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King Invisible
 
A bLoggle of seemingly random, sometimes humorous, thoughts, stories, histories, and whatever pops into my head.
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The Gem
Posted:Jul 31, 2020 11:50 am
Last Updated:Jul 31, 2020 8:22 pm
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Clothes soaking wet, clinging the skin, swarms of biting insects and venomous critters practically under every step. I’m sure that if the Marketing brochure for the Archeology degree at college had these things listed, the class sizes would have been considerably smaller. One of those empty lecture hall seats may very well have been mine, as I wipe the humidity inducing sweat from my forehead and silently contemplate my life choices up this point. How on earth did I end up here? Another leafy branch stings and catches the side of my jaw as I move my way through the dense vegetation. Why didn’t I stick to teaching? No one dies from malaria or poison blow darts in front of a chalkboard at the University.

I’ve been racing through the Jungle for the better part of 2 days in an attempt reach the saltmarsh. No doubt, the group behind have realized that what I carry in my backpack has already been stolen from them. How the collector managed to keep it hidden, and in such an isolated location deep inside the Congo for that matter, remains a mystery to me. The Absecon Gem belongs on no one’s mantle, and our small group of thieves is intent on keeping it that way. Alright, thieves might be too strong a word, but after all, Robin Hood was considered a thief, also. I’m not certain how much of a head start I have, but my path isn’t difficult to locate. There aren’t many man-sized and machete cut passages through the jungle in this part of the world. Since it’s easier to follow a route than make one, it would only be a matter of time before they catch up. That is, if I don’t reach the seaplane anchored at the saltmarsh first. My right arm is screaming for rest from swinging the giant blade, but I have no time to lose. The visage ahead seemed to brighten somewhat from the usual dark forest green that I’ve been accustomed to seeing. The slightest scent of salt water was hanging in the air as well, so I knew my destination was close.

Thunk! The sound of an arrow hitting a tree less than a foot away made me aware that I was no longer alone. I began to run as quickly as I could, this time leaving no regard for what may lie ahead of me. In a matter of moments the jungle disappeared and I was sprinting through the waist high reeds of the marsh. Before I could smile with my good fortune, something just didn’t feel quite right. Scanning across the horizon my plane was nowhere to be found. Damn… I had overshot my target. As I was considering which direction to go next, a large group of painted tribesmen with bows and arrows emerged from the foliage behind me. Alongside them, bearing a shotgun, was the collector.

“Lead us on a merry chase, didn’t you, Panama Jack?” he bellowed, “hand over the gem and I’ll let you leave here alive. Whether the cannibals will do the same, I can’t say, but maybe you could reason with them.”
“I hate it when people call me that” I responded, glaring back.
“Well, what do you expect when you traipse around in a hat such as that?”
I kept slowly walking backward until my boots began taking in water. One thing I did manage get right was my timing. The tide was up. Little good that was going do now, there was nowhere else go. I worked the backpack free and held it outstretched threateningly in my left hand while I stood in knee deep saltwater.
“Don’t be stupid” the collector said confidently, “you value the gem as much as I do, you’d never risk it’s loss.”

My sister handed me the scissors as I held the bag over the waterway. “Are you ready?” she asks.
Wordlessly I cut the top of the bag, then turn it over in order to allow all of the contents to pour out. My mother’s ashes proceeded to rain down into the salt water below. The small group of family gathered around took several long minutes of silent reflection. Another wave of grief caught hold of me as I remember she was the reason I am even here right now. I use my shirt to wipe away my emotion and I catch a glimpse of my sister worriedly looking at me. “My allergies are acting up.” I smirk slyly at her.
“This is where mom wanted to be” she pointed at the bay, “I know she’d be really pissed staying over the fireplace. This is her real home, she deserves to be here.”
A couple of fish began jumping out of the water as the outline of the remains could be seen drifting along with the tide. “They appear to be happy to have her back, too.”
Rest in Peace, Mom.
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The eX Factor
Posted:Jul 22, 2020 11:03 am
Last Updated:Jul 23, 2020 9:09 am
218 Views

