WANTED: FREAKO ECO ROCK STARS

Pipe dream, me arse, full fantasies ahead! 

No more being just the fan, man.  

...It doesn't matter who you are ... **** E!V!E!R!Y!B!O!D!Y! **** 

 IS A ROCK 'N' ROLL STAR...

If I would have been Elvis, I would of torn down those cold, creaky gates of Graceland and invited IN! all of my loyal, heartfelt fans. For as long as they wanted. No more spectator rock & roll. From here on out it's hands-on, rock stars all, AUDIENCE PARTICIPATION. Rock fans, show your allegiance and appreciation to your favorite rock star, or fav WHOMEVER!, by BUILDING for them, your fellow fans, and yes, yourself, a paradise-packed, tech-friendly, exotic 'n' erotic eco-enclave. Seek no more ye seat but stand grand and MAKE yer life more rock & roll complete.


I, Johnny Neptune, your sex-tuned, exploring sexplorer, am pleased to reveal your treasure map for sanely sailing the salty sensual seas, for navigating the naughty nauticals ... and beyond. Where body and earth are central and celebrated. Where ancient cultures of nature and land meets the Zeitgeist of blossoming spiritual queens and kings. Where Business, Science, Religion, and Living are all schooled in the Art of ... Wow!!!

 

I, personally, don't know jack about growing food, the building of shelter, nor, pretty much, about anything else, BUT I SEEK: YOU WHO DO. I also don't know how, but somehow, someway, we---you and me---if we hunker down and give it a try, we can begin to create true happy homes for willing and game Horny Citizens of Earth, homes in which all mature adult members are emotionally, intellectually, spiritually, and SEXUALLY compatible. That is correct, Dorthy, there's no place like ... these homes. This solid-seismic SOCIAL REVOLUTION may just possibly be every bit as significant as, say, the discovery of fire, or the invention of electricity, or the light bulb, or manned-flight, or flush-plumbing, or miniskirts, or bikinis, or spandex, or thongs, or even ... porn on the web.

 

Old World nuclear families, congrats!, way to go, you've had quite an extended run, and will most likely be remembered as the generally resourceful, if not always 100% smooth and tranquil, quasi-spiritual-cultural stepping stone that allowed us to go from living in the trees to ... soaring among the stars. But today, right here, right now, it's time for you, with full battle honors, absolutely, to mercifully step aside as your heyday, your service, your servitude, and your bondage, is long past heave-ho DONE. Time served. Time served. Welcome to my intergalactic and earthy, down to earth, capital hunch: LOVE AND WORK DO! MIX. ROMANCE RULES!, ROMANCE RULES!


My pioneering place will be populated by yours truly and my like-fantasied sexual soulmates, all living, loving, learning, and working---together. One soul---inhabiting a buttload of bodies. "Better living through c!h!e!m!i!s!t!r!y!," I always say. We will build our own original version of something that works. Something that works smoothly.

 

We will also help and support many other equally as unique Freaky Funkytime Love Cities. Colonies and Colonies of Bad-Assed Friends. Many mini heartbeat-crossroads of the rev. Yes, Ma'am, you're catching on: Sex Cities! Ecovillages ... with benefits. Freakovillage! Of course, there are other ways to prep for Paradise, but I am casting my ballot for the most playful way. Off the grid and down with our rickety, rotten moral fences and pretenses. Welcome to Project World Sexual Sanctuary: one souped-up and sexy super Sex Village at a time. We may all be created equal, but we are not ... all the same. Equal, but different. Equal, but strange. Very, very strange.

I'm not talking about sleepy communities of polite but uber private and essentially anonymous stranger neighbors who religiously shuffle to an impotent dirge till into the box they drop, but more of a thriving, thronging, and thonging, highly organized, Spring-break-spirited, command center enterprise of contributions from our grandest fan friends, our buddy adult friends who trade in the vital talents of pulling one's own weight while retaining the childlike, but not childish, attitude of adventure. What a treat, rolling through life with at our sides, our brave buds who ...AIN'T TOO SQUEAMISH TO DREAM. Them without dreams, seldom seen.


"The children!, the children!, oh, my, God, what about the children? Surely, Mr. Neptune, you aren't realistically expecting us to raise our kids in some kind of weird, bizarre SEX CULT, are you?"


And your point is?.... Seriously, ... a culture maybe, but not a cult. We will be way too kind and cute to be a cult. All folding chairs back onto the ground. Thank you. I completely understand your skepticism, hesitancy, and reluctance to embrace a ground-breaking innovation in the social realm, so please allow me a small moment of your time to try and clarify my view for you.

 

Our little ones can easily be kept from all that icky sex stuff until they are well, good, and ready, and do you want to know why? Because---EVERYDAY---we will be creating with and for them an actual experience-filled youth that's leaps and bounds more interesting than your usual, pitiful, artificial parental substitutes of lame TV, overdoses of video games and "smart"phones, and even the square-pegged mills called schoolhouses. Our "home"school will not be a boring, solely virtual/book-based, solitary homeschooling, but more of a WORLD-AS-HOMEschool that rocks 'n' rules. Our kids will be the all-stars in the game of life; they will be the modern day myths, the legends, their own superheroes; our kids will be in the movie, the "movie" of a compelling, useful, respectful, responsible and well-spent life. And when it comes proper and due time to teach our youngsters about sex, we will not pass, punt, nor kick the Sex Ed ball, and our adolescents' attitudes on sexuality will most likely be more informed and less hung up ... than yours', or your kids'---nyaaa!


Also, our kids will have a larger pool of real life role models to interact with for absorbing knowledge, guidance, and inspiration, rather than having to rely on the lone, thin wisdom of a single hereditary-ish family, no matter how spectacular it may be. The kids, our kids, will be alright---but it's YOU!, the parents, that I'm even more concerned about.



THE PARENTS!, THE PARENTS!, holy fuuu..., what about the god-forsaken parents? Surely, most, if not all, good parents would go through hell for their children, but wouldn't it be L-!-E-!-S-!-S   H-!-E-!-L-!-L-!-I-!-S-!-H-! for the parents---and therefore the kids---if they built and resided in heaven instead? The answer, my chronically pummeled friends, to which we can all probably agree, is that in today's overwhelmed 2-parent state of affairs: it ain't gonna happen ... anytime soon. "Where gonna need a bigger boat." Bigger tribe-family boats, that is. One Soul---inhabiting a boatload of bodies.


