I Haven't written for a while since I have been on a soul-searching quest. In the past, I shared a few of my personal experiences that I had with small farm animals, sheep in particular.
I received many Emails and notes from all over the country including from the readers to email@example.com commenting that my sheep obsession was a bit queer. From this, I realised that my naive fancy of sheep might not be "normal". Contrary to my belief, people were quick to point out that sheep are simply quadrupedal, cloven-hooved, ruminant mammals typically kept as livestock, not as intimate partners. What will they try to tell me next?… there is no Santa Claus …my houseboys only stay with me because of the money I give them? I was horrified to once again, to find out that I was different from the others.
Suddenly I was embarrassed to be a card-carrying member of NAMSLA (North American Man Sheep Love Assoc). I felt like the Michael Jackson of the farming community. This epiphany prompted me to ponder the origin of my innocent perversion. I spent weeks contacting relatives that I have not seen for years to acquire clues from my past. I have examined several family photo albums. I have interviewed many teachers and friends from my early years. I was able to obtain the most help from months of intense analysis from my therapist. I ran through a range of emotions during these sessions …I laughed, I cried. It seems that the cause of my obsession with sheep can be traced to my earliest years.
I am a product of my upbringing …my parents are to blame for my odd behaviour. It started when I was just a baby.
My mother hung a sheep mobile over my crib to keep me entertained. I would reach and reach but was never able to touch the fluffy little critters dancing over my head.
Then mom started dressing me in cute sheep pyjamas. I felt sooo fabulous when I wore them.
My grandmother who always wore sheep hair or camel hair under garments would recite the same nursery rhyme to me every time she visited. "Little Bo Peep lost her sheep" …I cried about those poor, helpless sheep every time and vowed to help any farm animal in need when I grew up.
When I was four or five years old, my father forced me to participate in the local bronco sheep-riding contest. The fear of riding this "wild" sheep gave me a huge thrill that I will never forget.
A few years later, I advanced to sheep racing. I was the fastest; I hit speeds of almost 12 miles per hour.
I loved watching my favourite children's show with Shari Lewis and her sock puppet Lambchop. I tried to make my own sheep sock puppet to entertain myself …I'm right handed you know (wink).
My family's first dog was an English Sheep Dog named Lulu (go figure).
My father, Lulu, and I use to sit on the couch and watch the TV series Baa Baa Black Sheep at night. I was extremely exited when my uncle Benny dropped in for a visit.
He was a bit odd looking with his black rimmed glasses and a sheepish look on his face but he always brought me a bag of my favorite candy …GummySheep.
The theme continued as I grew older as my mom continued giving me more sheep themed clothing …sheep slippers were my favourite.
My first gay sexual experience happened during the Chinese New Years celebration; you guessed it … it was the Chinese year of the sheep.
When I turned 18, my friends went to the local adult bookstore and bought me an inflatable sheep, which was the perennial favourite of all young men coming of age in my hometown. I didn't mean to ramble on but, as you can see, this sheep fascination is not my fault. My fate was decided for me while I was in my infancy.
It's the old argument; was I born with the sheep lover gene or did I choose this lifestyle. I have sent a letter requesting an audience with the Pope to help me sort this out. With the constant positive encounters as I grew up of coarse I would eventually find myself headed into the woods with a truckload of sheep for some "intimate" moments. And naturally I would fall for a lovely little ewe by the name of Mandy who would eventually break my heart as she ended up doing cheap sheep porn.
I'm sure that we all have experienced these same trials and tribulations in life. I have won half of the battle by admitting to myself that I am different …that I have this problem. I have freed myself and started on the road to recovery with one simple proclamation…
Hello, my name is Not Bob and I HAVE A SHEEP ADDICTION.
(Keep the Emails and letters coming, they are greatly appreciated. It's always great to hear the opinions and thoughts of those that read these ramblings. Let me know if there is anything that you would like me to report on from sunny Southern Florida.)
Have a great 4th July, contrary to public thinking it is not something we celebrate here in the UK - Why would we ?
The Rouge Flickerdale Correspondent will of course be flat on his back celebrating in his own inimitable style. However that is not before he has stirred up a little mud on this side of the pond.
Once again the world according to Not Bob
The fourth of July has little to do with the separation from the Kingdom of Great Britain. It is a celebration of the birth of a new nation. A child declares his independence when he moves out of the families home to start a new life of his own just as America declared independence from it's "relatives". America's birthday could have turned out to be a little different. On July 2 in 1776, Congress first read the "Declaration of Independence" however; it was not adopted until days later..July 4.
