In Which We Don't Do Much

 

I retired 11 years ago.  That very idea makes me want to go lie down.  Retirement is a sweet, sweet life; I recommend it highly.  One of my favorite things about it was that I discovered I like to sleep during the day and stay up all night.  My friends call it the Rock and Roll Vampire lifestyle.  I typically go to bed about 6:00 a.m. and stagger into consciousness about 3:00 p.m.  It works for me.

An excellent part of being both Rock and Roll and Vampire is that when I can't sleep (like this morning,) I can get up and go do something unlike the poor schmoes who have to sleep at night who can only lie in the dark trying to force themselves to fall asleep.

So this morning after 3 hours of not sleeping I gave up and trotted across the street to the charming Wooden Spoon cafe for breakfast.

Mmmmm, eggs benedict, a sure cure for insomnia

Then I made a pass through Thoroughbread Bakery (it's right around the corner,which is yet another advantage of big city living) for a bag full of pastry goodies, came home, took a shower, and now I'm ready to take another crack at snoozing.

mrpeenee, Secret Agent Fred, and the lovely Diane von Austinburg.  Riff raff loose on the streets.

Before I fall into the arms of Morpheus, I just want to mention what a lovely time I had last week with Diane von Austinburg here in town.  We ate and cooked and ate and cooked.  That's pretty much a summary of our visit. Diane is so sweet to put up with my odd sleeping schedule and other crotchets.  She blows into town and I immediately announce "Delighted to have you here, see ya the next time I wake up." And she tolerates it. That's a good friend for you.  

We also squeezed in a matinee of the Barbie movie. I liked it a lot, it was witty and breezy and pink.  Very pink.  I don't understand the people who have been wailing and whining about it being "anti-man." They must be incredibly fragile for that to be the takeaway.  Buck up, girlene, that's what I say.

Men who may be pink but are certainly not fragile:

Goodness, but I do love a pretty boy

Pretty Boy, part 2, the always lovely Link Benedict of Colt Studios, aka Steve Cort, as well as a bunch of other nom de smut.

I'm pretty sure this is Blake Clunes, I'd recognize that ass anywhere.

I don't know, just some random muscle pussy from Colt.

Meaty

Speaking of pretty boys, Tom Chase and his extra large largeness.

If you're giggling because you got butt juice on my good chair, you are going to be in SO MUCH TROUBLE.

I forget this guy's name.  Let us simply refer to him as "daddy."

I like that line-up of rubber duckys looking up at him in awe.

I know I was sort of short on booty shots today, but here is one to make up for that.

In Which Research Pays Off

Pictures of naked men have fascinated me for decades.  It's not some recent freak that got my blog kicked off of WordPress (not that I'm bitter, but, you know, fuck them and their fucking knotted sphincters) but instead, a well-honed passion that has given me a connoisseur's insight into this niche.  Earlier this evening I was doing some smut research and I bumped into one of the most amazing revelations into the world of filthy pictures that I've ever been blessed with.

Here, this guy has driven my bits crazy for years, I never knew who he was, but his lovely sleepy-eyed expression and is even lovelier big fat meaty schlong (I don't think you could really call it anything else) have always seemed part of one of the most alluring pictures ever snapped.

Now, here is Nuno Branco, whom I've sort of been aware of for a while but who never particularly did much for me, it's probably that stupid Taxi Driver mohawk thing, until this evening when I saw a bunch of his pictures which included the one above of my anonymous beauty.

The models are, of course, one in the same; I'd recognize that cock in a blizzard, more specifically it's hard to argue with a tattoo when identifying a person of porn.  

And then, not an hour later, the same thing happened again.  What are the chances?

