I feel bad singling this out, because the amount of shitty reader emails I get is vastly outnumbered by the good ones, but anyway – I recently received this email from a Nifty reader in regard to My Sister’s Boyfriend Joey:

You have already ruined the story for me and I am only half way through the first chapter. You are totally screwing up your plot line, not remembering what you have already written. For example…….Joey comes into the kitchen wearing only the smallest of gray briefs………later at the head to the car, Joey puts on his sneakers…….he goes down the stairs in only his briefs and sneakers………..but in the car after kissing, he raises up and rips off his shirt…(did you forget, he is not wearing a shirt..?)……….later after Joey sucks his cock……..he pulls down Joey’s boxers……..( did you forget he is wearing very small gray briefs.) All these inconsistences ruin what could be a fairly good story………I am not even sure I want to read any further………….

To which I should have replied: SORRY THE STORY THAT I WROTE AND EDITED MYSELF AND THEN GAVE AWAY FOR FREE WASN’T PERFECT.

But instead I wrote:

Go fuck yourself.

Which isn’t the most constructive thing to say, granted, but it was true to my emotion at the time. Because who lets details such as this get in the way of one’s enjoyment of a story? Bitter assholes, that’s who.  And if well-edited writing is so important to you then why are you reading Nifty?

At any rate I fixed the story, fuck you very much.

Photo: Old Reliable

This is what came up when I Googled "sexy poll."

The last poll I did went really well, and I was surprised by how much it inspired me, so I’m doing it again. I doubt I’m going to get as many votes as I did last time (I was riding the wave of traffic I get whenever I post a new story to Nifty), but who cares. I’m only saying that because I have this irrational fear of not getting many votes, like throwing a party and having nobody show up.

At any rate, it closes in a week.

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And though these all are fairly recent I am in fact writing these days, on and off, quite possibly on a new book which may or may not end up being called “College Town USA.” It scares me to announce something like this just in case it ends up not happening, hence my burying it at the bottom of this post and not revealing any details about it aside from the fact that it will be a collection of erotic stories set in a, duh, college town.

My thrift-seeking boyfriend recently picked up an old children’s reader (c. 1965) called Around Green Hills. The first story is about gender-bending twins and it’s sweet. The second is unintentionally creepy and may especially interest sufferers of coulrophobia.

(click to enlarge images)

Ever have one of those dreams where you find a trove of wonderful and unusual stuff? Like a set of rare and incredible CDs by your favorite band; CDs that don’t exist but in your dream life?

I once had an experience like that, except it was real. At least I think it was real. Sometimes it seems so amazing that I’m not convinced it wasn’t a dream.

I was a junior in high school, I think, and I’d recently discovered the band Sparks. I had a double CD retrospective of their work that I listened to constantly, but their other albums (and they have a ton of them) were downright impossible to find, especially in and around a bumfuck little town like mine.

One summer evening a friend and I were cruising around, bored, and decided to visit the Regency Mall, without a doubt the most depressing mall in my area (it probably doesn’t exist anymore), all sad old stores and shuffling, grey-haired clientele. There was, however a record store, and one that (curiously) sold actual records in a small bin toward the back. This store was called Backstreet Records, and I hadn’t been there in years.

But shuffling through the stacks I found not one, not two, but FIVE Sparks albums. Sparks are not the most popular band in the world, and to find this stack of albums amounted to something like divine providence. The one I’d wanted most of all, “Angst In My Pants,” was right there, for three dollars.

I also found an original pressing of the Them (featuring Van Morrison) self-titled album, which I still have and is actually worth a bit of money. Tucked inside that one was all this Van Morrison memorabilia that some fan had cut out and saved.

I will never forget that moment of finding, in the most unlikely of places, a few of the things I wanted most in this world. It was magical.

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As for Sparks, my favorite album is probably “No 1 in Heaven,” which is their throbbing Giorgio Morodor-produced disco album, if you could call it that. “Kimono My House” comes in a close second. I haven’t kept up with their recent work because “Little Beethoven” didn’t grab me so much, but I’ve heard a bit of their latest and it sounds pretty good.