The Continental Congress used the two days to edit the document...one early edit...comparing the King's rule to slavery due to the soon-to-be states still holding the Institution of Slavery. Imagine the change of history if they had revoked the institution of slavery before the declaration. Would we have survived without the monetary benefit of the slave labour? If we did survive, would there still have been a Civil War in the United States? Maybe if we were founded on true equality (no slavery) our Nation would be rid of most (probably not all) racism...Hmmm?
In 2008 many countries and allies send their best wishes to America as we celebrates our 232 birthday with the customary barbecues, picnics and fireworks. I was very surprised recently when some friends from across the pond snuck into the corporate offices of the Grand Resort (where I work) where they orchestrated a very elaborate "Happy Birthday America" greeting. I was more then impressed with the perfectly executed choreography and the singing of happy birthday which was thunderous and in key …it brought a tear to my eye. I'm not sure if I was so moved by the happy birthday song to America itself or the realisation that some may have read one of my previous stories.
Last weekend we celebrated Gay Pride with the "Stonewall Street Festival" held in Wilton Manors with an expected 30,000 participants. Over a miles of the 4 lane main street, named Wilton Drive (which continues to grow with new construction and plans for many more building), was closed Saturday morning thru Sunday night for the celebration.
Saturday night was the first time that the parade was held at night which proved to be very successful. I planned to take many wonderful pictures to share with everyone so I arrived on "the drive" in the early evening. Wilton Drive is home to numerous gay bars, clubs, restaurants and businesses so I felt compelled to sample adult beverages as I walked to and visited each establishment.
When the parade finally started, I reached for my camera and realised that it was in the pocket of my pants. Oh well…. I was having a great time (fuelled by alcohol) and decided not to waste time backtracking to look for my pants.
Hey…It's Florida in the middle of summer….who needs clothes.
This also pretty much described the participants of the parade and the onlookers. The parade was great or at least the parts that I can remember seemed fun. I woke up early the next morning to help set up the booth at the street fair for The Grand Resort and Spa where I am employed….did I mention that it won an award as one of the top ten gay spas in the USA?
The street was lined for almost a mile with individual booths and large tents…..big enough to walk thru…that each held 20 or more vendors. There were tents set up in all the parking lots of all the businesses and a tent to cover the stage for the entertainment that included a performance by Crystal Waters. The tents were meant to help keep people cool by shielding them from the sun's rays but they also came in handy during the rain showers that popped-up in the late afternoon.
The afternoon showers are normal for southern Florida this time of year but they did not last long nor did they dampen the festive mood. In fact, it helped to arouse excitement as partially clothed men rushed to get out of the rain and crammed into the tents. Suddenly being crushed in the center of a group of hot, wet and tan skinned randy guys…rubbing and squeezing….feeling their way around…reminded me of the old days in the school gym locker room showers. I just couldn't take it and found myself involuntarily POKING everyone as I pushed thru the crowd, with my arms over my head, to get out of the tent.
I made my way down the street and into Georgie's Alibi, the most popular bar, where I found my pants…with my camera intact. I obviously was having a great time there last night when I unknowingly "misplaced" my pants. I'm trying to piece together what happened but all I remember is being completely naked, except for the cowboy hat on my head, as I stood on top of the bar. I think that the crowed was egging me on as I gave a western type lasso demonstration even though…. I DIDN'T HAVE A ROPE….go figure.
I remember falling off the bar and onto the floor and being too drunk and numb to move. Soon a friend walked up who remembered a promise he made to me weeks earlier. If he ever found me passed out and naked, he would roll me over so that I wouldn't be laying arse up…thank god for friends.
Anyway, since I found my camera I was able to take a few photos of the street fair as it rained. Some may remember Ft. Lauderdale already having Gay Pride last month but this event is different.
Wilton Manors is a small town which is surrounded on three sides by Ft. Lauderdale and each town celebrates Gay Pride in their own way on different dates…it's twice the fun. Wilton Manors, where an estimated 40% of residents are gay, is completely surrounded by water that includes many small and narrow boating canals. This is not unique for the area since Ft. Lauderdale has over 200 miles of boating canals and is known as the Venice of America. These canals wind there way thru center city, the beach area and many neighbourhoods. A "Water Taxi" boat service that stops at many restaurants, businesses and down town, where the museum and Center for the Arts are located, is an unique feature.
It's common to have a palm tree lined street in the front of your house or condo and canals with docks and boats in the back yard. Fort Lauderdale was named favourite gay resort town in last year's Out Traveller Readers' Choice Awards and is now the fifth most popular USA destination for gay tourist (behind New York, Las Vegas, San Francisco and Los Angeles). Both Ft. Lauderdale and Wilton Manors are located within Broward County, the center of gay South Florida. Like all cities, we have experienced some negative press at times especially with Ft. Lauderdale having an outspoken, religion driven, "moral" Mayor. Not to forget that strange incident at the airport when an unknown person read anti-gay verses from the bible over the public address system (I think that it was actually Pistol after being flagged at the airport bar).
