Oh! The BJ! The BJ! It Felt So Good!

I went. I saw. I came. In my pants.

I used to think that an orgasm was the best feeling in the world. The build-up, the pulsing, the...

Er, too much information, right?

And it doesn't matter anyway, because I have discovered that an orgasm is NOT the best feeling in the world. The best feeling in the world is the tingling in the loins that results from attending the Barrett-Jackson auction.

Ah, the BJ. How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

The sheer... extravagence of it is a good place to start. Maybe that's the wrong word, but what I mean is, the monster sums of money being thrown around gave me a chubby that just wouldn't quit. There's people in the world that drive Ford Escorts. And then there's the cool people, who fling money at cool cars with wanton abandon.

I want to be one of the second group. (And I want some wontons, but that's a whole 'nother story.)

They say the rich are different, but I didn't see it. They looked just like you and me. Well, like you anyway. I appeared to be the only one there with brown fur and big antlers.

Point is, they came in all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. It was a great place to people-watch.

I especially liked watching the bleached blondes with the big honkin' silicone bazookas. I knew they weren't just pretty faces. It takes an acute understanding of chemistry to bleach your hair to that extreme without it falling out. And a PhD in physics is required to know just how large you can make those love pillows, and still walk upright.

So my hat is off to you for getting your grandfather to pay for all that expensive education, ladies. What? That older gentleman you are with is not your grandfather? Well, good. You shouldn't be fucking your grandfather anyway.

So yeah, the place reeked of money. When that Super Snake went for a cool five million, I wasn't the only one who looked like they might need to check their pants. (Of course, I was already highly aroused just from hearing the phrase "Super Snake" so many times, so I was doubly in danger of an accident.)

But seriously, the reason my drawers didn't become soiled is, I didn't know whether to shit or blow jizz. I was just astounded by the idea of paying five million bucks for a car.

Not that I would ever do that. Even when my ship comes in, and I'm spending too much money on cars I don't need, that will never include buying a car that I can't go for a ride in without having a crisis of conscience.

(I kinda wonder if I'm going to nag my people when they take me for rides in my car. I'll try not to, but I know I'll be protective of my awesome love machines. I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.)

The best bidding wasn't the seven figure cars, though. The best bidding to watch was when the person bidding was someone I knew. The money being spent wasn't mine, and the cars he acquired aren't either, but... I feel like I'm at least in some tiny way connected to them. Because I was there. I was excited. I was emotionally invested in the outcome.

(Don't tell anybody, but I intend to someday rub my turgid moose-wang on those cars, along with a few others of my choosing. My penis deserves better, and I'm going to start demanding it.)

Attending the Barrett-Jackson auction easily qualifies as one of the best days of my life. I can't wait for next year, and I want to say a big hearty Thank you! to everyone who made it possible. Especially my big-titted secretary, who didn't go Rambo on me even when I was embarrassing her to death.

Oh, and I want to say a big hearty Fuck you! to anyone who looked at me funny because I'm a moose. I can't help what I am, and I thank god that I'm not a goofy-looking bastard like those gawkers.

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