Who says just because I'm old I have to be a fuddy-duddy? I still like to have my thatched cottage prodded by my silver fox's Action Jackson.
My daughter calls me a sex addict. Well, she's a prude. I mean, I am sort of a sex addict, but what I do with my Netherlands is none of her business.
Lucy walks around here saying her life is C-O-M-P-L-I-C-A-T-E-D. Did I spell that right? My eyes aren't what they used to be. Anyway, I try to make her life as easy as possible. She doesn't thoroughly appreciate my wig-wearing, drug-selling ways. Those little blue pills make me a shitload of money. Not to mention, the appreciative smiles I get from men sporting a boner.
Now, if I could keep from getting arrested and having to bribe the men in blue with my stash, or the promise of a little funky-funky on the side, my profits would soar. Then again, I've rather enjoyed the handcuffs I stole from them…