Charlize where art thou?

I've been thinking about Charlize Theron for two days now and I doubt it's been as good for her as it's been for me. I saw Ashley Judd and Angelina Jolie in movies last weekend and that made me think of the women (celebrity types) that I covet (want to fuck). Those three are high (really high) on my list. That's a good sign, me and Charlize that is, I need a shake-up from this sexual ennui of late. I'm gonna shake some things up after this trip, some changes are in order. The usual nagging guilts, poor diet, not enough exercise, less ambition than perhaps I should/could have. I've been very cerebral of late, esoteric, and it's time to inject some activity into my passivity. Rowdy it up some, make some changes, run some shit. I have no intention of hibernating for the winter. Wonder if Charlize has plans.
I also wonder if Bill Clinton is thinking about his next hard on yet. I remember being scared to death of sending that much blood to one place, away from my newly configured heart. I could barely feel my left foot from the loss of circulation in my leg from the two feet of vein that was now in my chest. But I was even more scared of a failure to get all gorged up than I was frightened of the risk. Maybe if I hadn't been thinking about it so much that first couple of times afterwards, maybe 4 weeks after surgery, I might have had better luck. Course, maybe being with someone would have helped too. It's hard (or not) to get very involved in fantasy when your thoughts are dominated by death. But lo and behold, just when I feared the worst and was preparing for a eunoch like existence, along came (so to speak) the most glorious middle of the night, out of the depths of sleep, engorgement you have ever seen. The sheer size and bulk and rigidity woke me with a start. Turgid tumesence. Life has been oh so wonderful ever since. My (The American Heart Association calls it a "heart event".........is love a heart event?) near departure from this existence came just two days after a New Years Eve debauchery that involved vodka and food galore and both post midnight and next morning grappling sessions (yes, I had a partner this time) and to this day I'm so very proud of such a performance in spite of being barely being able to move blood from one part of me to another in the midst of 90% blockage. My surgeon told me I should have died in mid orgasm. Not sure if he meant the first one or the one the next morning.