Yo ho ho, homos! I am finally getting back the feeling in my fingers after the 4th of July accident this year. I won’t bore you with the sordid details. But when I woke up on the 4th around 4 am, I was feeling pretty patriotic. Yeah, it was early, but what the hell. I was also drunk, so I guess that didn’t help matters.
So’s I rummaged around in the closet looking for something fun from last year, some firecrackers or even a few of those that explode in different colours in the nighttime sky, then I cranked up some tunes on the Hi-Fi, mostly Lynerd Sinnard, poured myself from the gallon jug of vodka and mixed it with grape juice, then headed out on my porch.
The pre-dawn darkness was great. The perfect time. Just Jimmy Smithers, his jug of special sauce, Linnard playing Sweet Home Chatanooga, and, oh yea, I propped Lady Yu Hu up on one of the patio chairs so she could dig the scene too. Man, I was on a roll.
But here’s where it all went south, honeys. Yeah, you guessed it. The fuse got all buggered up or something and it took off right out of my hand prematurely, leaving a pretty nasty burn mark up my wrist and forearm. It hurt like hell, and I barely got the damn thing off when the phone starts ringing, dogs are barking, all this heavy bullshit. I took a pic right before I lit it to give you a better idea of the fun times Smithers was having while all you dog-farts were eating wieners and drinking Apple-tinis in the backyard with your wives and homo friends.
That reminds me of the 4th of July picnic in Bangkok Jimmy used to cruise when he was living la Vita Loco in the Land of Vertical Smiles. Talk about hot action. After spending too much time in Cascades in Nana all the time, I really started to miss good ole’ fashioned American-made and brewed beer. That’s why when I was in town, I’d mosey on down to the Independence Day picnic just for the ice cold Budwesiers and hope to Christ that I didn’t make a fool of myself and soil my diaper.
Well, it always happened. Once I really made an ass of myself. Some bigwig from the American embassy was at the celebration, and I drunkenly rambled on about the UFO landing in Arizona that happened in like 1937. I told him about a guy I knew in rehab whose brother was a guard at the secret place in the desert, and he had to shoot anybody who went near the rubber alien men. I guess I just thought he would know about it, since he was some head honcho over at the embassy and they need to get briefed on all the crazy secret shit like the Lock Ness monster, Big Foots, and the movie they made about the moon bounce.
So’s I got to the part about the Martian bodies, and how they look all gray and humanoid-like with these really big eyes that make them look like my grandmother’s eyeglasses, and that there is a secret hangar called Studio 54 in Arizona where the United States government employees are extracting DNA from the poor little guy’s nutsack and trying to read his brainwaves with an X-Ray, or probe his little balloon-knot anus, and shit like that, when the dude basically said “Excuse me…” and left me hanging there sweating like a douche with my Budwesier in my hand getting all warm. Man, I felt like a real schmuck. I felt like Big Baby Kenny Ng does every time he approaches some Buddhist teenagers to invite them for a soda pop. I just limped away to get another cheeseburger and to look for Lima Bravos who may have gotten past the metal detectors. Not that I’d be having any luck with them.
Speaking of Lima Bravos, it’s been a long time since old Jimmy got his hemorrhoidal sphincter worked out by a ladyboy. I know. I go on and on about them, but truth is, I wish I had more luck with them. There are a few trannys in my suburb, but they mostly hang out at the truck stop out on the interstate. I can count them all on one fist. There’s “Chanel”, “Lani” and “Trevor”, the black dude who puts on some crazy wig and calls himself a lady. They all have had enough of my shit by now. Man, I gotta get outta here, like Big Baby Kenny Ng. He’s got the right ideas about food, Ladyboys, Thailand, illegal gambling, and sexy Buddhist school girls he likes to nail. He’s the man. And now he’s living it up in the Land of the Rice Cakes.
So’s I was cruising the internet for a new ladyboy website, when I found this pic. Man, Jimmy Smithers is jealous. This guy scored big time. I wish Big Baby Kenny Ng would teach a class or something at California University about how to succeed with the ladyboys. Because, I think the ol’ Jimmy Smithers special formula is losing its mojo. Anyway, what I would give to be this guy, if only for a brief minute before I blow some beans into my adult diaper.
Score!
She’s no lady! He’s a ladyboy!
Jimmy Smithers, Your International Lady(boy’s) Man!
Jimmy Smithers Ladyboy World 