Hello.  It’s been a while since we talked dear readers, but I’ve been thinking of you.

…thinking of sliding my hand up your pants

…sensually

…to see if those rumors of an operation in the back room of a strip club in Manilla are true

…y’know, like is your junk the same?

…or are you all post-oppy different?

Anyhoo, it’s been brought to my attention that I’m up for the blogger of the year award from Lord Grant Miller.  My first thought when I read that this morning was, “Oh shit, right, I’ve got a blog!”    My second thought was, “Holy crap, this fart could end up becoming a poop if I push any harder, cause it’s all warm feeling – like overly warm, danger Will Robinson, danger.”

Then I thought, “What, Grant Miller reads my blog?”  You see, Grant Miller was my inspiration to begin blogging years ago.  Well, him and Winter, who has long since disappeared off the face of the blogosphere, perhaps to mock Mexican people professionally or to write poetry about fetuses or something.

I read their two blogs and said, “Hey, they’re not funny at ALL, I could do this blogging thing!”  I’m kidding, kidding, KIDDING, Jesus Christ send your hate mail to Pope Harry Dean Stanton or whatever the Pope’s name this go-round is.  (Pope Sunkeneyed German?)  No, actually, I thought Grant and Winter were awesome and I wanted to be like them some day, or at least get their attention so that they would send me seed money to start a company that specializes in rendering liposuctioned fat into Febreeze (read the label).  We all know bloggers make shitpiles of money from blogging, so anyways, yeah, I wanted them to make my life better, cause I’m all about me in the end.

Now three years later, we come round full circle.   Grant finally noticed me, and whether or not I get any votes, at least Mr. Miller acknowledged my existence and now I can stop living in between his walls (like in that Steven King movie with the cat people) and whispering my name at him while he sleeps.  You know how hard it is to fit between walls when you’ve got a penis as long as mine?  (Answer: the penis isn’t a factor.)

So anyways, thanks for the nod Grant, thanks for noticing me, thank for being my zany inspiration years ago and still to this day, and thanks for not calling the cops when you found me naked in your attic trying on your old high school jackets.  That was mighty righteous of you to give me a few dollars and a ride to the bus station to get rid of me that night, even though I just took a cab and beat you back to your place and continued living in your walls again.  Now I can go home.