Good Night

Proud Podcast Person Ryan W. sent me an article from Wikipedia called Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, which we'll simply call ASMR, because I don't want to break my mouth with the full title. It's the key guys. You can be a woman whisperer. You can forget your corny opening lines...stuff like "Your eyes are as blue as the water in my toilet bowl," "How come I didn't hear it when you dropped from heaven," "That blouse looks lovely on you, can you imagine how lovely it would look on my bedroom floor"...no more of that stuff.

This article says ASMR is the subjective experience of euphoria, characterized by positive feelings, relaxation and a distinct static-like tingling sensation on the skin. It typically begins on the scalp, then goes down to the back of the neck, and quickly spreads to the back, arms and legs as intensity increases. It has been called a "head orgasm, a brain massage, and a spine tingle." I call it Woman Whispering. And it's so simple. Mainly all you've got to do is speak quietly...or even whisper. And if you want it to work even better, while you're whispering, rub her back gently...and watch the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up. ZAP! You're a Woman Whisperer.

I'm sitting here in my big, comfortable, black, leather Poppa chair in my living room relaxing. It feels good to relax. Just a little while ago I was sitting in the left front seat of my little airplane, running a checklist to go flying with my buddy Jon. That felt good too. Jon is a flight instructor, and he runs the little airport where I keep my plane. He's also been a friend for a long time.

John went flying with me to check me out for a BFR. A BFR is a biannual flight review. Every two years small plane pilots like me have to prove to a flight instructor that we probably won't crash too often. If I didn't pass the test, even though he's my friend, Jon would have had to take away my Ray Ban sun glasses. That would have been cruel, And John knows it.

Because he is also a small plane pilot, and he shares some of our small plane pilot flight fantasies involving Ray Bans. For example in one of our fantasies, a beautiful, but obviously stressed out flight attendant gets on the PA system and she says, "Both the pilots have become ill. Is there another pilot on board" At which point Mr. Small Plane pilot stands up, and using the deepest voice he can manage, he says, "I'll handle this miss." He then puts on his Ray Bans, and strides into the cockpit.

It doesn't matter if it's midnight, those Ray Bans go on. And of course regardless of the fact that there's a hurricane, an earthquake, and a volcanic eruption going on all around him, Mr. Small Plane Pilot puts that big bird down safely of the runway...at which point Catherine Zeta Jones who happens to be seated in first class rushes up to him and thoroughly fogs up his Ray Bans. Hey...even small plane pilots are entitled to our fantasies.

Thanks for dropping in here on my podcast. I like your company. I'm sitting here relaxing...in my big, comfortable, manly, black leather poppa chair in my living room. It's good to relax. Among other things, it's a defense against lots of nasty stuff. Big nasties and little nasties. Sometimes when they really pile up, the little nasties start looking like the big ones, and we lose sight of the fact that the Lord wants us be relaxed and happy...otherwise he wouldn't have given all of us...except politicians, a sense of humor...and some friends who don't mind when you play practical jokes on them. That's not being nasty, that's having fun.

Here's what I mean. I was looking all over the place for a missing sock the other day. That's irritating. It's a small nasty when you have one sock and you're looking for the other one. Then I I asked myself, "Self...why should you suffer looking for the other sock?" And my self answered, "You're right. That's foolish. Take your sock over to your buddy Al's house, and give him your missing sock problem." So I did. I went over to Al's house, and while my Lady Wonder Wench was talking with Al and his wife Jean, I excused myself and went into Al's bathroom and slipped my sock into his laundry basket. I figured let him go nuts looking for the other one.

Thank you for dropping in here on my podcast. Lots happened today. The new Victoria's Secret catalog came in the mail today, and my Lady Wonder Wench came home totally exhausted. She walked in the door and she said, "You can't believe how much I've had it with the idiots out there. Leave me alone." Then she went quiet. All day.

Being the sensitive Louie-Louie Generation guy that I am, I instantly caught the subtle hint that if I tried any of my famous "Tricky – Dickie" stuff on her to re-focus her mind to include some of the positives of pleasures of the flesh, I would risk putting myself in serious danger of having her tempt to remove some of my Viagral parts with a spoon. So I was thinking that an evening of prayer, abstinence and fasting might be in store, even as a power point presentation of the girls wearing the latest fashions in that new Victoria's Secret catalogue started running through my head. They had to run. If they slowed down...well...never mind.

So it was obvious that I was going to have to relieve the pressures of life unilaterally, with some of the solitary sensual pleasures that are available to all of us. Skipping gaily past the obvious ones that Sister Mary Kucklebuster taught us would result in hairy palms, blindness, and eternal damnation, I began developing the elementary beginnings of a group of activities I have come to call, "Summer's Solo Sleazes".