Who’s idea was it dress us in black? I wondered as we pulled the barricade. We were a full block away from our destination, it was a part of town that I knew fairly well. Today it was a theatre, a genuine center of activity during normal non-virus times. I had seen several events and concerts at this venue over the past several years, but I had never imagined the place so desolate. The street was empty of personnel with patrolmen holding back a small group of seemingly desperate confused citizens, and news people, a good 10 feet back from the blue wooden saw horses. At least that’s what they remind of each time I see them. It doesn’t matter that there are block letters spray painted in white spelling “POLICE” of them, they still bring to mind the trusty carpenter’s aides
.
The door of the van quickly slides open. I adjust the chin strap of my helmet, grab the supply case and jump out onto the pavement. The first thing that hits me as I exit the vehicle is the oppressive humidity. High of 94 degrees today I heard someone mention at the precinct earlier this morning. It’s almost Noon and it wouldn’t surprise me if we already passed that prediction. Why do we need to wear black in this heat? Is it so that everyone can easily recognize us? I would have thought that the van with ‘Bomb Squad’ displayed on the side would have been adequate. The van is already black. By the time we show up at the scene, everyone has already been cleared out. Truth is, we could run into the place with cut-off jeans and ripped Van Halen T-shirts and anyone within eyesight would immediately know who we were. If the worst was to happen, I’m sure it wouldn’t matter what we were wearing in the rubble.

The walk down the vacant street is the worst part, dealing with the anticipation of what will come next. My partner, PJ, is along for the job. She hasn’t been at this for very long, but we all need learn these skills from somewhere. Some things just can’t be taught in the classroom. I’ve been at this for more years than I can care to count. “You ready for this, Old Man?” PJ says in my direction, clearly trying lighten the mood.
“Yeah. Another day, another detonator dollar. One day all this glory will be yours alone. But not today.” I wink back at her.

Upon entering the building we followed the directions given to us by our coworkers wearing blue. They led us right to the spot, as if it were marked with a giant X. The first thing we noticed, was that this wasn’t a prank or a false alarm of any kind. Whoever placed this here couldn’t have picked a better or more devious location. Between the duct work, the old pipes and the original steel structure there would be enough shrapnel to rip through any protective material we may have been donning. The pile of plastic explosives and containers of unknown, but apparent, liquid accelerant would certainly see to that. This was not a drill.
“Holy shit…” PJ summed up my thoughts exactly.
“This is some handcrafted homemade devastation, here. We need to be extra careful.” I reply without averting my gaze.

A visual inspection of the device appears as if several old PCs have been tied together, along with what looks to be some sort of digital alarm clock on top. For a brief second I had to really hand it to them for being able to get all of this material in here unnoticed. That must have been quite the undertaking. I settle down beside the unit and attempt to get to work on diffusing this horrific nightmare. I don’t remember seeing anything quite so complex. Painstakingly created over years, I would guess. Even though the temperature in the building was far lower than outside, my vision was getting blurry from the sweat on my forehead running down into my eyes.

The first few connections were evident and removed without issue, but things began to get progressively more complicated. Suddenly, an audible click could be heard, and the alarm clock instantly lit up with a digital reading of 30 seconds. Then 29…
“What happened?” The sound of panic was evident in PJ’s voice.
“I’m not sure, must have tripped something I didn’t see.”
24…
After another quick glance I was able to determine that there were only 3 wired connections still live. A red, a black, and a green. 19… Needing to act quickly, I grab the black wire, take my snippers in hand, say a quick prayer and cut it. … Red and Green. I get hold of the green wire next. My mind suddenly goes blank. Sweat is dripping down from my face like tears… maybe they are tears. 5… my hands are visibly shaking.
“What you waiting for! Cut the green! Cut it now!” PJ screams at .
I look into her face, “I… I can’t…”

“I love you Dad, but you’re an idiot.” The Princess stares at in utter disbelief.
I’m instantly regretting entering into this conversation. “I don’t expect you to understand.” Referring to my most recent contact with my Ex-partner.
“What’s to understand? “ her arms flying , palms in the air. “Just block her! Say bye-bye MF’er, and move on.”
“Maybe it’s easy for you to turn your feelings about people on and off, like a light switch. I can’t do that. Sometime I wish I could.”
She seemed to stare right through me, “You still care about her? After the mean things she said about you, and wanting you change?”
“Look, it’s been 8 years since your mother left us. I still love her and I always will. I don’t run around telling people I love them and try plan a future with them if I don’t mean it. It’s a process. Yes, I love her, but I don't know for how long, it may not last forever. There is enough space in my heart love more than 1 person. I hope yours is large enough and I sincerely hope that you fall in love this hard one day so you know how it feels, too.”
A smirk forms on her face, “That sounds awful.”
“Sometimes it is, Princess.” I tell her, “Sometimes it truly is.”
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I came, I saw, iPodded
Posted:Jul 16, 2020 12:33 pm
Last Updated:Jul 22, 2020 11:05 am
276 Views

A story I wrote back in 2008ish somewhere while a family vacation. It still makes laugh so I thought I would repost it honor of Summer. Enjoy!