Broward County has more than 150 gay-owned businesses, over 30 gay guesthouses (14 of which are in my neighbourhood) and more bars and clubs then you can keep track of…which include 5 that are exclusively "stripper bars" (how would Lulu decide where to hold Sunday school?). Last year, 1million gay visitors contributed $1.2 billion to the local economy, according to the visitors bureau. Broward County is one of the fastest-growing gay communities in the USA and is home to The Stonewall Library and Archives which is the largest gay library in the USA.
Hey….how did my story of lying naked on the floor of a bar turn into a promo for Ft. Lauderdale? It was probably boring anyway. Speaking of boring, most people know that I'm not very outgoing or sociable when I go out to a bar (unless I drink too much). Even though there are thousands of friendly people that live in or visit the Ft. Lauderdale area, I don't know many of them.
Surprisingly, whenever I'm out at a bar or restaurant many people do recognise me and approach me to say hello. Ironically, most of these people are either tourists or locals that I know or met when I lived in Key West. This is a fine example of the warm, welcoming and friendly attitude that Key West is known for. That welcoming attitude is never forgotten when one departs Key West. As the lyrics from the song, "Hotel California" by The Eagle's alleges…"you can check-out when you like but you can never leave!" It all makes one realise that Key West's official motto of "One Human Family" is very fitting.
It's always fun to hear the difference between English and American terms or words. But no matter what country you are from, what your cultural background may be or your sexual preference we all share a universal function, flatulence.
I don't want to digress to a childish discussion. Instead, I prefer a mature, adult dialogue on this subject. There are many other words and terms for flatulence that one may use such as boff, blurt, bark, botty burp, air biscuit, trump, fart, chunder, puffer, beaner, stinker, arse blast, morning thunder, colon calamity, rare arse, cut the cheese, drop one's gut, shoot bunnies, step on a duck, voice of the toothless wonder, let Freddie out of jail and my favorite….get expelled from stool.
It is not my intent to list all the names and facts about flatulence. These can be found on a website that I visit often as I endeavour to continue my higher education. It's an informative website that answers all the questions that you always wanted to know about flatulence like "How much gas does a person pass in one day?",
"Do goldfish fart?" or "Is it harmful to hold gas in?" It tells about the great early 20th Century French flatulist, Le Petomane, who was able to make a living by performing on stage. He could control and release gas to imitate musical instruments, farm animals (dare we go there?), bird songs, whistle melodies, and play the ocarina (wind instrument related to the flute). This site is called Fart Facts and can be found at www.heptune.com/farts check it out and become an expert.
Even without all the humorous terms for the act of passing wind just the sound of one seems to be very amusing. Whether your young or old, rich or poor an unexpected toot can bring a smile to the face. It's rumoured that a member of the Royal family could make cheese at formal functions without being able to cover up the act. Take a look at the photo and see what you think.
Just look at the Queen's face in the bottom pic
What I want to share is how flatulence corresponded with the different stages of my life. When I was 9-12 years old I remember the usual kid stuff. A bunch of friends hanging around when someone's face would twist in an expression of forced agony until a loud and thunderous flatus was squeezed out. The result was an outburst of laughter from everyone…..until the stench circulated throughout the room.
Eventually everyone participated in the competition and submitted an entry to see who could do the loudest or longest and funniest blast of the arse trumpet. The odd thing for me was that I couldn't play. I wasn't like the rest of the guys…I was different. I couldn't fluff at will and rarely fluffed altogether. It was traumatic for me at that impressionable age. I tried to fit in with the group while hoping that nobody noticed my shortcomings.
Becoming a teenager brought more pressure. We were all growing up and the stakes were raised. Some friends began smoking cigarettes which meant that a Bic lighter was constantly present. Being young and inquisitive, it wasn't long before someone decided to try to ignite a gasser. The loudest flatus was not the goal anymore. The new goal was to see who could shoot the longest flame from their butt (called a flamer). I continued to hide my inadequacies by refereeing the contest and holding the lighter to assist with ignition.
I guess that could be considered the first step to becoming a rocket scientist though I never followed through. Years later, when I started junior high school, I found myself still trying to fit in with the crowd. It seems that doing 25 push-ups wasn't the only physical requirement for gym class.
The showers in the locker room provided an excellent environment to compare yourself to your mates. The echo effect of the shower intensified the sound of a butt burp passing between the cheeks and so the competition continued. My classmates were advancing in their gasual skills but I couldn't measure up…I was still virtually gasless.
