2651 Competitive Rates.

Comic Vote
Presents List
Shirts & such.

Man, I’m cutting it close tonight. It’s 9:54 as I’m writing the blog. Got a late start on the page. Blee blah blee bloo… Uh… I don’t have anything important to say I guess. So support links up above, and have a nice Monday. I hope it’s a start to a good week for everyone. I hope to see you again on Wednesday. Until then, don’t get lost on the wat to Albuquerque.


Note to self. Do this with partners.

It might be fun with a partner who isn’t a psychotherapist.

My late wife was one* and we had plenty of cute, intimate communications and connections, but not like this. For one, yoga together like Thomas and Carol is neat.

(*I hope I don’t have to say this but she was never my therapist. That’s illegal, abhorrent, and icky also. We met dancing.)

My uncle judt married his “guilt therapist” my aunt died and he got depressed and went to therapy. I think it was 6 months they started dating.. a year tops they married. The rest of the family think its icky but he is haapier soooo.

I come from a family of psychs, all the kinds, ologost, iatrist, otherepist, etc.

But i meant whenever i help them, demand to be paid in kisses. They would find it adorable, and i get kisses. It’s a win win.

Fortunately, there’s a landmark that’s hard to miss… Jerry’s Bait Shop (you know the place)

I’m not trying to guess the number of molecules on anybody’s butt any more. Last time I tried, I was off by three. Stupid Leonard Nimoy….

My childhood was so awful for an American I have been accused of making it up except I can document most of it. A couple of people got really depressed hearing about it, then I told them think about the fact that they’re just hearing a sad story, but I was taking notes as it happened (actually just after). The reason I didn’t get any worse after I got killed by the drunk driver was I had both kinds of PTSD for decades (untreated because they weren’t even diagnoses until around the time I got killed, and nobody realized that was what I had at the time I was killed. And I know “I was killed” sounds like hyperbole, but I had no pulse or respiration when they got to my body about 100 feet from the point of impact blood splatter about where the truck hit me. And given the size of the hole in my leg from that impact if I hadn’t been dead then I would have bled out in a few minutes. And that is actually one of the LESS awful stories in my life.

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