Garaged

            Unless something happens in the next couple of months, the first week of April 2018 will mark four years since I have had sex. Now, that’s not too uncommon; I’ve had a few… dry spells… before. A lot of guys do. And, besides, I have a couple years of dealing with heart failure in there, too.

            That said, between dealing with the events of the New Year, and my particular levels of loneliness – not to mention what regular exercise at the gym is starting to do to me, it’s fair to say that I am getting a little restless. But how do you move on that when your heart is still off somewhere else? Slowly, I suppose; a day at a time. (But, hey; just the fact that I noticed this woman in the office parking lot…)

            Of course, when you’re a car in a comic you can only draw on the world you know of. And while The Dangermouse is my imaginary road buddy, he is woefully unprepared to deal with the desires of a real flesh and blood boy. Not that he’s wholly wrong about my needs. Just that, well…

            Eh, sex is sex; and I’ve had a mess of it in my almost forty-four years. Not that I wouldn’t pass up a chance to get busy, again; because I might not. But love is also love, and I’d sure like to have that back, too. Otherwise there’s not much to talk about after Bedtime for Bonzo, is there?

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            But, right now, as Weird Al sings; “I’m stranded all alone in the gas station of love, and I have to use the self-service pumps.”