Turning a new calendar page

I don't make New Year's resolutions, but I do have an annual beginning-of-the-year tradition. Each year, I buy a new wall calendar and transfer all the birthdays marked in the old year onto the new year. As I scroll from month to month, each name serves as a reminder of that person and prompts an assessment of our friendship. Is this a person I'll be sending a birthday card to in the next year? Names get left off. Sometimes, with a sense of relief, as a final release from a friendship that we both probably realized was on the decline. Sometimes, it's with a sense of sadness, as I am reluctant to admit that person has passed from my life. Fortunately, it's been over a decade since I left a name off due to a death. But I don't need to have my grandmother's birthday marked - I remember June 4th regardless.

This year, I continued that ritual, for what may be the last time. I am migrating to google's electronic calendar, and I set each birthday to reoccur annually. I'm sure I'll still edit people in and out, but it won't happen all at once. Maybe that's for the best. I'm a little sad now, missing the people I am no longer friends with, and a little guilty, feeling inadequate for being unable to maintain the relationships that have lapsed. This tradition usually doesn't pick up the new friends I've added along the way - their birthdays are slow to cling to the calendar, mostly due to my laziness. Maybe this new system will allow me to add new birthdays, new friends, more easily. I already saw one that I'd added - November 12 - and that made me smile.

The Poetry of Spam

away her cats and one of the Pentoshi oarsman asked how much she wanted for the clam between time, and autumn is a stormy season. Gilly would be with him, though, and the babe would grow u

Cheap pharmacy pills and strange, almost haunting, almost poetic emails. It nearly makes me want to read my spam folder.

Why office holiday parties are generally dangerous and specifically sticky

We had our office holiday party today (which is of course a Christmas party that no one calls a Christmas party). I volunteered to bring flan, and so this morning slung my canvas bag over my shoulder with a big casserole of yumminess inside. It wasn't long before a little twitch in Sector 15-D of my brain was telling me that something wet was touching me, but since the luxuries of civilization have softened me and allowed me to disregard section 15-D of my brain, I did. Unfortunately, when I got off the subway I realized I had about 50 square inches of caramel syrup clinging to my pants, which were in turn clinging to my hip. The stuff had soaked through the canvas bag, my lined wool coat, and onto my vulnerable hip. The only solution was, once I got to work, to wash the pants. This meant standing at the bathroom sink in my coat, with no pants on, rinsing them out. I think I startled the woman who saw me wearing pants when I first walked in, and then not wearing pants when she exited the bathroom stall. Oh well. It wasn't worth explaining. ("Yeah, I got flan on my pants.")

Then, the holiday party itself kicked off about four hours later, when our division decided we couldn't wait any longer, turned up the music and dug into the food and beers. It seems our office leadership soon followed, as ruddy cheeks and bad jokes were evident in spades. Nothing like drinking beer at 11:30 in the morning with your office mates. Fortunately, no body got caught making photocopies of their bums, but there was this one drunk guy who ...

Stonehenge, Woodhenge, and the Difficulty of an Interest in History

On Thursday, Patrick and I went with my dad and stepmother to a lecture at National Geographic by archaelogist Michael Parker Pearson. Parker Pearson initially began digs at the areas around Stonehenge in an effort to prove or disprove his theory of its origin - that the builders conceived Stonehenge as a monument to the dead, the ancestors, whereas Woodhenge, a series of cocentric circles of tree trunks, was the departure point of the living. He speculated that people 4,500 years ago took their dead from Woodhenge and launched them down a nearby river, which flowed past Stonehenge, and that they might have carried their dead (certain select dead) up to Stonehenge. He's not sure if he's proved that theory, I think, but they did find Britain's largest neolithic village. Hear Parker Pearson explain it himself. It was a fascinating talk, replete with the tiny mysteries that fill history. (Well, Patrick fell asleep, or at least flirted dangerously with sleep, but I thought it was interesting.) They found only three human bones in Woodhenge (among 80,000 animal bones), and one of them was a thigh bone with two arrow marks - one on the front, and one on the back. They identified what appear to be knee marks in front of a home's hearth. They suspect that a 1960s highway, which runs through Woodhenge, obscures a palacial neolithic house that held royalty or the like.



