Towel:
Doctor John's is a mysterious, neon-lit cloud looming on the horizon for those who are still under the age of eighteen. You may see the suggestive, kindergarten-level paintings of women on beach balls adorning the windows or the kinky signs advertising sexually explicit oddities, but beyond that lies a void of intrigue. Disclaimer: I am about to squelch your sexified hopes and dreams.
Unless you are drunk and have room in your body for, say, a ten inch replica of Ron Jeremy's claim-to-fame, there is no joy for you behind the man who checks your ID on the way in. Imagine the creepy lameness of Spencer's Gifts only now by itself in the dark at 2:30 a.m. surfing the internet with its hand in its pants. The morbid visual you may have just conjured is the equivalent in amusement to be found on the shelves at the Doctor's.
Admittedly, they had Red Bull, sexy cologne-scented incense, and of course the topless mermaid lighters and S&M whips/paddles were amusing. But there are so very, very many NOT amusing things. No where on any store shelf but maybe that of the fourth or fifth level of hell doth belong the life-altering image to be found on the cover of the video: Fat-Black-Pregnant-Sex. Heed the warning: for all the glory you think you might uncover in the video section, there is a far more unglorious landmine churlishly placed often enough to effortlessly unmake even the boldest of horninesses.
If you're in the market for a butt plug for yourself or a close acquaintance, head on over. Perhaps you ran out of vibrating cum cups; fear not, the doctor has your prescription. Want to know where babies come from? Want to know what vile depths babies ought NOT to come from? You guessed it. Doc J's. Looking for a sensational blend of 90s soft-rock, Avril Lavigne, and Styx? Then the speakers overhead in-store could provide hours of unmatched entertainment for a musically uninclined tit such as yourself.
I must emphasize the point that this is merely the opinion of one or two men who visited the store for Supple's birthday celebration. Perhaps your experience differs from ours, or maybe you just really dig eyefulls of dildos and foot-sex. Whatever the case may be, this post is primarily to clear up some of the general suspense encompassing the Doctor. In no way are we discouraging the coming-of-age visit that many freshly-eighteen-year-olds embark upon on their special day. In no way are we discouraging readers from being sick fucks if they so desire, right? We're open-minded.
All in all, please delight when you finally endeavor to be a legal adult. Take joy in registering for the draft, in renewing your license, in buying new plates for your car, in the end of your parents' legal obligation to your existence, in being able to fund your very own nicotine addiction, and in being able to finally step through the doors of Doctor John's. Tremendous.
- Supple -
Ahoy, and welcome to SuppleTowelCuddle. We invite you to love us as we love you.
Whether you know it or not, you are anxious for our love. Here's a little story explaining it.
Once upon a time, SuppleTowelCuddle was young. He was immediately different from the other kids, as they were kids and he was a three man blogging team. His beginning was rocky and slow.* This should have stopped him, but the idiot kept going. He eventually evolved, taking a considerable step towards manhood. Somewhere during this brisk step SuppleTowelCuddle went through about 4 or 5 months of puberty, beginning with when he made his Santa Claus/Daniel Boone update (www.xanga.com/suppletowelcuddle) and everybody uncomfortably pretended he hadn't said anything, all the while giving him a good shunting. He battled through it, and, eventually achieved manliness, though still acne-speckled and with lingering man-boobies.
Now, SuppleTowelCuddle has a fresh start. He's in a new world where nobody knows his past, though everybody should. He's not unlike those mass murderers who work as janitors at High Schools, passing the time picking their next victim and playing D&D with Jeremy Steele and Nicholas Williams (Yu-Gi-Oh!).
So come. You await to welcome us with open arms. We'll listen to your problems, clean up your messes, and eventually follow the cheerfulness with a hook in the back of your head.
*Note that few children can describe their childhood as "rocky." Take that, conformity.