Words of Danny O'Bigbelly My idea of a good time

After a recent heated and promising woo-making session was derailed by a lengthy emergency extraction procedure of one of my hairs from my wife’s teeth, my wife brought up the idea that perhaps I should consider shaving what I shall call, to avoid offending any readers with delicate sensibilities, the philtral region.

I’m not sure how I feel about this. I’ve heard that other men do this, and not just from stories–I’ve actually seen clean-shaven men. To be honest, the look appeals to me, but from what I’ve heard, it’s very high-maintenance. A friend of mine, who used to keep himself bare, said he had to shave nearly every morning, and even so, by the time evening rolled around and it was time for snuggle-play with his smoochy-woochy, there was enough stubble so that amorous inclinations of the angel of his dreams were severely attenuated by the ensuing abrasions. She confessed that it give her the sensation that she was making love to a belt sander–an unusually graphic and powerful metaphor from such a sweet, soft-spoken woman. In the end, he had to shave almost every time he wanted nooky, and the water bills alone were enough to make his mojo wane. In the end, it was too much. He hasn’t shaved for years, and both his marriage and his mojo seem to be firing on all cylinders.

I’ve also heard that there are issues with nicks and irritation. Believe me when I say that I don’t need any more irritation in my life, and nobody needs nicks. Since there’s no way I can possibly see what I’m doing without the aid of a mirror (my anatomy being what it is), such nicks seem inevitable, and I wouldn’t wish nicks in such a delicate area upon my worst enemy.

My wife also points out that I’ve come to expect her to be as smooth as a whistle–well, a whistle with a few exquisite wisps of hair–and she therefore believes that is only fair for her to expect the same from me. I don’t think this is fair at all, because I have never asked her to do this! It’s true that I was delighted to discover this facet of her physique at an early phase of our relationship, but it was fait accompli. While I genuinely appreciate the status quo, it is not something that I have ever explicitly asked her to do, and I believe (or like to believe) that I would love her just as much were things otherwise.

And so, gentle readers, I am torn. Should I shave off my mustache?

Oh, and I hope your April is starting off well.

Does your profile say everything about you that people need to know — or that you want them to know?

Mine does not. I keep getting questions, offers, etc, that could be handled with a few properly chosen words, if only I could properly choose them. So, as a public service, I’m going to post the answers here. I encourage you to do the same.

1. Neither my avatar nor my screen name are not a character from the Simpsons. It’s a drawing of me, done in the style of the Simpsons. To get an avatar like mine, go to http://simpsonizeme.com/ and follow the directions. If I can do it, so can you.
2. After consultation with all interested parties, I my informed opinion is that my penis is more than adequate, in both size and other operational parameters, to fill all current and projected requirements. I acknowledge your tireless and selfless efforts to prepare and present your unsolicited proposals for its improvement, but I am not interested in any of them. I will contact you if the situation changes.
3. No, I will not fix your computer. Asking me to fix your computer is like asking Peter North or Jenna Jameson (depending on your preference in partners) to fix your marriage. It’s not going to turn out the way you hoped, even though your computer will have the time of its life and learn some enchanting new skills.
4. I’m sure that sex with you would be delightful, but I am concerned about many of the longer-term consequences, so I’m afraid I must decline your kind and generous offer. I hope my refusal to boink you will not affect other aspects of our relationship.
5. I’ll be back and post again when I damned well feel like it.

C’mon — what questions do you keep getting, or wish you kept getting, or imagined getting, or whatever, and what are your answers?

The not-quite rhythmic Click…

The angry, startled, kazoo-playing pig…

The muddy boot extrication…

The buzz saw rolling by on a dessert cart (complete with Doppler effect)…

The sinus whistling wheeze of eternity…

The lip-flapping Flaugh…

The she-must-really-be-a-dude-to-make-that-sound…

OK, everyone snores once in a while. But some people only snore, while others transcend snoring and take snoring in bold, new directions.

Not every new type of snore deserves its own name, but some do. Memory-etching experiences must be named. It’s simply human nature.

Who snores in your household? And what do you call it?

I blame over-the-counter cold medicine.

You all know about my dreams, or at least you do if you were around for an earlier thread about dreams.

But when I’m tripping on Benadryl, things can get even odder. For example:

I’m driving in my car. An unidentified woman is in the passenger seat. Traffic is not moving. I’m very patient, but traffic is at a stand-still. I wonder where I’m going, or how late I’m going to be when I get there. The car in front of me hasn’t budged for a minute. On both sides of my car, other cars are also motionless. It isn’t just my lane. Nobody is moving. And yet, I am strangely calm.

My passenger speaks. “If you want to wait here, that’s fine. I’ll be back in a sec” she says, and without pausing or giving me an opportunity to say anything, opens her door, gets out, and walks away. (Safety-conscious readers please note that had this not been a dream, she would have had to have undone her seatbelt first — I insist on my passengers wearing them — but this detail is absent from the dream.)

I let her go. I don’t run after her, but I am very concerned. What if traffic starts to move? I can’t just wait here. If the car in front of me starts to move, I’ll have to go, or the people behind me will be upset. How is she going to find me again?

But traffic doesn’t move, and a few minutes later, she opens the car door and climbs back in.

I start to explain my concern and express my relief that traffic hadn’t moved, because otherwise I would have had to have left her, but she interrupts.

“Don’t be silly. We’re parked in a parking lot.“

And we are.

And now comes the strange part. At this moment, I suddenly wake, leap from my bed, and run to my office, utterly convinced that this dream has deep meaning and must be immediately shared with all the denizens of the internet. And here we are.

So, what’cha got for me? Any interesting dreams lately? Anyone else “Riding the Green Sloth” (O slang for taking NyQuil…)?

p.s. I hope you don’t mind being referred to as denizens of the internet. I meant it in the best possible way.