I was checking out my dashboard here on WordPress and I swore it said something about me having 7 midgets. Y’all know Tony, I get excited at new people, especially tiny, chunky people who might be stalking me, because that’s kind of perverted and I ain’t one to shirk a little perversion, you dig? I had these visions of all these little, tiny, undersexed ladies spying on me while not wearing panties (them, not me) and it made my trouser-place feel all warm and tingly in a good way (as opposed to an itchy way).



I Googled "midgets" and got this. I don't know what's going on in this picture but I'm fascinated. It could lose the tiny dudes however and the ladies could lose their tops but hey. Midgets.

Then I noticed it actually said WIDGETS and well…that’s a whole lot less fucking sexy, no? This is what happens when a guy is still up and active at 6 in the ay em. And still a little bit drunk.

And is it just me or does ‘widget’ make you think of hobbits? Or am I confusing it with midgets again? I don’t know and frankly I’m too tired to give a hot damn. I just know a widget sounds like some hairy ass creature who’d chase you round the forest at dusk then attempt to steal your berries.

Talking of midgets, at least sort of connected to that chain of thought, I once dated this gorgeous giant gal, name of Petra. Petra was about eight feet tall. Well okay, maybe closer to six feet four or something, but she was one tall chick. Great for motorboating. It’s okay though, she didn’t mind or nothing in fact she encouraged it. Or maybe I encouraged it, I forget now. I’d totally forgotten old Petra till right now. Laugh like a dock worker, boobs like a Penthouse Pet. Quite the combination.

Anyways, I’m thinking out loud here. I should probably go to bed. I got these knock off satin sheets for my boudoir at a sale in some little store in some no good little town. They look like satin but fuck, in practice they’re more like Satan. Little fuckers give you wicked static when you slide on them – makes my pubes stand on end and gives the occasional static blast of electricity to The Captain, which he does not approve of. I have to calm him down with a nice Nivea massage.

Peace out homies. Only four more days till the weekend.