T.H. here, reporting for duty. I would like to thank Faustus for that particularly heartfelt introduction. I feel as if I’ve just received an honorary doctorate from Faustus University. Or an Academy Award. It’s all so glamorous. Perhaps it is time to bust out the tiara and the scepter and parade around my apartment, stopping every few moments to bow in front of my make-believe diploma or statuette.
Ummmm…I typed that out loud, didn’t I? Uh, no, no scepter or tiara here. Nope. None at all. Carry on.
At any rate, I’m happy to take the reins while Faustus is in Los Angeles “working” on his latest project. Mind you, he still hasn’t offered sufficient evidence that he actually is in Los Angeles. Have we seen pictures of him sunning himself by the pool, being fanned by muscular Latino bottoms in short, square-cut swim trunks and sipping a cosmopolitan? Okay, that’s actually my fantasy poolside scenario. But substitute the bottoms for tops and the cosmo for a non-alcoholic spritzer or the like and there you go, back on track.
If there is anything I can do for all of you faithful Search for Love in Manhattan readers out there, it is to try and get Faustus to post a picture of himself in a bathing suit. I recognize an important community need when I see one. Always the ambassador of good will, I am.
Now where did I put that tiara…?
In a bathing suit? Pshaw. We want to see him naked, honey.
and mudwrestling…
T.H., now that you have wrested control over TSfLiM, you may begin writing the sordid details or life with Faustus. We’re waiting…
I… I want a tiara….
Naked, yeah–but a bathing suit shot would still work. I second T.H.’s motion. Faustus, bring it, papi.