I’m always finding other writers online who say that they started their blog to “help others.” I wish I had a more noble reason for being here with you today. It would be cool to inspire you or show you how to knit something. I know this is a personal blog, and being inspirational is not a requirement. It is supposed to be about me. But what impression am I giving of myself? Is it an accurate one? On Halloween, I wrote a story about some woman giving me oral sex, and then I rewarded her by decapitating her with a Samurai sword. What does that say about me? Does it say anything about my character? Would Obama write this story? In real life, would I even be able to lift up a heavy Samurai sword?

On Twitter yesterday, I made mention that we should give George Bush some credit for picking Powell and Rice as two of his closest advisers. Because of his actions, America became familiar with African-Americans in powerful positions, which paved the way for an African-American as President. Someone asked why I was even bringing this up? Why was I being an apologist for the evil Bush administration? The answer is… I don’t know. To annoy you? To win Sophia’s favor? I don’t even like George Bush. It was just something that popped into my head, so I wrote it down.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should have more control over what I write. I don’t approach my blog like I am writing an op-ed piece for the New York Times. I find myself contradicting myself all the time, sometimes even trying out ideas that I’m not even sure I believe. I sometimes forget that there are other people out there reading this. I would hate to have to think too much about you — the reader. Where else am I going to try out stuff?

This is all just a long introduction to show you this painting by Leon Kroll (American Painter, 1884-1974).

I accidentally stumbled upon this yesterday on some art website, and I thought it was really sexy, so I decided to share it with you. There’s no real point in sharing it with you, other than what the hell. For some reason, I find most pornography unsexy. What’s the fun of watching some guy with a bigger dick than yours having sex? It is like watching someone else eating an ice cream sundae and then saying to yourself, “Woo-hoo, that was good, even though I’m never going to get a chance to eat that” as the other guy finishes the last spoonful.

But look carefully at this painting — all three women are thinking about ME, and ME alone. They SOOOOO want me! And that is sexy.

Does this post communicate anything about me? Again, not really. But what the hell.