"Then she turned of the 4 paws..." Know what that means? To find out, read: "I Went Whoring On Good Friday," the latest installment of Letters from Johns... Plus, I've finally got a new letter from a working girl, "I Figured This Would Be A Little Psychological Experiment," from a phone sex operator who heard the stories that men tell, felt dirty, and learned to love again... Yesterday, Will Femia mentioned this blog in his MSNBC.com column, "Clicked," as well as my tumblelog, which was nice. He wrote: "In the way that writers are advised to 'show don’t tell' it is sometimes the case that seeing what a person highlights in the course of surfing the Web is more revealing than the long form thoughts expressed in a blog." I keep meaning to write something here about tumblelogging, but it never happens. Maybe that's because writing a long-form, self-analytical blog post about stream-of-consciousness style tumblelogging is in exact opposition to what tumblelogs seek to do, capture, be, which is, in a way, being, really. For me, tumblelogging is the new crack cocaine, what blogging used to be when it was more like the Wild, Wild West, and nobody was paying attention to what we were doing. Today, a tumblelog is a more aesthetically pleasing and pure form of capturing human existence in this brave new digital landscape where reality and virtuality overlap. Tumblrs are 21st century wunderkammers. Another way of putting it? Reading tumblelogs is like that scene in "Hannibal" where Lecter cooks Ray Liotta's brains: "...the only art in this dish, of course, is that it must be fresh..." ... The Time.com blurb has sent the agents and the like sniffing about in my various online underwear drawers again. (Hi!) Maybe like vultures to carrion? From an email exchange the other day with my BFF. Her: "D I S N E Y ?????????????????????????????????????" Me: "A FUCKING LETTERS FROM JOHNS *RIDE*--OBVIOUSLY. Christ, must I spell everything out for you? Who knows. I say, these people are madmen..." Someone who is awesome sent me an Amazon gift certificate for my birthday. I bought this and this and this... The Buttman has been handed down an eight-count federal obscenity indictment. My commentary: "I just wonder about the meetings, at the DoJ, OPTF, and AOS. Was it like, say, a Tuesday, and one agent's like, we need to go... FOR THE SQUIRTERS. And then, was one other guy like, YEAH, AND MILK." Speaking of milk, if you'd like to see Oriana Small shoot milk out her butt on her home dining room table, your prayers are answered here. Milk. It's the new... Oh, I give up... It's Operation Midnight Climax!
