A day in my life
By Clyde
Thursday, October 26, 2006
It is not easy being me. Despite what you may think, my life is not filled 24/7 with glitz and glamour. In fact, my life is for the most part, just plain boring. While I do go to the watering hole to feel a sense of camaraderie with friends, the fact of the matter is that I am desperately searching for companionship, if for nothing more than just a few hours. I yearn to feel the same type of excitement that Rush feels when he visits the showers at the Boys Town Gymnasium.
There are days however, that my life is filled with hope, because those are the days that I get to spend time with the one true love of my life. On those days, I have a routine that I pray some day will bring the object of my desire into my arms.
On those days I wake up sporting wood so hard I could drive the first nail on a Manzanar tract house for Michelle Malkin's family. (I hate that bitch) This is not the same type of erection that Bill O'Reilly feels in the Loofa section of the neighborhood Piggly Wiggly, but rather a urgent piss hard-on whose only redeeming quality is the shiver that rolls up my spine when the stream reaches its full flow.
During my morning constitutional, I give a few strokes to the gonads, not in a sexual way, but more as a verification of location. As long as my fecal matter does not have the odor of Mary Cheney's gash after a three day trek through the Mojave Desert, I do not have to worry that I will put off my beloved because I smell like Tony Snow's breath upon leaving the Oval Office.
Then I grab my Gillette Mach 3 and take my time shaving. I like the triple blade because it makes my skin so smooth that Mark Foley would think it was a 16-year-old Page's ass. I make sure that there will be no trace of hair anywhere that can be seen with the naked eye.
I enter the shower, very hot, making sure to scrub the vital parts much like Karl Rove does after meating with Jeff Gannon/Gukert.
The hardest part of my routine is figuring out the wardrobe for the day. Much like PresiDunce Bush in a second grade classroom, I sit and stare trying to decide what would be best to make that all important first impression.
Arriving at work is usually as much fun as watching Laura Ingram eating an apple. The bitch has an under bite so bad if she were hit in the face with a basketball, the curvature would allow her to touch on all points of the offending hemisphere. However, on those most special of special days, I arrive at work as happy as Michael Reagan dreaming of his father remembering his name.
Lunch is extremely important on these days. I need to make sure that I fill up enough to get me through the day and early evening. You see, I want to make sure that if my dreams came true and was able to dine with the one whom I cherish the most, I could be as appealing as a new tax cut. Therefore, I throw caution to the wind because nothing spells "full" better than a Triscuit.
The afternoon usually goes by as slow as a Brit Hume political rant, but I wonder if it just because I am as giddy as Dr. James Dobson on the day of a book burning.
Like George Allen at a Clan Rally, I am happy when the time finally comes where the sweet cheeks of my pet comes into view. With every hair in place and a smile as dazzling as Dick Cheney's sharp shooting skills. I look upon my Adonis in his jackboots and holding his copy of Mien Kampf with the admiration that can only be equaled by an Aryan Nation conventioneer during a speech given by Michael "the Weiner" Savage.
Hannity is his name, the object of my adoration, the silver line on the cloud over my life, but wait... OH MY GOD! I FORGOT MY ESTROGEN INJECTION! Its okay Sean, I brought enough KY to do the job!
My name is Ann and I'm a man.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!
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