No, It Doesn't Mean I Collect Feet

You may have seen me last night on America's Most Wanted's Very Special Pedophile Episode. I was the fat, dumb, unshaven one. Which fat, dumb, unshaven guy, you ask? You're kidding around, obviously, but I'll indulge because there is truth in your humorous rhetorical question: it can be difficult making any distinction between all those horny fellows whose fashion and hygiene are so very similar. I was the only one whose facial expression didn't fall from a look of terrified longing to one of terrified terror. In fact, my progression of expressions went in reverse order.

You see, though I do spend a tremendous amount of time typing slang-packed messages to others in online teen chat rooms, then weaseling my way into the trusting hearts of other participants who claim to be thirteen-year-old girls, then carefully setting up meetings with those girls at their houses on some evening when their single moms will be at the strip club all night, then feverishly masturbating about it over the preceding days, then showing up at the allotted time with a pocketful of rubbers and Jelly Bellys, it's not because I'm a pedophile. My biggest turn-on is getting right down to it with a 47-year-old undercover member of the local precinct's cybercrimes division.

I could ride that mousse-molded, salt-and-pepper, SuperCuts hairdo all night long. Plus, I like to put the Jelly Bellys up their bottoms.

Torso Fever: The Unwelcome Rebirth

It's not like I was making any money off those damn shirts anyway. So now this site just a dumping ground for the occasional incoherent rant or detailed violent fantasy. Enjoy, suckers.