I’m back, but probably not for long. I seem to be having commitment issues as of late. Don’t break up with me though. It’s me, not you.

Things are uncomfortable here and my bottle of anxiety medication contains about three more hours of freedom from nervous breakdowns so I’ve begun supplementing with alcohol. Now that I’ve actually written that sentence I can tell that things are going to go downhill from here. I should probably clarify: I don’t drink with the medication, just instead of the medication. Wow. I sound like an alcoholic. Hell, at least I have a hobby.

It’s times like these that make me wish Jerry Springer was still on air–I need a visual and audible frame of reference that makes me take a deep breath and remember that things can always be worse.

At least I’m not a 792 lb. man in a tiny pink thong prancing around a harshly-lit stage in front of hundreds of people screaming, “take it off!” while my man boobs sway to and fro in a Cross Your Heart bra as I debate whether or not to reveal the glory of my manroot on national TV, as it will unfortunately be blurred out, but will be featured on Jerry Springer PPV for those who care to spend $9.99 to see all that I’ve got going on.

Yeah. At least that’s not me.

For now, the surplus of male enhancement commercials are doing a decent job of keeping me occupied. At least I’m not on TV brazenly announcing that I need a larger penis in order to satisfy my lover. And at least I’m not his lover speaking saucily about that certain part of the male body and how women all over the world should pick up a bottle of the miracle pill and present it to their men. Yeah, I’m sure that would bring soaring self-esteem, joy, and harmony to all relationships.

What the hell is going on with those commercials? We can watch people hump on non-cable channels and every other day the leading news headline is “Sexy Teacher Gets Busy with Student” but we have to use euphemisms for penises? They can use a minute of my time elaborating on the need for hours upon hours of mind-numbing sex and porn-star proportions, but we have to call it the certain part of the male body? We exist in a very odd place in time.

Clearly, I’ve found the silver lining in the shithole where my life currently resides. At least my nightly prayers to God can thank him for my lack of participation in the Get Yourself a Huge Penis, Get Your Gigantic Penis Here commercials and my narrow escape from Jerry Springer infamy. He either has a shitload of faith in my ability to slug through the muck to make it to solid ground or he’s pissed that I’m thanking him only for helping me not humiliate myself on television.

Jerry Springer, male enhancement, and God. That could be the root of all of my problems. God should help me invent a perfect male enhancement pill and Jerry Springer can be the tester who will then sell it on an infomercial.

P.S. I know the title has nothing to do with this post. The truth is that I sat here for 30 minutes alternating between watching Forensic Files and thinking about how to title this post, and somewhere in that time I received an email notifying me that one of my posts was linked to on a breast-feeding blog. Those people are out of their damned minds linking to anything I write as advice for those who have little people (midgets and babies alike) suckling on their tatas.

P.P.S. I’ve received some awards recently and for those of you who’ve bestowed the honor upon me please realize that I suck and though I will love you forever, I probably will never do what I’m supposed to do with them.

Thank you and goodbye.

Rose Parade wrote a great post pointing out the hypocrisy floating around in the we won atmosphere. I’m not writing my own because I’m tired of reading the bullshit from some on the other side that offers only a pinch of insight and self-reflection. It’s necessary to visit her links so you can be warmed by the grace and love emanating from the “52.”

Rhyhimself wrote a hysterical conversation between Bush and Obama. I read it days ago and I’m still laughing at the “Condolezza” bit.

Don’t go to these sites if you’re going to be a prick. In fact, if you’re going to be that way then get the hell away from me too.

Clearly, the afterglow from Busty Granny Land is over. The blogosphere is buzzing in a way I’ve never seen it and I’ve just finished pouring through 72 posts, many of which have inspired me to do a little early spring cleaning on my reader, so I’m slightly irritated. That and Supernanny is on and I’m getting ready to slit my wrists. These kid-related shows are the best birth control ever. Even better than vasectomies.

I’m getting immense joy from reading your captchas so keep sharing them. Amazing how so many of you are such dirty bastards to find off-color humor in two words. I knew I loved you for a reason.

On TV, a man with no legs just climbed up on a bulldozer. I think I need a stiff drink and a break from all technology.

Genital warts and nipple tassels certainly draw a special type of attention disguised in the form of a thoughtful comment. Unfortunately, the geniuses who came up with this spam idea didn’t consider that using “Free Granny Porn Milf Anal Free Mature Porn” as a commenter name might throw up some red flags, as opposed to using a timeless classic, “Bob the Liberal.”

Luckily, I’m easily entertained and have no children that might rush into the room as I’m pulling up granny porn sites on my laptop. I’m also lucky that J is asleep so he can’t look over during his news watching to see me examining the Busty Granny Land website and consider that something terribly wrong has occurred due to my internet fascination. Hell, who am I kidding? At this point in our marriage he’d probably just go on about his business without batting an eye.

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I can not agree with you in 100% regarding some thoughts, but you got good point of view…

In case you don’t feel like being harassed by relentless porn pages popping up again and again and again, in the most awkward moments, as a chain reaction to checking out one measly little site, I’ll condense the experience.

Your bold click will lead you into a wonderland of mature delights. You’re here, you’re in Busty Granny Land! You feel like a superstar! A young one, in comparison.

Blinking lights and cascading banners announcing “Slut Movies!” and “Fling.com” provide instant eye candy. But that eye candy doesn’t hold a candle to the flashing breasteses that go from full color to dramatic black and white, full color, black and white, full color, black and white. Tits! Art! Tits! Art!

As you force your eyes away from the display of private, yet public, genitalia, you find strange blocks of text that are as out of place as the stories in Playboy. Porn grannies. Moms having sex with kids. Granny channel hairy mature sex. Pictures of mature moms. You’re confused by the strange structure of some of these phrases, but you get the gist: sex, hair, maturity, kids.

You aren’t sure WTF you’re doing at Busty Granny Land because you’re neither a lesbian, nor a granny worshiper. So you get the hell out of there and write a provocative article about it in hopes that someone who reads it will go there and experience the wonders of Busty Granny Land too. You feel strongly that this must be shared.

And before you attempt to close your browser for the night, you realize Busty Granny Land has produced a pop-up that defies all pop-up blockers to give you a listing of all automobile dealerships within a 200 mile radius of you.

So you decide to not go to bed, but instead to stay up and watch Roseanne while analyzing how automobile dealerships are related to Busty Granny Land.

In the end, your analysis bears fruit. You are a human. A human who is not a granny. A human who has had a granny, but now is interested in grannies in a special way. People who are interested in grannies in a special way might be incestuous. Gorillas exhibit incestuous behavior. Some gorillas evolved into white people. White people are racists. White racists drive automobiles. White racists who drive automobiles might need to purchase an automobile and should be presented with a list of all automobile dealerships within a 200 mile radius.