As I entered senior high school my condition persisted. I was an anal mute trying to fit in with the "normal" boys. Yes, I produced an occasional unexpected SBD (silent but deadly) but that wouldn't really qualify me for any competition. In fact, it only caused aromatic embarrassment.
Toward the end of my high school years I was introduced to keg parties and discovered the wonders of beer. The more beer I drank the more I laughed and the more I peed. It was a wonderful cycle that ended with me not remembering how or when I returned home at the end of the night.
The next morning I also learned the meaning of another term …"hung over". Though I had a headache and an upset stomach I felt something new and different, things have changed. There was an enthusiasm bubbling deep inside of me. It was a strange, warm kind of feeling. I suddenly felt light headed and remember seeing a bright light. Then it happened. My butt cheeks began to quiver uncontrollably as I released a long, thunderous anal emission. It was a sound reminiscent of the launching of the Space Shuttle and it jolted me back into consciousness. I felt as if I was born again. I now know what Hillary Clinton meant when she said "I found my voice".
Finally, General Colon Bowel was barking commands. My breakthrough didn't stop there. I continued throughout the day to produce gas that created beautiful sounds. It's as if I was the Pavarotti of passing gas or the George Sampson (Britain's Got Talent) of the sphincter whistle. It was music to my ears though the smell took a toll on my nose. After all those years of worry it took a simple thing like beer to awaken my bowls to produce the fuel of happiness.
I honed my skills and could soon control when and how loud that I would make a wind release. I kept my new found talent to myself and always was highly considerate of others when I expelled gas. If I were attending a party I would step outside to privately release a rectum roar or if in a restaurant I would use the men's room. As I grew older I found myself using bum flutters to control my surroundings. If someone annoying sat next to me in a bar I would strategically drop a fanny peep just loud enough for only that particular person to hear….and smell. That always worked to convince them to get up and move to another seat far away (I think that Pistol used this one on me a few times when I was annoying him).
When in a movie theatre I would create a perimeter 2-3 seats deep by discharging colon cologne to keep loud popcorn munching people away. As time went on and I grew more jaded and I didn't care as much anymore. When I felt vapours in the chamber I would just relax and let nature take its course. Before long things took a turn for the worse. I wanted to use my gift of gas for revenge and soon committed my first PMF (pre-meditated fart). During a peaceful dinner in a restaurant people at several different tables were talking loudly on their cell phones which happened to be very disruptive. On my way out of the restaurant I released a stink bomb precisely at each table where the culprits sat. I'm sure that a lesson was learned by many that night.
I was on a downward spiral. If someone tried to smoke in my car I would lock the electric windows in an closed position and produce a very foul cushion creeper. When I wanted to get a trick to leave my apartment quickly the morning after I would create a Dutch oven (farting in bed and pulling the covers over one's head). Rock bottom was hit when I started to actually initiate attacks.
Walking up and down the isles in supermarkets or department stores while liberating bum blast like a fly breaking the sound barrier always brought me instant satisfaction. One Saturday night I had a late snack consisting of broccoli, baked beans, hard-boiled eggs and a six pack of beer. Early the next morning I rushed to my local church which was packed with parishioners and I detonated a WMD ….you guessed it ….wind of MASS destruction. I was consequently arrested and convicted in court for ODORly conduct and then sentenced to 20 hours of community service. The judge also ordered that I used my talent to promote goodwill so I played the Star Spangled Banner (God Save the Queen on request) on the butt trumpet at the beginning of several baseball games and went to Iraq to entertain the troops. During all of this I have attended AA (Asswind Anonymous) meetings and just received my 30 day chip. Unfortunately, I still have to register in 3 states as a flatulence offender.
Happy Winden Laten to all.
The Concept of Change
The concept of change was instilled in me as a young boy by my mother. First it was the importance of changing my underwear daily. Then she would tell me to change the channel on the television because the show I was watching was too suggestive.
As I grew older she would constantly say to me "you better change your attitude young man or you won't see another sunrise". She never expected me to go as far as to change my sexual preference but she accepted it unconditionally.
She passed away while living with me in Key West a few years ago. I was supposed to spread her ashes at her favourite place. The problem is that, while she was alive, she changed her mind many times about what she considered to be her favourite place. Unfortunately her ashes are still stored in my closet until I decide what to do. I feel guilty about this since I must be the only homosexual who won't let their mother come out of the closet. I made a commitment to change the situation in the summer.