Gotta get my back back in whack...according to Dr. D the Chiropractor. He says I have not been straight with you sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room. In fact he claims I have been tilting to the right for some time...not politically...personally. He also says I am heavier on the right side than on the left. By a lot. And one leg is longer than the other. That's weird.

To understand what happened next it would help if you try to remember that old song about..." the ankle bone is connected to the hip bone"...and all the way up your body to your head bone. And also try to remember the skiing video about "The thrill of victory and the agony of defeat," because those two ideas explain what happened when my feet hit the floor getting out of bed this morning. My feet bounced up around my neck, and the mouth part of my head bone popped wide open and made a very loud noise which expressed quite clearly in words of four letters the agony of de-feat. It was clearly Dr. D the Chiropractor time.

When I got to his office he said, "We need some x-rays." His nurse flattened my back against the wall, which hurt so much if made the toes on de-feet curl up around my knees, and she aimed the machine at some part of my chest that has a long Latin name...and as Dr. D was unwinding a very long electric cord with a big red button at the end, he said " Now take a deep breath and hold it," then he and his nurse ran down the hall together to a handily positioned lead lined closet. I don't know what they were doing in there, but one of them must have bumped against the red button, because the x-ray machine went "click" the neon lights flicked, a mosquito that was buzzing across the room crashed, and something that sounded strangely like ka-ching came from the billing office.

Long story short, the doctor said the x-rays proved that I have to get my back back in whack.

My sister in law Tanya is smart. But I think she thinks too much. She just sent me an email quoting some self proclaimed genius guru that says, "The most important human endeavor is the striving for morality in our actions." I am not a fan of that kind of BS. In fact, I am not a big fan of self proclaimed genius gurus in general. But her email got me to try to come up with a better answer. So I've been sitting here in my big, comfortable, manly black leather papa chair in my living room thinking about the "great questions" like, "what are we supposed to with our lives," and I think I've come up with an answer that works for me anyway.

So while the thinking momentum is up and running, I thought I'd tackle some of the other questions in life. Like, why does the windshield wiper on the driver's side always wear out before the one on the passenger side...and why do hot dogs always taste better at a ball game...and what are people who are always smiling really thinking? If anything. And here's one. I got to spend some time outside today, watching Mother Nature doing some fancy dances in her best bikini. It was a pretty day. So how come I got to do that while my friend Randy next door, who is a whole lot closer to God than I am, is sick in bed and hurting? What kind of sense does that make? I don't know. I have a hard enough time figuring out why you can't win 'em all, but you can lose 'em all.

Nighttime is the best time to make your hope float. Because nighttime is full of hope...perfume traces...fantasies of black lace falling slowly to the carpet...quick smiles leaving lipstick traces on your life...whispers...quiet laughs...Hopes.

I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable black leather poppa chair, still shaking from an encounter with thousands of home grown idiot terrorists driving their cars. And it reminds me of something Big Louie said in my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. Louie said, "Statistics show the 10% of automobile accidents are caused by driving drunk. That means 90% of automobile accidents are caused by stone cold sober idiot terrorist drivers."

Louie has lots of helpful comments like that. "Never order pea soup from a waiter who really likes puns" he says. And "Everything you see in today's politics is probably just an hallucination from breathing oxygen." Of course he also claims that rocks are like some ladies. They're soft but they tense up when you touch them. But his best comments are about those of us who are members of the Louie Louie Generation. For example, "If you have any moving parts left, for crying out loud move 'em."

Big Louie can't restore our youth, but he can restore our sense of humor. My Lady Wonder Wench says she loves my sense of humor, but she doesn't want it to get any worse.

Spring is crouching down, getting ready to spring a bunch of flowers up at us. She's a sexy young woman in heat...Spring. You really can't tell what she's going to do next. One day she gives you flowers and a soft, beautiful blue sky, and the next day she slams you with a hurricane. I tend to go a little nuts in the Spring. That's what this podcast is all about.

How can I explain this to you. As hard as it must be for you to believe, some people haven't bought my book Staying Happy Healthy And Hot. That's why I am sitting here in my big, manly, comfortable, black leather poppa chair in my living room, trying to figure out how to make a fortune in some other way...perhaps by inventing something people need. Here are some of the ideas I've come up with so far. Maybe you'll drop me a note at [email protected] and tell me if you like any of them.

How about neon thumbs for night time hitch hiking. Or hot dogs that are ninety feet long to take care of a whole row of fans at once at a base ball game. Here's one...a perfumed bookmark so if it slips down into the book, you can just sniff down along the edge till you find your place. Or song books printed on plastic for people who like to sing in the shower. Maybe a follow up to my book would be a better idea. I could call it Staying Happier Healthier And Hotter. I like hot. Hotter would be better. Maybe it's because my name is Summer. And maybe it's because I think trying to be cool is stupid.