Just like everyone else on the planet these days, I have an iPod. I don’t use the full capacity, it can hold somewhere around trillion songs, and I’ve only managed fill about 4 or 5 hours roughly. The difference between and most other iPod owners is that I am not addicted mine. It will be several months between uses. Mostly on vacation or hanging out at the airport just wasting time, so I don’t have hear that dofus in the back of the plane tell everyone how exciting and glamorous his traveling salesman’s job is, while he does so sitting in coach.

Another scorching hot day at the seashore as hoards of tourists flood the sand to partake in their annual migration to the ocean. This particular stretch of beach, like each and every one of the other blocks, is patrolled by a duet of lifeguards. The freshly painted bright white lifeguard stand has been manned today by a pair of young sculpted and bronzed college guys, Devon and Sly. Each was grateful to see the others name on the assignment board this morning, as they lowered their Foster Grants far enough to read the sheet, because each had been very late last night and was hoping for a quiet morning work off their hangovers. After , they did have a lot in common, but mostly they both liked lie top of the lifeguard stand. Devon preferred it because he thought it gave him a better tan, Sly sees it as a much better vantage point for scoping out the beach bunnies.

After finding the perfect spot on the beach and ‘setting camp’, which included a very manly rainbow umbrella, I nestled down in my beach chair and allowed the princess bury my feet with sand. Seems like the the beach are not truly happy unless they are either burying someone their earlobes in the sand, or digging a pit deep enough that could trap the very elusive Sand Tiger that roams freely the shoreline. Anyway, I pop out the trusty iPod and relax the sounds of Jack’s greatest hits, a medley of various rock songs and snappy tunes that set my toes a tapping. (And, no, there is no Celine Dion on the iPod, so just leave her out of this) I can see the shadow of the lifeguard stand not far away from our sand camp. There always seems to be a small crowd of girls around their stand for some reason. Each time I look back, I can swear that their gang of groupies gets a little bigger. Honestly the lifeguard gig is a pretty sweet deal, I thin 80% of the time they do absolutely nothing but work on their tans, 19% is spent blowing on their whistle keep people inside the flags, and only 1% of it is spent actually saving anything at all. But when they do, you sure are glad have them… kind of like insurance.

“Hey, Sly, anything happening over on your side?”
“No man”, he replies, “but I think I see the whitest dude on the beach over here.”
Devon pauses from his hourly lotion application peer over Sly’s side of the stand. “, I see the guy you’re talking about. He’s practically the color of the sand! If he didn’t have trunks he’d be perfectly camouflaged!”
“I hear ya, Dev.” Sly nods, “I’m not sure he’s really alive. That burying him and I haven’t seen him so much as move.”
“Kinda looked like you last night after that last pitcher of margaritas!” He snorts as he gives Sly an elbow in the ribs.
“Just watch the waves, Seinfeld, watch the waves.”

Lying there in my chair I have my dark sunglasses and lean back relaxing with my eyes closed. I can’t help but smile as a few of my favorite tunes pass by. But then something strange happens; and eerie piano intro comes into my ears. , yes! the hair the back of my neck stand straight as it did the very first time I heard this song. It’s “Bring me Life” by Evanescence, and I haven’t heard it for a good 6 months or so. The music grabs by the spine with both hands and shakes like a rag doll. Involuntarily, the air drums start come out (most folks do air guitar, but the true music lover instinctively reaches for the air drum sticks) and I am wailing with band. Sand starts flying everywhere as my foot starts pounding away the bass drum pedal. The princess squeals and dashes her towel to brush herself off. Her cry is unheard since the volume is , my eyes are welded shut and my head is pounding the rhythm as if I was in the backseat of the car alongside Wayne and Garth’s friends.

