My Renegade...

...bloggy, shit-for-brains prostate is not cooperating with the program.

I've tried cajoling it, massaging it, whispering sweet nothings to it, letting it have its way with me and even threatening to rip it out through my asshole. It's stands undeterred, mocking me and my escapades. My PSA doubled in the last six months. In and of itself, that is not good news. Being the ever optimistic fatalist that I am(what? fatalists can be optimistic), I've considered calling Diane Lane to come and perform an exorcism of sorts. It would involve body parts, in the nether regions.

The results could be an anomoly. It happens. The number isn't important, it's the velocity. The speed at which it changes. I don't like the fact that I have a body part that is not with the program. It needs to slow it's growing ass down. I have a few more women to love and sunrises to see. I don't like renegades. This is war. My administration will not fuck this thing up.