Beds I have Known

Like the reindeer thanked Santa after they had their first flight in a year, I want to use this day before the new year to thank myself for bedding 3,000,000 women, back when I was hot.

I can't believe it's been fifty years (it feels like fifty years) since I bedded all those women. Fifty years of short relationships and wondering what the hell "bedded" means, anyway. But like those hardy reindeer, I continue on, doing the blog work to build something that will live in infamy, making up lies and never asking for thanks, just knowing that one day my past will catch up with me and I'll be going to jail.

Oh, right. And about the bedding part...I love beds.

Here are some beds I have known:

Rusty's Bed
Rusty's bed was in a cave

Rusty was my first "bed-ee" of the heyday. She lived in a cave, a small hollow apartment scooped out of the side of a two-story building. After one bedding, we lost touch. Still, we always remember our first, don't we?...


Peaches' Bed
Peaches bed was in Georgia

At first glance, Peaches and I had little in common. I was a New York celebrity and fallen Catholic. She was a Baptist and the sister of a bigwig in the Klu Klux Klan. But getting herbed up can make strange bedfellows, and despite our differences, we immediately bonded over our love for Grade A weed.


Astrid's Bed
Astrid's bed was in New York


Astrid was a busy designer of rare beds, and this was one of her creations. In the photo, you can see her legs, waiting for me.


Cecily's Bed
Cecily's bed was in New Hampshire


When I met Cecily, she told me that she liked to sew. That night she knitted my undershorts to this quilt, and I was still in them. Geesh.


Mistress's Bed
Mistress's bed was in Manhatten


Mistress was not a shy woman. In fact, she was a pole dancer. She introduced me to S&M and banged my head against the metal bed frame for hours.


Doreen's Bed
Doreen's bed was in hell


She had more food wrappers on the floor than Mickey D's. "You are the banana, I am the tomato," she yelled, as I inched my way to her bed. Unfortunately, I slid on a wrapper, broke my collarbone and was in traction for six weeks.


Lucy's Bed
Lucy bed was in New York

Yep, that night it was me, Lucy and Ricky. Ricky snored.


Monique's Bed
Monique bed was in France


During my brief stint in St. Tropez, I met Monique on the beach. Look at the European artistry of her bed!


Cashmere's Bed
Cashmere's bed was in upstate New York


Cashmere was highly allergic to pillows and sheets. She was called Casper at the time, because this was right after her sex change operation. One day, I levitated her bed. See the picture?


Petal's Cat
Petal's (never seen) bed was in New York

She said, "Well, TC, there is nothing I enjoy more than eating a hot dog, then riding a kooky man, my perfect breasts bouncing, until I'm orgasming to the music of Queen." I went home with her that very night. Her cat wouldn't let me go in the bedroom. Bad pussy.

When I think about the women I bedded, I also remember the ones who got away...but that's another story, fans.

Analyze That!

Hi, fans. Today is another example of a post gone wrong.

To set up the story, we need to go back in time, back to a fall morning many years ago, when I was born. After a year of booties, my mother bought me a pair of baby flip flops. I liked the smell and feel of this new foot ware. I could bend them, manipulate them to my will! They smelled like rubber, which I thought of years later when I got interested in S&M. Anyways, for years and years, I wore a pair of flip flops...or nothing at all.

For the past few years, I have been wearing size medium flip flops in royal blue. They're not the greatest flip flops, and they are not practical in winter, but they're comfortable. In the winter, I wear them with socks.

A couple of weeks ago I went with some of the SUS inmates to the city to look at Christmas decorations. I was in New York for hours. Whenever I travel to New York on the subway, there is always a lot of tension before I go. There are the inmates, for one thing. And for another, I worry about being cold in the street and walking. Remember, I have been sitting at my computer for years. It is hard for me to walk even a block to the grocery store.

As I dressed for my Manhatten "trial run" in gloves, hat and scarf, sweatshirt and leather jacket, I looked down at my flip flops and said, "These flips flops look like shit."

I sighed noisily.

"The sides are loose and the bottoms are shredded."

Double shit.

"Fine," I said. "I'll go the the 99 Cent Store and buy new ones."

Off I went to the 99 Cent Store. I could have gone to Target, but as a guy who spends all his money on software and cameras, why pay more than 99 cents for flip flops?

I quickly found the flip flops in aisle six, next to the athletic supporters. One display had royal blue flip flops. The other display was identical, except for the addition of a special "bonus pair." Along with the pair of royal blue flip flops, this pair included ONE black flip flop. I squinted at it through the plastic packaging.

