In Which We See the Light

 

So what's wrong now mrpeenee?  I was minding my own beeswax in the kitchen Monday evening when I suddenly had to sneeze.  I turned my head to keep from spraying the counter and I managed in that simple moment to pull a muscle in my back.  Actually it's kind of my side and my back, over my ribs.  The fact that I can injure myself so easily annoys the piss out of me, but I am simply a fragile blossom.  Ironically, and I do hate cheap irony, the pulled muscle is involved in every single time I sneeze or cough, and I have spent a lot of time doing both lately, and hurts when I do so.  Dammit.

In unrelated, but pretty news, San Francisco hosted some big deal financial conference, APEC or SPCA or SPICEGIRLS.  I don't know something like that.  They didn't ask me, they just went ahead and did it all.  Typical.  I think it's like the G7 conferences but for the non-G7 world.  The city was abuzz with frantically washing the streets and blocking off sidewalks downtown so that people working there were just out of luck and shoveling homeless people out of sight.  I'm okay with washing the sidewalks; by this late in the dry season they are pretty filthy, but I could do without the rest of the harassment.

An arts group decided to contribute to the festivities by constructing a laser that shot colored light beams up Market Street, the main street of San Francisco.  I was skeptical, but interested, especially since I live on Market Street.  The first night it was on, I looked at my window and didn't see anything and thought it was just a bust.  The next night, though, I actually went outside (amazing, I know) and looked down the street towards downtown  where the laser originated and BOOM 

Diane von Austinburg very cleverly urged me to see if I could get a better shot up on our roof deck.  I thought it was unlikely because the deck has great views of everything except straight up Market, but I always listen to Diane (sort of) so I went up there and sure enough, there is a tiny little corner you can lean out over the edge of the building to see this:

if you don't plummet to your death, which is probably a good idea.  It really was very spectacular and sort of like a gay Bat Signal.  Of course they took it down once all the big shots left town.

Naked guys:

This guy goes by the unlikely moniker of Mr. Bradford.  I would be willing to call him whatever he likes for a crack at that crack.

Once again, I am simply fed up with ridiculous PhotoShop.

Speaking of guys who seem to have adopted typos as their screen name, here we have Grag Stone.

I don't know why this week's lovelies have such odd names, I didn't plan it, but here's Letterio Amadeo.

Here we go from odd names to no names, cause I don't know who this beautiful rump belongs to.

I forgot to mention that Grag Stone is also my new favorite imaginary boyfriend.  He is both very cute and an enthusiastic bottom.

Blake Mitchell, the naughty puss.

Even in these odd, odd times there is the occasional bright spot, such as Austin Wolfe sharing his big ol' hog with such generosity.

I usually try to achieve a balance here between butt shots and dick pics, but I am just woefully short on asses this week.  I will try to do better.  Also, this Bryce Evans.