Links

In the words of the Tavares brothers: heaven must be missing an angel.

Missing one angel, child, ‘cause Sophie has appointed herself as my webmistress. Heavenly to me, baby.

Sophie knows that when I am not parenting, I am pretty busy writing, fucking, or writing about fucking. She agreed to soup up my blog one evening as I ministered to sick young’uns.

As a gift to the host, she brought red wine, gummy bears and Children’s Tylenol. Girl knows the ways to a man’s heart.

She arrived as I was making grilled cheese sandwiches for the kids. As they ate, we toured the apartment she knows so well from my blog.

There is the terrace often peopled by naked people. Here is the bed broken by gangbangs on top of orgies. There is the futon that folds like a taco if you don’t position everyone on it just so.

With gay icon Spongebob Squarepants babysitting the kids, we poured wine and set to work on the blog.

Some of her handiwork is tucked away inside the website template, most of it intended to help like-minded flies find this particular spider’s parlor.

As she explained these systemic changes, I nodded, sipping wine and looking as blonde as I knew how.

If you will look to the left of your screen, you can see a few enhanced features she suggested.

At the top of the links is a Cast of Characters offering mini-bios of people who recur in this blog with some frequency. If you are trying to distinguish between Dacia and Marla, or Lucy and May, this can prove useful.

Bloglet will allow you to subscribe to this blog in a newsletter format that is emailed to your inbox, so that you no longer have to obsessively check the blog to discover new posts.

This leaves the obsession to yours truly, your own post-a-matic pervert.

If you prefer reading the post on the original template, never fear—the newsletter comes with a link back to the site.

Sophie also added Paypal, which you can reach by clicking the “Make a Donation” button.

“Why Paypal?” I asked. “I’m not selling anything. I’m a slut. I give it away.”

“Look at it this way, Jefferson,” Sophie explained. “You broke your bedframe with group sex. When are you going to replace it?”

“I don’t know. I can’t afford it right now.”

“Right. And why is that?”

“Well, I have kids. It’s not my biggest priority. ”

“True. Will you still have orgies on your broken bed?”

“Of course!”

“That’s why you need Paypal,” she explained. “It allows your readers and supporters to contribute to the things you blog about. They can pitch in to help you get a new bed frame, or condoms or bourbon or bacon or whatever. It brings them into the community.”

I got that. So fine, let’s see if my gentle readers want to keep us all bouncing on a secure bed frame.

Sophie and I sat talking until bedtime for the kids. We had put away a bottle of very good red wine.

As the children were in the back room watching “Full House,” I fetched Sophie’s coat and scarf. We embraced at the door and bussed cheeks.

We kissed cheeks again.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her lips.

Heck yeah, I slipped her the tongue. I met hers seeking mine.

Good night, Sophie.