I’ve signed up for a life-drawing class, making Thursday night my stare-at-naked-strangers night. It’s been years since I’ve done this, and I’m easily the worst one in the class, but it’s still fun and meditative to see how the human body fits together in a series of lines and shapes.

First week, our model was Muscular Dreadlocked Man, a beautiful human specimen with darkly charcoaled eyebrows, who just might moonlight as a drag queen. MDM was an aspiring musician who, while posing, spoke adamantly about his latest album as being the most innovative thing since Philip Glass. He played it for us, and it was pretty decent trip-hop, but nothing earth-shattering. Also, the poor production quality, revealing that the album was obviously produced in someone's basement, did it no favors. MDM was cool enough, though.

(By the way, it hung about a third of a way down his thigh. I know you were wondering. It’s OK.)

Second week we drew Must’ve Been So Pretty When She Was Younger. That moniker sounds much crueler than I intended, because the middle-aged model in question was still quite spritely and beautiful, but I couldn’t help but picture her as being a bonafide hottie 30 years ago. She was a joy to draw: sleepy, petite, blonde … and limber? Oh, yeah.

This week, Bony Yoga Boy stood up to the plate. BYB was beautiful to look at, toned and smooth, with a peaceful, distant, moonfairy quality, as if he was completely unaware that there was a roomful of people staring at his bare ass while he munched chocolate chip cookies and lunged over cushions and stools in various artistic postures. He was androgynous and aloof. Very Calvin Klein.

No, but why am I suppressing laughter?

BYB stood up, and my nickname for him immediately changed as he revealed an old man package in which (I’m so sorry) the nutsack hung at least twice as far down as the shaft.

That’s not what I found so funny, either. The guy can’t help his anatomy, unless maybe he’s altered it through excessive ball-stretching. But, if that’s the case, whatever. I don’t give a damn about other folks' fetishes.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the resounding *SMACK* of nutsack against ass that must result when Elongated Scrotum Boy (formerly BYB) thrusts into his sex partner. It must be like a fucking tether ball stretched to it’s limit, snapping back to slap against the pole that anchors it.

Oh, Christ.

AND! Come to find out, ESB is planning to major in Russian when he goes back to school. Bonus for my warped imagination.

In my head, this immediately placed him in a Bolshevik prison with a cell-mate named “Dmitri Dmitriovich” or something, where they keep warm in the dead of Siberian winter doin’ what cell-mates do.

*SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!*

So wrong.

I started laughing so hard, I had to leave a half-hour early.

God, I love art.

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

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BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

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BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.

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