Pushy Moms, and the sons who love them!!!

[Uncle Flo (imported)]

As for me, I am a fan of calliopes and fog horns. --FLO--

[Dave (imported)]

bicycles, bagpipes and balloons...

(I don't play anymore. But i did play both theater and church. Like I said, I prefer the electric ones for inside a house.)

[FianceeUvBigGuy (imported)]

I'd like to report a hijacking!!!

Calliopes? Pipe Organs? What's next, contrabassoons???

I've decided to skip church tomorrow and go freeze my adorable hiney off on an early morning quail hunt. Why? (I hear you ask.) Well, I think it wise to avoid contact with "Mommy Dearest" and "Algernon" for a week or two.

I've already advised the choir director that I'd not be present and he knows the reason.

One of the KiKaKo members came over tonight to take in dip in the heated pool and sip a drinkie in the spa. While we were soaking 'n sippin', all nekkid and stuff, she came up with a couple of "what ifs" that you might find amusing.

"Yoli", she said (for that is my name, y'see,) "What if...you finally succeeded in getting the point across to 'Mommy Dearest' and Algy that there was NO hope for the desired union THEN somehow found out that Algy possesses the most beautiful, durable, and talented in the universe?" I thought that was funny but it did set me to wondering if he actually might possess such an organ.

Then she said "What if his equipment was either impressive or not so much so but what he really wants is to be castrated just for YOU then let you either send him back to mama or keep him around, much in a role similar to that which Barry T. Eunuch plays in your life?"

I though about these two scenarios and I will admit they do give rise to ideas but...knowing that "Mommy Dearest" might come with the deal...no effing way will I take down the The Wall.

Well, we nattered about the various "scripts" that might be written and directed (by guess whom) re his snipping until we were both sweetening the spa's water with a clear and special honey that only we ladies can manufacture (Eat your hearts out, bees!) and we'll discreetly draw the curtain re the next hour+. Suffice to say that Ash(leigh) did join in, a truly rare thing in that she prefers frolicking with only me.

So, while I may seem cowardly about being in proximity to the crazy lady and her victim of a son, I believe a couple of weeks of avoidance to be the best course of action. You see, when the be-yotdch inquires, as I know she will, "Where's Yolanda???" one of the other choir members plans to say, and none too quietly, "Well, if you'd leave her ALONE she might come back!!!"

I can't wait to hear how THAT goes.

Oh, BTW, I'm eating a sandwich as we speak...Ham on rye with Swiss chizz, accompanied by a wedge of red onion and a large Claussen Kosher Dill Pickle.

Beverage? A bottle of a friend's home-brewed root beer. Root beer, as I've discovered, is not particularly complimentary to this specific cuisine. Shoulda grilled one of my semi-famous 1/2 pound chizzboigers and tossed some Ore-Ida Tots in the oven...Oh well, the homemade cheesecake with a generous pour of Chambord over it to folllow will make up for any shortcomings. Nothing like a healthy snack past Midnight...right?

I doubt my little tummy will allow for much sleep after such a nosh and I have to be in the SUV and on the road at 6AM...Stupid Yoli! Maybe three hours of ZZZZZZ...Dummy! Prolly shoot myself in my pedicured tootsie.

Update on the Mangusta! Catastrophe! A bird pooped on the steering wheel the other day as it was parked here, top down. The steering wheel cleaned up easily and is expected to make a full recovery. The bird died (I keep a powerful pellet gun on hand to discourage grackles when they flock within my domain, y'see.) because he was stupid enough to remain perched on the limb over the car. He was interred with military honors, I guess. After all, one of the cats volunteered to see to the final arrangements and promised a sendoff with dignity and respect.

PETA be damned!

What IS in this root beer??? I can't seem to shut up.

SHUT UP, YOLI!!!

OK. Sorry.

Luv to all,

Yoli

Slayer of grackles, friend to all.

San Antonio, Texiz

[emasculateme (imported)]

Yoli,

We all go through periods where we need to step away for a bit...sooner or later though, in almost all cases, we wind up back with what we're drawn to.

I don't really 'know' you other than from your posts, but if you felt a need to step away for an extended period, I'd miss you...as I'm sure people here and in your other walks of life (work, church, KiKaKo) would miss you greatly also.

Now...it might be blasphemous in some ways...but find a way to tell the mother and/or son that you wish to find a pure love...for religious reasons...one where the man can pose no threat and throw in what you'd mean...that is...you'd want your husband fixed...kinda doubt the pursuit would still be there, as most mothers with children of marrying age wish for grandchildren...of course...word may get around so you may not find any suitors through the church...but it's a thought.

Good luck with the situation...and with the quail hunt.

[A-1 (imported)]

Yoli,

Don't let 'em know at the church. I mean about "E"hood or the coven or whatever. They ain't ready for it, probably won't ever be ready for it. If they hear about it some other way that might be different. You still have plausable deniability. But don't YOU start it. O.K.?

Let it die a slow death if it must, but be careful with this. Texas ain't no place to mess around. In Bushland people are still cRAZY. Much more than you could ever be...

If you like BIG organs run on down and check out the one at the Aztec. RUN, RUN, RUN..., now, RUN, RUN, RUN...

[FianceeUvBigGuy (imported)]

E'sculate,

First, let me assure you that, if and when I ever marry, the man I choose will come fully equipped with all the original parts and will keep them to afford us both pleasure, intimacy, and further bonding. If he were to lose his balls or become impotent due to any form of hormonal disturbance I'd plaster him with so many testosterone patches he'd look like a Dalmation in reverse colors.

