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By Tardsie

Not If I Can Help It I Won’t.

You may have noticed (or just as likely not) that I’ve been unusually slow in posting, as well as commenting, both here and on other sites. There are several reasons for that. Chief among them are work woes.

Despite signs that the economy might be improving, unemployment continues to be a major problem. Unemployed Americans of all stripes are pounding the pavement in a wearying search for honest work.

However, I am not one of those earnest individuals. In times of old, gentlemen of leisure like myself were labelled “work-shy” or deemed “parasitic layabouts.” Shunned by the upright townsfolk, these poor individuals had no more to look forward to than a life of being  set upon by dogs and small children.

It’s How I Get My Exercise.

Thank goodness our modern sensibilities have allowed us to overcome this hurtful prejudice. I think that being a shiftless unemployable is sometimes the toughest job of all.

I told you recently about my nascent career in porn. As you may know, I started out doing the gay thing. Apparently, my performance was so impressive that the writer offered me another smut job. I was initially excited when he told me this one would be straight. However, perhaps we could all use a little reminder that while straight sex may be more comfortable to some people (e. g., me), some twisted individual can always find a way to make the act degenerate and disturbing. It made me long for a return to some wholesome gay sex. It left me feeling dirty. I’m not entirely sure I’ll ever have recreational sex again.

demotivational poster FETISH

I Can’t Even Talk To My Wife About It.

But here’s where it gets really weird.  I’m a trooper, so after the heterosexual project wrapped, I asked my new contact if he had more work for me.

He did!

“How do you feel about a Christian romance set in the days of the Oregon Trail?” he asks me. “They’re very popular right now.”


Also, for the past three days I’ve been subject to the degradations and humiliation attendant with real work. That’s right–through no fault of my own, I’ve been riding a desk in an insurance office, where I’m expected to wear clean clothes and shoes with laces. My tribulations end today, thankfully.

I know, right? But wait, it gets worse! I’m expected to be there for FIVE hours every day. That’s over a fifth of the day! Then, if you consider that my drive to and from this hellish slave pit is a half-hour each way, making it a grueling six hours I sacrifice to the cause.

In fact, I have to get running. Those tyrants expect me to show up by 10-ish. In conclusion, it’s so very tough being me.

Have a great weekend, folks!

Pray For Me, Friends.