I’ll be writing about this for a long time and will start with one piece of a triptych I am nearly finished with and a poem that describes the kernel of my very first nervous breakdown. It took thirty-three years for me to crack up and it was a doozy.

    Glad to be back. The Salem hospital psyche ward is a mess of bureaucratic and drug company fueled dysfunction.

    • Clouds kindly kept me informed. I can’t tell you how relieved and happy I am that you’re back. When you started *losing it,*–sorry to be blunt–I was like “This is not good. What the hell is going on here?” Like I said, I’m SO GLAD you’re back. I love a story with a happy ending.

      • What a prince, right? Now he has to recover. The moment we got the letter stating that the SS administration wasn’t going to try to kill him again by deciding that he could work and pay for insurance to keep himself alive, I had my nuclear (literally “nuclear”) crack-up. It’s just unbelievably painful to witness the extinction of the human race by our pathological hand, while…

        …dealing with the worst white male pathology and rape culture I’ve ever seen as an adult. This past year was my 1968 as an adult. And…

        …january 8th was the 29th anniversary of my daughter’s stillbirth. And…

        …I found out that the V.A. lost the application for increasing my disability (it’s at 50% now) that I filed three years ago. And…

        …had they let clouds die I would have gone through it with him while being unemployed and homeless (in this vile culture of misogyny and boomer-hating), such is the generosity of our safety net. And…

        …I had my first remission and got what my neurologist meant when he said that it was the mobility that was important and not the pain. It’s not like this pain isn’t important, it’s just that this precious mobility is awesome. Don’t know what you got til it’s gone and then comes back.

        Other than that, everything is cherry. The blitzwaschen of 2012 resumes with clouds at the helm and our home is going to be ours now.

    • Oh caput elle, indeed.

      Tis remedied with images of delicious and tender babbies with awesome mobility— a babbie poised to join us in our walking upright activities.

      I started walking at nine months so my mother put me on a leash. People shrink in horror when I reveal this; but I didn’t even blink when she told me this. Of course she put me on a leash! I was fast and bold, ready to stake my claim as a biped,adventurer, and chaser of birds.

      Thanks to Ralph Nader, et al there are products designed to bolster our odds for survival and to ward off tragic stuff. Babbies and parents have options that don’t resemble pet products or prison gear. It cannot be stressed enough what a relief it was to my mother and I when plastic baby bottles became widely available and affordable for we working class types. My brother that was born five months before clouds won the cultural baby bottle lottery.

      • Oh yeah, he’s crazy mobile. We’re actually setting up a big gated play area for him, because otherwise, you have to worry about him every second of the day.

        So you were an advanced baby, huh? I’m not surprised. It looks as though Lord Chubbington will be walking at that age, too. Wild.

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