John Holmes is Alive and Well

Ran into John Holmes last night. The news of his death must be a hoax. Greatly exaggerated. Val Kilmer just collected a paycheck. John was sipping Singapore Slings with tiny, colored umbrellas perched on the rim and was cocked back in full recline on a fuzzy red velour couch, listening to some singer/songwriters over on the rock block. His shirt was untucked, a shiny polyester number with a purple and white tiger print and he hadn't gained an ounce over the years. Still lean and mean, packing a pound or two of prime grade A -I’m sure- which was carefully hidden by the front of his untucked shirt, he was sporting an Afro. By the looks of it he’d taken great pains to pick it out until it was a perfectly rounded puff. A rather stout woman who accompanied him had an entire loaf of bread for an ass. Bombeezy. Bustin’ out all over. Ripe. R. Crumb would've fallen in love with her at first sight. By the strut in his walk, old Johnny boy's still got it. Man is not to be denied. A force to be reckoned with. I was gonna buy him a drink, raise a glass to celebrate his prowess and his ongoing life with his foot-long partner, but I didn’t. With a shirt like that, man should’ve bought me a drink for having to look at it.
Women beware! Mommas and Daddies? Lock up your daughters! John Holmes is alive, on the prowl, and ready to plow a furrow. ...A deep one.