The J-Spot

On the most fertile day of the millennia… someone’s getting F*d. IMage via PXfuel.com I practiced with a samurai sword for five years straight and never cut myself once. During the course of six months, I have cut myself with my sickle twice. It hangs from my belt when I go into the woods to worship. Suspended by a braided faux suede cord. If you leave enough length, it will get enough arc in its swing to come back and pierce your thigh, so I shorten it, always too late. I guess this is a prime example of why a father is always worried about safety first. When my seventeen-year-old daughter was obviously planning to sneak away for a teenage Halloween party, I wrestled with forbidding her to go or just handing her a handful of condoms. Between her mother and I, we probably managed little more than persuading her to move out on the day of her eighteenth birthday! Meanwhile, I was planning my own Halloween expedition, to sow seeds of a different kind, of thought, word, and deed. This ...

  Ever been feeling especially generous and handed the man on the corner a couple of dollars, or in some cases, a beer? Now, isn’t that presumptuous! Most of the time these pedestrians are greeted with averted eyes or a closed window. Maybe we busy ourselves with the radio dial or look at our cellphone to avoid eye-contact with the man flying a cardboard sign. It’s only natural. Who might that person be, and what have they done to stoop that low? Suppose they could be possible sex offenders, unable to get a job. Maybe they’re addicts, alcoholics, or just plain lazy? Or, perhaps they are a practicing Brahmin, simply taking up alms. Maybe they are between jobs. Hell, maybe they’re rich! The only thing we can say for sure, without really getting to know them, is that they are there for our charity. And why not? Sometimes people feel a need to be charitable. Even them. Perhaps, in some ways, we should thank them… Or maybe that is going too far? About a year ago I decided to s...