Sly shoots from his position atop the lifeguard stand with a start. “Dev, I think we’ve got a problem over here!”
“What’s Dude?”
“Remember that white guy we were talking about? I think he’s having a seizure!” Sly in the direction of a multicolored beach umbrella.
“Holy crap!” Devon exclaims. He grabs his red bullet shaped flotation buoy and jumps down from his loft.
“What are you planning on doing with that, Hasselhoff? The guy’s not drowning for God’s sake!” Sly quips before yelling into his walkie-talkie and requesting for immediate paramedic backup.
Devon looks down at the buoy in his hand confused for a second. “Sorry, just force of habit I guess.” He throws it down into the sand and joins Sly as they run over toward the sunbather in need of attention.

Wow, that song is incredible! I can’t believe how much I love hearing it, very tempting to hit replay, but I need a little rest first. The piano fades out at the end and is immediately replaced by the jazzy horns of “Something Happened on the way to Heaven” by Phil Collins. Bah! Da-da-da-da-da... Sweet! I snag my air trumpet and join in with the guys and we start to swing. Let’s blow the roof off of this place!

A throng of people gather around the patient directly behind the lifeguards. Devon kneels down next to the guy in his chair who twitches seemingly uncontrollably. The lifeguard slowly reaches out to him but then quickly draws back as to not get hit by a flailing arm. Sly initiates crowd control, “Back! Everyone back! Let’s give the guy some air!” Arms out wide he attempts to slowly keep the mass of curious onlookers at bay.
“What’s the best thing to do when someone is having convulsions like this?” Sly asks.
“Well, you usually just make them comfortable until it passes; make sure they don’t hurt themselves.” Devon’s eyes widen “ no, his cheeks are puffing out! I hope he’s not swallowing his tongue!”
Just then 2 four-wheelers arrive and their drivers throw down a long flat stretcher and grab their medical kits with military precision.

That’s a great song, too! I wonder what song is next as I put my air horn away and slowly stretch before settling back down in my beach chair to relax. Suddenly I feel hands grab me and I’m being lifted out of my chair. I open my eyes to see lifeguards dragging me with a large crowd of spectators staring at us. “What the hell is going on?!” I yell and attempt to remove the body snatchers.
“Just relax Sir, everything will be just fine, you’re in good hands.” One of them speaks.
They throw me on a hard board and Velcro strap my arms down. I start kicking at the nearest assailant.
“Let go of me, you freaks!”
“He might be starting another seizure! I’ll make sure he doesn’t choke!” Someone shouts. 3 men grab my legs and pull them down to strap, and some guy has pried my mouth open and is reaching his fingers in!
“Get away from my mouf… Ahhh!!!” All I can taste is latex gloves.

The princess walks beside , head tilted slightly one side, “Are you going surfing?”
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Its Raining Again
Posted:Jul 16, 2020 11:59 am
Last Updated:Aug 11, 2020 5:48 pm
266 Views

As I mentioned before this isn’t a “kiss and tell” bLoggle or certainly not a diary of any kind. But this week has been odd, even by my imagination standards. Over the weekend I had a second date with a woman that I met 2 weeks prior. Round 2s have been somewhat of a rarity of late, as both sides need to agree that there was enough mutual interest to warrant another meeting. For some reason that just hasn’t been happening frequently. Maybe it was just a streak of bad luck, or maybe it was the virus making people a bit more cautious than usual, who is to say. The invitation was at her home for drinks and a movie while I brought some local take out for dinner. The evening progressed nicely until midway thru the movie, during our cocktails, when the conversation took a bit of a turn. Seeming to take her lead from one of characters in the film, she asked me, “Are you a boob guy?”

Am I a what? She repeated the question. As the initial surprise wore off, I attempted to respond without sounding too cavalier. Some guys proclaim themselves "leg men” or “butt guys”, usually referring to the part of the woman’s body they enjoy the most. Speaking for myself, I can honestly say that no one part determines my interest in a lady, it’s more of the entire body of work (Pun not intended) including personality and humor. But if I had to admit to what I first notice when meeting someone new, it would definitely be their hair. As the of a beautician, I’ve always felt that you can tell how a woman takes care of herself by seeing how she treats her hair. Flawed as that logic may be, inject me with truth serum and that’s what you’re going to hear. As I was pontificating about the correlation between hair care and attraction, she managed to catch me off guard once again. Her head darted straight at me and locked her lips squarely on mine. In under 3 seconds her tongue was wandering freely on the inside of my mouth.

