Monogamy is for loners

The tux totally worked. The first lady I approached was all over me, she couldn’t get enough of the Grunt-action. I sang her a bit of that song I was practicing, it totally helped. She was into it. Here’s a pic of me mackin’ it up with the babe.


Unfortunately, I didn’t realize this babe had a boyfriend who believed in monogamy (who is into that these days – see Ecclesiastes 4:12). So, I’m now in Royal University Hospital recovering. He really took it to me. You’d think, being a bear, I’d have a size, strength, and ferocity advantage; but really, I’m a lover not a fighter, as his girlfriend found out. At least I got this pic of him choking me, which I can use as evidence when I sue his ass.


Readily recovering,
Grunt

Tinklin' the Ivories

I remembered that Conor spent hours last year in these little, tiny rooms, practicing piano for his big recital. I thought, what the hell, I’ll check it out. I even got dolled up, tux ‘n all. I thought maybe the tux-aura would permeate and help draw Conor’s spirit to me; but alas, it did not. Since I was there anyway, I practiced some sweet love songs for the ladies. Here's a sample of the lyrics:

I just wanna do something special for all the ladies in the world (Ohhhh...)
I just wanna do something special for all the ladies in the world (Is that possible... Is that physically possible...)

Caribbean (Ladies)
Parisian (Ladies)
Bolivian (Ladies)
Namibian (Ladies)
Eastern Indochinian (Ladies)
Republic of Dominican (Ladies)
Amphibian (Ladies)
Presbyterian (Ladies)

Outta sight... (The amazing ladies!)
Late night... (The hard working ladies!)
Erudite... (The brainy ladies!)
Hermaphrodite! (The lady-men ladies!)

All of you hermaphrodite lady-men ladies
With your sexy lady bits
And your sexy man bits, too
Oh, even you must be into you!

All the ladies in the world
Wanna get next to you
Show you some gratitude
By making love to you! (It's the least we can do...)

If every soldier in the world
Put down his weapons
Picked up a woman
What a peaceful world this world would be!

Redheads not warheads!
Blondes not bombs!
We're talking 'bout,
Brunettes not fighter jets!

Ohh, it's got to be sweet 16's
Not M16's
When will the governments realize?
It's got to be funky sexy ladies!

I have a vision and all I can see
Is all of you with all of me
In a world of peace and harmony
Where every lady gets a piece of me

I've been to Paris, New York, and Amsterdam
And wham-bam, merci, danke, thank you ma'am
So don't care if you're ugly or you're skanky or small
I just wanna do a little something special for you,

All the ladies!
In the world...
You deserve it... Girl...

I think I’ll keep this tux on for a while, to see if I can pick up some babes.

Lookin for Lovin,
Grunt

lifeguard, or model?

First, I set off to the pool. As many of you know, Conor has been the head life-saver at camp; also, Conor often saved lives at the University. He’s really good: when he is life-guarding, no one has ever drowned. Not even any little kids whose parents neglect them in the pool. Con’s that good. Here are some of my favorite times when Conor was lifeguarding (these are only a selection of the pics I have of Conor with no shirt):

I checked the Uni pool where Conor often was saving people, but he was nowhere to be seen. I even hung around in the change room for a couple hours, until I was forcefully removed by security and asked not to come back. I didn’t mean to stare when they were changing, I don’t have eyelids! You’ve got to believe me.

As for the search, I’m doing ok. I still have more places to check, so I still have hope.

Holding strong,
Grunt

In search of wisdom

I was so lost. I didn’t really have a clue where to start looking for Conor, plus I spent all my gas money on Columbian hookers. I needed the consolation, and at least they taught me to type.

I needed help, a dose of wisdom from someone with life experiences greater and more varied than my own. I racked my brain on where to find such a guru, when suddenly, it hit me: Old people! They have tons of wisdom and life experience. That’s what makes them grey and wrinkly. So, I headed on down to the world capital of old people, Market Mall.

There I met up with Ethel and Gladys, who were at first hesitant to reveal their ancient wisdom. A cup of coffee and some sweet talking soon loosened their lips, and the secrets of the past soon came surging to my ears like the crowds of overzealous fans at a Spice Girls concert. Uh, or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been to a Spice Girls show. I don’t even like them. Ask Ben Ross. Anyway, Ethel and Gladys suggested I look for Conor at some of the places he frequented. I knew flirting with old ladies would be worthwhile. Ethel even gave her phone number, in case I needed “more advice.”

Ethel’s and Gladys’ advice made a lot of sense to me. I was so distraught about Conor leaving that it totally slipped my mind that a new school year was beginning. So, next I’ll check some of the places Conor frequented last year. I’ve got hope—I’ll let you know how it goes!

In hope,
Grunt

More disappointment, and a plan

I was checking my Facebook account this morning and I saw the most surprising and wonderful thing! Sitting in my inbox, awaiting my approval sat a friend request from a Conor Barker! Oh what joy leapt in my heart when I read that strong, noble name. It was as if the rain had stopped, the clouds parted, and an angel had come down from heaven to hang out in the hot tub with me for the afternoon. Yet, all was not well with my soul. As my initial excitement waned, I began to notice inconsistencies on this Conor’s profile, the most glaring of which was his middle name, Guillaume. My Conor is Norwegian, not French, and certainly does not have a middle name like Guillaume. As I pondered such an anomaly, horrible memories of interweb(net) identity theft crept into my consciousness, and it hit me: this friend request had not come from my Conor, it came from an imposter! Tears streamed down my face as the stark truth hit me in the balls like one counselor to another.

30 minutes later:

I’ve recovered from the initial shock and sorrow from thinking I’d found my Con. Although terribly painful, this incident has shown me what I need to do: I need to set out on a search, world-wide if necessary, to try and find my Con. My soul shall not be at peace until I have at least made this effort. I’ve already packed my things and am ready to go; I only hope I have enough quarters to keep my car going until I find him.


with resolve,
Grunt

Hit the Bottom

I can't take it anymore. I've hit bottom. I don't think I could be more depressed. After 23 joyous years together, the bastard takes off to some unknown destination and doesn’t even have the gazungas to say goodbye! But I get ahead of myself . . .

About 13 days ago, my lifetime friend Conor came home from camp, where he had been working for the summer. I was so happy to see him, and extremely disappointed when he didn’t even give me the time of day. The next day he had a big party and was very social, but not even a “Hello Grunt, how was your summer” to me. The day after that, he’s gone. And I haven’t seen him since. I’m not really worried for his safety, his family doesn’t seem worried. It’s his love I miss.

You see, Conor and I have been best friends for 23 years. And for him to just pull out, take off, and not even say “ta-ta, see you later,” it really hurts me. More than you, my dear reader, can imagine. With Con not here, my life is over. I only know of one way to ease the pain and fill the gap Conor has left in my life.
I'll keep you up to date on how I'm coping.

Conor’s always,
Grunt