I still believe in the concept of change that I learned when I was younger. Every month or so I will change the line up of the houseboys that I employ. I make sure that their ethnicity, intellect and ages are diverse. It was my newest houseboy, Niko, which happened to say something that was simple yet profound that made me ponder the importance of change. I ask him why he had to constantly buy new clothes to keep up with everyone else (it's costing me a fortune).
He told me that he needed change in order to stay on top of his game. I didn't get it so I flashed that perplexed look that I use when a bartender let's my cocktail glass get below quarter full….like I should HAVE TO ASK for another cocktail. Niko went on to explain that his friends knew that he likes to experiment and try new things and they saw him as a trend setter. In order for him to keep and enjoy his reputation he had to constantly change and grow.
Could it be that simple? ….that ironic? Change is necessary to improve and grow and change is necessary just to stay the same…to keep the present quality of life that one is accustomed.
It's important to change with the times and evolve with a vision for continued growth. Living off past reputation and glory will not be enough to improve or advance the quality of life and certainly will not ensure a continuation of existing standards. Whether you are talking about a tourist town on the tip of Florida who's Gay community can't work together to promote itself to sustain or expand it's share in the tourism market; or a young, powerful country that is stagnant in improving (more like decreasing) the quality of life for a majority of its people. The elimination of ignorance is the primary stepping-stone for the advancement of a society. The USA is failing at the education of its young people who are the future generations and leaders of our country. To quote Bob Dylan "the times they are a changing"
Unless we are smart, enough to change with them, or better yet, lead with the changes then we had better learn how to accept life dependent on those that surpass us. To sum up my entire babble let me just say that houseboys are great. I don't always understand them but they are entertaining and fun to look at.
Check out this great video that I found on YouTube. It shows how quickly our little world is changing.
Flickerdale Spring Break
Spring and the Easter holiday could only indicate one thing here in Ft. Lauderdale….SPRINGBREAK.
This is one of my favourite times of the year. Ft. Lauderdale becoming a popular spring break location was launched by the 1960 movie "Where the Boys Are ", with Connie Frances and George Hamilton. It was filmed on the beach in front of the Elbo Room bar, which still is a landmark and continues to be very fashionable.
The gay beach, at Sebastian Street, is located only a few blocks north from the Elbo Room. An additional six blocks north of the gay beach is the area where most of the small motels are located which are very popular with spring breakers. It is also home to about a dozen thriving gay guesthouses and is where my humble abode is located.
In the weeks prior to Easter the area swarms with college aged boys and girls, from all over the country, taking time off from their difficult college schedule to blow off steam and party. Obviously, alcohol has become a big part of this tradition. It enhances pleasure and lowers inhibitions along with altering judgement.
At night, after a couple of beers, the guys all seem to have to peel off their shirts as they wander between the bars and their hotels. Some become disoriented and need a little help finding their way. Good thing I'm not one to take advantage but I do what I can to help them out.
One time a spring breaker who was stumbling down the road, shirtless and alone, just needed somebody that he could put his arm around to help steady him as he tried to walk and locate his hotel. After I found his hotel for him, I rummaged through his pant pockets to find the room key. After locating the key, among other things, I unlocked the door for him and helped him across the room to the bed. Of course, I felt obligated to help with the removal of any remaining clothing.
Sometimes a quick shower was in order…lather, rinse, and repeat, then a slow towelling off. Then just before I put him to bed, I figured that one of us should get down on our knees….to pray of course (my Key West Sunday school instruction came in handy). No need to commend me for my kindness, it's just my fine Catholic upbringing… love thy neighbour.
On another occasion, on a warm night in Key West, a fine young male spring breaker from the mid-west, wanted to make "snow angels", naked, in the sand on the beach. I felt compelled to help him realise my…I mean HIS fantasy.
Then there was the drunk spring breaker that must have just seen a drag queen for the first time. He was amazed how pretty and real "they" looked. He went on to explain that he would have sex with one if they were an actual transvestite.
That's when I jumped in to tell him that I was a transvestite. I explained that I was born a woman and recently had a sex change operation to make me look like a guy.
He seemed to agree with my theory that because I used to be a woman that he wouldn't "be gay" if we had sex. College students are so smart.
One of the funnier acts of kindness I witnessed in Key West was very late one night; a spring breaker must have been heading back to his room, very drunk, and carrying a whole pizza in the box. He obviously passed out on his way. He was laying flat on his back, in a bed of plants and flowers, with one arm down to his side and the other extended completely out and a above his shoulder. In his extended hand was the box of pizza laying undamaged and flat. He was in a position that resembled that of a waiter carrying a pizza pie in one hand except he was horizontal. His position could have been due to the over indulgence of alcohol or a sudden burst of extreme gravity.