Dear Mamas and Papas, Sistas and Brothas, you need some backup, backup, some serious, kick-assed reinforcements. Breaker, breaker, calling all backup buds. R-e-l-a-x. Take it easy. Take a load off. Sit for a spell. Win-win, it's not a sin. Wipe that fake smilely from off your face. Just exactly how many more generations and centuries must Mom and Dad keep on playing house? The same old squeaky, squirrel-wheel routine, over and over, slower and slower, screechier and screechier? Yep, you need: a tribe. Yep, you need S.U.P.P.O.R.T.. Yep, you need a big fat wide group of involved, knowledgeable or at least eager to learn, family of fan-friends who will fight hard for both YOU and your kids. Frequent not that lonely, rocky family road but glide more kindly upon the breezy freeway of vibe-tribe-pumped saints-on-steroids. Solo duo parental martyrdom: NO MO'. "It takes ... an army." An army of UR BWFFs**, bustin it 4U, 24/7/365. An all angelic army of ass, that is. Trooper tribe mates of common fates.

**Bad-assed Warforior Friends For sure


"So, Mr. Neptune, do you really think that regular ole people can communicate, cooperate, and cohabit successfully enough to thrive or even just survive in a corpocratic $$$ MONEY IS KING $$$$ world?" 

 

So, hey, Mr. & Mrs. Doubters, savor and take a big ole whiff of this. The average CEO makes more loot before he takes his morning, uh, forgive me, "constitutional," than most of you or I make ALL YEAR LONG. Do the chiefs really need that much more crap than the rest of us? Do you really believe that any Company Man, even the nicest of the nicest, has the best interests of you and your family primarily in mind? Yeah? Well, lookie here at who's been swiggin on the Korporate Kool-Aid. B--u--r--p--! But, fortunately, here's the antidote: If you and I stop being played against each other, if you and I stop competing against each other, all in the name of the Kompany King Kongs, and begin to do more of a joint cooperatin' shindigamagig kind of thing, then eventually we'd ALL be as rich as the royals. But, of course, real wealth doesn't need to be measured solely in just personal money and stuff. ...Don't let it rest on the morally poor and ethically challenged's desk... SHARE THE WEALTH!,* BUT FREE RIDES: NAY, NO, NO THANX.


Let's give Big Money and Big Fama a bit of good and right, new-fashioned COOPERATION-"COMPETITION," shall we.
Let's offer up a far sweeter alternative to both, yes, both, the work life and the home life. To not want to try and tweak our occupational and family arrangements forward towards a more empowering, liberating experience, no matter what the scaredy cats want to call it, is just simply simple-minded sourpussyness.
 
Oh, boohoo, I do so hope  that King Kapital Korp can handle the loss of a few billion choice slave-cogs from off the Master Money-Suck Machine. Helloooo!, if we can't be kinder to ourselves than the Corps---through DIO or DIFO, Doing It F'n Ourselves---then truly, truly, we deserve whatever DOO DOO that gets dumped our way.
 
Who's a Global Bobo? You's! a Global Bobo, if you believe and buy the Corporate dodo mumbo jumbo. Who's a Global Bobo? You's a loco Global Bobo, if you don't go and grow: local.
 
BAD: Richy-rich raping: the rest of us. And we take it, over and over, day in, day out, without anyone doing a thing to improve our lot, our share. Will the super-rich wake up one day with a brand-spankin-new expanded conscious and begin to invite the rest of us into their matters of abundance? I ... don't ... think ... so ... , because "their" bounty, their thievin, sneakin, and cheatin economic theory, their pollutin and plunderin, pirate philosophy is built on somebody else's back---yeah, that's right---our backs. And Mother Earth's back. But maybe, just maybe, one day, one crystal clear, blue, bright, sunshiny day... WE, WE, WE, We, we, we, the milked, the bilked, the pricked, the punched, the punked and hunched, the zipped, zapped, sapped and tapped can wake the zombie-zonk up and begin our own Cornucopian Community as well.


BETTER: Zero employees; no trickle-down, sugar-coated slavery, but all villagers as co-owners, co-rockers, as business partners, all sharing the risks, the rewards, and the rides. Whoopee!, yippee!, RIP employee, for I foresee, agree, and decree: a nonemployee jamboree. Entrepreneurs all. Hey, Mr. Man, I'm the first in line for leading a productive, useful life but: FUCK JOBS! Fuck mind-numbing, robotic jobs that robs one of a stimulating, discovery-filled life.


Build my dream, dream lovers. Build your dream. Build our dreams: TOGETHER. Together---WE can harmonize our gifts and abilities, producing a world that nears something akin to a ... supernatural grand slam.


We are not going completely back to the jungle, or cave, or all-out Amish. We will continue to wear clothes, and undergarments, and bathe, with hot showers, and smell nice, and look pretty. We will have houses, uh-huh, houses, with windows, and furniture, and plenty of modern conveniences---freako eco passion mansions.  

 

But de facto indoor incarceration---never again. Our office ... is the outdoors. Outdoor cats, all. "Walk the outer-style." "The will of Heaven is written upon the Earth:::::::::: with sunlight." We will be in nature but with the spiritually guided tech-tools of today's man, tomorrow's man---less invasive and less destructive---kinder tools, goddammit. Eco economics, it's the un-mean, green meme, if ya know what I mean. Altho "a green heart is required, a green thumb is not." Everybody's invited. From all walks of life. Every talent needed. Every skill welcomed. Come one, come all, because we're going to DO IT ALL. And have a ball.


Of course, WE CAN do this, and WE SHOULD do this, but if hands-on, here-now, real-time morals, ethics, justice, insta karma, and fairness mean anything, if living well, if living kindly is the best pay-forward Human Judgement Way, then---WE MUST do this. Right the wrongs ... with the thongs.


If WE build it, WE will ...................................................................................................................................................................................................... cum---and then some. And just exactly what are you holding on to? An ad-mad, mass-mall-marketing, dumpster-redundant, consumer-crunching culture of, hey, who's got the biggest pile of ess aych eye tee??? An alarm, shower, eat, car, job, eat again, kids, shop, house, fix, bills, cook, clean, eat some more, telly, web, phone here, phone there, phone everywhere, dutifully dull whoopie---if at all, bed, repeat, redo, repeat, redo, over and over, again and again, till ........ what!??? Come, come on over, my freako eco rock stars. Come on over and join the wild and wiggly side. Run!, run!, as fast as you can from Pharaoh's soulless, loveless, near life experience, and come quest awhile with your grand Pan pal, Johnny Neptune, and stars. ...The sexodus is here... That's right, we're leaving the arrogAnt,  paraSitic, selfish, sHallOw, misLed, cowEd Sheep behind. We're leaving the dull life behind and boldly beginning The Big Fat Supernova Tribe Family of Reliable Rock Star Fan Friends. The old moral fabric: the geriatric, Jurassic, rheumatic fabric. The NEW moral fabric: the aromatic, chromatic, ecstatic fabric. A kinder and kinkier place to land. Be the destination. True Galactic Age approacheth---prepare for the mostest. There's much to be done. Sound impossible? Bull! "The difficult is easy. The really tough shit only takes ... a little longer." ...There's going to be a whole lot of  dream weavin goin on...

