Box of Hammers Theatre Presents...

Girls Gone Wild...

This is the newly appointed '9-Iron of Naughty'. This was decided and inducted by myself without the other two legs of The Tripod because they are both sleeping as it is very, very late. I'm sure they'll go along with it though. They'll go along with just about anything that has 'naughty' in the title. Picture compliments of someone with really ugly carpeting, since I couldn't actually find hubby's clubs to take a pic. Anyway, it's like 'The Bat of Accountability' and 'The Raquet of Redemption'-s rich, snobby cousin.

Since my most recent post, the latest allowed peek into my life and the lives of the other two legs of The Tripod, I have literally been bombarded with e-mails. 65 of them to be exact. No wait. 66 & 67 just arrived. Yes, I know. It was surprising, even to me, especially since I already get about 250 e-mails throughout the course of the average day.

I have carefully read each and every one of these e-mails from beginning to end. I have considered all the information which they contain and don't contain, and here's what I've come up with...

All the e-mails are from men/boys, whatever. Well, okay, really really stupid men/boys, whatever. I say really, really stupid as in, they don't know their ass from a hole in the ground and would never be inclined to make the distinction, at least not as long as there's hair to be grown on their palms and enough free internet porn to literally keep them glued to their seats. And because very nearly every e-mailer inquired as to how they could go about subscribing to my 'service'.

I have a 'service'?

www.explodingdog.com

This was a little confusing and I had to think on it for a minute or two, try to decipher caveman speak for 'Girls are pretty'. Finally, I figured out what they were referring to as my 'service' or what they thought it was at least. And then, once again, I had to ask myself...

I have a 'service'? Hmmm.

No, chronic masturbators who would yank off to virtual fish just so long as they wiggle about sufficiently. I don't have a 'service'!

I have a weblog. There is no subscription required. It's free for you to browse at will, I swear. I don't pay anything to anyone to babble here about all the mundane shit that goes on around here and the craziness seeping from my brain. Why on Earth would you pay to read about it? FREEdom is sort of the point of blogging afterall.

Most of all, it's my life.

Ocassionally, there's fun or something entertaining to report. Sometimes, it's even racey and naughty (this is where the newly appointed 9-iron comes in) and sometimes, it even involves nudity. Generally though, it's not all as colorful as our New Year's Eve debauchery or that night I spent in the Japanese whorehouse which incidentally also had Japanese karaoke.

BEG, KP and I are not always all over each other and not in our reality based frames of mind. In fact, very nearly all the time we are no where even remotely near each other and are connected only by long distance phoning and the internet.

Wow! The Tripod in actuality is really as retardedly shaped as hubby has suggested.

Ocassionally, we break from our nefarious plotting and scheming to read books and go shopping. We have ho-hum existences for the most part.

Don't get me wrong. We're a tossin'-caution-to-the-wind sort of bunch. We're usually down for whatever, whenever. But still.

Often times, BEG is the only person I talk to in a day other than hubby and he's often times the only other human I see for days. I do laundry and get the oil changed in the Isuzu. I clean the bathtub and wipe up cat puke as disgusting and everyday as these activities may be.

Not actually me cleaning a table. Sorry. I don't pictures of these sorts of things.

There is nothing HOT or WILD about making coffee or pledging the tables. My house, as large and as capable of it as it is, is not a den of sin. Well, not constantly anyway.

Irregardless (For BEG), we are not girls GONE wild. We've just always been like this, whatever 'this' may be.

It's not like the pictures I posted from New Year's Eve were smutty and nothing I had to say about it was particularly wild (mildly amusing and long-winded perhaps). We all managed to stay fully clothed for the entire duration of the weekend...except for of course when we weren't (I was naked. I did get laid. I'm not gonna lie because that would just be stupid. Can't speak for anyone else though).

Also notably, I have not gotten one single comment or e-mail about the mostly naked picture of myslef uploaded very, very early this morning in a fit of insomnia. Apparently, the attraction only exists when we're a variagated, and yet, fully clothed trio!

So, in conclusion, if you feel it necessary to jerk-off to fully clothed, adult females having a harmless, good time, by all means, stroke away. Hey, scream my name if it helps (lesbians, this goes for you too!).

But for the sake of Joe Pesci (prayed to by at least two members of The Tripod) and all that is holy (pepperoni, summer sausage, dead fish in the mailbox, etc.), don't e-mail to tell me about it and ask to pay me for it. Enjoy a free thing while it's around.

I could take your money, mostly because you deserve to be made fools of, but it's too easy. You already look stupid enough and the amusement I get from that is quite sufficient payment! Fall any further down the scale and you'll never have any chance of meeting a real, live 3-dimensional girl to touch your parts for you!

Until next time my silly, little friends...

The Skee-Doo of Smut remains safely tethered to it's dock. And please remember, a wise man once said, "Wherever you go, there you are." (Sorry, I have had that stuck in my head for days).

-IV out