I was about to cross the street to see if the young man was all right when I spotted another concerned citizen taking action. The Key West Good Samaritan stood over the limp body and reached down to feel for a pulse. Satisfied with the results I heard him murmur "good". He then continued and checked to see if he was breathing by holding his hand near the spring breakers mouth. Again, the prognosis seemed to be good and I heard him say "OK". The good Samaritan paused for a moment in thought then reached into the spring breakers trousers and fondled around for a moment then I heard him exclaim "uncut". At that point, he opened the pizza box, paused, and then pulled out one slice of pizza. He carefully closed the box again and walked away eating his self-served reward.
Next year to celebrate spring break I'm going to rent a motor home and cover it entirely with graphics that read "GUYS GONE WILD….SPRING BREAK 09" to make it look like the world famous "Girls Gone Wild" bus. I'll park it on the side of the road and entice the college guys to get in the motor home, have some free beer and strip for the camera to impress the girls.
I'll need some volunteers who look good in a dress to help with the charade. Duchess? ...Lulu? ...Angie Baby?
Angie Feeling Fairy Good
Duchess & Lulu Take a Tea Break
Duchess & Lulu Angie Baby
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BEWARE OF SWEET LOOKING OLD LADIES
It was another sunny morning in Ft. Lauderdale when I went into one of those mini-mart convenience stores to grab a snack and quick cup of coffee to go. As I walked through the door to enter, a middle-aged woman followed suspiciously close behind. As some of you know, I'm a little introverted and not one to be the first to strike up a conversation. In addition, I hate interacting with people before consuming my first cup of coffee of the day.
As I cruised the snack/donut isle, I felt someone breathing down my neck. As I slowly turned, fearing that I would actually have to acknowledge and talk to another human, I saw a woman intently starring into my eyes. It was the same woman that followed me into the store. She had a slight "crazed" look about her that heightened my cautiousness with the situation. She immediately engaged me in conservation by saying that I was handsome (she is crazed) and that I looked just like her son. I thanked her and tried to browse my way further away from her. Well, it didn't work, she followed as she continued to ramble about how much she loved her son and how I reminded her of him.
Without my coffee and my social medicine (2 cocktails), I just didn't feel like dealing with her. I turned to shoot her the look of death to shoo her away when I noticed that tears were rolling down her cheeks. She was crying like Pistol watching an episode of Extreme Makeover. She sniffled and told me that her son died 6 months earlier. Since I am a sucker for anyone crying (and hairless Asian college boys), I immediately felt that I should comfort her and try to ease her pain. However, without a cocktail or two that touchy, feely thing wasn't going to happen. When she saw that my demeanour had changed and my eyes had teared up from her sad story, she began to speak to me in a soft, timid voice.
She asked if I would cheer her up and call her mom just to remind her of her son. She continued on saying that by me referring to her as mom and her to me as son that it would make her feel better and get over the loss of her son. As I agreed to do this, a big smile appeared on her face. I felt good that I could ease some of her pain that life has seemed to unfairly place upon her.
She left my side and as she went up and down the small isles carefully picking items to buy she would occasionally look my way and shout "hi son" . Though I hate calling attention to myself and being loud in a public place I remembered her tears and then her smile, that I helped create, so I loudly replied "hi mom" in response each time. It honestly felt good after a couple of times. I felt freed of my self-imposed, socially crippling and excessive self-consciousness. I didn't care about my perceived criticism and judgement by others in the store since I knew I was bringing joy to this poor woman.
I went and stood in line for the cash register to pay for my coffee and snack, a butterscotch crumpet. The woman came up with an arm full of things and said "son, can I cut in front of you?" I replied with a loud and proud "yes mom". As the clerk finished ringing up and bagging her goods he told her the total due for her purchase. She mumbled something back to him as I was boldly turning and facing all the other people in line. I was full of exhilaration when I faced these strangers and my fears.
When I turned back, I saw her exiting the store with bags in both hands as she nodded her head and yelled "bye son, thanks". I continued to play along and replied with a robust "bye mom" along with a huge wave. I was still feeling full of myself as the clerk rang up my coffee and cake and told me that my total was $47.89. My mouth dropped when I heard the total. It was only a coffee and a crumpet, why was the cost so much? The clerk read the disbelief in my face and without me saying a word replied, "WELL, YOUR MOM JUST SAID THAT YOU WOULD PAY FOR HER STUFF TOO".
I couldn't believe that I've been had. She orchestrated this whole thing just to swindle me into paying for her stuff. I was pissed; she toiled with my heavily guarded feelings and emotions. She played me like a fool for personal gain.
