Disclaimer/Datclaimer: This was the last writeup in a long list of GTKY type love dedications. I guess it has lost some context now that the rest were forced into the mix-master of disapproval and fatal blendination.
Well, I must say I'm hard pressed for space here to list the fellow noders who've been my co-lubricators in all that the french would call ... 'the leeuuuv'.
In the beginning, there was the renster, and God saw that it was weird, and wrong, and just a little too enamoured with fish, quasi-germanic pronunciation, and word salad involving peccaries and spleens, so God created the ToasterLeavings, that the renster might know joy and flourish upon the new formed earthly realm.
Naturally it was doomed from the start. The ToasterLeavings was cast out from the paradise of forbidden homoerotic banter and pepsi max inspired fisting, left to several of its own devices, one of which went beep at semi-random intervals designed to attract potential node-mates.
From the mirey sludge of protozoal oozy things with many tentacles crawled something that would someday become the monkey, but that's entirely unrelated to our current story.
ToasterLeavings was discovered languishing in a seedy dive in the vivisectionist quarter of that grand old dame amongst cities; Minsk. The intrepid explorer was none other than the golem formed from a previously hidden cache of Christ's toenail clippings; dubbed moJoe (and subtitled in quasi-germanic). A brief but spurious affair resulted; several beautiful mutant lovechildren where released upon the unsuspecting yet deserving populace of Zambia, and at least four angels either wept or voided their bowels; consensus eludes those in the know. Their love, though almost mystical in its intensity, was doomed from the start for some very good reason that had something to do with Charles Aznavore and the recently discovered erotic poetry of Eva Braun.
Because of that reason, bereft of reason, and reasoning that elsewhere it would find love, the ToasterLeavings K-Y Jellied its way across South America, where a tryst with wharfinger, knifegirl and three relatively fresh capybaras caught the attention of several spanish speaking people in military uniforms. Pedro Almodavar's film Machu Picchu y Todo Sobre mi Llama Amorada featured a heavily modified version of the high-altitude leeuuuvmaking that ensued; but failed to capture the true rodent fueled fire of our lust, and was subsequently only released in Afghanistan for the purposes of inciting justified moral outrage, and closer 'bonding' between the noble partriarchal leaders of the Taliban.
I was whisked away from the sheer depravity that is spanish film making by my putative sugar daddy dannye. I say 'whisked' not in any figurative sense: that man has some strange ideas about kitchen implements, and he is willing to share. Some would say all too willing. I would be one of those 'some'. Heaving bosoms, round hips, rock-hard abs, Dirk Diggleresque endowments; none of these things were to be found in the sex-kitchen within which dannye sought to imprison me. Escaping with the aid of an itinerant canine eroticist, I sought out the local YMCA, which proved to be a source of imminent deflowering far more perilous than the sex-kitchen of diabolical daddy dannye.
There I met hamster_bong. She was a long way from her native Canadia, preaching to all (and several sundry) about the dangers of scurvy during long sea voyages. I was intrigued, having mistaken her speech for an allegory promoting the benefits of sex with complete strangers. After several passionate seconds in the back of a passing sanitary napkin disposal truck, we were joined by the disembodied head of Franz Kafka. Seconds later hamster bong realized that her true love lay with Franklin Mint Ice-T stick-figure collectibles, I realized my shoes were on backwards, and that whole 'head of Franz Kafka' thing was weirding us both out.
With heavy head, furrowed brow, and a nagging pain somewhere in 'the pants zone', I returned to my native Brisvegas. Sadder, emptier, wiser, and yet completely fulfilled, I sat once more to pour my parasite riddled soul into an horrifically metaphored chocolatey snack treat of nodey goodness.
"Lest love find you unready and unwelcoming....always go forth in your best undies" - Chaucer. | 