*SHARE THE WEALTH!, 

but firstly and mostly within our own collectively rocked sex village.

PROFITS AND PERSONAL WEALTH?  

Yes, YES, merciful magnetic mountains of money, YES!!! But we be keepin our sex fantasies obscene, not our profits. Easy money, not sleazy money. The Wealth of Nations of the Funky Vibrations. Freako Eco Econ 101. Neptuno---the very best of capitalism: sensible self-interest, married to the very best of socialism: thoughtful group interest. Kind of like an unlikely pair of very different and stubborn-assed lovebirds, passionately consummating mid-flight, to the unbelievable and utter shock and gasping awe of us all. I'm not a capitalist---in the odiferous oink-oink sense---I'm a capitalpissed. I'm a "tad miffed" that a minority has the majority of the capital. I believe in and respect all private property, always, but with a conscientious exception-objection---not exclusive, excessive wealth made and reinvested without any consideration whatsoever of its non-owners. Take it easy and ratchet it back a bit, you anti-benign, moneybag swine, sirs. I'm not a socialist, I'm a mostalist. 1st most, I want for myself and my Fav Fan Friend Family. 2nd most, I want for my extended Fan Friend Families. 3rd most, I want for all the rest. All profits split fairly between each shareholding member of the sex tribe/village/city, just like shares of stock dividends? Tithing an unburdensome amount to a basket currency of all sister tribes in good standing? Reasonable assistance to the non-sex-tribed? Come on, count me in.

STUFF? 

Personal items and things? Of course, silly worrier. Nonpersonal stuff that we can share with those who have earned our trust to use and take care of? We're not made of money. Thrifty, how nifty! 

INCENTIVES 

for our own hard work, efficiencies, and inventiveness? Putting our productivity gains into our own money? Minting our own "coin"? Love bucks. The bold standard. Hipcoin. Trading, bartering, buying, and selling within our own sex tribe, with other sex tribes, nearby neighbors, and those beyond? We better.

RUNNING OUR OWN BUSINESSES?  

Manufacturing products and services that we really, really enjoy making or doing? Sounds like a plan.

GARDENS, GREENHOUSES, and GROVES? 

Chicken coups, compost pits, and beehives? Fresh, nutrition-packed, organic meat, nut, egg, legume, herb, spice, fruit, and veggie-loaded gourmet cuisine, mastered from recipes served in all corners of the globe but grown right at home? Cool beans, when do we eat?

R & R? 

Around the world World Tours? Site-seeing? Exploring? Walking, hiking, and biking paths aplenty? Pollution-free transportation? Hotels, BNBs, cabins, and camping for all of our guests, hailing from near or far? Generous downtime? 8 day weeks? Work 5, take 3 off? Three day weekends: every freakin week; one day for rest, one for chores, and one for pure play? No big whoop, gotta make new calendars anyway. Can't wait, I can start ... decades ago. 

ART? 

Crazy, weird, wonderful, and lots and lots of art? Awesome.

UNIQUE ARCHITECTURE? 

Our own original village design? Every building, house, and structure designed to be one-of-a-kind, blow-your-mind? 'Nother no-brainer.

BOTANICAL SPLENDOR? 

Nature supreme? Forests, flowers, plants, ponds, pastures, prairies, parks, grass, trees, streams, rivers, lakes, and bays? Animals, mammals, birds, bugs, and fish, ye Critter Kingdom, one and all? Landscape this, eco-engineer that. Scenic views and nature-soaked places and spaces galore? Nonpolluting campfires and communing with the night skies? Are you kidding me?

RECYCLE,

reduce, reuse? Scary trash dumps and landfills---a thing of the past? Need you ask.

PRISTINE WATER? 

Yes!

DIY EDUCATION? 

Practical, real life, cradle to grave, learning experiments and experiences in all things? Wonderful.

FAIRNESS? 

All sides weighing in, either at the drop of a hat or with long-term councils on matters all? Discussions, debates, and decisions among peers? I say yea.

JUSTICE? 

Practicing a more satisfying justice? Righting the wrongs ... of the errant ding-dongs? Case closed, I'm for that.

INNOVATIONS 

into all self-sufficiencies? Redoing pretty much anything that sucks? Pumping the Creation? Doing the impossible, the unpossible? Thy Wills be done.

 

SIZZLING, HOT, ELECTRIC TELEPATHIC MIND SEX? Suuuuuuuuper superb. 

...Take it hip to hip,

rock it into the wilderness...


xxx Johnny Neptune, The Love Gov from Columbus, January 18th, 2010, Revisi March 31, 2021. Orgies of Grand Order. "What ever you can do or think you can do, begin it, babe. Boldness has beauty, power, and magic in it." "Do what you can, love-warriors, with what you have, where you are." "To the Universe belongs: the dancer. Those who enter not the dance ... are clueless." 

MULTIPLE PARTNERS? NO! NO! NO!

MULTIPLE SMARTNERS? YES, YES, OH, HELL, YEAH!!!

"Oh, can it be

That there is some immortality in sin,

Which virtue has not?

They do not sin at all,

Those who sin for love."

They may not sin ...

 But they sure seem to piss

 a whole lot of people

 off.

Thankfully, my sexual practice, NEPTUNE SEX, has absolutely nothing to do with those diseased swap slops of swinging, mistresses, lying cheating and homewrecking infidelities, extramarital affairs, alcohol-fueled one-night hookups, fuck buddies, orgies, polygamy, harems, hookers---nor even midnight, moonlit sneakin about with barnyard animals. Baaaa-aa-aa-aa. Frolicking fornicators, you horny bastards sure are an ... energetic lot. 

 

Of course, I understand why there is so much hanky-panky and foolin' around: Life is boring, people need fun. But! ... wouldn't it be nicer if we'all could somehow engage in A KINDER WAY of going about our erotic entanglements?

Why? The answer is just about as clear as a good swift kick to ... the groin: STDs: Sexually transmitted diseases, HIV, HPV, HERPES, CHLAMYDIA, THE CLAP, ETC., and a steaming, locomotive fist-punch to ... the heart: JEALOUSY: Full fury and bluesy, "Oh, woe is me," the most vile scourge of them all---heartbreaking, heartaching, killer jealousy. That's why.

