Good Intentions Won't Clean The Closet

I really put off writing a Bagwine post today, and had no topic ideas.

I finally said to myself, “Self, why not write about something which you really love talking about?”

So, this post is about…well…ME.

The most illustrative part of this post is that, for me, it is being put up much later than typical.

Why is that, you ask? Well…

I have always tested between 145-152 on IQ tests. I have tested as high as 38 on the Wunderlich test.

However, intelligence doesn’t help much when one, like myself, is an underachiever, a procrastinator, and not great on follow through.

A few examples…

When young I would take a lawn chair to the baseball games. My play at second base suffered because of it…

Although the opposing players did have problems stealing second with me sitting in the base path.

I remember one time in college when I fell asleep face down in the middle of some chick’s muffin while mowin' her lawn.

It was like I said to myself, “She had some fun. It’ll still be here tomorrow. In spite of the smell and humidity, I’ll sleep here.”

Next morning I was still there with my face feeling like a bagel slathered in cream cheese and lox.

Yeah, my follow through on things has always been a bit suspect.

I have a closet full of clothes that I have been meaning to go through. Yet, there they lay. A family of moths could live three millennia off the T-Shirts alone.

I have told Schmoop for months that I would clean her car out. It’s still a train wreck inside.

Water bottles, cigarette packs, papers, and used condoms litter the inside of her car. Trash everywhere.

Hell if there were a couple of dead, half melted Japanese in the backseat it would look like a re-creation of the Hiroshima A-bomb attack.

Ironic, because it is a Honda.

Back when I was married, from day one the future ex-Mrs. Matt-Man wanted a baby. Seven years later, I gave her one.

Yep, I guess I am one laid back mo-foe who is fraught with many flaws, and bad habits, but like I said, I do have a high IQ.

And why do I mention that?

Because, those acute mental capabilities sure come in handy when I attempt to rationalize and make excuses for all of my shortcomings.

See ya tomorrow for Half-Nekkid Thursday.

Cheers!!

The Matt Behind The Mask

Sometimes, I think about how Matt-Man and me, the real Matt, differ.

I have also wondered if it would be wise to point out those differences to you.

I finally answered that wonderment with four words, “Why The Fuck Not?”

Actually, there really aren’t that many major differences between Matt-Man and me.

What you see here is what you get, or more accurately…

What you see here, is what you wisely choose to avoid.

The only physical difference between Matt-Man and the real Matt is that my wanker is much bigger.

Write this down ladies…I am the only man who downplays his cock size on the internets.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating about the “much” bigger part.

There’s quite a few flirtatious comments left on BR, and poor Matt-Man, thinks they are actual come-ons.

I, however, know you guys are just playing around.

Hell, I haven’t been truly hit upon since last summer...

I was propositioned by two drunk Amish babes during a traveling Butter-Churning exhibition.

Poor Matt-Man. I don’t think he has been very lucky in actually having sex either.

Me, the real Matt, on the other hand, am sexually satiated…or at least I used to be.

I was such the ho-bag when I was younger. Hell, in High School I was voted The Boy Most Likely To.

When I was 17, I was hosing an incredibly hot 34 year old artist chick.

When I was 21, I was boinkin’ not one, but two sexy 42 year old ladies.

Now at 43... If this trend continues, in a couple of weeks or so, I’ll be going down on a sassy 86 year old babe in her Nursing Home bed.

My lust cannot be limited to just one age, race, or creed…and in Matt-Man’s case, one species.

Thinking back on all of my carnal trysts, I bet I have caressed more boobs than the entire Victoria’s Secret line of bras, and tea-bagged more ladies than Mr. Lipton!!

But, my friends, my promiscuity is something of which I am neither proud nor something I enjoy talking about.

Well…at least not until I attend my 25 Year High School Reunion this summer.

Where was I going with all of this…Oh yeah, I remember, differences between Matt-Man and Matt.