As I looked around in disbelief I saw her outside in the front parking spot through the large, hazy store windows opening her car door to get in. Without thinking, I darted out the front door to catch that lying, cheating, conniving senior citizen. As I got near her car, she was already in the seat trying to swing her legs into the car. I made a last ditch effort and lunged to grab her before she drove off with my dignity. I was able to grab her left leg before she was fully in the car. I couldn't believe what I was doing out of desperation.
I was standing in the parking lot pulling the ladies leg
.............the same way that I'm
PULLING YOUR LEG
now with this ridicules bogus story.
Have a nice day….bye Mom.
SEX IS ILLEGAL IN FLORIDA
There are many strange laws that were enacted in Florida at one time or another. Some are state wide and others are county, town or city laws or ordinances. One has to ask what our lawmakers were trying to accomplish. Who were they trying to protect? How would these laws make us safer? What prior or present events forced them to step in and take action?
In Destin Florida you can't give away any chicks, ducklings or fowl, under 4 weeks old, or any bunnies, under 8 weeks old. (I wonder if the Marshmallow Peeps are included….Easter is just around the corner). Also in Destin a bad pussy could cost you. Any dog or cat that unprovoked chases or bites a person is considered bad dogs/cats and the owner can be fined $100 dollars.
In Tampa you can't show your breasts while dancing topless and it's illegal to be within 6 feet of a customer while performing a lap dance (there goes Sunday school).
In Miami Beach hot dog carts are illegal as is owning or harbouring swine. (I wonder if my x was forced to move from there...he was such a pig). Speaking of hot dog carts.
Ft. Lauderdale must be liberal since the hot dog carts are legal. BUT….vendors must wear appropriate attire. "Inappropriate attire shall include clothing which shows any portion of the anal cleft, cleavage or buttocks of males or females such as G-strings, T-back bathing suits, thong bikinis" (And I thought that an anal cleft & hot dog combo was a good thing).
In Pensacola a women can be fined, only after death, for being electrocuted in a bathtub because of using self-beautification utensils. (I guess they don't have to worry about the accused showing up to court to fight the charges).
In Daytona Beach it is illegal for any person to swim or bathe in the Atlantic Ocean when under the influence of intoxicating liquor or narcotic drugs (I guess that would be called a SUI…swimming under the influence) Also in Daytona Beach the molestation of trash cans is illegal (What, is all sex going to be outlawed soon?).
In Key West it is illegal to harm a chicken, which are considered a 'protected species'. (Here in Ft. Lauderdale chicken is used as alligator bait).
In Big Pine Key, not far from Key West, it is illegal to molest a Key deer. (Are there any sheep in Big Pine Key?)
And here are some other strange laws from different towns around Florida. Women may be fined for falling asleep under a hair dryer, as can the salon owner.
It is illegal to sing in a public place while attired in a swimsuit. You may not fart in a public place after 6 P.M. on Thursdays. Men may not be seen publicly in any kind of strapless gown. Unmarried women are prohibited from parachuting on Sunday or she shall risk arrest, fine, and/or jailing.
Having sexual relations with a porcupine is illegal (ouch). It is illegal to hit a pedestrian…if you do the fine is $78.00. It IS legal to paint your fence any colour you like as long as it's white. It is illegal to eat cottage cheese on Sunday after 6:00 P.M. It's illegal to catch crabs (stay out of the local bath house).
Then there are state laws that affect everyone that lives in or visits Florida. Check this state law out meant for single people…..
If any man and woman, not being married to each other, lewdly and lasciviously associate and cohabit together, or if any man or woman, married or unmarried, engages in open and gross lewdness and lascivious behaviour, they shall be guilty of a misdemeanour of the second degree. (This law doesn't even have the language of "with another person" in it so it's illegal to even masturbate).
…..And for the legally married people. .
A person who commits any unnatural and lascivious act with another person commits a misdemeanour of the second degree. (Since the term lascivious is a subjective adjective, ANY sexual conduct can technically be interpreted as lascivious.
Therefore, it is by law, illegal to have sex with another person
in Florida even with your husband or wife).
There are some things that are so important that laws may not be enough. The people of Florida were so compelled by an existing problem that they worked to have this placed on a ballot and then voted to change the State Constitution with an Amendment.
No. 10 Constitutional Amendment Article X, Section 19: …..No person shall confine a pig during pregnancy in a cage, crate, or other enclosure, or tether a pregnant pig, on a farm so that the pig is prevented from turning around freely.
Yes, it's true. In Florida our pregnant pigs are protected by the Constitution. The same state where it is illegal for two gay men to adopt a child even though it's perfectly acceptable for them to be foster parents.