As predicted, the experience was pleasurable. Soft, wet and not too gentle. For several long minutes life was so very good. A break for air was inevitable. Anticipating that moment can be crucial as it’s a great opportunity to start throwing each other’s clothes on to the floor. As we finally broke, I opened my eyes to smile at this not unattractive creature who is clearly into me. However, what I saw wasn't at all what I was expecting. Instead of viewing the woman I just had dinner with, I saw the familiar face of my very own niece. I know it’s not her, but the resemblance suddenly became uncanny. I shook my head in order to make the visage go away, but then all of her mannerisms began to mimic that of my sister’s eldest. How did I not see this before? But right now, more importantly, how do I un-see it… and fast? Bottom line: I couldn’t.

There is a common misconception that all men are horn dogs that will even screw a tree trunk if given the green light. That’s a pretty large brush to be painting with, but I can see how some women might reach that conclusion. It’s obviously not true. I don’t want to turn down a willing participant in such an enjoyable activity, especially in the middle of a personal dry spell, but sometimes it simply can’t be avoided. This ended up being one of those instances. The experience has me so weirded out, even several days later, I can still hardly believe it. If I were to tell my buddies, I’m positive that most of them would slap me upside my head, “Snap out of it, you friggin’ moron!”

Occasionally, even the brightest of sparks can be extinguished if it rains hard enough. The dry spell continues.
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For the Love of Tacos
Posted:Jul 15, 2020 10:38 am
Last Updated:Jul 15, 2020 12:21 pm
265 Views

My obsession with Mexican food began well before I ever moved Florida. I’m not exactly sure when, it could have been those midnight college food runs while others were stuffing their faces with pizza. Maybe it was the cafeteria line at school when the lunch lady with the hairnet always seemed put a little extra scoop of rice my plate even though she never really smiled at me. Either way, today my craving is as strong as ever. And before you ask, no, I don’t have a problem. Admitting a problem is the first step, but I do NOT have a taco problem. I can quit any time I want.

Yesterday was Tuesday, also known as the official taco day of the week. Many people are unfamiliar with the history surrounding this strange tradition. Please have a seat and allow me to tell you the story, as it was once passed to me from a very reliable source, albeit an inebriated one. It began in the early 1800’s along the Texas and Mexico line at a place called The Alamo. A group arrived at the fort asking for tacos. Unfortunately the kitchen had a house rule that reserved tacos for the weekends only. As you can imagine things got out of hand and a fight ensued, lasting nearly 2 weeks, with many lives lost. The weekend side was defeated, and in the aftermath a single weekday was dedicated to the serving of tacos, in addition to the weekends. That day ended up being the day the battle ended, because everyone was tired and hungry, it was a Tuesday. Now there are many other theories as to what actually happened back then. You may have heard the one about someone trying to eat a burrito with a knife and fork causing the skirmish. That conspiracy theory has been debunked, as science has recently proven that no sane person would use a knife and fork to eat a burrito.

All along the southern border, local ordinances began getting passed in order to better regulate the taco industry. Taco consumption soon became mandatory on a weekly basis, with some stricter districts requiring folks eat them twice a week. How did they enforce such rules, you ask? Restaurants often served their tacos in sleeves of tissue or waxed paper. Authorities would do surprise raids or inspection check points asking to see everyone’s “papers”. This was well before the widespread use of napkins, so often there would be hot sauce in someone’s beard or on their shirt. Those folks would normally point at their mess and say, “I don’t need no stinkin’ papers” then be free to go about their business. Those who failed to comply with the laws were met with harsh penalties including high jalapeno taxes and or jail time in a Mexican prison. No Bueno. Repeat offenders were always penalized with public shaming, paraded in chains through the streets, while local citizens would throw rocks and yell at them, “Remember the Alamo!”

Obviously things are much more lenient these days, but I don’t want to run the risk and take any chances. I’ve heard that sometimes local Sheriffs can go on sprees trying to nail unsuspecting tourists visiting on vacation from up north. I would recommend you do your research when traveling through any unfamiliar region down south.