Ahhh, the great human, man-animal, humanimal dilemma: how can we have more sex, but with less sex disease? Hmmm, how can we do this? How can we have more sex partners, but with less social complications and heartache? "Surely there must be a way we have not yet thought of." Hey, wait a darn dirty minute, maybe there is a way. Maybe we can be clean and dirty, all at the same time. Maybe, just maybe, we can beat biology ... and become biology's master.


No more push, no more shove, cuz here comes THE LOVE GOV, DOCTOR FREELOVE. Be weary and woeful no more, frustrated Citizens of Earth, for I, Johnny Neptune, Dr. Freelove, have been sent---from the horniest corner of the Cosmos---to heal inter-human sexual relations upon your fine Milky Way ride. But first off, you just have to buck it up and face the icky, hard truth: recreational sex on Planet Hexed Sex of a Fine Mess is fucked and is in dire need of critical care. Dammit, Your High Council of The Great and Grand Galactic Goddess Boddess, I'm an Interstellar Sex Doctor, not a miracle worker!... Well, orders is orders, so ... here ... I ... go ...

It seems as if your modern-aged, ultra-wandering, superfertile imaginations have finally outstripped and exceeded your current physical limitations and social restrictions, where, God honest, truly gettin off without sacrificing your valuable physical and emotional health, just isn't occuring. My diagnosis: Your minds and spirits are just too freaking freaky for your bodies and your societal arrangements. I see what I have to do, this calls for a shot of some extremely powerful medicine. You have left me little choice but to prescribe my top-shelf, very best philosophical potion that will expel your wrecked rec sex epidemic, screaming straight into eternal remission. And, of course, like all good interplanetary professionals who desire to serve all, I will dispense the no-harma-pharma love-drug to both your sinners and your saints---and to all in between. Someone call 6-9-9-1-1, stat!, and let's start rolling them into the ... EROTO ER.

The "sinners:" The players. The hipsters, the funsters, the romantically expansive, the erotically exuberant, the slimey, slime-bag, slime-machines who play with fire, their physical health fire, that is. The gregarious gamblers who play Russian roulette with infectious sex infuckions: STDs. Helloooo!: N.O.T. S.E.X.Y.. 

The "saints:" The married. The loyal, the faithful, the true, the trustworthy, the devoted, the steadfast, the staunch, the reliable---the martyred. The mortally monogamous who quite possibly face a fate far worse than death itself: a chronic, lifetime sentence of nibbling on the same ole cookie-nookie treats, over and over, again and again, year after clock-stopping year. No disrespect intended, but "Variety IS the spice of life." Novelty "is the ultimate aphrodisiac." "More is not enough, and too much is ... just right." Sexually speaking: 1 man + 1 woman + the rest of your lives = a very large negative # in: H E double hockey sticks.

MARRIAGE---gonging those typically unheeded wedding warning bells of tedious, endless hell---as strictly practiced by your book, is a sexual social contract that seems to have been perversely designed to rocket-blast you, straight jacket and all, ... into the loony bin. Coyboys and coygirls, stop playing me and fess up about the plain bald truth that your SACRED AND HALLOWED  MARITAL INSTITUTION, that solid olden-time cultural tradition, that heart and core of many people's lives, then and now, is beginning to crack and crumble, right before your very eyes, and is in major need of total reconstructive rehab. You're okay, physical monogamy is okay, but it's the ENFORCED EMOTIONAL MONOGAMY, that grinchish mini monopoly of sex, is what stomps, crushes and kills your oh so sweet and playful spirits. MARRIAGE may not be wrong ... but it's definitely not right: ENOUGH. For better or ... hearse.

Horny homies, ADMIT IT!, it doesn't matter how hot or adorable or adventurous in "bed," or just incredibly wonderful, otherwise, your mate may be, exclusive partnership will in time: GET OLD. Same old, same old. L'habitude tue le desir. Sooner or later, ya'll gonna be hankerin for some strange. Sure, love---can, may, will---endure until even after the Sweet Heavens implode, turning all your precious, little, darling diamonds to dust, but monotonous, er, monogamous sex will eventually bore, for Earthman AND EARTHGIRL alike. It's kind of like "choosing to only watch movies made by your favorite director, or only reading books written by your favorite author, or just listening to music from your favorite recording artist," that is, if you can even pick just one. Only one?! What are you, INSANE? Man, what a twisted demand.

And it goes without saying that LOVE, SEX, and MONOGAMY have absolutely zero to do with economic security ... ... ...AHHH HA-HA, HA HA! Honey and yummy for money. Ass for cash. Fucks for bucks. "Another trip to the mall? Unhook that bra!" "So you want a new Lexus? Well..., this calls for more sex betwext us." Droppin them underpants romance-finance.


Saint or sinner, sinner or saint, whose path is worse? Flip a nickel, Jefferson. But guess what? It doesn't matter any longer because I, Neptune, am treating them both, by the laying on of hands, so to speak, with a magnificent major mojo med for everybody's sexually related dysfunctions: a beautiful, kindly fix-em-up that I call: multiple smartners. Acquaint yourselves to a moral restraint that's far less to hate. Multiple smartners is the sexual relationship dream come true that your poor people's souls' have been dying to see. Houston, we have a solution. A bona fide Sexual Revolution Solution, that is. In order to form more perfect human unions, I declare that the fucking fucked-up fuck stops here.

Multiple smartners is swinging and touching with your minds, not your biologies. It's of and above biology. The kind mind swing. You marry one---as you merry many. You keep your relationship closed---while keeping your imaginations open. L' Affaires a la le Air. And, just in case you haven't been paying attention, it's not multiple partners, it's multiple SMART!ners. It's less of a Pill of Rights and more of a Pill of Responsibilities. I have THE REAL PILLs to swills for all your sex ills. Welcome. Come in. Close the door. Have a seat. Would you like a cool beverage? Lie down. Reeelaaax. Take a deeeeeeeep breath. Open your mind. Open your heart. And now---open your eyes---for Dr. Freelove is about to deliver a bundle of good news. I vill now commence vith zee open head and heart surgery upon your tender and tattered psyches.