How do you handle that much yearning to know? How can one person discover so many unanswered questions and know that they'll never completely answer them, without totally losing it? To be interested in history, I think, you have to have an interest in humanity. And if you're interested in humanity, those little questions can't fail to move you (I think). So when every dig uncovers just a word, a comma, of another human story, how can you keep unearthing them?



Maybe I'm over-thinking it. Maybe I'm just not cut out to be an archaeologist. But I love dipping my toes in those pools of mysteries every once in a while. It's tantalizing. And then, life goes on.

Our first snow!

It's snowing! Of course, hardy Wisconsin-ites (and anyone north of the Mason-Dixon line) would scoff at our powdering of white stuff as a mere pre-winter sneeze, but I'm thrilled! It's beautiful. Check out the Post for some pretty pics.

Five years ago, if I remember correctly, we got one of the rare genuine blizzards to hit DC. I was living downtown and marveled at the snow that just kept falling and falling, like huge chunks of glitter left over from an angelic throw-down. The best part was that the snow defeated the local automobile population. For at least one glorious night, the streets belonged to the pedestrians. I walked down my usually taxi-packed street, hiking through snow that reached my calves. Everywhere was white and hardly anyone was evident. Of course, the cars soon re-asserted their dominance, turning the beautiful snow brown, but it was wonderful while it lasted. Quiet, lonely, and fabulous.

A Fish in Grand Cayman

An egg unrolled into a fish, a tiny backbone of being. The fish let salt water flow over its fresh gills and life surged with the water. The water was shallow and empty, save for a moving sea shell, monstrous to the tiny fish. The fish ignored the shell. The shell ignored the fish. They coexisted in the tidal pool.

The fish grew larger than the moving sea shell, and was grateful when a wave crested into its tidal pool and pulled it out. It swirled and thrashed and spun, and found itself in more water than it had ever seen. It stayed close to the sand.

One night, when the light from the sky was as bright as the fish had ever seen, splashing and feet disrupted the fish's sandy rest. Lovers rolled in the sand and drunkards postured in the water. The fish fled.

The fish found a colony of other fish, and it felt comfortable there. The fish ate and periodically wondered at the large, masked, awkward bodies that came to mingle. The bodies seemed to want to join, but could only linger.

The fish didn't know when it died. Who does? And it didn't miss the crystal blue water and white sand. But it would have if it could have.

A cemetery in Grand Cayman.

My Guilty Conscience was Right

I am sad to find out that down is as inhumane as I feared ... Now those down pillows at hotels will be even more of a guilty pleasure.



Learn more about down. It seems they tear the feathers from the birdies and let it grow back 4-5 times before finally slaughtering them. I don't know what I expected, but that's pretty unpleasant.

Off-gassing? No thanks!

Wow, so I've been a little busy the past month. Most of it I can (or will) chalk up to buying a new condo and getting set up. Moving in was easy - thanks to the generous help of my family and friend. Unpacking and finding new furniture was the challenge. We didn't bring much furniture with us, and so we had a few purchases to make. In an effort to be environmentally friendly, we've tried to buy stuff from Craigslist and new stuff made with renewable materials. Yes, we had our moments of Ikea weakness. But now that we're nearly done, I think we did alright.


This Sunday, the Washington Post had a great article discussing, briefly, ways to find sustainable furniture options. Check it out at the Post's site. A few extra things worth bringing up ... Wool rugs are better than synthetic rugs (the synthetic ones are made of petroleum products and, supposedly, can release yucky chemicals, or 'off-gas'). Besides, all you have to do is touch them to realize which is better. Soy candles are better than regular candles for the same reason (regular candles are from petroleum, they release bad stuff when they burn, etc.) Buying environmentally-friendly cleaners is nice too, although I noticed on a recent trip to the store that many of them contain ethanol. That's not so nice ... Corn releases lots of nitrogen into the air which leads to global warming etc etc. And naturally, energy-efficient bulbs and appliances are great too (just don't use them extra since your bills are so much cheaper now!).


Ok, enough proselytizing. I'll give you a poem to make up for it.


The rat smiled at the cat.
The bookie ate the cookie.
The chair entered its lair,
Where Nair dealt with the hair,
Then the Wookie said, Hey, lookie!
And CRUNCH, that was the end of that.