It makes perfect sense to me how the term ‘taco’, in recent years, has become a nickname for a certain part of a woman’s body. When prepared by a loving chef, they can be equally as delicious and eaten any day of the week. I am a big fan. But this isn’t meant to be that type of bLoggle post.
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Why is this so hard?
Posted:Jul 14, 2020 3:02 pm
Last Updated:Aug 11, 2020 5:48 pm
275 Views

I understand, this isn’t the type of thing to admit on a website known for its contribution to the swinger lifestyle, but I’ve got a problem with one night stands. Let me rephrase that: I have tremendous difficulty with one night stands. Obviously I don’t have a problem with the concept of the one-nighter; if you’re able to close the deal then you should be entitled to all of the benefits. Sprinkles are for winners, as the say. Without question, the issue, in this area, is clearly me. I know this because they are happening all around us, every day, often right under our very noses. How is that possible? Well the answer may lie within the immortal words of John Mellencamp, “You know I ain’t that handsome, but you know I ain’t shy, shy, shy.” There’s nothing wrong with swinging or those who specialize in one-nighters, but I would assume that most of them would not tend to be terribly shy.

Let’s just be honest here, I’m fit, not homely, look young for my age, and have no problem getting a date whenever I need one. However, I’ve never been able to successfully pull off the one night stand. As a pickup artist, I’m sort of a miserable failure. Two points: shyness and sparks. I’ll be the first to confess that I can be painfully shy sometimes around people I don’t know well. I’m not alone in that department. I can hear some of you now… “Fortune favors the bold!” Yes, that is most definitely true, however it is so much easier said than done. It would be kind of like trying to get me on a rollercoaster… it may indeed be fun, but the fear is utterly paralyzing and keeps me from even getting in line for the ride.

Where does the shyness come from? Is it born in the tendrils of self-esteem? How can someone who seems so confident in the arenas of business or sports be crippled when there may be intimacy, or thrill rides, involved? Sure, after you’ve been naked a few times with someone and bumped uglies the shyness dries up. But what about the initial meeting in a nightclub or a bar when you know so little about them? “Hey, I dig you, let’s go back to my place and fool around.” How can you immediately be that comfortable, with someone you hardly know, enough to go skinny dipping in a hot tub? That might be tad presumptuous, naturally not everyone has a hot tub, not even me. I get that I’m probably in the vast minority here, but I feel I need to know someone a little better before… well, before I get to KNOW them a little better, if you get my meaning.

Is there a way to keep someone from cock-blocking themselves? Because that’s what it sounds like. I’m too wrapped up in my own head, standing in my own way. Is it that important to know someone in order to have sex with them? Am I going about this all wrong? Are my priorities too old fashioned, or should I not even worry about it?
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Is this head big enough for both of us?
Posted:Jul 13, 2020 3:16 pm
Last Updated:Aug 11, 2020 5:48 pm
340 Views

A conversation currently taking place inside my head:

ME: Ooohhh pick me, pick me! Oooh pick me!

MYSELF: What do you think you're doing?

ME: Oh, hey... I'm trying to get this woman's attention. I've read her profile, I think she might be nice. And look, she's really cute, don't you think?

MYSELF: **Sigh** Ok, first of all, put your arm down… you look like an idiot. Secondly, whatever you do, under no circumstances are you to call that woman "cute". I'm pretty sure she's not 16 years old, so trust me, she won’t like that. Call her alluring, lovely, attractive... any number of other adjectives will do, “cute” is not one of them.

ME: Well, aren't we just the Lady’s Man all of a sudden? Alright, Hot Shot, how do you propose we get her attention? I've written an honest profile here and I’m going to send her a message showing her our humorous side. You know, so she can see how playful we are. What do you suggest?

MYSELF: How do you know she even likes funny? Maybe she's looking for a serious relationship with an intellectual… or an “artsy” type. What if she doesn't even have a sense of humor or thinks your attempt at funny is juvenile, shallow or insincere? Did you ever think about that? The world is full of stand-up comics who are perpetually single, and that is not the least bit attractive.

ME: Will you listen to yourself? Everyone has a sense of humor! But your point is well taken. We are a Dad, and that does lend itself to a certain amount of general silliness and humility, so we have that going for us… right? And what makes you think I can't do “artsy”?