I guess there are differences and some very real similarities between us as well.

We both loathe the Bush Administration, and that soulless, dickless, coward VP Pot Roast.

We both enjoy Bagwine, and we both love to see your smiling faces everyday.

I guess it doesn’t really matter if it’s Matt-Man or the real Matt who turns up in my post on any given day.

Because, I kinda like both of them. How about you?

Is it always you who shows up to post on your site, or some days, is it “somebody else”?

Cheers!!

Pyhtagorean Strippers

Okay in this post I will demonstrate that a right angle can also be acute and the hypoteneuse of a rigth triangle can also determine a body part size. Let me first tell you why I did this research and then the results.

The State of Ohio’s smoking ban went into effect today. I am glad Ohio voters got that one passed. God forbid a bar or restaurant owner gets to decide if people may smoke in their establishments or not. And now the Ohio State Legislature is trying to pass its own brand of cutting edge codification. Job Growth Initiative? Education Funding? Infrastructure Proposal? Noooooo, none of the above. They are diligently working on a piece of legislation to keep a little space between strippers and their patrons….SIX FEET to be exact.

Okay here is what the law proposed says:

(B) While on the premises of a sexually oriented business: (1) No employee, while nude or seminude, knowingly shall do any of the following: (a) Appear in the view of any patron unless the employee is at least six feet from all patrons and on a stage at least two feet above the floor;

That makes it HARD to put some dollar bills into a snatch. But it makes us safer because we dont know if Venus DiSilos is actually giving tainted receipts to Randy Penis. Thank you statesmen. I know, widow Smith is eating dog food, but this is not as important because Rod Parsley, God Fearin' Mo-Fos are signing petitions.

What I do like is the following....such as:

(M) "Sexual device" means any three dimensional object designed and marketed for stimulation of the male or female human genitals, anus, female breasts, or for sadomasochistic use or abuse of oneself or others and shall include devices such as dildos, vibrators, penis pumps, and physical representations of the human genital organs. Nothing in this division shall be construed to include devices primarily intended for protection against sexually transmitted diseases or for preventing pregnancy.

Tell me the writers of this bill werent laughin' their asses off by typing "penis pump" and "dildo". You now damn well they were saying, "That conservative bitch is cowtowing to the right while she is doing a three way with the doorman and a set of Ben-Wa Balls."

Anyway, I promised you a Math lesson. Look at the diagram above. The chick's area from the man is a2 + b2=c2 which equals 2x2 +6x6=c2...that equals 4+36=c2...Which equals 40=c2...Which obviously means that the stripper has 2 40Cs.

See? Oh a right angle can't be acute? The stripper in the diagram above is standing atop a right angle and she is sexy looking, which means that she forms "a cute right angle"....Matt-Man, Genius.

Digest it...Remember it...And tell your friends about me...

Until tomorrow and Stream of Consciousness Friiiday, Cheers!!

Beach Blanket No-No

It’s such a dreary day today that I thought I would lift my spirits by posting something from a time past. I really enjoy fishing. I have commented before how I love to fish especially when the big orange lipped carp are engaging in fish sex. They wallow around in the shallows, the males trying to lure in a hot female with his crank bait, tossing out some cheesy line in carp-speak. It is a lovely ritual that harkens in Spring. It also reminds me of something that happened to me many, many moons ago.

I guess I was about 17 years old and one late June afternoon my girlfriend at the time and I made our way to a secluded cove at the local State Park to fish. Well, actually I was fishing and she sat on a blanket and read, but you get the picture. I was catching a few here and there and having a good time. I turned to Sherri at one point to show her a pretty good sized bass that I had caught and lo and behold there she sat.

She sat there staring at me, smiling. Her legs spread provocatively and her shirt unbuttoned revealing her lacy red bra and glistening cleavage. Boo Yah…I could hear the wocka wocka guitar music from every low budget porn movie I had seen blaring in my head. I could feel a pup tent erecting itself in my shorts. I put down my rod, (no, not that one silly, my fishing rod) and lay down next to her. My lips pressed against hers. My hands began caressing her perky nubile breasts. My tongue licking the salty sweat from her---Well you get the picture.