Now I've already said I like a bargain. Why would I buy the first pair, when I could get the "bonus pair" for free? At this cost, I could buy two pair and get ONE black PAIR, which I could wear for whatever.

On my way home I chuckled. Something was so funny about these black flip flops. I laughed as hard as I did when I sent my last spam email. When my friend Bob knocked on my door, I was still laughing.

"What's so funny, master?" Bob asked.

"I have another great post today. Look at this," I said.

I opened the 99 Cent Store bag and showed Bob the flip flops in the plastic packages. "They sell you a pair of blue flip flops, and then they throw in an extra bonus of a black flip flop. But think about it. What are you supposed to do with ONE black flip flop? Just wear one shoe? Ha Ha Ha!"

I explained how I bought another pair of flip flops, just so I could have a pair of black flip flops. Still laughing, I sat down and hunched over my computer, pounding out my latest post.

Bob cleared his throat.

"Whatever it is, not now," I said. "I'm in the zone."

"Tarquin, you better unzone, because I opened the package -- and it isn't a pair of blue flip flops and one black flip flop. It is two pairs of poorly made blue flip flops and one pair of equally poor black flip flops. There are TWO black flip flops, not one."

"Shit!" I said, my mood falling like a body from the top of the Empire State Building. "So that means my whole post is dead."

"Well, you could do what you usually do," said Bob.

"Lie? On my blog?" I started laughing again. "Just give me a minute to spin it."

"Yes, sir."

I struggled for awhile but couldn't come up with anything as good as the tale of the single black flip flop. I procrastinated and downloaded some software. I tried on the new flip flops. As you can see, not only were the 99 Cent flip flops bad quality, but I realized they were too big.

The situation sucked. Since I bought two packages of the flip flops, I now had four pairs of crappy flip flops -- two pairs of blue and two pairs of black. Still, a blog post is a blog post, and the truth sounded better than anything else. THIS time.

Inside this cookie it's too dark to post

Tarquin Churchwell's New Year Resolutions

If there's anyone who needs to make a list of New Year's resolutions, it's me, Tarquin Churchwell! Here are my Top Ten resolutions for 2008:

10. Start new diet of cheese-filled weenies

9. Stop calling Mr. Barnett at 3:00 AM for relationship advice

8. Finally get named People magazine's "Creepiest Man Alive"

7. Limit myself to four hours of Internet phone sex per day

6. Update my hate lists

5. Raise financial backing for my one man ice show -- TARQCAPADES

4. As a plea for Scarlett's forgiveness, sit for three days in a bathtub full of grits

3. At least once a week, break a law I've never broken before

2. Stop laughing when I refer to myself as the "morals guy"

1. Keep smiling

Naked New Year

It's Naked Friday again! Look at the detail in this photo. The workmanship. The craftmanship. The airbrushing. The spine has been stretched, and her waist is ten inches.

This Just In

Boxing Day

The fun suggested by Boxing Day has nothing to do with family members who have been looking forward to beating each other up all year. No, this holiday, celebrated the day after Christmas, is traced back to mid-nineteenth century England, where people of the upper classes gave cash in boxes to people that worked for them.

I can think of at least 20 people that I'd like to punch in the face right now!

Season's Beatings

Kind of Blue

I love getting emails from fans that say: "Tarquin, your Reindeer Droppings blog was so funny. You made my morning." I like them so much, I reread them every night. Christmas is almost here, and while I should be glad that I, Tarquin Churchwell, made it through another year without getting arrested, I'm feeling kind of blue. I don't know if it's the crappy gray sky, the cold, or missing therapy this week. Even writing hate posts and eating the perfect sugar-free gummy bear (thanks, Lylah!) haven't gotten me out of the rut.

My legal work at SUS is on the back burner, since a real lawyer threatened to sue me. There is the rent coming up, and thinking about that makes me nervous. The confusion over everything has created problems with sleeping and my dreams are weird. Last night, I combined all my hatred for women, SUS, and the world into one figgy pudding of dreaming.

In the dream, I had just talked to the SUS staff. My lease brouhaha was winding down (no thanks to me), and it was looking like I might have to pay my rent! I needed money, so I looked online. I ended up getting a job (!) with a police crime unit. I was hired to be a special interrogator. My daily assignment: a squirmy blond suspect would go down on me, and from her "chomp", I would learn all these facts about her. "She's 22, listens to Snoop Dog, is missing a back molar, and loves Wheaties," I would tell the Police Captain, as the suspect lifted her head from between my thighs. "She's a graduate of PS 169 in the Bronx, and she is lying about not hitting her husband over the head with a tire iron." My authority was never questioned, and the grammar school graduate was thrown in jail for murder. But instead of feeling good about my "interrogation," I had the creepy feeling that she had tasted me without flossing.

