Friday, July 3, 2009
I'd planned to write something about the birth of our country in celebration of its anniversary tomorrow. I feel very lucky to have been born here, where I've had opportunities that cocks in other countries have never had. One thing you can say about our founding fathers: they had some balls on them to do what they did. And perhaps on some level I identify, since I also have a famous pair and I sought independence from Ron, although he was much more open to the idea than King George III.
Instead, however, it's a little after 5 a.m. and I woke up from a dream I can't remember and now I can't get back to sleep. I usually can, but my thoughts started drifting to a very bizarre and sad scenario in which I become pinned between a subway train and the wall of the station platform, my lower half twisted and crushed. I become the living dead, because as soon as the train moves, everything inside me will fall out. Until then, though, I'm conscious, so I call for my loved ones to say goodbye while I can. Veronica Hart, Samantha Fox, Cristy Canyon and Nina Hartley rush to the station and, sobbing, caress me, say sweet things, and with their mouths try to summon one last drop of their favorite nourishment. But my balls have been pulverized, so they give up and, holding each other for support, leave the station.
Then the real heartbreaker. Ron shows up. He's got spaghetti sauce on his shirt and he's out of breath. We talk about old times, and he thanks me for making him famous. I tell him lots of guys have big dicks, but he knew what to do with me, and that has made all the difference. He looks at me so sadly: only four inches of me is visible, and he hasn't seen that since he was two years old. I feel so ashamed and guilty, I tell him. This would never have happened if I hadn't asked to separate from him on occasion. Where did independence get us? He took me by the shaft--how many times have I felt that hairy hand!--and said, "Now listen to me. Independence is always worth fighting for! And it's always worth the risk of failure. The patriots who've died fighting for our liberty would have been proud and gratified to know that because of their sacrifice, 200 years later millions of guys would jerk off watching a chubby schlub fuck hot women, giving them reason to believe that anything is possible. So you, my friend, have helped to fulfill America's promise."
I couldn't understand what he said next, either because I was dying or because he was crying too hard. Didn't matter, because I noticed I was very hard by this time. RJ was still sleeping, but, god bless him, even in his sleep he was sympathetic enough to give me a few strokes until his red rocket flared and, like bombs bursting in air, our seed took flight until it hit the window pane. A declaration indeed, signed, naturally, "Ron's Hand, Cock."
As Obama might say, god bless Ron Jeremy, and god bless the United States of America. Happy 4th, everyone!