We were now entirely naked and going at it like two horny Proboscis Monkeys in a mangrove swamp. Our warm bodies rolling around on white sand and our secret protected by the seclusion and the dense canopy of the cove. It was glorious, and an example of young love at its most passionate. As we neared the state of climactic euphoria, we simultaneously moaned and screamed, for it was at that moment that we discovered that we were both covered in ticks. That’s right, blood sucking, disease laden ticks.

We were mortified to say the least. My anxious dork went from being a tribute to teenage virility to being a shrunken cowering nob. We picked ticks from each others most intimate parts like baboons giving each other a rinse and set. It was as if we were both suffering from the humiliation only a nursing home resident can feel at the hands of a sadistic nurse…young passion gone terribly wrong.

For two weeks after the fiasco, we still felt ticks crawling on us although it was just our minds trying to process the events. I have recovered for the most part, but to this day, whenever someone mentions lyme disease or spotted fever I cross my legs and let out a little whimper. I tell you this now in order to prevent it from happening to you.

Until the next time…Cheers!!

Who's Your Daddy!!?

UPDATE BELOW...

Well folks I am getting ready to hop aboard a big YELLOW plane and fly to the Bahamas. I have been requested to donate some of my DNA to determine if my claim of being the father of Anna Nicole Smith’s baby is accurate. The picture you see was taken two and a half hours prior to our six hour long carnal melee which produced Dannilynn.

The picture as well as the subsequent video of the raucous sex-fest was taken by my friend Janna. Being the gentleman that I am, I have paid Janna asked Janna not to release the video. Hopefully I will be back later today with some news to report. If not, I’ll let you know now that tonight’s meatless menu is a big bowl of Minestrone soup.

Until Later, Cheers!!

UPDATE 2:41 P.M.: RATS!! Well DNA tests on the Matt-Man and Dannilynn confirm with 99.99% certainty that I am NOT the father of Anna’s baby. Tests did confirm however that in all likelihood I was the one who infected Anna Nicole Smith with nongonococcal urethritis. I am crushed, but it’s good to know why I have been having somewhat painful urinations. Until tomorrow…Cheers!!

Post Partum Blahs

Hey folks…I want to again thank all of you who stopped yesterday, to wish me a Happy Birthday. I am feeling a bit of indifference today, and I have to take my son to the orthodontist later, so I am posting something from the Bagwine Archives. I will be lurking around today and will be back for Stream of Consciousness Friday tomorrow. I hope you enjoy this Bagwine Classic from September 29, 2006…Cheers!!

Oh hell yeah, it’s Friday again. Shortly the Rose will be flowin’, I’ll be glowin’, and my buzz will be growin’. I will even be having sex all weekend because I have changed the rules. You see, sex is just a word, and I have changed the definition. I mean why can’t I? Who gave the person the right to call full contact naked mutual stimulation, “sex”. Who gave the guy who called sex what it is, the right to do so? And yes ladies, it was a guy who named it that. If a woman had named it, it would be called something else, like passion play, rolling in rose petals, or god forbid, making love. Of course, had it been Rachel Ray who named the action, she would have called it, “Making a Thirty Minute Meal.”

I have decided to redefine the action of “have, had, or having sex” as “eat, ate, or eating a meal”. The advantages are endless. When someone asks me, “How many days a week do you have sex?”, I could respond by saying, “everyday.” Just think of how studly I would appear. I could do interviews.

Joe: How many times a day do you have sex Matt-Man?

Matt-Man: Twice a day during the week and three times a day during the weekend.

Joe: Holy Crap!! Don’t you get tired?

Matt-Man: Nope, it actually gives me more energy.

Joe: Wow…Have you ever had sex in public?

