Quick: How Many Dicks Am I Holding Up?

Sometimes I have trouble sleeping. Just like 26 days a month, but it's still enough to be an issue. Right now I'm on the 36th floor of The Westin Hotel in Seattle with an old college friend. He's asleep. All buildings should be round. The sheets of my bed have a thread count of about 8 billion, and the view over the water is insane. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of titties. 20 minutes ago, when I got out of the world's greatest shower, I stood right in front of the huge windows smoking pot with my weiner out and nobody cared.

Even though I barely ever smoke reefer (or press my dick against cold glass) these days, I'll be goddamned if I'll let Uncle Sam tell me I can't. They can have it when they pry it from my cold dead hands (I assume I'll be grasping it when rigor mortis sets in.) But just so you know, there's no such grasping going on right now - so don't get weirded out.

I don't know why I've been writing so much about my pecker lately. I think it might actually be getting prettier. I could go out on the balcony and dangle it like Blanket Jackson right now - if America hadn't gotten so stupid that we sealed off and bricked up and tore down everything that can hurt you or allow you to hurt yourself. That's a goddamn sad thing - a balcony to which one is barred access. Kinda like a chastity belt. Jeff was in the shower, by the way - so even though there technically was co-nudity going on, it occurred in separate rooms. This window wang party was nothing like that creepy nude beach on Sauvie Island in Portland. The sign reads "Clothing Optional. Looking At Old Men's Dicks Mandatory."

I went there one time a million years ago with my ex girlfriend Julie, who's pretty modest like me, and it was uncomfortable. It sucks because that water gets well into the upper 70s (I carry a water thermometer). So I figured my shrinkage would be minimal, and if I just glanced over at her boobs every few minutes I could maybe maintain just the right blood levels to pass off a wee bit of arousal as pure endowment. I remember being a bit nervous because I was extremely attracted to her, and I was worried that I might go full-mast and dart off in shame, spearing a bramble of blackberries. I bet having your dick mangled by thorns makes touching it with hot-pepper fingers seem like brushing it against a velour sweater. One time I was sitting in bed just like this, writing trivia questions, and I paper cut my bell end (that's Brit talk for the head). It was a really unpleasant sensation. I think that was the only time I ever wished I had foreskin.

Anyway, suffice to say tumescence was a complete non-issue at that beach. We both recoiled within 10 minutes and decided we would never go to such a place again - right after a leathery old dude with a metal rod through his dick walked by and peered at her. It was gross, and I was glad she hadn't gone bottomless, and we bolted to a spot where people wore swimming garments that covered their sex organs. You know, like they had some dignity?

Whoa. I just had this mental flash of a hot nerdy redhead on the 35th floor of the adjacent tower. She is also unclothed, it seems. You do know I only pretend to be a pervert, right? I'm actually kind of a prude. I now have a strict rule against entering strip clubs or casinos. I'm not like a stupid Christian or anything, I just don't feel comfortable in them. (The establishments I mean; obviously I'd kill too be in a Christian right now). Gambling debases the human character, and I hope one day it doesn't exist.

I always forget how quiet it gets in the midst of skyscrapers when you're far enough up. All I hear is seagulls, wind, and the occasional horn-blast of a tug on the Sound.  It's wonderful. If I was King of Oregon, one of my hundreds of decrees would be against the construction of any new buildings under 500 feet tall. Better up than out, cuz trees live on the ground. And all the tech yuppies would have to live in the top 20 floors, buy strollers that cost no more than $3,500, and adhere to a strict curfew barring them from thoroughfares in the peak daylight hours of spring and summer. I'm pretty sure every single "pram" (more limey shit) on Mississippi Ave is worth more than my van.  l lived just off that street for a spell, and when I had visitors I'd be humiliated to walk them down it. I think I even liked it better when the only store that wasn't boarded up had a deli case full of pig ears.

I fell asleep for several hours. Now Jeff's at some dumb conference for bilingual educators (not actually dumb at all), and I'm still buck-nekkit. I hate when people say "butt" naked, because they do so in error.  I feel bad for Jeff having to keep his dude-stuff all covered up at the teacher conference so he doesn't get fired and arrested. I bet a city like, say, Provo, does not have a single public park where naked folks dart about and swim in the river, or any quizmasters who benefit from the great human accomplishment of socialized medicine. All those cities therefore suck tons more ass than Portland, even if the Rose City is now jammed with condo-dwelling Patagonia customers with annoying dogs. I wonder if that old bastard on the beach just had metal in his prick because he dislikes buoyancy. If so I feel bad for misjudging him. Actually, come to think of it, maybe it was me he was staring at. I certainly would.

Anyway, If ya wanna walk around with your dick hanging out, just make sure you're at least 20 stories up so I never have to see it. Also after you eat Buffalo wings be sure to wash your hands before you touch it or it'll burn like hell.

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