Sick

No, not the pictures: me. And, no, not because I'm amoral and enjoy chocolate starfish: just because a pair of bricks have taken up residence in my sinuses, and they seem to be intent on breeding. I was feeling so ill that I actually left work at 3 pm on Saturday.

But maybe it's just as well. I was going to be writing about my most recent tryst, which followed hard upon the heels of some not terribly bright boy blowing me off, and I was going to be writing about aspects of it that reminded me of my best friend whom I fooled around with back when I was fifteen or so, and I was going to call the entry "Mixing Memory and Desire." I don't know any former English major who became a CPA who can resist making a Wasteland joke at this time of year, and I thought this might be the year that I made it through without noting that April is the cruelest month, but, alas, no.

So now that I can't breathe and I'm sleep deprived and making even less sense than usual, instead you're going to get a bunch of microphilia pictures. Apparently, men who fantasize about having sex with Lilliputians are even more enamored of twinks than everyone else is, but given that I'm a delirious tax accountant who's too sick to even wank and can't resist the übereasy T.S. Eliot joke, I am clearly in no position to judge. So enjoy. Or don't. I'm going to drink some more orange juice and sink into bed to watch the rest of Pan's Labyrinth.