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The Detroit Lions loss means there will be nothing noteworthy about the Super Bowl, with the same tired winners competing again. One wonders why people bother watching the Super Bowl with its same-old cast. Perhaps I'm just upset because the 49ers aren't in it, so I don't care about Super Bowl 59. I might change my mind if the Buffalo Bills, the only true team from New York State, reaches the Super Bowl. The same could probably be said of DC, a turbulent city born out of a swamp, a city I find uninteresting with enough red tape and political bickering to turn off even a sex worker. Like whom wants a MAGA client anyway. How many grocery lists can one prepare in the middle of the night simply out of boredom? Just how high can a MAGA person jump if Donald Trump demands it, and he will because he can. Who wouldn't cherish such power? There is six inches of snow everywhere, and it is beautiful. It's Monday and the air feels arctic, so I slept in instead of going to Manhattan early. As for the weather outside, it is nothing like the Arctic Monkeys, not that the Arctic Monkeys have anything to do with it. In my head, it's always 505 even though my street address is 305, not 505. Little man has gone out for a while. I can't believe he enjoys my company when I can be such a bitch in a blink of an eye, a selfish pain in the a$$ sometimes. As a little man, he reminds me of a little person since he is short, skinny and full of fire and spirit, with a mouth that never ceases because he believes what he says is important. When he isn't heard, he cries and I crumble holding him. Bisexual men are difficult to understand. For me to tolerate all that means something has changed in me that I am not able to comprehend. As I struggle in fiction to save Zeno from being emasculated by Ahad threatening to remove his balls, my mood is low. Little Man worries, however, that I really have him in mind, but naturally, I don't, I assure him...
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AuthorCHARLES PEARSON Archives
December 2025
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