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An Open Letter...

Dearest Anne,

I am writing this now at 4 AM as you lay next to me, sound asleep. I don't dare wake you, but for some strange reason, I dare to put my thoughts into a blog.  A blog I hope you will see not soon after you awaken because I have something to get off my chest... A confession of sorts.

I know that over 20 years ago, we walked down that aisle and made a pledge in front of our families and God that we would "love and honor each other until death do us part", so I want you to remember that pledge now because it also contained the clauses "In sickness and in health." AND "In good times and in bad." 

Well.  This is going to be one of those aforementioned "bad and sick" times, but don't you even think about bolting on me now because you made a fucking vow, and I have plenty of witnesses and a grainy wedding video (Thanks, Uncle Mike!) to prove it.

Anyhoo... Just as you are now sound asleep, I was also in the grips of a deep slumber just moments ago when I was awoken by an all too familiar sensation...I had to urinate.

So I got up and clumsily plodded to the Master Bath where I promptly saddled up in front of the urinal.

--- Seems like as good a time as any to remind you of something, my sweet sweet Annie... I had that urinal installed in our Master Bath partially because I thought it would be cool as fuck, but also to prevent any instances of me leaving the seat up, thereby protecting you from a potentially wet (and perennially adorable) ass that may have fallen into our oversized and comfort-height toilet.  I mention this because people sometimes see the urinals in our house (3 of them... no biggie), and think they were a selfish purchase on my part.  But the real fact of the matter is that I installed them just as much for you as I did for myself. ---

But back to tonight - As I made my way to the urinal, I positioned myself directly in front of that porcelain beauty, gently unfurled my penis from the slit in my baggy boxer shorts (the goofy ones that you love with all the pineapples on them), and I began to go.

As is so often the case, when warm urine leaves your body, you sometimes get a chill.  And on this particular morning, that chill came at the exact moment that I also felt both a stretch AND a yawn coming on simultaneously.  So, TOTALLY BEYOND MY CONTROL and as I was pissing, I began to stretch both of my hands above my head (to fulfill my stretch urge), tilted my head back to yawn, and my body shuddered for a brief moment as I caught the chill.

Apparently that yawn-stretch-chill trifecta was the perfect storm that, unbeknownst to me, moved those baggy boxer shorts up and over my long and gushing penis.  And, in my sleepy/yawny/chilly/stretchy state, I didn't realize my boxers had moved.  

(In my defense, this was all happening on the south side of my belly, so even without those other factors, there is always limited visibility below my fat furnace.)

SO, Love-Of-My-Life, what I am trying to confess to you now is that it wasn't until I felt and processed a warm sensation on my thighs, calves, and feet did I come to the conclusion that I was pissing myself.  And those extra few seconds were enough to cause a considerable amount of urine to spill out in all directions onto the floor of our Master Bath.  

--- Seems like another as-good-a-time-as-any to remind you of something else, my sweet sweet sweet Annie... Remember that dinner I made last night?  Those gorgeous bone-in ribeyes grilled to perfection and perfectly-paired with that tasty bottle of Heitz we picked up in Napa?  Wasn't that a delicious meal?  And don't you agree that part of its yumminess may have come from the fact that it was made with love? ---

Well, another part of the yumminess can be chalked up to not only the aforementioned love but also to the asparagus I grilled up with those steaks.  I totally forgot about that asparagus until the kidney-processed essence of those stalks started to flow down my leg.

As a result, the bathroom right now has a smell that is downright off-putting but also unmistakably made from a gentleman (me) who enjoyed that grilled side dish I mentioned above.

I would love to have spent more time trying to clean up my mess, but after writing this apology blog, I find myself a tad late for morning radio, so I hope this letter finds you well but also finds you ready to work... because once that asparagus piss gets into the grout, you're fucked.

Enjoy your day, my sweet sweet sweet sweet Annie, and as you lug the bleach bucket up from the garage, you might want to consider kicking the tires just a little more when you're choosing husband #2.



I like to do Italian things with my semi-good friend Eddie whenever he's in town from the Windy City.  Last time it was bocce.  This time it's the best veal parm he ever had and also a tasteful picture of a naked tit.  You can catch it on ExtraLarge on BarstoolGOLD

and here's that tasteful tit…