PILL #1

 Be physically monogamous

Proper personal physical health care demands this keystone sacrifice. Keep the old lady, keep the old man. PHYSICALLY and, of course, EMOTIONALLY, INTELLECTUALLY, and SPIRITUALLY L!O!V!E! and cherish your one and only partner-mate. If you are fortunate enough to own the unbelievable and rare jewel of true love, then nobody has to tell you to keep a grip on such a fine treasure. There is positively no need to throw hubby or wifey out with the wet and wild sexplay. Companionship that's hip. Loving devotion is: cool. Love governs. "Love ain't all" ... but it's the best. Authentic. Reflected. Reciprocal. Synergistic. LOVE THE LOVE OF YOUR LIFE. Faithful physical fidelity is first. It's #1 for a reason. It's the safe and beautiful core from which all else springs. Essential. Vital. Foundational. Old Faithful. Old school. Vitamin L. Home Sweet Home. The One. Love as deep and solid as the bedrock goes. The Rock.

PILL #2

Be emotionally polyamorous 

"Oh... to feel something new." Proper personal emotional health care demands this keystone exception. Yes, I know, I know, I KNOW!!!, this seems completely counterintuitive, kind of like pouring 747 fuel on a fire in order to put it out, but EMOTIONALLY having MORE partners (smartners!, that is) will bring: LESS jealousy. The theory is that the more playpals each person has, the smaller the chance of anyone being left out of funtime. It's the sacred sexual geometry: If 1 is good, isn't > 1: better? If 1 is great, isn't  more than 1---grander? But, YOU HAVE TO DO IT RIGHT: E.M.O.T.I.O.N.A.L.L.Y  O.N.L.Y!

POLYAMORY: "The fact or practice of being romantically or sexually involved with more than one person with the knowledge and consent of all parties." Love, love, love like you've never, ever loved before, revered pleasure-pigs; come, come, come out of your closets and plant your freako-flags in the light of day. Be proud of all of those naughty sexual fantasies---that you don't, won't, and will never PHYSICALLY act upon---that you have been so carefully and cautiously burying way down inside your near broken and beat-up, paranoid heart. Accept it. Embrace it. Know it. Grow it. Bloom it, and boom it---out. Have some ultra-intensive, complete and total, worry-free, goddesswowed fun for once in your creaky, conventional sex life. So, they say, "Men are 'hunters' and women are 'nesters'." And exactly what kind of nest would that be? Eagle or chicken? Ladies, cease your labored propping up of your mens' delicate, jumbo male egg-shell egos. The double standard dudes are just going to have to get over it---and themselves. Women are naturally half animals, same as the boys. ...I am half animal, hear me roar. Hey, you, get on the floor!... 21st century Earthfolk, start raising your recreational sex bar. Be not so overly and unnecessarily possessive of your mate's unique physique. You don't own it; it isn't yours; you ride through life with it. SAFELY share it. To hold one fast, release them a tad. To hold one secure, release them a little, for sure. In the strongest way possible: Eff ewe sea cay JEALOUSY. To hell with jealousy. Nobody needs it, nobody wants it. Adios. Adieu. So long, farewell, see ya, never, ever.

Pop a polyplaypill

Right now, today

To prevent soul and spirit

From ... fading ... away ...

Even though you may 10 million % LOVE your partner beyond any shadow of a doubt but still find yourself having to self-medicate with copious doses of alkyhol in order to get the deed done o-n-e ... m--o--r--e .... t----i----m----e, then by all means feel free to apply generous applications of heavenly polylove to your earthy relationships. Thou shall not hoard ... the pleasing image of one's one-of-a-kind mate. If people really loved their belles and beaus, then allowing them a spicy look, but NO touch (See Pill #3) polyamorous fling, now and again, probably wouldn't kill their marriages but just might breathe new life into them---instead. In droves. THOU SHALL. Hey, hot stuff, share your milfa* wealth stuff. "The unexamined wife is not worth having." Fun-flirt till you make 'em all hurt. Be the emotional bonobo. "Strange and varied are the true ways of life."  One Soul---inhabiting a buttload of bodies. Buy "the cow" and rent freely from ..."the barnyard." "IN LUST WE TRUST", cuz it's a must. Essential. Vital. Foundational. New Grateful. New U. Vitamin XXX. Roam Sweet Roam. The 1,000 and One. The Roll.

*milfa: momma I like to fantasize about


Got it? Dr. Freelove's free love: It's monogamy. It's monogamy. It's monogamy. It's swinging. It's swinging. It's swinging. It's both. At the same time. Together. The very best of both worlds---combined. Just slurp your noodle around the joy and savor the liberation. Get out of jail free. Hooray! Hurrah! Hurray! Time served. Time served.

And again, Dr. Freelove's free love: many imaginatively shared sexual fantasy partnerships + physical faithfulness to one's real life, soulmate partner; the half open, but all molten sexuality. The Neptonian monogamist-polyamorist: nonfoolish foolin around. Blowin the doors off of old-fashioned monogamy---to be applied after all the prayers and pixie dust have lost their magic touch. "Semper Fi" + "To thine own self be true" = rock & roll for me  'n'  rock & roll for you. When 2 or more are gathered in my name, rock-and-roll will never be the same. Red pill, blue pill, need another choice; pop a polyplaypill a...n...d... rejoice, rejoice.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Love without lust? Disgust! Distrust!

'Rather bust than slowly rust...

Just bury us at dusk

!*!*!*! Pills specifically regarding your multiple smartners, i.e., your fantasy-only partners:

PILL #3 

 Look, but NO touch 

This one is the hard sell. Essential. Critical. Foundational. The catch. There should be no fuzzy misinterpretation here. Use your multiple smartners as EYE CANDY ONLY! ...You gotta keep 'em ... separated... You can touch YOURSELF---or your real partner---but not your smartner-partners: NO ONE, NONE, NOT EVEN ONE. The New Noble Agreement. The Bargain with The Goddess---a new social-sexual contract. Certainly the toughest pill to swallow but, come on, people, I know you can do this. It's a small sacrifice considering all of the benefits to be gained. Break that touching habit, Mr. and Mrs. Rabbit. Be not the wuss, stay out of the puss. Introduce this intelligent moderation into your adoration of the lovely, multiple-choiced Body Nation. Freelove's free love is not an unaccountable, free-loading, freebie, free-for-all. The price: Your consideration, your effort, and your commitment to refrain from touching your free love partners (the smartners!).

"Look, but no touch??? The hell you say! What are you, Dr. Killjoyman, out of your flippin mind? There's nooooo waaaaaay. We can't do it. We won't do it. Fergetaboudit. If we see, we want to touch. We like to touch. We need to touch. We have to touch. WE LOVE TO TOUCH!!!!!!!! Out of sight, out of mind, it's the only way." No probmento, animal people. There may be some additional training recommended on this particular pill point for some ... okay, for many ... ... ... ... okay, okay, for most. Happier now? [Neptune mutters to self: Slobbering curs!]

