There is nothing that will break a heart faster than thinking you’ve found someone who loves the “possible” and “all that is” of you, only to discover, alas, what they loved was their idea of what you should be to serve their needs. And nothing will break a soul faster than thinking you’ve not been what you should be, could be, were meant to be – and have failed not only another, but yourself. Been there. Done that. Wrote the novel.
Well then . . . I like that. I believe that. It is still alarmingly relevant. That aside, however, one of my MOST popular posts, and one which CONTINUES – EVERY SINGLE DAY – to get hit after hit after hit – is this one from April 2, 2013: …words to the wise… Look:
I knew a man once who was obsessed with the size of his genitalia. Here’s what I have learned from having known him:
It is a genetic accident how big your dick is; it is a personal choice how big a dick you are. I wonder if he’s learned this yet?
Clearly, the popularity of this has NOTHING to do with its literary content, but, rather, that the pic of the Calvin Klein enclosed tumescence has been shared and re-shared and linked and re-linked – all of which leads me to this conclusion . . . people enjoy reading about sorrowful introspection and love gone wrong while they enjoy looking at erect peni: so, if I add photo illustrations to my novel – of a particular variety – I might have a winner, eh?
Okay – guess I’ll have to start the model search.