MYSELF: Sure, right... again, if she's 16! **Sighs heavily** Must I do everything around here? How on Earth you managed to get through college in ONLY 6 years, I'll never know. Drawings held by magnets on the fridge does not make you “artsy”. You went to the Art Museum once, and you spent most of the trip in the medieval room looking at armor and weapons. You have less culture than a spoonful of Greek yogurt. Start thinking more sophisticated.

ME: Hey, that’s not fair… music is art! I love music! We go to lots of concerts and music festivals, don't say that you don't enjoy those. I even caught you dancing at that Train concert in the dark after the lights went down.

MYSELF: Oh don't you throw that in our face… I was doing it for the ! You know we can't dance! Anyway, what makes you believe that this woman will even respond to your message? You probably put up that picture with you and your Nerd friends, didn't you? That's a sure fire way to get your message deleted without even being opened.

ME: I've already sent her one message, and I'm pretty sure she read it... at least before she deleted it, anyway. She's just being selective. You know what Bob Marley says, "If she's easy, she won't be worth it. If she's worth it, she won't be easy." Besides, you may not know it, but Geek is in style now, it's fashionable. I'm going to ask her out for a cup of coffee, and it'll be fun, just you wait and see.

MYSELF: You are going to quote a historic drug user? Are you mad? You can't use that rationale... try writing to Lindsay Lohan, I'm sure she'll never write back, that doesn't mean she's worth it... that woman is a train wreck! What's next, showing up wearing a pocket protector? So help me... if you embarrass us, I will hurt me... and I mean it.

ME: Oh don't go threatening yourself... we both know you'll never do it, you have no tolerance for pain.

MYSELF: Yeah, that's true. Hmm... coffee isn't threatening. Starbucks isn’t a bad idea. Not too sophisticated or artsy... this might actually work. Ooohhh pick me! Ooohhh pick me!

ME: Hey! Back off... I was here first! Get your hand out of my face... Go find your own… I saw her first!
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Intro to bLoggle
Posted:Jul 13, 2020 2:08 pm
Last Updated:Aug 11, 2020 5:48 pm
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Welcome to the bLoggle zone. Basically if you remember the old dice tray game with letters that get shaken up and everyone has a minute to make out as many words as they can, it’s a little like that. This is my version of putting out a series of not so random letters that may, or may not, make sense to anyone else. I’ll let you decide what is legible and what isn’t. That's truly a reader's job.

I’m back on Sex Friends Finder.net after nearly a decade away. I first joined a few years earlier than that as a way to help deal with the stress of my spouse’s fight with terminal illness. I never did meet up with anyone during the course of my stay, as I was dedicated to staying by her side during those darkest of days. Instead I focused my energies on writing in my blog. Anyone who reads this can quickly determine that I am not a writer, far from it. I’m just someone who likes to occasionally write down things when the inspiration hits. Unfortunately, inspiration usually shows it head during the most emotional of times. This is one of those times.

In case you were wondering, the Queen did leave us years ago. However this new edition of the bLoggle has very little at all to do with that time in history. I only bring it up for the sake of context, so that a new reader might find a rear view mirror helpful. I used the name “King Invisible” because most of the time that’s what it felt like. I’ve always been most comfortable in the role of sidekick, the one who was close to the guy who relished being the center of attention. I observed and contributed the humor whilst most of the time I was unnoticed, and I liked it that way. It usually took a long time to get to really know me as I was seldom ever 100 percent serious. I was there, people remembered me, but they couldn’t accurately describe me when given the chance. Invisible. I was the King of it. I had a Queen and a Princess, the latter is still with me. The bLoggle was never meant to be a “kiss and tell” like so many others are, but more of an emotional outlet. I would write short stories about things that happened in our lives, events that I believed were humorous, and sometimes completely fictional posts. Again, whenever the inspiration hit me, and I went with it.

I’ve returned to Sex Friends Finder.net, a few weeks ago, because of the virus. The pandemic claimed yet another victim, my most recent relationship. It was a multi-year one and I sincerely thought it had a chance of going the distance. Turns out I was wrong and that absence does not make the heart grow fonder after all; in fact, it often has the opposite effect. My point is, I have some extra time on my hands. The grieving process, at least for me, is a very fertile field of inspiration. So I will reap some of that crop, place it here as a way to get it out of me, allow others to read and perhaps even to chuckle. If you enjoy any of the future posts, please feel free to say so. If not, then don’t be obliged to do the reverse, chances are it was put there more for my benefit than yours.
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