I understand you most succinctly, Johnny. However, and you have compelled me to tell you here for the umpteenth time, why I cannot agree with you.
On December 4, 2011, while en route from Chicago after auditioning for a major motion picture, I stopped at a rest stop along I-65 to get some coffee to help keep me awake. The instant I exited my Prius, I was physically struck by a blatant hit-and-run driver, who knocked me completely across the tar macadam and left me there for dead. The physical results from this incident were devastating: I suffered massive brain trauma that affected my speech pattern as well as my capacity for storing memories. Each day, my memories fade all the more, so I am careful what I do and with whom I do these things. At the same time, my testicles were so badly damaged that I had to have them surgically removed, replaced with prosthetic "balls" that hide my shame. No matter how hard I try, I cannot accrue an erection, and my ability to produce testosterone is a huge zero. Even a Reebok pump could not help me, nor any medication.
This is why, Johnny, I am not excited by the videos you shoot nor the ones I film. I suppose it makes me a perfect candidate for being a videographer, as the models' actions and physiques (not to mention their nakedness) does nothing for me at all. My best friend once called me a "unique eunuch," which hurt me enough to cause me to actually laugh at it.
As for Paul, I had a godson whom I practically raised since his youth. When he matured, his physical resemblance to Paul is quite uncanny. If I did not know better, I would swear they were one and the same person. Sadly, however, my godson entered the gay porn industry against my better judgment and request. In time, I saw less and less of him until one early morning, I received a call from his mum, asking me to verify Pup (my godson) was in Indy at such-and-such address. When I got there, I found him next to a trash bin, completely naked. He had been murdered, a knife's penetrating his rectum and then rammed down his throat as if to slit his throat from the inside. (The coroner said he found feces in Pup's throat.) It almost killed me, as it did when I had to tell his mum. I never allowed her to see Pup in that condition, so I paid for his closed-casket funeral and had him cremated, his cremains remaining with me in the same urn that houses those belonging to my wife and my deceased infant son.
I am sorry you had to read this, Johnny. I wanted to PM you and express it all there.
Cheers, my friend.
Jack
Sincerely..fast be-cum-ing a big fan of "Tate Thompson" and of course JohnnyBlumedia!
Just sayin'
