November 13 Mick

I WORK HARD, no denyin'. The difference from a banker is I can drink on the job and not wear a suit--requisites as a matter of fact. 'Times I think I might prefer a little order in the areas of hygiene and spartanism. For the masochist value, if nothing else. Keith could use a bath more often. His feet make a hell of a stink when he sheds those snakeskin boots, like two actual snakes swallowed 'em and then regurgitated, half digested, two filthy-smelling stumps the pallor of a dead man's hands.

No denying he's a sex god, though. In spite of the odor and maybe because of the squalor, the semblance of his hair as if his head has just been chewed up and spit from the beak of a great kraken, the aspect his skin takes from shirking the sun, the gruesome grin with its signature sharktooth. These all make him the steamiest sonofabitch 'Bama's ever seen, not to mention London, L. A., Chicago, a hundred other cities the bad boy's left ravaged in the wake of sonic penance.

pssst. . .sign the guestbook!

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