It was difficult to choose the winner, (iconoclastic or the template?). After 2 extra sleepless nights of highly active malaise, and the understanding that wanton peckers are out there performing services my staid pecker would like a chance at... I had to go get a massage, and a bj. Once I understood that she who was ministering to me would minister to a dog I got all hurt and went home. I found out that she would do a dog when by happenstance (on one of her upper motion 'head bobs'), a runaway chanced down the fenceline behind the Ralph's I had purchased her a pound of bok-choi at, and it had a piece of paper adhered to it's rump-zone, which she/whatever mistook(apparently), for a dollar bill. I gave her a quick lecture on the health problems she could incur by doing that kind of thing and told her how offensive it was to me to have ventured unknowingly into her world of filth and bok-choi. I then told her a lot of other things about how she could mend her life, but I don't thing she heard me. That bothered me the most. I wanted her to hear me more than I wanted the rash around my b-b hole to go away. I wanted her to hear me more than all kinds of other things too. She drew me a bath the very next morning and apologized for interrupting our session, but that wasn't good enough for me. I desperatly wanted her to understand the fact that she had made many wrong choices that night, ie. the night previous to the one yet to come. All the sudden she didn't speak english anymore, which I found both strange, yet alluring, as if I was being beckoned by some backstreet siren who was born on that island where that thing lives in a maze and can't get out because of some reason I forgot.
So that's why it's pretty important to me that I get to the point here. Iconoclastic has beat the template and stands as the proud victor of this very exclusive FTC contest. Although a very high dual-digit number of entrants has been amazed by iconoclastics high-level humor, and what with my tremendous life resources to draw upon and relate to everybody, and the fact that I can discriminate when it comes to sexual partners (and have proven this more than once , (at least once to be on the safe side)). Without trying to be too proud, I'd say this is (conservatively sp?, 1/2 proved by the fact that I have two kids, and they constantly tell me I'm a role model of the highest standard. They even do this in front of their closest friends, and my relatives whose children never say that about them.
So that's a summation of my advice to iconoclastic... never give up until the last possible tiny bit of the last moment before you're killed. That way you have more pride to look back on between the puffy eyelids of your bashed and battered brow, which clearly is different than a number of other bashed and battered body parts.
Now we're getting to the crucial part. I can hear drums of some kind, but I'm not sure if they're part of a stage presentation or a garage band. You see, tinnitus sp? interferes with all sorts of things when you suffer from it. I don't know if I could say "I suffer from it", but I do believe that I have it, and I think that's a good enough reason to say that. After all, everyone else gets to have hypoglycemia, so I think I should get to have something too.
So I have a hearing disorder. It doesn't mean I'm special. It just means everyone has to hear about it, and more than once if I forget I already told you.
So, here we are again, and iconoclastic has crossed my brain-blood barrier with his/it/whatever horribly funny and tumultuously 3xFUNNY dual E_Z BOY Reliner/Rocker Chair Comics. Although this is all true, the Dr. said I'd have to detox before giving me anymore grocery bags full of defective pharmaceutical samples, which I only take when I get headaches of the worst kind.
Okay, I'm beginning to get tired, so hold on, it's just another page or so, and I'll be done.