To the BATMOBILE

Monday, October 16, 2006

sex sells.

If you have pondered, as any faithful and true Butlerfan would have, on my lack of updating as of late, know that your once infallible hero has now run out of anything to talk about. It's almost as if somebody has set fire to my Rainforests of Creativity and now a haze of... Cloudiness... clouds (well quite obviously so) my mind. Or something like that anyway. Political/Current Affair humour isn't my forte to be honest.

Typical as it is, that I follow up on one of my best posts (in my ~~very~~ fairly modest opinion) 2 weeks later with a piece of literary rubbish, composed in a state of sleep-induced stupor, dressed inadequately dressed in a pair of Quiksilver boxes who's elastic has experienced one too many washes as my room's temperature begins to dip below the -45 degrees Celsius mark.

For lack of anything meaningful to ramble on about, I shall begin to recount an extremely steamy and particularly enjoyable dream I had several days ago. Save me your looks of disgust and/or embarassmen - I admit that I'm just as easily excitable as the average hormone-laden teenager (superhero notwithstanding). Perhaps more so but we shan't dabble with little details... Whatever the case is, this dream had scenes that would make Paris Hilton blush. My point being (if there is one at all), is not at all related to the promiscuous nature of the dream, but rather the realism the dream had, right from the very beginning where we exchange shy looks to the rough tear-the-walls-down passionate loving that bears striking resemblance to "Mr and Mrs Smith".

The depth of sorrow and self-pity, and the general feeling of screaming a la Tarzan and pulling my nipples off, threatened to rock the foundations of my pyschological wellbeing (to any concerned beings - I emerged somewhat unscathed, details of painfully swollen nipples conveniently omitted).

I must once again remind anyone and everyone that this woman is fictitious much to my great despair (the idea of that happening in real life is presposterous, almost as bad as someone masquerading as a superhero). Now if only I could remember what her face looked like (or if she even had one; joking - a disturbing thought).

TO THE BATMOBILE

posted by butler at 1:09 am
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