Matt-Man: Oh sure...Wedding receptions, wakes, football games, and even next to the hot dog vendor cart downtown.

Joe: Incredible. I wish I had your nerve. Hell, I panicked when my girlfriend tried to get me to do it in a restaurant one time…Just couldn’t do it. YOU da Man.

Matt-Man: Oh damn Joe, you gotta have sex in a restaurant. I have great experiences with having sex in restaurants, especially if the prices are reasonable.

Joe: Um…prices?...okay. Have you had sex with a lot of different partners?

Matt-Man: Who hasn’t? I’ve had sex with many different women, men; sometimes I even have sex with my cat, because she won’t stop begging me. I really miss the times I had sex with Mom and Dad. And it was even better when the whole family came.

Joe: Good God, man, you’re a freak, if not a criminal.

Matt-Man: Well, then put me in prison. I’ll have sex there everyday, as well.

Yes my definition change will make me the toast of the town. Now, does anyone want to meet for lunch at Pizza Hut and have sex with me? On a far more ugly note. A disturbing thought just popped into my mind as I was re-reading this, the thought of Rachel Ray having sex. Would she turn to her lover and say, “Hey, you want to go to bed and fill my garbage bowl?” If things were a little tight would she ask her man, “Damn honey, could you put a little EVOO on it?” Of course she’d be giggling the whole time…..Ewwwwwwww.

And it’s not just her, all of the Food Network celebs would be icky. Look at Emeril. I can hear him being smooth by saying, “Hey baby, in the mood for a little essence of Emeril?” And the whole time he was doing it he would be bellowing out, “BAM, BAM, BAM”. Freaky.

Giada DeLaurentis may be cute, but for some reason I can hear her saying, “Trust me honey, that’s just parmigiano reggiano down there.” Why do I do this to myself, gross!! I guess I do it because I’m going to hell, and as they say, you’re all going with me.Well folks enjoy the weekend, spend it with someone you love, and when you sit down to dinner, have great sex. Cheers….

And Now Our Multiple Moment of Motto…

Washington: “Come for the Gorp, Stay for the Birkenstocks”

Virginia: “Macaca”

Pierced Ears and Wallabies

As I said earlier, my big day is just eight days away. Birthdays…Some people love em’ some hate em’. I don’t get too excited about them, but I don’t fear them relative to getting older. I just take the day in stride like any other. But don’t get me wrong, I have had some fun and interesting birthdays.

When I was a little kid, the big birthday thing revolved around Mom letting us pick what we wanted for our birthday supper. I would sometimes pick her homemade hoagies, but more often than not, I asked for liver and onions. Other than Mom, this did not ingratiate me with the rest of my family. I would frequently hear from my siblings a birthday greeting such as, “Happy Birthday Matt, did you pick liver again you little shit?” I could feel the love.

I’ll never forget my 17th birthday. My girlfriend Sherri, took me out to eat, to the mall to get my ear pierced (cutting edge in 1982), and then back to her apartment. She was 18 and already graduated, and I do love the “older” ladies. We had a few drinks, she fed her cat, whom she claimed was psycho and not of this Earth, and then we went to her bedroom. We stripped are clothes off quickly as most hormone laden teens do, and she revealed to me that on her left tit she had written, “Happy Birthday Matty.” How nice…We began the ritual of teen age sex...no foreplay, no dirty talk…more like the act of a drunken Visigoth having his way with his newly captured sex slave.

As we continued on like two wallabies furiously trying to produce a wallababy, I heard a high pitched cry, followed by a loud banging sound. A bit delusional, I figured that I was just performing so well that Sherri was moaning, and it was the head board banging against the wall. I looked at her…she wasn’t moaning and there was no head board on the bed to bang. Suddenly, a wailing of biblical proportions split the air and two cataclysmic bangs shook the bedroom door. The door flew open and in flew one pissed off psycho cat leaping at us with claws at the ready. We instinctively covered are important parts and ran out of the room. We managed to survive unscathed, but the mood did not…My 17th birthday was over.

