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I have a new way of saying “I’m sorry.”

Perfection isn’t hot, it turns out.

She smells fresh. Exciting.

It may sound polite, respectful, considerate. But when I say, “Please suck my cock,” I fully expect you to do as I ask. So. Please. Suck my cock.

Happy Thanksgiving! I have so much to be grateful for.

Trump has no tolerance for disrespect of him, high tolerance for hatred in his name. Steve Bannon threatens fifty years of Trump, and enthuses “it will be as exciting as the 1930s.” I’m scared.

A new list of the top sex blogs omits this one. My feelings are hurt, but only slightly. More than that, I’m optimistic about other efforts to help readers find the content they seek.

I’m feeling a lot, and nothing. In this post, I explore my feelings. What they mean, what causes them, how they affect me.

There’s never been a better poet writing songs, or a better songwriter writing poems.

My country embarrassed me tonight.