Pleasantly Surprised in Winston Salem

This weekend Patrick and I drove 13 hours (round trip) down to Winston Salem to one, visit Steve in his new digs, and two, try out wedding dresses. Well, I was the only one trying on wedding dresses, but I guess the idea is that we both benefit. Why go to WS for dresses? www.makingmemories.org -- that's why. Buying their donated dresses benefits the wish fulfillment of people diagnosed with terminal breast cancer. And yes, I did buy one.

But the really fun part was how totally not lame Winston Salem was! For a city named after cigarettes, I figured it would be dated, stinky, and/or bereft of natural beauty. It was, happily, none of those, and really quite lovely. Kind of like Atlanta without the traffic. Or the peaches. Or Coke. (In fact, Patrick had a tough time finding Coca Cola in the state of Pepsi.) But really it was charming.

Why I haven't yet submitted my cat for destruction

The bad points:

- She pees on the bed on a fairly regular basis (once every couple of weeks ... sometimes we're lucky and we'll go a few months)
- She is always hungry and always wants to eat. But if she eats more than 12 kibbles, she will puke.
- She gets moody and will go from lovey to bitchy in .09 seconds.

The good points:

- She eats her puke if we leave it there.
- She is really cute!

- She gets excited when I come home.

- She purrs when I rub her ears.
- She likes to sit on my lap.

In conclusion, Nijma needs to stop peeing on the bed. Then she will be a very good cat. We can overcome the puking thing, it's really just the peeing that is dooming her to a short life in the animal shelter.

Bridge to nowhere ... except a sore butt

Actually, that title is a lie. The Golden Gate bridge most definitively goes somewhere, and in my case, it was someplace really nice. Unfortunately, I only had enough time to ride my rented bike over the bridge and through Sausalito in a desperate search for the ferry (which is too cool to have a sign), spill someone else's mocha on my foot, and buy my own cappuccino which only served to splash on my coat. My coffee-smelling self had a wonderful ferry ride back to San Francisco and overall had a really wonderful adventure.

The trip in general was great. I had fun with my Executive Leadership Training group, enjoyed Burmese food with Eddie, got shivers standing in a solitary confinement cell in Alcatraz, communed with the past at the San Dolores Mission and walked all over the place. Thanks to all you taxpayers for financing my vacation. Just kidding - I worked. Really!

The view from inside a solitary confinement cell in Alcatraz.

The Story of Jerome Littleflower, part 6

The tale of Patrick's brother's kidnapped gnome ... These emails were sent from tims_gnome_jerome@yahoo.com in July 2006.

For those just joining us, please go to 2006 for part 1.

Installment 6:

Deeah Teem,

Eye am riut-eeng you as a nuw man. Yees, Teem, Eye am a nuw man nowe. Eye now nows hoo Eye am. Eye am NUT a neec nac, Teem! Eye am a man weeth deesyres und pashuns! You nuver letted mee nows theese deesyres and pashuns, Teem. Eet tuk sum-one else. Sum-one spechul.

You shuld bee huppy fore mee, Teem, beecuz Eye am een luv, and luv and wuv. Hee ees a wunder-ful man, Teem, dees man who shows mee hoo Eye ees and lurns mee how too bee. I metted heem when Eye wuz shoppings, Teem. You nuver taked me shoppings, Teem, so how wuld Eye knows wat could happen wen you goes shoppings?


Eye mite nut ri-ut you agun, Teem, becuz wee are plunning owr new liyf. Eye hope you cun bee huppy for mee, Teem.

Gud-bie.

Jay-rome, the nome.

Combat Goes to a Whole New Level

The sun hasn't yet tinged the dark morning sky, and your squad patrols through the dense jungle, tense with anticipation and fear. The humidity blankets you, smothering your breath and making each step an effort. The enemy is everywhere, and yet nowhere. Your muscles quiver with the exhaustion of hours of expectation.

Suddenly - POW! One of your men is down! Pow! Pow! Pow! Violence flies past you on every side. Phwap! Phwap! Fast and furious they come, the mini marshmallows, wrecking havoc left and right, but all you see is the white flash of their trails and perhaps, just perhaps, through the foliage a glimmer of pvc pipe in the distance.

The mini-marshmallow gun, I have recently discovered, is a thing of pure beauty. Well, it will be, until Patrick gets one and starts using it in the house, pelting the cat and leaving sticky, shrivelled mini marshmallows for the ants to come and devour in bits.

