Can a Headless Superman Fly in a Flea Market with Jesus?
Often, I consider questions of great depth and complexity. One such question entered my young malleable mind during a visit to the flea market. Yes, the question ranks on the all-time list right next to The Meaning of Life, and surely, it is as important as the Monty Python movie of the same name. One of the queer things I enjoy is the flea market. My wife and I went this morning, and we found many queer things. The sweetie allowed me to purchase a few items of importance, and when I looked at her with puppy dog eyes desiring some great junk, she looked back at me as if I were an escapee from a loony bin. Since Mrs. Tightwad wears the britches in this relationship, guess what? I did not get everything my tiny heart desired. However, tee-hee-hee, I wear the cape in our relationship, and possess fine skills at eventually getting most of what I desire by wiggling my magical booty (I’m spoiled). Enjoying the stall full of old lesbian pulp novels with graphic covers, I started the mature ad
