The Toner of Peek

So… hello. Are you well? I do hope so. Not that I could hear you if you replied. Assume I’m rooting for you.

This is the first of what will be (at first) a weekly blog, a bit about me but also anything else I deem inflictable on you, the body (and what a body) politic. Ideally this will be massively lucrative and I will be sent barrels full of vintage port on skiffs from my swarthy admirers. Greater likelihood is I will find myself writing into the echo-y ether like the slowest click-clacker among those million monkeys attempting to write Shakespeare. Incidentally, can we get a hand for monkeys? Saw one at the zoo once breast feeding. Nipples longer than a can of coke. Amazing.

My mothers “strap-on”, why for a brief moment I believed I was the spiritual leader of the Welsh people and dodging suspected gerontophiles in Hiroshima. I’ve gotten up to some stuff.  It’s all ahead of you.

Talk mightily soon,

The Toner of Peek

My mom was in a car. She meant seatbelt. Or so she says.

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