Saturday, September 24, 2011

mrpeenee Rocks Out

Oh, my sweet little potatoes, life's just been a whirl, a mad gay whirl around here. Diane von Ausitnberg was here last weekend, fomenting like mad, putting up with my sullen attitude and mostly just glad to get away from the fires of Central Texas. She seemed terribly impressed with my dedication to watching hours of crappy TV.

Plus, this weekend is Folsom Street Fair, a festival celebrating fat men's unwise decisions to appear in public wearing their ill-fitting fetish wear. The city is wild for this, for example, the naked guys who hang out in the little park on Castro street decided to have a Nude In to warm things up.
Also, they're protesting a local ordinance that has been proposed that would require people to spread a towel on seats before they plop down on them, should those people be less than covered in their butt-chop regions. I support the naked guys who point out wandering around nude is not against the law here, but I also think simple courtesy leans towards "the towel on the bench" argument. Do I know you well enough to come in contact with your cooties? No, I do no think I do. Therefore keep them and your buttsweat to yourself.

Even though I avoided the Castro today in order not to bump into the naked guys and I will also be missing from the rounds of leather, flagellation, and fajita stands at Folsom tomorrow, don't think that I haven't been celebrating. Tonight I went to a concert with friends where the orchestra played a charming version of the opera Carmen. Some crazy ass Russian composer put this together in the mid-60s as a ballet for his wife. He took the pieces of the opera and reassembled them and then amped it all up with a wacky percussion section. This is the answer for people (like me) who have always thought all Carmen needed to be better was bongos and marimbas mixed in. It was brilliant.

Plus, during the earlier, staler part of the show (Mendelssohn. Like eating a stale cookie.) I was able to distract myself by staring at the very cute bass player and imagining his nipples.
One felt sure they were medium large and firm, possibly perky. I'm sure I don't have to explain chamber orchestras are not normally equipped with men who lend themselves to this line of thinking, so I was plenty glad to see him there.

Speaking of nipples, here's a couple, prime example of the Gum Drop metier.


  1. ah yes, the famous ballet of the gumdrop nipple fairies, right?

    One of my favorites.

  2. Do I know you well enough to come in contact with your cooties? No, I do no think I do.

    Mistress MJ snuck into your house in the middle of the night and ground her cha-cha all over your sofa.

  3. Can't talk, I have to go burn my sofa now.

  4. Lots going on in Peeneeville. Maybe the city should invest in little plastic sheet dispensers like they have in public restrooms or dog parks.

  5. if i were you, i'd clean that sofa before i burned it.

  6. I love gum drop nipples. But then again I love pencileraser nipples, as well. But silver dollar nipples send me over the edge and I am apt to lose control!

  7. Mendelssohn wrote specifically for nipple imaginer's everywhere.

  8. Did you know that I play the string bass... with my nipples?


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