My 20th Birthday was spent in the frozen wasteland of Bowling Green, Ohio. If you have ever been to Bowling Green, Ohio or the BGSU campus, you know that the area is flat. I’m talking flatter than a 14 year old Romanian gymnast. The only hill for 20 square miles is the nob created by the pile of trash at the landfill, and in the winter the winds blow through unchallenged. I will tell you about that horrifically cold birthday as well as a couple of others tomorrow.

Stay Warm, and Cheers!!

Eliminating Erectile Dysfunction? You Can Bank On It

Good Morning All…Did everyone watch the Pretzeldunce last night? I sure did, but I didn’t really listen. As he began to speak my eyes just sorta glazed over and my thoughts meandered elsewhere. I did come up with an idea as I pondered aimlessly. As I get older sometimes it’s not as easy to get the old tally-whacker moving. It may be too late for me, but I am going to work on something for future generations of males.

We have banks to hold our money. We have banks that safeguard our blood supply. We of course have banks that house frozen little spermies!! All of these institutions are great, but I want to create something really useful. Ladies and Gentlemen I offer you this idea: The Erection Bank…

Just think about it. How many unused erections does the average male between 13 and 25 years of age have? Thousands, that’s how many. If we could somehow store them for later use, we could make a lot of aging men, such as myself, and ladies very very happy!! I can see it now. It’s Friday afternoon and a 56 year old husband gets a call from his wife…“Hi honey, I’m feeling very horny. On your way home from work could you stop by the bank and pick up some extra erections?” If I were the guy I would say, “Hell yes baby, I’ll leave early, make a big withdraw, and meet you as soon as I can so I can make some big deposits…Boo Yah!!”

Maybe my idea is just a pipe dream, but if I can help a generation of older men get their rocks off (Ed. Note: Consider Revising Wording), I’ll be a happy man. Watch out Cialis and Viagra, Matt-Man has your number.

I’ll be back later today with…well…something that will hopefully inspire you or at least make you chuckle. Cheers!!

Unfair Labor Practice

Due to the length of this poignant story it will appear in two installments. The second part of this heartwarming vignette will be posted later today underneath part one. Enjoy...

The final installment of Unfair Labor Practice has now been posted for your dining and reading pleasure. If you have read the first part simply scroll down this post and you will find where the second part kicks in!!


It’s was a steamy July morning some years ago. The air was thick and hot, so hot in fact that I noticed a dog chasing a rabbit and they were both walking…Would nature’s crucible be a portend of heated tempers at the Labor/Management Meeting at one of the prisons that I represented…a meeting that was two hours away? As I hopped into my car to begin my trip, I lit a Marlboro, fired up the engine, and asked myself two things…First, would this meeting become the knock down drag out fight that I figured it to be, and number two, why do my thoughts sound like the dialogue from a really bad True Detective story?

I was headed to a prison near Chillicothe, a prison whose employee morale was lower than that of a death row inmate. The cause of such derision was a warden who ruled over her employees with an iron fist, an acerbic vocabulary, and a bullet-proof bra. The stories that my workers told me about her conjured up an image of a haggard looking woman who was all of the Borgias rolled into one. As I looked at the clock in my car, my hands began to sweat…I was only sixty miles from my initial encounter with the evil Warden X. (Bum Bum BUMMMM)

I arrived at the prison and was promptly greeted by a sweltering heat and a handshake from the head of Labor Relations for the Department. Yep, things were bad here, and management was sending in the big guns. After getting felt up and wanded by the chick at security, I caught up with my folks and we discussed the talking points that we wanted to raise at the meeting. While the three or four points we wanted to make were different in nature, they all led back to…that’s right…Warden X. (Bum Bum BUMMMM)

My delegation and I entered the conference room and sat down at a coffee stained table across from the Labor Relations guy from the prison and the aforementioned head of LR for the entire department. We exchanged some jokes as we eagerly awaited the appearance of Public Enemy #1. And then, it happened. The door swung open and it was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Time was beginning to move in slow motion. I turned and there she was…The dreaded Warden X (Bum Bum BUMMM). I looked at her and said to myself, “So this is the bitch they’ve been talking about.” And upon a closer, deeper look at her, I thought to myself, “Holy Shit, this is one smokin’ hot bitch!!”