Wh-o-o-o-o-o-ps, here we go already; alright!, alright!, you can make some conditional exceptions if you're strong enough and your partner and smartners agree. You can shake hands, or touch hands, or hold hands, or, OK!, OK!, go ahead and squeeze in a big, ole, soul-to-soul, electrifying, knee-jangling hug or two. Sweet tender caresses? Oh, OK. Must I monitor all of your passion plays? Must I meticulously study and inspect every pornographic possibility? Just know this, just know the new line: SWAP SPIRITS, NOT BODILY FLUIDS.

Spit Happens. But not on my watch. NO KISSING!!!, NO KISSING!!!, NO KISSING!!! I don't enjoy being the bearer of bad news but everybody knows, plain as day, that saliva is the supreme, slippery-sloped sexual gateway fluid. If I see any lip-locking, be warned, for I have a fully functioning, highly accurate, precision grade particle-beam neuterizer that's operable from the dash of my ever-surveilling Super Mamma Mothership---and I will use it. Kisses and spit, kisses and spit---no, no, zap, zap. Swap spirits, not spit.  MENTALLY---IMAGINATIVELY---swap all the damned fluids that you want. KISS WITH YOUR MINDS, lovesters, not with your lips. For kissing that counts ... real, quasar quality, mind, kind of kisses, see Pill #6.

When it comes time to roam and zoom

Shoot the SAFEST sex moon

Like Johnny Neptune

PILL #4 

Is it enthusiastically consensual? 

Is it absolutely EC? Are the most favorite sexual fantasies mutually agreeable? Is yours and your partner's most truest erotic wishes-desires a high holy match? Are passion levels for each partner rating an "Oh, hell, yeah!!," and not just a pathetic "Well, maybe" or "I'm not completely sure" or "Oh,OK" or "Sure, why not?" Mutual interests ...in the most delightful way.... Be not the wimp---get hip to yer inner pimp.

PILL #5

Be the porno

Ahhhh, mmmmmm, this pill, this pill, the sweetest one of them all. Essential. Vital. Foundational. For foreplay, vidi the flesh, and be the flesh. F'n ferget Hef, YOU are the real, living, breathing, exuding "pornography" come to life. Show it, don't stow it. Be generous with thy flesh, or barely clothed, or even completely clothed, whatever your no "sin" skin comfort level is. Get the juices flowing either in person or not in person. Just say YES! to selfies. Use the PRIVATE, CONSENSUAL, ADULT-TO-ADULT, tele-communion communications to give your speculative or established smartner or partner a whiff of what you got. Personal porn*star*ing is EXACTLY why The Maker signed off on inventions such as the Internet and smartphones. Man, oh, wwwwoman, do I have an app for that. Exhibit with pride---but be forewarned of "possible" spy eyes in the skies. Sometimes, subtlety and mere suggestiveness is all it takes anyway. Thankfully, you can always securely whip out the really meaty, cheese-cakey, far-out stuff with Pill #6.

PILL #6 

Telepathic Mind Sex

Yeah, yeah, ...YES! For the gen born into porn, Generation S.E.X.. Quantum leap your sex hex and connect with Telepathic Mind Sex---the third eye surprise. Be kind, unwind, mind 2 mind. Pleasure me, via ESP. It's as EZ as ABC. A. Choose a fantasy-matched partner who is ready, willing, and able. B. Consensually agree to mentally meet, mind-to-mind, heart-to-heart, ass-to-ass, or whatever-to-whatever, for a delightful, dreamy date. C. Separately, from the comforts of each of your own abodes,* wedded, bedded in ye heads, each sexplorer telepathically swings, swaps, and shares very intimate, uninhibited, and private sex-images to and fro---while doing what comes naturally in the appropriate touching of self---for a snap, crackle, rocket's red glare, thongs bursting in air, mind-body-spirit consummated:  f...i...n...i...s...h. Mission accomplished. And, afterwards, even though you may want to shout it, LOUD AND PROUD, from all the rooftops, it's discreetly undetectable and totally deniable to all those residing outside your sex-world loop. None.of.their.biz.

If you're not very psychic, guess what, you now have an excellent reason to be. Practice, practice, practice---and in time you will become adequately proficient with your newly acquired sex-ray vision. "May the fantasy be with you." The original Paranormal Date. The kind mind meld.

"Say, Neptune dude, isn't Telepathic Mind Whatever just a fancy smancy way of saying masturbation?" Ah, thank you, Mr. Masturbater Debater, I was just beginning to think you were never going to ask that one. Well, no ... and yes.

Nah, Telepathic Mind Sex (TMS) is not pitiful solo masturbation. Come on, sex with just yourself? I judge not, but, Great Shrinking Gonads!, you are surely missing the boat. How uneventful.

Nope, TMS is not solo---porno assisted---masturbation that uses another's image without their active, interactive participation. Now don't get me wrong, BLESSED PORNOGRAPHY has stoked this grand Doctor's fire, many, many, a cold, solitary night with welcomed doses of variety a la skin, but, shucks, something was always missing. The sex sauce wasn't ... quite ... right. Pounding it, with porno? Still ... more snoring with the boring.

Never!, TMS is also not creepy, desperate, and ignorant solo masturbation that telepathically uses another's image against their will. That would be TMR, Telepathic Mind Rape. Rape is NOT sex. Rape is THEFT. Rape is ASSAULT. Physically, or MENTALLY. Pardon me a moment while I perform a bit of urgent "consciousness raising." Hey!, uninvited---show some class and stay the *@#!*!*@#! out of my ass. It's not a bus station, open 24/7 to the general public. Authorization denied. Nonnegotiable. Stop giving sex such an odious name. Do I have to start wearing a fully veiled man-burqa? Take the hintS, read the god-damned signs: STOP!!!, CEASE!!!, NO!!! NO!!! NO!!!!!, OH HELL NO! Consent is king, you poor thirsty LOSERS who stupidly feel that mentally stealing the image from and mentally forcing their image into NONconsenting others is a morally acceptable sex choice. FYI, ding-dongs, we can feel your errant, unwanted ghoul-vibes. Yeeeeeeee-ech!!! Because you can, doesn't mean: you should. Repugnant punks, leave my psychic space be. You're now on notice; you no longer get a pass just because people haven't known what to call your vibe crimes, your misunderstandings. Instead ... gather up what's left of your dog-assed self-respect and begin living by the Golden Onan Rule: Spank ONLY those who desire to spank you. Enter thru the noodle, not the boodle. Enter thru the mind, the will---that is: ONLY IF PERMISSION IS GRANTED---not just thru the body, the booty.


