Ooo, la la......he's dead

With Thomas Kinkade and Vidal Sassoon safely stuffed away in whatever bolgias of Hell are reserved for painters of light and mussers of hair... the time has come. I can finally laugh quietly at my keyboard and leisurely unfurl my wings.

Triumphant return?(you may ask)  

Are you into Frotteurism?(I may answer in the form of a question)

Well dear readers, the answers to both can be found in the knowing smile of a harlequin. Oh, he knows. As sure as the sun baby-laughs at Tele-Tubbies each morning, that fucking clown knows. He knows what I'm doing. He knows a thing or two about rubbing his circus junk all over your upper thigh / chin / nursing child's forehead. 

Harlequin clown don't care.....bitches