Life Numbers

Preface

Are you like me? Do you have in your office and at your home over 400 statues and statuettes of penquins? Porcelain, and clay, and glass, and plastic, and stone, and wood penquins? Penquins that are very small for key chains and enormous full sized taxidermied penquins? Of course you do. Everybody is like me. No: wait a minute; maybe they are peacocks. Not penquins, but peacocks. Ok, they are either penquins from Antarctica or peacocks from Antarctica (no idea really), but that is not really the point. The point is . . . ok, I 'm not really sure what the point is. Too many goddamned penquins and one full sized stuffed spook is starring at me right now. But that is not really what I want to talk about anyway. What I really want to talk about today is:

LIFE NUMBERS

We've all got life numbers. They can either be happy little parasites to your life that you do not mind carrying around or they can be parts of your life that stick and burn like napalm reminding you of failings, regret, and humiliation. Sometimes life numbers are a good thing. Anyway, we've all got them. Here are some of mine that come to mind while I am sniffing coffee beans in the upscale Whole Foods grocery store in my neighborhood.

It is:

Day 947 since I last received an email notifying me that "Obviously you don't know what it takes to get published."

Day 1029 since I received an email stating that my writing stinks and that I stink. I'm calling this progress.

Day 2 since I received an email notifying me that any writer that does not have an editor rewrite his writing is a faggot.

Day 2052 since I last received an email from a bargirl asking for money. "The waterbuffalo needs a hernia operation and momma needs the foreskin on her penis removed." I stopped handing out my web address to bargirls many years ago.

Day 2543 since the girl who sells me Viagra at the pharmacy on 2nd Road in Pattaya sent me an email. It seemed out of character for her to do so and she only did so once. A mystery. I'd think it is possible that she got me confused with another man but of course we know that is not possible. Like I said, a mystery.

Day 64 since our last request (request number 9) came in for an application to the Dana Fan Club from Bengali Clodfupt of Timaru, New Zealand. This one was attached to a big giant weather balloon so that we would not miss it here at Dana Central in the Rajah building here on Soi 4 in Bangkok. Mr. Clodfupt, we know who you are and the weather balloon made the office dogs bark. Please stop doing this. Anyway, many aspire but few are chosen.

Day 4 since I have needed Viagra. Ok, a little confession here. I don't actually need Viagra but I use it. It is really a research project. I just take it so that I can provide scientific data to other men. Yeah, that's right; it's a research project.

Day 449 since I received an email asking if the Church of Dana is real. Yes, it's real Mr. Dogleash Fimby of Turd-on-Grass, England. And no, you can't jump with the Sky Tranny team.

Day 56 since I have sent an email (one of twenty-six emails) to Emma-the-Tranny of Pattaya. No responses to my cries for help. I guess she must be back in Tokyo dancing naked in front of hotel windows for Tojo Murata. He tapes a small teddy bear plush toy to her wing wang and then shoots at it with a paint ball pistol. He's got videos of this but he won't sell them to me. Why are people so unkind?

Day 18 since I used a catapult to send a Pattaya lady of the commercial kind screaming into the starry night. Honk if you love to laugh like a hyena.

Ok, Dana fans; there are a few of my Life Numbers. What are your Life Numbers like? Write them up and send them in. And don't sleep with full sized stuffed penquins. I'm just sayin' is all.