Solo masturbation may get the job done physically, kind of like a quickie out-patient procedure from downtown at the clinic, but emotionally, spiritually, ecstatically, it's a one-person, one-way trip to ... the morgue, DOA, all dead and hollow. By definition, TMS cannot be solo sex. There is a huge orgasmic universe of difference riding on this one single "itsy-bitsy" point. TMS involves !!! TWO !!! (or more) WILLING PARTICIPANTS who are joined in heart, mind, and spirit, taking recreational sex to a higher level of intimacy and intensity. ...I CAN get, yo, satisfaction... If you think I'm bullshitting you, all I can say is: Try it, but be duly notified, for once you go consensual TELEPATHIC JACK, you may never go back. Be careful..., you just might snap it off.


Okay, sure, yes, technically, and physically, you can consider TMS a SUPREMELY WEIRDO, evolutionary adaptation of masturbation, whatever keeps your world in order, but, EMOTIONALLY AND SPIRITUALLY, it is chiefly, above all, VERY REAL AND INCREDIBLE SEX.

You knoooooooow, as long as we're being totally frank, technically, if you're not present in mind and spirit with your sex partner, that is, if you are FANTASIZING ABOUT SOMEBODY ELSE WHILE YOU ARE DOING YOUR MATE, then, technically, YOU!!! ARE MASTURBATING! Technically, all YOU are doing is just using your partner as a warm human substitute for a dildo, vibrator, or blow-up doll while you are really having sex: with the person you are fantasizing about. Technically, you are busted, Mr. and Mrs. Holier Than Thou Hypo(critical)sexual;** you, and a billion, 2, 3, 4 or more of your fellow "pure and pristine," slydog kind. Guilty, guilty as charged. Sure, Earthstuds, go right ahead and incorrectly think of "silly" TMS as simply another form of masturbation, till all your heifers come meandering home, but it certainly smells like TELEPATHIC MIND SEX to me.

Yes, Ma'am, TMS: The slopless, swapping of filthy spirits---a more honest and on the money alternative to your Frankensteined, Freudian, fraud façade of a so-called sex life. Yeah, ohhhhh, yeah, TMS: Tapping into where the real action takes place---in the carnal carnival-of-the-mind. TMS: Beyond body focused twists and torques of tantra and sex from the Kama Sutra. TMS: Nasty gymnastics for the noggin, not the lower back. Minds and hands over matter, it's suuupahh sex on a platter!


* Other TMS enhancements can be supplemented by the web or smartphone, or even seductively stripping on down in the presence of each other while directing and/or dirty talking the fantasy du jour

[W] [I] [T] [H] [O] [U] [T]      

[T] [O] [U] [C] [H] [I] [N] [G]     

[E] [A] [C] [H]  

[O] [T] [H] [E] [R].

Of course you don't have to "finish the job" here, now, but you can use the sensuous session to mentally store up on some really fine Pill #5 (Be the porno) eye candy.


** hyposexual (hip-uh-sexual)
1. A hypocrite; a person given to hypocrisy. Hypocrisy: the practice of professing beliefs, feelings, or virtues that one does not hold or possess; falseness.

2. Professing belief in monogamy, physically and emotionally, but in actuality ... not really.

3. The most common sexual orientation upon your planet. Barreling straight and queerly down the trans bi-way SLYway.

4. Practicing physical monogamy, but not emotional monogamy, while carrying on with attention diverting policies such as: "Don't ask, don't tell," "I'm taking the fifth," or "No comment," regarding one's wandering head and heart, as repeatedly, supposedly unbeknownst to us all, they are fantasizing their sweet asses off. Long story short, let's just plop it out onto the table: Shhh, you didn't hear it from me, but... ***SEXUAL FANTASY*** is the ancient secret atomic ingredient of the long-termed "happily" married.

5. Reluctantly declaring emotional monogamy, even if it's not true, but for very practical and forgivable reasons, such as:
..... A. Seeing no culturally acceptable alternative that would allow one to safely escape, even temporarily, from their rubber-stamped, boot-stomped prison-union of monogamous marriage---a stingy, mule-blinded, double-solitary confinement that insistently and persistently refuses to mercifully offer a compassionate and humane "relief valve" that would grant a variance for an occasional desired dish of delicious, fantasy-friendly, Neptonian-like, safe sexplay. Warden!, unlock those cages of carnal hell.
..... B. Clearly understanding the effed-up truth that: If your partner catches you even just thinking about another, they will promptly proceed in "the making of your life into an even greater torment." A...n...d...... kaaaaaaa-sqweeeeesh!, both partners' monogamously welded chains of bondage pull ever tighter, squeezing and ratcheting, tighter, tighter, ever tighter around each other's starved, stifled hearts, while each flails even more miserably about in the throes of the strictest interpretation of the "one partner and only one partner," locked down loyalty-law-rule-agreement till sweet and mighty, rapturous death do they part... Well, uh, yeah, then a little white-lyin denyin about one's sexual fantasizing of nonpartners seems to be ... a very prudent thing indeed.

6. Once sex from Neptune arrives on the scene, hyposexuals will become: seldom seen---destined as the dodo. When 2 or 3 billion are gathered in my name, Hypocrisy's Horny House of Lies will never, ever be the same.

PILL #7

Freud on roids

Damn the forbidden!, damn the forbidden!, damn the forbidden!---FULL FANTASIES AHEAD!!! Ah, yes, this pill, this pill, the most special one of them all. Last, but certainly not least. Assential. Vital. Funky fundamental. Fret the fantasy no more. "Sex is more about IMAGINATION than friction." Be a sanesexual pioneer. Honor your inner animal. No more swervin nor aversion to your inner perversion. Let it rip. Leap into your peep. Role-play, today. Think kink. XXXtra credit for kink. Excavate your ecstasy. Ferret, find, and free your fetish. Paraphilia Dreamin. Shape-shift this, taboo you. Guilt-free, leave us be! Ruin not your gender fluid bruin. Enter, venture, enjoy ye splendor and surrender with a header into the gender blender. Seek the strange, drain not the brain with the routine mundane. The bolder, the better. Lesser norm, greater glory. "All the way"? Nowhere near ... far enough. Dive down deep into "the 'sins' you never had the courage to commit." Wipe clean the window to your gloriously holy sex soul. Become the personal one-creature amusement park that you were meant to be. Ride me. Imaginatively monogamous, face-to-face, man-on-top, woman-on-bottom, reproduction-simulating, vanilla het-sex: AH, HA HAAA, HA-HA!!! Oh, sorry. Apologies. With all yuckin aside, if you do prefer a lighter, more soft-core style of fantasy, then, of course, by all means, GO FOR IT. Go for WHATEVER floats your boat---and let no others impose their tastes upon yours. And relax! ... , most people probably don't want to live in all the Freak Zones anyway. You don't have to try them all. I don't ... and I'm pretty certain I never will---not even most of them. Delve into only what turns YOU on, into what is comfy for YOU. Nobody expects everybody to be into everything.

