Most action I've had in six months

It's not very damned often that I have a graphic sex dream, but I was finally visited by the angel of subconscious erotica as I enjoyed my glorious sleep-in on Monday morning. I'll spare you all the details, because a lot of my readers probably have an active gag reflex, but let me just say: Young lady, I don't know who you are, but thank you, thank you from the bottom of my cold, shriveled, lecherous heart.

I will, however, share the post-humping part of the dream, because it's actually more bizarre than the thought that I could get laid.

After the let's-not-get-into-the-filthy-and-delicious-details sex, in my dream, I returned to my apartment, which I happened to share with Sarah Jessica Parker. I have no idea why SJP was a part of my subconscious carnival; it's probably because we're both so fucking sophisticated and glamorous that it's only natural that we would be roommates. You know, she's not nearly the whore that Carrie Bradshaw is. But, apparently, I like her anyway.

Anyway, in my nighttime involuntary fantasy, roomie SJP and I had the following conversation:

Me: Well, I got some tonight!
SJP: Was she a stripper?
Me: Yeah.
SJP: That's our Bucky!


That's all I'm willing to divulge. I'm thinking about putting the first part of the dream on a pay-per-view site.

We now return to our regular, not-getting-laid programming.