She had dark silky hair that nestled on her shoulders and ultimately rested in the middle of her back. Her eyes were as dark and harsh as coal but also evoked a smoldering passion. Her face was strong and yet had a softness that yearned to be touched. Her breasts were just plain HUGE and SOLID!! The head guy introduced us and we shook hands. It was a firm shake and we looked each other square in the eye. I was Spartacus and she was the Roman slave master that had to be crushed. Her look indicated to me that removing the yolk of bondage from my workers would not be easy. We began the meeting.

As hot as the temp was outside, it was much hotter in the conference room. My people spoke harshly of the warden to the two labor relations guys. The employees accurately and sharply took her to task for her heavy handed ways. As their side listened to the accusations and documentation, I simply sat there looking at her. I looked at her with a crooked smile, a cocked head, and a nod. What I couldn’t determine was if I was looking at her like that, because my people were performing masterfully or was I was signaling to her that I wanted to rip her clothes off and do the mattress mambo with her? Where were my loyalties headed!?

As the meeting wrapped up, the head of labor relations gave us an offer of closer oversight and follow up meetings on the situation. Being the annoying prick that I was at the time and to give my folks a sense of victory, I told him that that was probably not enough and our delegation would have to think about filing several grievances and more importantly a couple of Unfair Labor Practices against her and the Department. He told me to think it over and get back with him as soon as I could. As we left the room she stared at me with a cocked eyebrow as her index finger tapped her full bottom lip. I smiled and at her shrugged my shoulders...

Make sure to stop by later today to read the compelling finale of Matt-Man and...Warden X (Bum Bum BUMMM) Cheers...

The Big Finish to Unfair Labor Practice, Enjoy...

After talking with the members and a re-telling all of the great zingers they spewed at the warden, I began to make my way out of the penal confines. Near the exit room I was intercepted by a visibly shaken Warden X. She may have been acting, but it was convincing. She asked me if I had a minute to talk. I said, “Sure, do you mind if I smoke?” She said, “Not at all, may I have one?” She gazed up at me with the look of a wounded puppy dog as I handed her a smoke. Without a word, I flipped my Bic and she clutched and then cradled my hands as she brought the flame to her cigarette. After a deep drag, and an equally busty exhale, she looked away and said that she wasn’t nearly as evil as everyone had portrayed her to be, but it was tough being a warden let alone one of the female persuasion.

I said that I have to represent my folks and uphold the contract and in my opinion you are not working with them very well. She turned to me and asked if filing an Unfair Labor Practice was necessary. She said, “Maybe if you and I met over dinner, we could smooth things over.” My mind raced as I sucked heavily on my weed. “She’s asking me to sell them out.” I thought to myself. I could lose not only my workers respect but get fired as well. But I rationalized it by thinking, “What the hell it’s only dinner.” After a pregnant pause I said, “Sure, why not.” She smiled at me and handed me a piece of paper with her address and her phone number scribbled on it. “Be there, between six-thirty and seven, if you’re going to be late, call me. Thanks Matt.” With a cat that ate the canary look upon her face, she walked away.

I went to my motel room and had a shower and a couple of beers. I reflected about the jam I may be getting myself into, but my desire to cross this chick’s picket line was too great. I drove to her house.