Lampertum!

"That which initially impressive but, upon further consideration, was found to be distinctly less so."

Spread the word. Literally. Lampertum!

So as to facilitate comprehension and dissemination, I'll give a few examples:

• Sadly, Mary's date turned out to be rather lampertum, as became evident when he chipped her tooth while trying to make out with her.
• The concert was lampertum, especially because the lead singer persisted in belting out lines in spite of his distinctive bronchitis.
• See also: The Mullet. For one approaching a mullet-wearer from the front, the experience may be lampertum.
  

How Many Weddings Will We Attend In Our Lifetimes?

I added one more to my tally this weekend ... I got to see my beautiful cousin Christine tie the knot. I resisted greeting her in our traditional way, with a gregarious body slam (primary impact zone = protruded belly). I hear brides aren't into that sort of thing.

And speaking of brides, the rumor is I will one day be one. Maybe even at this place ... Although mysterious new developments may put that plan on hold. Or accelerate it. Or have no impact. The suspense is mounting!

Benchmarking Training

I was at a training for work this week and unfortunately have to confess that I didn't learn a whole lot. I think that's because there wasn't a whole lot to learn, but perhaps I missed something. I did have a great time visiting with my team and am looking forward to our next meeting in San Francisco! But since I wasn't learning in Cambridge, at least I was keeping myself occupied ...

Melanie felt that she was tired of getting flowers and turtles from her paramour so she sent him a letter asking him to be more creative. She never knew if he received the letter but he did stop sending her flowers and turtles. Instead, she received snails and pine cones. These were slightly more interesting than before but still she was uninspired. So she sent another letter. Melanie stopped receiving gifts after that, so she found a new paramour. Melanie fell in love with a butterfly and she followed him as he wandered. She saw the world in her wanderings but still she felt all alone. Not only was she not receiving gifts, she was not receiving any attention or affection. She was really following and not participating. She was alone. Was it because she had asked for too much? Or because she was chasing rather than gathering her dreams? After some thought, Melanie left her butterfly. It so happened that they were in Canada at the time, so she stayed and ate maple syrup, with pancakes of course. Then she rode a moose which was quite the experience, as she had never done that before and she promptly fell off. Melanie almost hit her head but she didn't. When she picked herself up, as the moose ran away, she brushed off her skirt and, to her surprise, found bright gold flakes all over her. As she looked around in wonder, Melanie saw gold glimmers everywhere. Imagine that - gold, in Canada! But Melanie knew it wasn't gold she wanted, so as she walked back home, she told the inhabitants of the nearest village about the gold, of which they were pleased to learn. Melanie kept walking looking for her own happiness. But it is difficult to find something if you don't know even some about the thing. Melanie sat down by a small pond and thought. As she thought she saw a turtle basking in the sun. He looked happy so Melanie asked him if, indeed, he was. The turtle smiled and then plopped into the water where he blew many bubbles through his nose. Melanie laughed. And then she stopped. She realized that was the first time she had laughed spontaneously by herself in a long time. Melanie thought and thought and thought. The sun turned pink and set, and it rose, and it set. Melanie thought of her old paramour, of the butterfly, the moose, and the turtle. And she thought of herself and maple syrup and the sun. Then she found happiness. It was, of course, there all the time, but she never had the courage to see it. But when she stopped being afraid and let happiness live inside her, she didn't need to find it anymore.

The view from my hotel room

Foos!

Last night I played foosball for the first time in quite a while - maybe a year. Tom and Sonia are the latest owners of the SAIS refurbished foosball table, and it's a perfect fit in their newly converted foosatorium. (Not to be confused with a foosaterrium, vomitorium, atrium, or any other such space.) My skills are still a little rusty, but I pledge to bug Tom and Sonia for as much access and practice time as possible. Ah, the joy.

The Story of Jerome Littleflower, part 5

The tale of Patrick's brother's kidnapped gnome ... These emails were sent from tims_gnome_jerome@yahoo.com in July 2006.

For those just joining us, please scroll below for part 1.

Installment 5:

Deeah Teem, thees ees your nome Jayrome. Eye am riut-ing you frum sum weayr ulse. Sum weayr that ees not weayr you aar oor weayr Eye wuz. Eye am riut-ing you frum a majeecall playz, a playz fill uf wunders and majeec. Wiiy deed you nut tayk mee here, Teem? Teem, wiiy deed you nut tayk mee eneeweayr?