When it comes time to roam and zoom

 Shoot the CRAZIEST sex moon

Like Johnny Neptune

Whoa, whoa, whoa!, apparently some of you don't even know how to fantasize---at all. Unbelievable. For you po' slow-mos* who are holding the rest of the class back, I will instruct with a brief snippet from a possible wiggly trillion visual a la amores. Be advised, a classic romantic, I am not, but no worries as I'll be keepin this one in PG Land. In your mind's eye, picture a lovin somethin as follows. This trip begins with a ... kiss.

I tightly grab her hair with both of my hands, gripping and pulling hard, scrunching her face to mine, face to face, cheek to cheek, smelling her scent, her sweat, I lick it, I lick every melting molecule, sucking the dripping salty saliva right out of her gaping, steaming mouth---she demands: ***blank*** my ***blank***---I have NO CHOICE! but to comply, I munch, I suck, I chew, I chomp ... her lips, her cheeks, her, her ... , every nook and cranny of her ...

Heeelloooo Starship Betty, uh, ... ... that is all. Class dismissed.

Now that wasn't so difficult, was it? And even kind of fun too, huh? Did you get the picture? A picture? Any picture? Would you like a little more? Well, too bad, kissin cousin, becuzin I'm fast out of material that's fit for public consumption. Anyway, did God's angry, spiteful, scrooge-filled wrath of lighting, fire and brimstone strike my lively, horny ass down? Not this time. Not the time before. Nor even the quite numerous carnal air consummations before those. Gosh, I must be either very lucky or very ... right on.

*slow-mo-sexual
1. A human being who doesn't know how to fantasize about another to whom they are sexually attracted. Wow. Yow. Yipes. Unthinkable on my home planet. Wow, yow, y-i-p-e-s!

2. A person who knows how to sexually fantasize---but "chooses" not to because of their long outdated Earthian beliefs. Hey, Earth sisters and brothers, times have changed, people have changed. Over the past 2,000 years or so, people's spiritual strength and maturity has grown, allowing themselves to consider easier and grander ways of looking at things in their lives and the world. Of course, not all, but many now understand that a person can spiritually and physically remain faithful to one as they also emotionally---but non-physically---enjoy life with a lot of others. New day, new times, new game, new rules. Back then, there was NO WAY any of them would of got, let alone apply, this delicate but huge, rockin-rollercoaster, social point. In today's budding Nude World Order, Neptune Sex is not even close to cheating. Cheat not: yourselves.

3. One who allows "God," Gramps, or some other grumpy Gus to take a dump in their fun-bucket.

4. A sexual orientation that one should: try to avoid.


!!! All pills !!! subject to improvement, refinement, or the philosophical-psychological hazardous waste container. If you've got a better idea on how to treat our sexual maladies, well, don't be shy, let's hear about it. I'm down for somebody else sticking out their big chewy tushy in the name of kinder Earth sex---as well.




My prognosis: All of my "patients" will not only live but they will thrive, and Neptonian Fantasy Sex may just quite possibly be the safest, the sanest, and the greatest sex that they will ever have in their entire lives. After a couple of orbits around Neptune, plain ole in-out intercourse will never, ever be the same.

Traditional monogamy, straight up? Sweet Stinkin Starlight, have you not comprehended a word that I've said? No f'n way. Showcase "monogamy," with multiple partners slyly on the side? Thanks, but no viral thanks. Polygamy? Don't you wives feel kind of ... ripped off? Yes, I know, it's all about the kids, and God, and your man, and even your sister wives, but is it ... really? What about you? And you? And you? Unbalanced load. Pass. Swinging, or open non-monogamy? Not on my healthy life, you festering disease-bags. Where's your hazmat suits! Fantasy-fueled faux monogamy? Getting closer, but still no genuine cigar. Holy revolutionary monogamy, with multiple smartners? Happy Horny Heartbeats, it's just what the humble Space Doc ordered: the cleanest and the dirtiest recreational sex available on the market today---one-stop shopping that's over-the-counter, inside the mind, and... and...... outside the box. "No harm, lotsa foul."

Neptune Sex is not for everybody. If anybody goes for it, it will most likely be the mature. And to them---I salute.

Fly, wise lovers, fly!. Sex on Neptune is not the end-all of the Neptonian experience but is just the beginning, a corner stone launching pad for resurrecting a rejuvenated s.e.l.f.-.r.e.s.p.o.n.s.i.b.i.l.i.t.y over our very own lives, our very own destiny.

Dr. Freelove pop-quizzes: Q: What are the hottest, most sensual parts of the human body? A: Your brain, your mind, and your beautifully freaky imagination.

 

X!X!X+++! Johnny Neptune, Dr. Freaklove. Healing the fucking world. Orbit this. Fly Carnal Air. January 18, 2010, reviso 3-31-2021. Eureka! I have split the no spit, safest sex atom. "All those who wander---ARE NOT LOST." Phasers set to ... SANEST sex fun. Live thong and perspire. Jealousy---we're gonna shut that bitch down.


p.s. "Romance lives by repetition, and repetition converts an appetite into an art. Besides, each time that one loves, it is the only time one has ever loved. Difference of object does not alter singleness of passion. It merely intensifies it. We can have in life but one great experience at best, and the secret of life is to reproduce that experience as often as possible."

p.s. p.s. "If we lived long enough to see the results of our action, it may be that those who call themselves good would be sickened with dull remorse, and those whom the world calls evil stirred by a noble joy. Each little thing that we do passes into the great machine of life, which may grind our virtues to powder and make them worthless, or transform our sins into elements of a new civilization, more marvelous and more splendid than any that has gone before."

p.s. 3XL

"Why, Oh, Why?"

Why, oh, why

Do I have to cry?

And suffer much

Because I love 'em in the buff?

And be made to atone

'Cause I gotta roam?

Or having to repent

Even tho lookie-nookie is Heaven sent?

Or forced to flounder with doubt

Cuz I frequently need to play about?

Or be trippin with guilt

'Cause my spirit wanders to the hilt?

Why, oh, why, indeed

But 

not

any

more 

 !