Here we have Ryan Daharsh.  I admire him pretty fervently, the only thing I hold against him is that he is so chintzy with the dic pics.

and here

Ah me.  You must admit there is an abundance of charm.  I was trawling the fields of naked mens in the hopes that dear Ryan had decided to let loose with more meat when I suddenly came across this listed as one of his earlier works:

Again, charming as all get out, but also it turns out to be a youth whom I have been smitten by since sometime in the 90s.  It all reminds me of that saying about if you sit outside in a cafe, all the world passes by; I suppose if you keep digging, all the naked mens in the world pass through your computer.

More naked mens:

That is both a lotta ink and a lotta meat.

That is some prime pussy.

Leighton Stultz and his hefty package.  

Davide Zongoli in all of his glory.

Kyle, but I forget his last name.  Look, I can't do all the research around here, OK?

Joel Evan Tye, who has gotten even better as he has gotten older.  Bastard.

Charlie Rawlins who apparently only carries body fat in his dick.  Bastard.

Speaking of before and after, here's Tom Chase, delightfully hairy these days, but he started out smooth as a baby geisha, also delightful, below:

In Which We Discover Math is Hard

Breaking news from the mrpeenee Center for Pain Management. I have been using a transdermal patch for my pain medicine, but the patch was irritating my skin like some kind of medieval penance device.  So instead, my long suffering pain doctor switched me to the same medicine, but on a film that dissolves under your tongue.

I'm on the lowest dosage possible, an eighth of a film twice a day.  My doctor felt she had to explain in almost insultingly patronizing terms how you achieve an eighth. "You cut the film in half, and then in half again and then in half again." Like the rules of some complicated party game which she wasn't sure I was smart enough to grasp.  I assured her that at one time I had been a graphics artist and felt that I could probably handle the assignment.

Earlier this evening I took my first dose with this method and then headed out for dinner with Secret Agent Fred (a side note: Fred was diagnosed with colon cancer almost two years ago and has had a very rough time with it, but just within the last month has been doing very much better.  Yay.)  I was recounting the conference I'd had with the doctor and her explanation about how to cut the film into eighths when I suddenly realized I had skipped the last cut in that dose. For those of you who are as mathematically challenged as I am, that means that I had taken twice as much medicine as I was supposed to. Oops. Cruel hubris.

There was nothing really to be done about that, so we went out for a delicious dinner and then I came home feeling queasier by the minute.  I finally resigned myself to the inevitable and puked. It was a pretty impressive spew, but worth it since I immediately felt better.  

In my defense, I should point out an eighth of that stupid film is a tiny unit, pretty much exactly the same size as a tab of LSD.  I don't understand how some smelly old hippie could craft a dose that size, but this fancy schmancy, expensive pharmaceutical company can't.  

My friend Bobby from over at The Chaturbate Mikey Appreciation Society (CMAS) claims this blog is merely a transparent excuse for me to whine about my life.  Absolute rubbish, of course.  These posts are insights, precious insights. Also I want to give a big shout out of gratitude to another member of CMAS, the always charming Brainiac who heard about my blog being deleted at WordPress.  He suggested I try the Wayback Machine to see if I could recover it there.  I had heard of the Wayback Machine, a site that archives websites, but I had never considered that my humble little blog might be involved with it. Reader, it worked, and I will always be deeply in Brainiac's debt.  Thanks old chum.

A few absolute units:

mrpeenee hopes everybody is staying as cool as possible in these hellish times.

You know I love them gingers.

What a sweet little puppy.

The mirror has two dicks.

Once again, I am pretty sure I knew this guy's name at one time, but it eludes me now.

Good heavens.

Naked men in the shower: it's a classic.

Yet another classic.

Peek-a-boo

When I add these pictures to the post, I have the option to make them "extra-large" which I find hilarious, in a low humor sort of way.

The latest addition to our I Love a Lug collection.

 

In Which We Return

 

If you look below this post, you'll see that the last post I put up here on Blogger is a sniffy little tirade about how I will NEVER darken these doors again.  Back then, 7 years ago, Blogger had just threatened a ban on adult content and I was not interested in picking up what they were putting down so I skedaddled. And yet, here I am back, tail between my legs.  So who could have put my tail there?  Blogger's competitor WordPress, to whom I had fled all those years ago, that's who.

