“Lola fucked bugs” and “spunk pig” are two charming terms that brought people here to Spunksville this past week. What the hay, people? Sometimes when I’m thinking I might be a touch on the deviant side, I see the stuff other people look for and suddenly I’m Polly-fucking-Anna.

So it’s been a while, compadres. This is due to a bout of severe laziness on my part although truthfully, I’ve been sort of busy as shit too. Played a lot of shows and not all for the older members of society, either. No, I did one at a women’s correctional facility (scary and oddly arousing) and one at a swimming pool gala party (lots of swimwear and giant thighs). I ain’t proud, so long as there’s ladies in swim wear and I get paid, I’ll be there, you dig?

Back to the ladies correctional facility thing. It was low security and full of chicks who shoplift or don’t pay their parking fines or whatever. Nothing too dangerous, but just dangerous enough to be enticing. And they’re allowed a certain amount of leeway to party, which in a place like that involves dancing sexily while wearing army green overalls and too much cheap lipstick, while another lady in a nazi-like get-up parades around sternly, frowning at them and adjusting her cap. I wasn’t sure what turned me on the most actually, all these caged ladies (illegal characters?) with debauchery on their minds or the trussed up guard-like ladies with their batons and tight, frumpy uniforms. Yowza! Cuz if you know anything about old Tony, he digs a lady in uniform and has trouble concentrating because he’s too damn busy picturing himself tearing those brass buttons off in a fit of passion and ravaging them on the cold, stone floor.

The ladies I mean, not the buttons. Give me some credit.

Oh there goes the Captain again!

Eh..what was I saying?

Oh yeah. The ladies. Doesn’t matter the way they come, I likes them. And come they will. Numerous times.

Naturally, I couldn’t do anything naughty and tasty with the ladies at the facility (they have rules for that sorta thing) but I did accept some digits of two soon to be released little bombshells, so we’ll see what happens there I guess.

Talking of sexy little bombshells, I found this lady through one of my good, sexy, blog buddies’ posts and she says hella nice things about me, so now my head’s the size of a melon. And not the one on my shoulders, ladies, dig? Wink. I tried to leave that fine lady a comment but the old “Blogger” wouldn’t let me do it, as apparently my URL has “illegal characters”. What the shit, man? Don’t worry though, y’all can say SPUNK as often as you want over here.

Stay sexy Blogland.

Hey there amigos!

Well I done gone had me a week, didn’t I? Firstly old Tony thought he’d gone and impregnated a lady with his super-sperm. Truthfully, in all these years I never got a lady up the spout, at least that I know about and I sorta intended to keep it that way. I figure a fellow should at least be involved with a lady before he infects her organs with new life, you dig? And this lady, Sandra, she was a one night deal. When she showed up at my door I didn’t even remember her, which sounds pretty terrible but when you meet ladies at shows, you tend to be a touch inebriated and their faces all kind of merge together in one terrible flashback.

I asked Sandra how come she thought I was the supposed father, since, I don’t mean to be rude and all but any chick who’ll get it on with me generally isn’t the virginal, one-man-woman, type of gal. I just figured she made a habit of taking strange, ruggedly attractive dudes home and jumping on their pork swords, I never thought I was the only one in a long drought or anything.

Anyway, she put the chair down and calmed down and we got one of those home preggo kits where a lady whizzes on a stick and it tells her if she has a bun in the oven or if she’s just paranoid. And it came back paranoid. Phew! Close call. She called me two days later to announce that her lady dragon time had arrived and all was well and did I want to bend her over her kitchen table when she stopped bleeding and eff the living daylights out of her. Because having a scare like that makes that girl want to fuck like a pig, apparently.

I made my excuses. I mean, once bitten and all that. I had visions of my man seed racing up her Nascar track trying to make Spunk sextuplets and it was all a little off-putting.

Still, it did make me think. If I did get a lady in the family way, I might not marry her or anything drastic but I’d sure be supportive and I got a tear in my old eye thinking about teaching a young Tony or Antonia how to play the organ and appreciate Dean Martin.

Then I snapped out of it and got loaded with Pedro.

Hey there compadres! I’m out of my funk now, y’all can come out from behind the furniture. Truthfully I wasn’t even really in a funk so much as doing some soul searching. My ma’s giving me a hard time about not having a wife and kids and an office job and that kind of stuff. Seems I’m too old to be living like a teen, but I disagree that that’s what I do. I mean I’m fairly responsible in most matters, I work a lot and I pay my bills. And I gave up crack when I was 21 because that shit will mess you up. And let’s face it, Martinis are way more enjoyable.

I dig my life. I like that I work at night, I meet a lot of people, good and bad and that I get in a position where I meet a lot of tipsy ladies with bad judgment. I like tipsy ladies with bad judgment. They’re my whole social life. So I decided I’m okay with being the way I am.

And my pad’s looking funky. I got some new furniture from an estate sale in rural Nevada. I say “new” furniture but it’s new to me at least. And I previously had things like cardboard boxes as tables and a sofa with a dip in the middle that’s been that way since I went through a deviant phase where 400lb Maria and I used to bump uglies on it in 1988. She was a workout for any sort of spring suspension. Now I got me some prime vintage gear. A cocktail shaker, a table that looks like it’s from the 1960s’ Starship Enterprise and a more modern orange Ikea sofa, long enough to pass out on if necessary or get freaky with a lady.

It’s all good.

Talking of ladies, I’ve been dallying with a lady named Collette. Not a long term thing, naturally, but she’s in town for a week and so we’ve been drinking Vegas dry and doing the wild thang like it’s illegal. I broke one of my own laws too, regarding my organ. It’s normally polished to a high, electric-blue shine, but one night too much booze and lack of discretion meant Collette and I got a little funky on it and fractured the backplate. Seems to be okay however. It also has a pleasing impression of sweaty butt cheeks on top. (not mine)

Oh yeah, if you know how to get suspicious stains out of an orange sofa, be sure to let me know.

Chillax good buddies.