Merry Christmas from the Afterlife
I can see them when I sneak out from the basement, walk to the front of the house and peek into the windows like a pervert, but I cannot participate in their life. I can hear them occasionally talking about me, but the longer I’m down here, the less I come up in conversation. In another few days, I expect to hear the voice of a man telling Katie he’ll love Harry like he was his own just before he moves his shit into my house.
I Believe... [in Public Dildo Stories]
...that the problem with telling a dildo story in a off-shoot casino bar and grill is that there might be a kid somewhere in the room who will overhear it. On the other hand, any kid today who hasn’t heard about dildos is far too sheltered with the ideological plastic helmet to survive past ten years old.