Photo by zen via flickr

Hello everyone.  I'm Sue, from Timmins Ontario.  I want to talk to you all about something important to me, so please just listen.


I've heard all the condescending judgments.  I've seen all the derisive stares.  It's sad that people today won't take a moment and open up their hearts and minds to new experiences.  Mutual Nose-Picking is perhaps the most sensual expression of love (romantic or platonic) that two (or more) people can engage in.  There is nothing more intimate than the bonding with someone you love by cleaning out their breathing tubes that MNP provides.  In essence, you are clearing their path to life.  But it not only prolongs our survival, the human touch of a finger in the nose enriches our soul and psychological well being.  It's my dream that one day people will stop senselessly dismissing this beautiful activity as childish or vulgar and begin to truly understand its rightful place in society.  We need a spiritual movement to spread like wildfire.  Because right now?  We live in a very, very sick world.

When my husband, Bill,  comes home from work, I'll often sit down with him on the bed next to the window, turn on the lamp, then we will quietly stick our index fingers up each other's nose.  We won't say anything, we just stare into each other's eyes and feel the finger of our lover so close to us.  This means more to us than any conversation ever could.  We always keep cupcake wrappers on the nightstand to put the debris into, but even with clear noses, it feels comforting just to have the finger of someone you love in there. 

We also have three children.  The youngest, Ernie, is just old enough where I can fit my pinky in there.  I sit him down on my lap as he watches his favorite cartoons.  I tell him that he doesn't have to tell the other kids about this.  We learned through our first two children that middle school and high school kids can be so cruel when confronted by something they can't comprehend.  What's most shameful is the lack of support from the teachers.  They should know better. 

Society just has a way of trying to tear familiies apart, you know?  Just last month, Jake lurched back when I tried to enter.  I know he's just entering that rebellion-against everything-phase, but it was still so devestating when he yelled, "Mom!  I don't want your finger up my nose anymore!" and stomped up to his room.  I sobbed for hours and my nose felt so exposed until Bill came home.  It's not just me, either.  Bill, Jake, and Samantha all said he hasn't let their fingers anywhere near his nose either.  I get so worried about him.  The world is such a cold and isolating place when you have nobody you trust enough to share in MNP with.

MNP isn't just something to share with your family.  I have a tight-knit group of girlfriends that I "hang out" with a couple times a week.  We do the usual stuff - cross-stitching, complaining about our husbands, and eating at the local Red Robin, but the most important time we spend together is when we get in a circle and do a little finger bonding.    Because of these sessions, we are truly soul sisters.  Because we have felt the intimacy of a friend's finger up our nose, we are able to approach the world with a new-found confidence and sense of peace.  I'll tell you, if George W. Bush had ever put his finger in that Osama's nose, all that bloodshed would have been avoided.  You don't bomb somebody's country after you've tenderly cleaned out their life tubes.

I urge all of you reading this to give it a try.  It may be hard, because of all the psychological abuse our society has suffered at the hands of what I like to call, etiquette nazis.  They tell us it's wrong to have our fingers up there.  You don't have to say anything.  When a loved one comes home today, just walk up to him or her, gentle enter the nasal cavity.  A little TLC in the olfactory, as I like to say.

Photo by MamboZ via flickr

My name's Alvin from Frankfort, Kentucky. I jus' got one thing to say, so I'll say it quick. We got a lot of religious folk around here, and I'm tolerant of all species of beliefs. But I expect you to respect mine as well. Most people 'round here worship God, but I worship a different kind of deity, altogether. I follow the way of Gosh. And I wish all you Christians wouldn't say the name of my deity in vain.

Photo by Amber B McN via flickr

Hi. I'm Dean. For the longest time, I've been going to the same supermarket here in Ashfork, Arizona (Zettler's). Every time I finish filling my cart to the brim, I steer towards aisle number 12. DeAnne. Don't get any wrong ideas, now. I don't have the hots for DeAnne or anything. She's old enough to be my mom. She has blonde frizzy hair and too much makeup. But I go to her aisle because she always gives me the sweetest smile. It doesn't matter if I'm getting a big ol' watermelon, or just a little Twix bar - I get the same sweet smile and the chirpy "Have a nice day." It got me thinking, though. Every day I go into her store and I never say anything more than Hello to her. She's a member of my community. She plays a valuable part in my life, assisting me in the purchase of all the things I need to survive, but I couldn't tell you one simple thing about her life other than what I just told you. It's sad. So last week, I decided to change that. I picked a day with low shopper traffic and headed towards her aisle. I asked her. I looked in her eyes, and said "Tell me about your life." She just kind of chuckled and continued scanning my groceries, so I said it in a sharper, sterner voice. "Please. Tell me about who DeAnne is." She averted her eyes, then looked around and something in her eyes just clicked.. She just kinda paused there for a few seconds before a tear rolled down her cheek. She told me. Everything. She's married, but doesn't get along with her husband, so she sees a guy on and off after her shift ends. She doesn't like him, but she doesn't think she could ever get with a guy who she liked, so she lives her life trapped behind the conveyor belt of incoming groceries.

