We’re Here. We’re Whitetail Deer. Get Used To It.

Doors are open.  A few of you already knew.  Some came to Marc Hundley’s afterparty for family, spilled out onto Waverly Avenue or canoodled on brown leather. Others ate Five Fleishers Chickens stuffed with mac ‘n’ cheese. A few met Terrible Marge over Mexican. A small number have snuggled deep into the night under the watchful eye of Curious George or The Very Hungry Caterpillar. But in essence we were hiding Bell End’s light under a bushel until we were ready.

Well, darlings, we’re ready. The bushel has been removed and fashioned into an attractive party hat. Underpants have been fumigated, pectorals oiled.

So you choose: sit back and await your invitations, or better still, poke about in the calendar and find a reason to pop in on Selwyn Lovely and the gang, for sherry and inappropriate touching. If you’re short of a paliasse in New York City, consider coming to stay. The days are long, warm and furry; they dissolve into evenings blurred, slippery and moist. Nights are deep and quiet and as cozy as a bag of bunnies. Be a Bellender. Develop into a Big Bellender. Dream of becoming a Total Bellender.

But you may never be a Complete and Utter Bellender.

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