In the words of brother Igor, "iz buggery sad". And what it is, you very well should be asking!
I will tell you. These last past several months (nearly four of them) I have not felt any creative juices or otherwise flowing, I am dry of inspiration.
No longer am I so passionate about miss Wong's prospect of roaring up on a motorcycular behemoth, nor am I passionate about her fascination with the miniscule size of Richard Becker's tiny little male member - alas, not even what Richard Becker and Forrest Schmidt do to each other when they think no one is looking fascinates me more.
Whips and chains, dear boys, it is all no matter. Do as you please, but please to not leave any spots on the carpet. Stalinate yourselves at painful will, do.
It is the place!!!
Berkeley so frightful ghastly boring locus, precisely and exactly. If not for Vic's chaat house, unliveable. People what inhabit bloody stupid, opinionated too, knowing all only even so! Unspeakable, so not to be having any conversation good heavens. Environs of pretentious universitarians what does it.
Mayhap and perchance I should move to the city, that being in all ways the beautiful SF acros body of water.
Prospects of vices and decadents night life most endearing. Cigars, trollops, and multiplicity of appeal.
It is very civilized.
I am kindly looking for recommendations: dwelling neighborhood, food avails, and places where to smoke as well as perspicate the young damsels. Please oblige.
I am a very clean lawyer.