Eye weel tell you uboot thees playz, Teem. Eye dun’t nuw wiiy, you are meeen Teem and dun’t deeseerve eet, buut Eye weel tell you aneewayyys.

Een thees playz you can seee ull thee wurld, Teem, ull thee wurld et unce. Eye weel tell you, Teem.

Teem, feerst Eye weent to veesut mye reelutuves. Mye reelutuves leeve in thees playz, Teem, thees amayzeeng playz.

Afteer Eye veesuted mye reelutuves, and told theem abut mye lyfe (theye haytes you, Teem, they duz), Eye weent sumewayre eels.

Theen, Teem, I weent to the Amricun Hayrtlaynd. Eet wuz red.

Teem, nuxt wuz thee Alaskuh. Een thee Alaskuh eet ees cold, theye tulled me thayt. Eye sawed thayt eet was cold, tooo. Veery cold, Teem, you shud hayv beeen theyr. Eet wuz cold liyk your hart, Teem.

Thee next theeng wuz to go sumwayr wurmer. Sumwayr warmer, Teem, nut lyk your hart.

Theyn Eye weent to Thee Wurm Cuntry. Eye ferget wat eet wuz culled. Eet wuz wurmer and niyce. Eye ated bananas.

Sow, Teem, wat doo you theenk? Doo you weesh you wuz heer? Eye thut so. Eet gets butter.

Nayxt Eye weent to Sweeserlund. Eye ayt chez.

Beecuz Sweeswerlund wuz so creemey, Eye needed sumthing refreshing.

Thayt is almost thee end, Teem. Bhut Eye weent won mur playz.

Theee Smuuthee Eees KEENGG!!

The Incredible Saga of the Cockroach and the Sock Puppet

(Also known as: Kelly Comes to Visit)

Once upon a time there lived a young cockroach who felt a great and powerful love for banana-flavored protein shakes. These were conveniently located down the street where giant mice were planning a raid on the cockroach's house. They had a battle in a giant jello-wrestling arena. Many spectators arrived and greedily bet on the Soviet-Era Piglet Federation, undefeated in it's entire history. Unfortunately, the piglets ate both cockroaches and white mice, making for the surprise discovery of the healing powers of mousemeat, as the piglet's worms were miraculously cured. However, in an unfortunate incident involving the misidentification of three corpses and a fingernail, our hero jumped out of his helicopter, hoping to die. But he forgot that at that moment, he was flying over the marshmallow Peep factory! So, he performed a spinning dive-bomb maneuver in a desperate attempt to splash all the water out of the swimming pool below and save the octopus from drowning. Conveniently, the octopus did attempt to hug our hero with his crumbelievable crumb-snatcher. This attempt conveniently failed when our hero ate all the crumbs first, yelling, "take that you stupid white-mouse piglet!" Shockingly, the piglet broke down and began to weep. Never had his intelligence been so insulted. Yet, after quietly contemplating Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Repair, he picked his nose and screached at finding a bloody booger. "Cockroaches don't have noses!" he sobbed, thrusting out his antennae. In an attempt to inconvenience his foe, he succeeded initially when the caterpillar mistook the antennae for a sexually stimulating lollipop. The little buggy, she was so enticed she ran to the local soda shoppe and ordered aother down of the fine candies from Phil, the soda clerk. Phil had always been afraid of piglets, insects, and other things, and the clerk was prepared to take advantage of this. (Although why a cockroach should fear the tender advances of Phil, who clearly wanted some bug love, was quite unclear.) After pondering the events of this remarkable day, our hero vowed to first, never again insult piglets, and second, to kill that ugly clerk. So with that in mind, everyone gathered to rejoice, when a nearby volcano erupted, sending a series of crazy events in motion that ultimately resulted in the final redemption of the members of the animal kingdom, who, in spite of their brutal acts, all ascended to heaven, except for Sweaty Jimmy, who took a wrong turn and ended up in Detroit.

The End.