Stay tuned…….there has been a petition going around the state of Florida for the last couple of years. The petitioners want to place a new question on the ballot in November for a new Constitutional Amendment. This Amendment will control who you can choose to love and make a legal commitment with. They say that this Amendment will help protect children, families and the institution of marriage by denying gays the right to validate their love. How do you think the fine people of Florida will vote on this one? The same people that voted for an Amendment about a particular small farm animal in state where sex is against the law. The Florida anti-gay marriage amendment may soon become reality.
SMALL FARM ANIMALS
I guess that my desire for small farm animals all started when I was in my 20's. I was young and thought that I could conquer the world as an entrepreneur. One of my first ventures was to make good use of the land, an old chicken farm, in which I lived on in Southern New Jersey. I heard from a friend that breeding sheep was profitable and relatively easy to do.
Since my prior investment in a company that manufactured screen doors and windows for submarines didn't pan out I thought that I would give this sheep thing a try. I decided to purchase a few sheep and increase my investment from the continuous multiplying of the flock. I gathered all my money and purchased as many sheep as I could afford…a total of twelve. I was on my way to become a good Shepherd and independently wealthy.
After a few months went by none of the sheep were pregnant. I urgently needed to discover the problem so I silently read the Farmer's Almanac and discovered my mistake. 12 sheep/ewes (female sheep) plus 0 rams (male sheep) equals 0 pregnant sheep. Hey, I was gay…I forgot about that birds and the bees thing. I needed at least one ram (8% of which are homosexual) to breed and multiply the flock.
But I was broke. I spent all of my money buying the twelve sheep, I didn't have any cash left to go out and buy the required ram. Therefore, I figured the only way to get the sheep to reproduce was to inseminate them myself. I was embarrassed that I got myself into this predicament and what I had to do to fix it and didn't want my roommates or neighbours to know.
So I planned to sneak out in the middle of the night and load the sheep into my pick-up truck and drive them into the woods where nobody could see or hear what I was going to do with those poor, unsuspecting sheep. I waited for the full moon so that I could see better at night. Soon after, the midnight hour of the full moon had arrived and I was nervous as hell about this whole plan so I brought a couple of bottles of wine with me to help me relax. As I loaded the sheep in the truck and drove off, I drank the wine from the bottles until I found the perfect secluded area in the woods. I was pretty much buzzed from the wine so I didn't hesitate to proceed. One by one, I "took" each sheep (saving the pretty one for last of course,) and completed the deed. Tired and sore I loaded them back into the truck, arrived home and finally climbed into bed just before sunrise.
After waiting about three weeks I didn't notice any results, none of the sheep were pregnant. I had to try again to make this investment productive. On the night of the next full moon, I repeated the same process again. Loading up the truck, the wine, the drive to nowhere and doing the deed with each sheep (always saving the pretty one for last). This time I left the truck doors open and played soft music on the truck radio (something by Barry Manilow, I think).
A few more weeks passed and still nothing. I'm not one to give up easy and I was young and full of stamina so I continued this process for six months. Three weeks or so after the sixth try still none of the sheep were pregnant so I finally admitted defeat. I gave up….it was over. All my effort and work was for nothing.
A week later, I was sound asleep in my bed when I was jolted awake from the repeating annoying blast of the horn of an automobile. I jumped up and looked out of the window, as did my roommates and many neighbours to see what all the commotion was about. I was startled and stunned when I realised what my eyes were seeing. The honking noise was coming from my pick-up truck, the back of which was full of sheep. The truck engine was running, the headlights were on and the radio was blaring music (Barry Manilow's "Mandy", I think). In the front seat of the truck were two or three other sheep. The one in the drivers seat (the pretty one) was gunning the engine and blowing the horn while the others were swinging bottles of wine out the window and waving for me to come on out and get in the truck. I will always remember that night. Of course, after friends found out what I was doing with the sheep to try to succeed, they pooled their money together and bought me the ram that was so desperately needed. I will always be grateful to them for their help.
And for years after that, on the nights of the full moon, as I locked the ram in the barn and loaded the sheep and wine into my truck for another drive into the woods, I thanked God for good friends…..and for Mandy (that's right, the pretty sheep) who started demanding my attention first. I miss the old days with the sheep since I recently sold the farm. I just keep hearing that song, the melody, those words, over and over in my head.
Rainin' down as cold as ice ….Shadows of a man …A face through a window …Cryin' in the night …The night goes into …Mornin', just another day
…Happy people pass my way …Lookin' in their eyes …I see a memory …I never realized
…How happy ewe made me, oh Mandy
Well, ewe came and ewe gave without takin'
But I sent ewe away, oh Mandy
well, ewe kissed me and stopped me from shakin'
and I NEED EWE TODAY. OH MANDY!