Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The rules of live video blogging
In preparation for tonight’s live video blogging session (8 PM to 9 PM PST, longer if Dean shows up), I’ve decided to set out some basic ground rules for my personal behavior.
1. Do not rub, scratch, or otherwise fondle your nose. No matter what you do to your nose, everyone will think you’re picking it.
2. Floss your teeth before going live.
3. Unless you look like Erin O’Brien (and I know you don’t, Hoffman), keep your shirt on. No one wants to see your hairy man-tits.
4. Do not verbally upbraid, badger, beat, or maim your son, or inflict any damage which might cause Child Protective Services to rain heavily down upon your ass.
5. Try to ignore all the flaky sex-chat folks who come around looking for a good time. Then again, maybe you should lead them on. It could be fun for the others. Hell, let’s have a verbal orgy!
6. SMILE for a change. You are so grim sometimes.
Now go out there and break all the rules!
D.
I can hear you but I can’t see you. Shouldn’t I see you?
M
dang! I missed it. (Did he he remember not to pick his nose, Michelle?)
oh. well. I mean could you HEAR him picking his nose, I guess.
oh hell, I missed it.
Michelle, Dean, Lucie, and I had a good ol’ time. Talked about G-spots and brushing teeth with urine and being able to see our wieners when we peed. Well, only Dean and I on that last bit. My ferret Charlotte Bronte made a guest appearance, as did Jake’s mechanized skunk. NO, I couldn’t keep my hands away from my face, thanks to allergies. But at least I kept my shirt on.
Next time we do this, I’ll announce it a bit more in advance and try to do it earlier in the evening for the sake of you east-coasters (not to mention the Europeans).
Sadly, I missed Charlotte Bronte.
The G-spot conversation, as I recall, was quite involved, and anyone who missed it should be deeply sorry and not miss the next Doug! Hoffman! Live!
I’m sure Charlotte can be persuaded to make another appearance. I hope Ms. Bronte doesn’t decide to poop on my shoulder, however.
Oh, man! I missed it.
Well, that’s the price I pay for waltzing off to dial-up heaven for the weekend.