Guilty Pleasures?

Dang, Fitzy, it's been so long since I've indulged in guilty pleasures that I've almost forgotten what they are!

But if the rest of y'all ever saw a pic of the dude who calls himself "Fitzgerald," you would definitely come up with a quintet of fun-sins when he asks, if only to avoid being skooshed like a bug by one of his size-13 brogans. (I'm guessin' on the shoe size....)

I don't know if I'll make five, but I do have some doozys....

1. Porn. Yup, I dig what some call "porn," but a very specialized sort. It's found only in the films of the late, great Russ Meyer. The man who coined the perfect word for, ummmm, well-endowed ladies ("Buxotic") was the master of cheap sex mixed with cheap laffs, and I have to revisit his oeuvre on a fairly regular basis. When Lola Langusta performs the "infamous black sock routine" or "Mr. Peterbilt," the garbage collector diddles her on a bare box-spring mattress (filmed from below, naturally) or radio evangelist Eufala Roop gets it on with "Martin Bormann" in a casket -- all from "Beneath the Valley of the Ultravixens" -- I'm there, baby! I have had girlfriends try to hide under the coffee table while I was running "Mud Honeys" or "Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill!" for them....

2. Speed. Yup, I loves me some speed, the more the merrier. Sometimes, I even get paid to drive at excessive rates of speed. There are few pleasures as intense as getting to that "am I going to make it through the next corner?" moment, though a couple of 200-plus mile-per-hour runs on German Autobahns come close. It takes a damn good car -- and fresh tires -- plus a familiar stretch of road. Or track. When you get that feeling that the ball game is about to be over as the smell of tortured Goodyear -- or sometimes Pirelli or Michelin -- tires fills the interior and you can look out the window and count the rivets on the guardrail, man, you know you and Mr Grim Reaper are standing toe-to-toe. Sadly, I can't bring myself to do this with a passenger aboard, though there was this engineer from a major car company who wanted to ride along and take videos...I sometimes wonder how he's doing these days, and whether he's recovered....

3. Spooning. Fitz and I agree on this, and I have fond memories of a lady (won't name her, but her initials were R. B.) who was the greatest "spooner" of all. Women fit perfectly in the man's front/woman's back sleeping/cuddling/loving position, let me tell you. The last lady in my life showed great promise in this regard for a brief moment, but it was not to be....

4. Playing "air keyboard". I've known people who play "air guitar," but I have 'em beat. Sometimes, when no one is around -- which is all the damn time -- I will put on CDs I've prepared of favorite tunes and mimic the performers. They have better -- and more -- keyboards to lay down sounds than I do, and more talent to boot. But I know what they're doing, even if I can't do it, and can imagine myself up there making the citizens crazy with my amazing performances.

5. Being "gay". I'm not, really, but both my work and my musical avocation have -- shall we say -- "thrust" me into close proximity to guys who, well, like guys. As long as they knew that wasn't my scene, I never felt any hesitation in hanging with them, using the terminology and telling the jokes. I had a girlfriend who would get green around the gills when she had to deal with a dear friend who was "flamboyant." And when I sent him a birthday card we found in a West Hollywood shop -- the front said "I was going to get you a gift for your birthday," and when the card was opened, there was a photo of a "husky" dude wearing a jock, and the words "But frankly, I'm strapped!" -- she was convinced I had lost what few heterosexual marbles I possessed. I enjoy listening to The Village People, too. I love women, always have, always will, but I dig all my friends, the wackier, the better.

Okay, Fitz-dude. You got me to open up and lay out my major weirdnesses.

But none of them come close to your fixation with WD-40!