I have all my life had a massive and muscular ass. The Buttcheeks of Doom were capable of cracking a walnut, up until rather recently, in fact. I won’t try it now, because I don’t think I want to know.

I can’t get a belt tight enough to keep my pants up on my ass. My ass is still there, dammit, it just doesn’t seem like it… projects.

Shit. Between this and the back hair and the invitation to join AARP, I’m starting to be less than amused.

Requiem for my lamented buttocks, by Richard Cheese.