PaMaDoCoBloNaBloPoMoMo 2008, Day 11: Innocent Loverboy gets his groove on

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Today, I scanned the "I"-named NaBloPoMo blogs hoping to find one called "I Am A Dude," because I realized last night that I've only PaMaDoCoBloNaBloPoMoMo'ed about lady bloggers. Finding no blog with that title, I decided to automatically disqualify all blogs with names involving the words "mom," "girl, "Mrs." and "goddess" from being considered for today's post, since all of those are pretty good signs that a non-male person is responsible for the content therein.

I'm not sure what it says about bloggers in general, nor NaBloPoMo'ers in particular, but that knocked out a heck of a lot of folks from the list at large, and the "I" blogs, too. Still, for the first time all month, the very first link I clicked on took me to a guy's blog: I Blame The Dingos. But, whoops, looks like this fella fell off the NaBloPoMo wagon after only a few days.

Next up: I'm Running to Eat. The site doesn't directly disclose the author's gender, but I'm assuming from the "I survived Peripartum Cardiomyopathy!" button that we've got a lady on our hands.

Third time's a charm? Nope. Incoherent Scribblings is neither incoherent, nor scribbling, nor written by a dude.

But, oh look! What's this? Innocent Loverboy! Are you a boy? Yes, you are a boy! Are you a lover? Well, yes, you do appear to be a lover. And, hmm, yes, this does appear to be your sex blog. Not sure where that "Innocent" part comes in, but you're not a chick, so I'll take you. (That's what she said!)

Anyway, looks like Loverboy is using the old alphabet trick, too: A is for Anticipation, B is for Beauty, etc. F couldn't be for anything other than Fuck, right? Right! But he takes it somewhere kind of unexpected (that's also what she said!) by turning into a discussion of semantics. If you can call talk of what, specifically, you tell your lover to do to you in bed at what times in what mood a "discussion of semantics." Which maybe you can't. So, okay, not semantics. I don't know what it is. All I know is that I've never typed the word "lover" so many times as in this blog post, and I can't not think of this Saturday Night Live sketch when I hear the word, so let's just take a moment to bask in the discomfiting glory of Virginia and Roger Clarvin, shall we?