It was all so sad. And it ruined my image of DeAnne as a sweet checkout woman without a problem in the world. I'll probably be going to Corral Market.  Zettler's has their double discount value Wednesdays, but it would just be too awkward now.

Photo by Eric McGregor via flickr

I'm Agnes. I tend a cemetary in Owosso, Michigan. Don't get no funny ideas just because I spend my time around dead folk. Gotta make a living somehow, right? People are afraid of talking to me, thinking I carry around spooks or spirits or somethin', but I don't believe in none of that. Strangest thing I ever seen go on back there is a clown makin' snow cones. I bought one before I kicked him out just because my mouth was dry and I had a hankerin' for something sweet. Anyhow, I don't like tellin' people about my job because then they go on asking me all these spiritual questions. What do I know? I just pull the weeds and cut the grass so more people will come and bury their dead relatives, giving me a chunk of change in my pocket so I can take my weekly trips to Ponderosa Steakhouse. Love the steak and salad bar deal. Anyway, I don't see no god or nothin'. No goblins or reapers. Just kids making out back there on Halloween.


Photo by JohnSeb via Flickr

Photo by wools via flickr

G'devenin' crew. I chose that as my first line for this new blog because it's special to me. It's what I say to my kids every Sunday at 7:00pm when I git to see them for visitation. I only get the two hours because I've had some mighty transgressions in the past, but things are looking up for me now. Anyway, I guess I'm number one in this new blogging community, eh? So I wanted to start it out with something special. G'devenin' crew.

So that was just a little speakin' about my first words, so now I'm gonna start. start: G'devnin' crew. My name is Glen and I'm from Kemmerer, Wyoming. I've got 3 kids as adorable as...well, I'm not good with metaphors or any of that writin' stuff, but they're adorable, all right. I'm happy to say I just got married for the second time. The first wife left me when she saw me gettin' down and dirty with the girl down at the car wash. I'd go down there in my pickup and just say friendly words to her. It always felt like my $3.99 silver car wash ended too soon. After a while, I worked up the nerve to ask her out to the break room and "suck face" as the boys down at Grumpies Bar call it. Well, that became a weekly ritual and my wife caught wind when another car wash employee spouted his mouth off to everyone in town. My wife came down and spied on me doin' it. Even though she was doin' all this espionage under-cover ops type of stuff just to catch me, I wasn't mad at her. I would have forgiven her, but she wanted a divorce. She took my truck and took my kids.

But like I said, things are lookin' up now. It does no good, dwellin' in the past. I found myself a real nice woman. Connie. She turned me on to the divine presence of the Lord. She's a member of the catholic church and takes me now and then too. I found that bein' catholic isn't a lot different than life before. I just gotta buy the non-alcoholic beers now and I can't swear so much. Oh, and one more thing. Forgive me for speakin' of private matters, but Connie says she ain't havin' me wear a condom no more. She said having sex just for good feelin's is the devil's work. I sure don't want to be doin' the devil's work - I work up enough of a sweat doin' my share. I talked to the father about this. He's kind of a stern man and I don't feel too comfortable talking about bedroom matters with him. He's not like the boys down at Grumpies. Boy, we would have some lively conversations! Of course I don't talk about that stuff now that I'm a catholic.

So in any case, Father said it's just somethin' I have to put up with. He said "You wanna work hard and be God's best servant and earn a place by his side? Or do you just wanna pretend yer doin' this and spend all eternity livin' in Hell, suffrin' up a storm?" Well, I'm not the most intelligent fella, but that's a no-brainer, doncha think? He continued rattlin' on, sayin' that a man's sperm is a gift from God and only shameful fools throw it into some rubber and cast it aside.

So I went home with a new determination. I want to be sittin' right next to God on his rocker like my dog, Stony, sat next to me before he got run over by Chester's jeep. I thought about the Father's words and decided I want to make the most of the gifts God is bestowething upon me. So I took the rubbers I bought just the other day and threw them in the fireplace. I knew the devil was sufferin' becauze I could smell a mighty stench.

I continued thinkin': If this is God's gift, it ain't right just to keep it to myself. I ought to be sharing it with the world. As Father explained, a thousand little lives are all bundled up in my sperm and tossin' them away is an awful lot like abortion. Well, so is keepin' them to myself then, right? Shouldn't I be usin' my stuff to be being fruitful and multiplyin'? Ain't it sinnin' to not do otherwise? I don't want my bundles of lives to never see the light of day. I want them to blossom. I talked to my doctor and he told me that we make new stuff every day. So every day I'm not findin' a match for my stuff, I'm abortin' thousands of lives, ain't I? Not sinnin' is harder than it looks.  Maybe I oughtta go back to that car wash.