Now and Then

On January 31, 1997, in Kim's basement, Lauren, Kim, Rachel and I signed four bits of wrapping paper promising to meet at the Sandy Spring on February 1, 2007 at 4pm. (I sealed my signature with blood from a picked scab on my knee. The others, in spite of my efforts to persuade them, wouldn't do the same.) So, ten years (plus a few days, as Feb. 1 was a Thursday) later, we did meet at the Sandy Spring, behind Sherwood High School. We spent the whole day together, talking lots, eating lots, doing some shopping and seeing Kim's baby. It was amazing not to feel as old as I thought I would back in 1997 when I signed that paper. (Geez, I'm not even married yet!) It was also amazing to feel how little things have changed between me and my girls. We've gone through a lot, and continue to do so, but it's wonderful to have a space with such unconditional love and support. As well as a space with lots of room for ice cream sundaes!

The Story of Jerome Littleflower, part 4: Dees ees gud-bie

The tale of Patrick's brother's kidnapped gnome ... These emails were sent from tims_gnome_jerome@yahoo.com in July 2006.

For those just joining us, please scroll below for part 1.

Installment 4:

Deeah Teem, Eye am your nome Jayrome. Teem, liyfe has not beeen gud to mee, Teem. You are knowing thees. Eye know you are. Eye has met beeuteeful laydees who has beeen gud to mee, and they has tut mee much. Eye am leeeving theyr luvlieness to xplure dees wurld. Eye may ri-ute you layter, Teem. Eye am much hurt frum you, Teem. Weesh me luck if you wunts. Muzbe, Teem, theengs will be better for thee nome Jayrome.

Committee Hearings With the Stars

In the NY Times today, page A14 ... Recognize anyone? (look closely)

I'm doing a 60-day rotation in the office of Senator Bill Nelson (D-FL). It's started off great and I'm very excited! Next up: Saving all the world's problems in one fell swoop. Er, or, trying to find a meeting that's giving out free lunch. Yummm.

Engaged!

A major life event - I'm engaged! (To Patrick!) We're gonna get hitched. Crazy! Fun! Wonderful!

It happened Thursday, January 4, 2007. The story:

It was after I got back from a play I had gone to with a friend. (Patrick was originally supposed to go but a few days before, he had asked me if I could find someone else to go, because he had to do "secret stuff.") He was lying down on the couch watching TV and after a few minutes of chatting, he asked me to lie down with him. Then he pulled out a manila envelope marked "Classified: TOP SECRET." Inside the envelope was a script (see picture). After I read through it (and was a little confused) he asked me to marry him. I said "Of course! Yes!" to which he responded, "You have to read the script!" So I corrected myself with, "Cool, I'm game! I love you!" He then gave me a box with a ring in it - that he had made! It's beautiful (see picture). He also gave me an IOU for a ("phatty") ring, and we are going to take my grandmother's engagement diamond and have it custom set.




The ring!

The Story of Jerome Littleflower, part 3

The tale of Patrick's brother's kidnapped gnome ... These emails were sent from tims_gnome_jerome@yahoo.com in July 2006.

For those just joining us, please scroll below for part 1.

Installment 3:

Dear Timothy,

Your heartlessness and impassivity is astounding. Truly. To allow Jerome to look death in the eye and not provide a single thimble? We cannot comprehend.

Actually we really couldn't comprehend. So we decided to ask Jerome. MIND YOU, it is not our policy to ask our victims anything. But this case is truly remarkable. Does not the peril of boiling water move your heart?

Jerome has told us much. Yes, much. He has told us about the lonely, lonely days and nights he spends. How you won't even let him watch TV, even when he's by himself! Not even a glance out the window! How you refuse to let him use the bathroom. And deny him any and all food and drink. Incomprehensible.

We, however, are not so cruel. Yes, Timothy, WE are not as cruel as YOU! We broke bread with Jerome, we shared a pint together.

And so, we have invited Jerome to make 1823 M Street, NW, Washington DC 20036 his home. He is free now, free to do as he wants, to enjoy our hospitality. Which is more than you could ever say.

Respectfully yours,

Alexis, Allisha, Amanda, Amber, Angel, Angela, Anna, Becca, Beth, Bo, Caprice, Carmen, Chelsie, Dawn, Desiree, Devon, Diva, Grace, Kayla, Holiday, Idalys, Jasimine/Brandy, J.J., Katya, Lynette, Marianne, Michelle, Mickey, Rachelle 2, Rita, Robin, Sam, Sherrie, Sidney, Tamara and Zena

Jerome Spills His Guts

Jerome Fills His Guts!