WWHM Gets Back to Business!

let my fingers do all the walkin - 53

hey beauties,would like to have someone that likes to be touched in all the right places.if i can make you wet,i love to suck on clits and take in the juice.hygiene and nice sweet smells turn me on.i am an older gentleman,with nothin but time on my hands.if you are able to melt in my hand,u can melt in my mouth.a real muff diver hear.cleanliness is a must.nothin better than a sweet tastin puss.could it be yours.a picture is required if u r gonna sit on my face.if uarent,dont bother. IF YOU ARE BIGGER THAN ME,I WONT BE INTERESTED.SORRY.CONSIDERED A GOOD CATCH,IF YOU ARE THE ONE. CHarlesXXX-XXX-XXXX

WWHM has been a bit like a bad boyfriend as of late, haven't we?

Sure, we show up once in a while to give you that good thorough fucking you so richly deserve.

Then suddenly we disappear, often for days on end, checking in only occasionally from the llanos of Argentina, or perhaps from a prison cell in Oaxaca, where we weakly attempt to illustrate our recent arrest to you with some garbled excuse that may or may not involve six tons of government cheese, a Vietnamese man with an expired hovercraft license, and a teenage dairy mule wearing strapless high heels with a blue sun visor that says "My Other Car is a Peugeot."

But remarkably you come home today to find WWHM sitting on your couch, eating a fresh bag of Easter Peeps, and acting like absolutely nothing is wrong.

"What's for dinner?" WWHM asks, as we hand you a nourishing Peep.

You dispatch your briefcase to the floor, angrily locking your hands to your hips in a manner that suggests WWHM denied leaving a pee stain behind the houseplants. Lips pursed and nostrils quivering, you stomp towards the kitchen and pretend to arrange the dishes in the sink. Unkind words are exchanged, and feelings are hurt. Moist carrot cake is offered, and gently refused. WWHM meekly attempts to kiss your cheek, but your head swivels much like an owl who has spotted a squirrel in a wheelchair with a flat tire.

"I had dinner ready two fucking weeks ago," you scream, pointing out the date of our last post.

WWHM pontificates our wrongdoing, and offers you a shirtless, jeans-clad and unemployed 53 year-old "real muff diver" as a peace offering. We also throw in a side serving of horrified antelope, whose moistened lips gleam brilliantly with a variety of mysteriously placed off-brand prostate creams.

"He seeks 'sweet tastin puss to sit on his face'," WWHM pleads, "and loves to 'suck on the clits' and 'take in the juices'."

Your ears suddenly perk up like a startled deer.

"Will the poorly chosen words in his personal ad mutate the texture of my vaginal walls into a form of matted wheat similar to the dry side of a Frosted Mini-Wheat?" you query.

"The petrified interior of your uterus will resemble a traditional Norwegian wooden clog," I respond, now sensing you giving in to my whims.

Carrot cake is now reconsidered, as WWHM anxiously scrubs urine from the carpet behind the ferns with a toothbrush.

As further punishment, WWHM offers to brutally humiliate ourselves like never before in our next entry, which is currently in progress.

Truthfully guys, I finished up a major project last week and took some time off to travel around Oregon and Washington. I needed a break from the 70-hour work weeks. I appreciate all the readers that stuck with me, especially my long time readers who used to get 6-8 posts a week.

I have one more project coming due in the next few months, and plan to take this summer off to write for both PLFM and WWHM full-time, in addition to writing "Why Women Hate Men- The Book" which I've been sketching out for some time now.

Look for new posts this weekend on both blogs.

Once again, I fucking love you guys. Please know I read every one of your emails, but haven't had time to respond to all of them.

See you soon, and keep sending me all the great material.

-The Weasel