gomer

Looks like Leora is setting up for a little massage action.

With Malia out of the apartment, we'll probably get the obligatory quick Jill-off and she'll be gone again. Repetitious and uninspired drudge work to keep the hounds from baying and protect the tractor for another day.

Well, Malia, looks like it's up to you to hold the fort. Again.

You are mistaken. I don't hate this apartment or Leora or even your pompous ass. I'm just not into putting a dress on a pig and asking it to the prom. It's a sex show. I like it. I watch it as best I can. Lately, the donkey has been ailing so maybe time to check out the other clubs on the street.

That's only important if one is looking to fall in love. The point to this whole "voyeur" thing is to see some skin and depravity and use up some tissues. Leora doesn't know any of us, doesn't WANT to know any of us (we're just a bunch of leering, lecherous oddballs. Hardly a venue to search for a worthy mate.) She doesn't care if you are "loyal" to her or not as long as you keep the bucks flowing her way. But you just keep on bullshitting yourselves that your opinion matters to her a bit.

Man, this apartment is like a funeral today. Think I'll head on over to the tent revival they're having at B4. Little singing and preachin' and fried chicken. May just get myself dunked and saved.

Anyone ever gonna close this thread so we can move on to #58?

Well surPRISE, surPRISE, surPRISE. Saving myself for Miss LuAnn Poovey.

I'm thinking of changing mine to Sancho.

At the moment, she's doing her Aldonza impression and hoping to hold onto her Lady Dulcinea reputation. She'll learn eventually you can't have it both ways, no matter how pretty you are. I think she should go home before the life ruins her and she's just another aging good time girl. She should definitely send Malia home, even if she opts to continue. The Little Star is not hardwired to handle this life. .

Nah, he's just trying to call the situation as it is. The Don Quixotes here are the delusional ones.

I think she's watching the action at B4.

That apartment has been pretty much a boner killer this week.

Don't bother, sweetheart. I have a headache now.

Practice, practice, practice.

My translation skills are a little rusty, but I think she got kicked off her roller derby team for excessive violence.

Next up, the slide rule. It will do everything but make biscuits.

Leora, take Malia and go home while there still may be something to go home to. Barring that, take Malia into the bedroom, saddle her delicious ass up and ride her across the Rubicon. Dithering and vacillating is not helpful for your past, present or future. Go big or go home.

A psychologist would have a field day with some of these delusional gentlemen. They're just here to observe the normal day to day activities of Mother Theresa. That they're not wearing pants has nothing to do with it. That would be dirty and shameful. They just really admire her and the good works she does and oh look.....she's shoving a black dildo up her butt for money. Well waste not want not. Yank yank yank yank. But she's not a sex worker. These guys would never follow a sex worker. That would be base and disgraceful. Mother Theresa with benefits.

I think Malia just winked at me.

Everyone is entitled to construct his own fantasies. No one is entitled to insist others concur with those fantasies. Your sweet, virginal, innocent Lady Dulcinea performs lewd acts with her genitals for an audience in exchange for filthy lucre. How you reconcile the contradictions there is your business and best of luck to you with that. Whatever puts lead in your pencil. To me, she's a hard drinking, thick skinned biker chick sex worker who clubs baby seals in the head as a hobby. You don't have to agree, but you do have to keep your ire to yourself about it. My fantasy is none of your business. You want to play the dashing knight in shining armor (that she doesn't need or want) you have to expect the dragons to at least get a sandwich as you go for your meal. If the hot dragon breath causes you to clutch your pearls and flutter off to the ladies' room to swoon, maybe you should stay off the horse and just jerk your joke quietly for your money's worth.

You're not the boss of me, doo-doo head.

Poor tractor.

Again?