I want a nice hard peepee to caress, nibble, suck, and capture in all three of my Ports of Entry!

It might be nice if he were comfortable with the presence of a eunuch (See: Barry T. Eunuch or the equivalent) in our lives for me to enjoy or even share with my dream spouse.

The quail hunt went well, and there were some stocked pheasants on the place too. I killed 11 quail and 3 pheasants...Good day! My dainty little Beretta over 'n under is not intended as a pheasant killer, but I changed out the teensy 28 gauge barrels for the 20 gauge set and carried a few higher-powered shells for engaging them.

I'm looking forward to some pheasant skillfully prepared!

Now for the BIG news! The choir member that promised me she'd respond if The Mom From Hell inquired as to my whereabouts got her opportunity and jumped on it.

There were several church members and choristers, so well as the associate pastor (SHE is a hottie!!!) present when that bitch "wondered aloud" where I was and my designated hitter, as promised, spoke loudly for all to hear by way of response.

According to my defender the old bat's jaw dropped to her navel and the poor son seemed in a trance. At least 20 people witnessed and heard the exchange and most simply tiptoed away but a few stood by and enjoyed the bitch's obvious state of shock.

Later, at the usual after-services lunch, with the evil one and "Algernon" conspicuously absent, my friend was sort of the Guest of Honor, LOL.

All this was relayed to me by more than one of those present. In fact, my answering machine had seven different messages "Yoli! Call me! You won't believe what happened!!!" being the common theme.

I was in a fine and mellow mood when I arrived home, having sipped a toddy or two after the hunt then enjoying an all-too-big dinner of rare T-Bone, baked 'tater, salad, and a nice dry red on the way back. Having the good news to savor was "dessert".

The only downer here is that I cannot stop feeling badly for "Algernon". He is the true victim in all of this. I'm thinking that it might be possible to contact him, without his mother's knowledge, and share some time together so long as she NEVER knows it. Whether or not he is able to operate independently of her is the big question. I'd probably be wise to drop the idea.

Yoli

Tired, mellow, and so to bed.

[A-1 (imported)]

Dearest Yoli,

I have never been much of a hunter. I caught a two-legged dear once. She brought me three does and one buck. She still she is sleeping in the next room. I will soon go join her in slumber.

You have a heart. Listen to it. Just remember, nothing except on YOUR TERMS. You deserve no less. Take care of Yoli, now, you hear? She is numero ono!

[Beau Geste (imported)]

The comment earlier in this thread about the female body having three "ports of entry" calls to mind a page from David Reuben's book of several decades past, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask. This passage referred to a fourth "port of entry"--one which, I would presume, is (and properly so) not considered a usable port of entry by those posting in this thread--that being the urethral orifice. Reuben wrote that doctors occasionally have women show up with a bobby pin or similar implement in the bladder, and an unlikely explanation of how it got there (I must have sat on it; it must have been pinned to my panties, etc.) The implication, of course, is that some sort of erotic insertion had occurred. I read somewhere that physicians think a substantial proportion of female bladder infections originate from that sort of extracurricular activity.

A little humorous, but, on the other hand, I would have to doubt there is any way to extract a foreign object from the bladder without doing surgery.

There are exercises which can be done to increase the strength of the urethral sphincter muscle, but I don't those exercises involve the insertion of anything.

Three ports of entry sounds like plenty to me.

[kristoff]

The comment earlier in this thread about the female body having three "ports of entry" calls to mind a page from David Reuben's book of several decades past, Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex, But Were Afraid to Ask. This passage referred to a fourth "port of entry"--one which, I would presume, is (and properly so) not considered a usable port of entry by those posting in this thread--that being the urethral orifice. Reuben wrote that doctors occasionally have women show up with a bobby pin or similar implement in the bladder, and an unlikely explanation of how it got there (I must have sat on it; it must have been pinned to my panties, etc.) The implication, of course, is that some sort of erotic insertion had occurred. I read somewhere that physicians think a substantial proportion of female bladder infections originate from that sort of extracurricular activity.

A little humorous, but, on the other hand, I would have to doubt there is any way to extract a foreign object from the bladder without doing surgery.

There are exercises which can be done to increase the strength of the urethral sphincter muscle, but I don't those exercises involve the insertion of anything.

Three ports of entry sounds like plenty to me.

Extraction via the urethra is very possible. When the docs stented my ureters, closed a fistula, and scraped the inside of the bladder last year, they did it all through the urethra

Looked like I had an African penis afterward, but oh well...

UTIs in women, I understand, are most often caused by being unsanitary - poor hygiene, bad wiping, etc. Or in my case, colon attaching to bladder and forming fistula. Many sources for infection.... I never stuck anything up my pee pee....

[StefanIsMe (imported)]

...

When the docs stented my ureters, closed a fistula, and scraped the inside of the bladder last year, they did it all through the urethra....

Oh my...

I fear my dreams tonight, having read that line...

Mind you, if one was at a party of average joes (not necessarily plumbers), and one said in the middle of a lull in the conversation "I stented my ureters and closed the fistula in my '68 Jaguar", I wonder how many gear-heads would give you a quizzical look and then nod sagely in understanding, not wanting to seem un-knowledgable of the intricacies of British engines