A couple of weeks ago I got a terse message from WordPress announcing that I had been busted for posting "sexually explicit material" and that my blog would therefore be suspended.  Pissy bitches. And by suspended, they actually meant deleted.  I had no access to my own blog or any way to contact my followers.  They did let me download a file of my posts, but that turned out to just be lines of code.  Thanks to my fellow blogger Scarlet, from Wonky Words  and Mags from 63 mago, I got my hands on a converter that shook out the code into something more legible, but even that was just the text with no pictures and none of the comments, which were my favorite part.  Insult to injury, the posts are jumbled up out of order.

So 7 years of work, gone.  I am keenly aware of how unimportant this blog is, but to me, it was a kind of diary; if I wondered what I was doing 3 years ago, for instance, I could always dip in to the archives and find out.  The loss of it and the futile hassle I went through trying to retrieve it left me frustrated and sad for the last few days, but I have decided to just shake it off and move on.  I hope I'm not being bitter when I say WordPress has decided it is no longer content with being a platform for blogging and now wants to be a host for commercial websites so even before I got kicked off I didn't actually fit in anymore. Anyway, here I am back where I started, me and my smutty little blog.

Some of that material they found so distasteful:

Who could object to such tasteful and tasty Muscle Pussy?

One of my favorite pictures EVER, and now in color.

The always alluring Blake Clunes.

Another long-time favorite, tragically, an anonymous one.

Teasey in red.

"Yeah, everybody says it's big...."

Surely, people standing in line behind him must occasionally just squeeze that.

Next to godliness, baby.

How do you navigate through life with an ass like that?

Emilio Contento, costarring his massive titties.

One Less Blogger Blogger

Blogger, the site which publishes my blog, has decided my brand of smarm is not to their liking.  Since I am not interested in having some corporation decide what I can and cannot write or include, my reply to them is a simple "Go fuck yourself."

Since I cannot get motherfucking Blogger to automatically forward you,  anyone still interested in my scintillating insights and pictures of naked muscular youths can find us at

mrpeenee at wordpress

A Master of Distraction

 So this is the moraine of paperwork on my desk I'd sworn to get to this evening; some of it goes back to December.  Taxes to file, bills to pay, snark to snark.  But first I had to find the camera to take a picture of it and then Saki wouldn't get off the chair and then I had to go get some cookies and then I remembered that when Secret Agent Fred and I were watching reruns of RuPaul's season 4 Drag Race, I had meant to find a picture of Fred's favorite member of their Pit Crew, Shawn Morales.

So obviously I had to get all that out of the way and now Saki is back demanding I make a lap for him to sit on.  Who knows if, or when, any of the paper beast will be tamed.

And once again, Saki commandeers the good chair.  Am I supposed to file taxes standing up?

Boxing Day

Sorry I've been distracted, but I've been shipping off all kinds of goodies to New Orleans and my life has been an absolute whirl of packing tape and cartons and pissed off kitties who do not appreciate change, not one bit.

I have known for months and months that I would be sending all the furniture and knick knacks I've bought here so of course that meant I completely ignored packing until the night before the movers came calling to load up the Pod when I burst into a frenzy of relocation.

Have you heard of the wonders of the Pod?  The company drops off a shipping container in your driveway,  you stuff it full of your flotsam, and they pick it back up to ship it off to your destination.  It's possible flying monkeys are involved.

Part of the thrill of dealing with the company is announcing that "the pod people are coming on Wednesday," which sounds a lot like the vilains from some cheesy 50's sci-fi flick are dropping by for drinks and a couple of hands of bridge.

Naturally, I have spent the last few days since the pod left bumping into things I meant to ship off in it.  Books.  Linens.  Speakers.  Cats that refuse to stop pissing in the corner because they're mad that I shipped the bed I thought of as mine but turns out it's "ours."  Stuff.