Self-Employed, Thanks

Hello. My name is Ken. And I can't stop whacking off.

Seriously. If I don't work myself over at least once a day, I get all kinds of zany.

Even during those periods in my life where I've found myself knee-deep in pussy, I still managed to keep up a healthy "partnership" with Little Ken. Is it a hobby? An obsession? A self-administered tool for stress-release? Dunno. And I haven't got the patience or the wherewithall to try to figger it out. Let's just say I really dig jerking off.

The reason I've got this on the brain today is that last night, during a conversation with a thirtysomething female compadre, I somehow let slip my penchant for self-love [thanks, Budweiser!]. She shot me a visual "ewww" and said, quite seriously, "Dude, grow up."

Okay. Fine. But I don't think it's gonna happen. I can't see myself waking up at 40 or 50 or 60 and saying, "Okay, well, that was fun, but I think I'll just leave the ol' boy alone from here on out." I gotta figure that until it's either rendered inoperable due to age [or overuse], I'll be the guy who takes an extra five minutes or so in the shower.