She answered the door wearing incredibly tight sky blue shorts and a boob hugging red T-Shirt. She looked, in a word, sexy as hell. She smiled, took me by the hand, and led me in. “Would you like a drink, Matt?’ she asked. I asked if she had Jack and Coke, she said, “I sure do.” “Great, I’ll have a beer.” I responded. My joke broke the ice and we sat on the couch and had a drink…well several drinks. She cozied up to me, and made sure her ample breasts were pressed against me. She said, “I’ll scratch your back if you scratch mine, by getting the heat off of me.” I said, “Okay, but it isn’t my back that itches.” She smiled and proceeded to kiss me and shove her wine laden tongue down my throat. The next thing I know we are in her bed devouring each other like a gallows inmate feasting on his last meal. It was incredible.

All good things come to an end and this encounter had come to an end several times. It was time for me to go. She lay on the bed as I got dressed; smugly knowing that she had secured her protection. I put on the last of my clothes and pulled a folded piece of paper from my pocket. I unfolded it, bent down to kiss her, and placed the paper on her naked, glistening stomach.

“What’s this baby?” she asked. “It’s your copy of the Unfair Labor Practice that we are filing, BABY!! I guess I just f*%ked you twice!!” I left her house, got into my car, and headed to my motel room. I knew that somewhere, Jimmy Hoffa was laughing his ass off.

Matt-Man: Putting the F-U in FUN!! Cheers!!

The Metamorphosis of Matt-Man

I have always wondered what it would be like to be woman…to experience the soft sexiness of wearing a short slit skirt, bathing my pouty lips in a puddle of creamy pink lipstick, and perhaps to sport a hot looking Bagwine thong. Ahhhhh, alas, I am unable to feel such sensations. I will never know what it’s like to have a door opened for me or to have a policeman not issue me a speeding ticket because I gave him a shot of my thigh.

I think it would be great to have people buy me drinks at the bar because I was pretty, and that they think they might be able to get into my pants. I would love such admiration and respect. Hell, I might even get a free meal out of it if my heels are high and my fishnet stockings straight.

Yes indeed, there are such advantages to being a woman. I could lie around the house all day and play with my smooth, perky breasts while my German Shepard nuzzles up to my Chamomile tea warms on the stove. When I waltz into the shower, my detachable shower head is no longer just a hygiene device but a trusted friend as well. I am having quite the hot flash as I type this…Oh Calgon, take me away, this caterpillar wants to be a butterfly!!

I would want a sexy name. Being of Irish heritage I could opt for something like Shannon or Sinead. Or should I go all the way and pick something racy such as Honey Walls? Maybe I should just hang on to a part of me that was, and call myself Matt-Tilda. Yeah, I like that. Matt-Tilda it is.

The thought of this transformation is so exciting. Oh sure, I know that being a woman has its draw backs. I realize that once a month my basement would flood and I would be irritable. I understand that mechanics would try to fix something on my car that doesn’t need fixed, and sure, I would put family and friends into uncomfortable positions when I ask them, “Does this make me look fat?” But hey, the positives far outweigh the negatives.

I mean if I were a woman I could go to the bathroom with women. I could take a steam with naked women. I could change clothes, get a massage, and have pillow fights with naked women. Is that freakin’ fantastic or what? Good Golly Miss Molly, slap me on the ass and call me yours.

What?.. What?...okay let me explain something.

Just because I want to be a woman doesn’t mean I want to have sex with men. Dear God far from it. I would never have sex with a man, even as woman. Men are pigs…I ought to know. I am one, and I know the last person on the earth that I would ever want to have sex with is ME!! No no my friends, even after the change it will still be all about the ladies and fulfilling my lifelong wish of becoming a lesbian porn star.

Maybe I have said too much, but I couldn’t keep the truth from all of you or the woman inside of me trapped any longer. This catharsis has lifted a great weight from my chest which will soon be replaced with a great rack. Thank you for your understanding…Now, is there any hot babe who wants to go waltzin’ with Matt-Tilda?

Hopefully I’ll see you back here tomorrow for Stream of Consciousness Friiiiiday…Cheers!!