At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Thursday, August 15, 2013


There are still phone solicitors in this world, despite almost everyone now having cellphones and screening their calls. Somewhere in the Midwest, trailerparkers and residents of a minimum security prison or football college are tasked with dialling random strangers and either harassing them for money for the good cause to end all good causes (The Podunk Firemen's Annual Charity Ball and Barbecue), or selling the one sure-fire method for losing weight while achieving psycho-sexual satori.

Psycho-sexual satori does sound very tempting. The only part of that combo with which I am currently familiar is 'psycho'.
I live in San Francisco.
And I'm single.

Never-the-less, I am not inclined to buy the eighteen part course, nor the six work-out tapes that come with it. Or the high-stress yoga-mat (made to EXACTING specifications!).

I am lonely at times during the day, however. So your call came at an opportune time. I am glad to hear from you, it's a welcome distraction.

Are you naked?

No no, it's a serious question; I only wish to talk to a Midwesterner if he or she is naked. The success of your sales call depends on it. Please disrobe immediately, and describe each garment you are removing as you do so.

Stop talking about the eighteen parts and six tapes for a moment, we'll get to that in good time. The garments, if you please. Just the garments.
Sizes? Textures? Attractive shapes and hues?

Sniff deeply.

I am NOT interested in your fire department's kindly balls. Unless they too are naked. Except, perhaps, for heavy tool belts with necessary equipment, that leave red red welts on their manly flesh. Because one must be prepared at all times, in case there's an emergency.

Let us both imagine them sliding down poles at the fire-house. Which must be greased with hog fat, so that they do not get rope burns on their front. Pole burns. Front. Painful.

It probably smells like barbecue when they do.


Thank you, please call again.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


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