After this dream, I woke up with a headache. And now there's two more weeks without therapy. God help us all.

The Incredible Shrinking Yule Log

I don't have a post to go with this. I just liked the title.

Wasting Away Again in Macbeth-ville

Yesterday I slurred the mother of Jesus and compared her baby's conception to a teenage grope.

Big deal.

Here are some last minute wacky gift ideas. If you haven't got your shopping done, you may as well strangle yourself with your Christmas tree lights, because you won't find anything now. I can still order the following stuff online:



Get Noticed

If you're like me and want to be the center of attention, wear this wacky Singing Santa Hat on Christmas day and you'll get noticed. One size fits everybody.






Singing Santa Hat $19.99




Baby Steps

According to the website, these Freud slippers will help you "take small steps toward psychological wellness." Right.




Freudian Slippers $24.95




Gesundheit

With flu season coming up, a box of tissues will come in handy. This Sneezing Tissue Box has a motion-activated cover that makes six different loud sneezing noises each time you reach for a tissue. Guaranteed to scare the snot out of you. Ha Ha!

Sneezing Tissue Box $14.98








Wizard

"Will I be famous some day?"
"Should I get a job?"
"Will I ever stop lying?"
The Fortune Teller Wizard answers all of life's important questions. Ask the Wizard a yes or no question, then pass your hand over him and he will foretell your future. Prediction: you're gonna love it.

Fortune Teller Wizard $40.00

Check Your Local Listings

By the way, TV documentaries suck. Here are five Christmas Documentaries I hated:

* Keebler Presents: "Elf Autopsy"

* Frosty the Snowman: Big Where It Counts

* Xmas at Riker's Island: "It's a Wonderful 10-years-to-Life"

* The Blogger Who Ate Christmas: Why He Did It

* Tarquin Churchwell Remembers the Very First Christmas

Look Out!

This is going to be the coldest winter ever. The Top Ten Signs:

10. Pickpocket put his hand in my pockets to keep warm

9. I walked across frozen ocean and saw dozens of SUS informants beneath me

8. Squirrels in the park have ice on their nuts

7. The cockroaches are wearing scarves and mittens

6. Woman down the hall charged $10 just to blow on my hands

5. When new program director got hit by a bus, he shattered into a million tiny pieces

4. Headline in New York Post: "Tarquin Churchwell mugged in Queens for Ear Muffs"

3. Only 200 rats left alive in my building

2. My teeth are chattering

1. Britney's wearing underpants!

Is Your House on Drugs?

I get billions of emails every day, and they all say the same thing: "Tarquin, are you ever going to stop being a pain in the ass?" What a DUMB question. Does Rudolph's nose ever stop blinking? Ha Ha Ha! I love it when my own post makes me laugh.

Here are a whole lot of holiday light displays from around the world:

Rockefeller Center, New York City

Painting of the National Christmas tree in Washington, DC.

Hanukkah light display in Pennsylvania

The iced palm trees in front of this house in the Phillipines give it a little something hallucinogenic.

The Queen of England don't know how to decorate.



Charlotte, North Carolina

Not a Creature Is Stirring Inside My Head

As I was just saying on my other blog, I have known a few intelligent women in my life... Isn't it a SHAME I never say anything nice about them, until they are dead?

What's Up With That?

What’s up is the bottom of the tree. Hammacher Schlemmer sells this upside down tree with 800 white lights as "a solution to the problem of living in small spaces." Cool if you live in one room like me. The shape also gives you more space to pile up presents for me underneath.

Upside Down Tree $600

More Wacky Gifts

Looking for something wacky to give your insignificant other for Christmas this year? Here are a few ideas:

I LUV YOU!

Nothing says “I love you” like giving someone Herpes -- just ask Paris Hilton! Giant Microbes has come out with a line of plush and cuddly STDs. A steal at $7.95 apiece, you couldn't get anything cheaper from a real hooker. Also available: Chlamydia, Gonorrhea, and Syphilis.


STDs pillow $7.95




KAMA SUTRA GOODIES

Here is a little book of Kama Sutra poses acted out by ginger bread characters. The pictures are cool, and the "position captions" are just as good. Each pose has a recipe, with a little cookie talk thrown in.




Cookie-Sutra Book $7.95




PEPPERMINT TREAT

As everyone on the Internet knows, this year I wrote about batteries and vibrators a lot! Guys, when you can't be near the one you love, this festive 10 inch vibe will keep her happy! The website says they've sold millions.



Candy Cane Vibe $19.99




ROCK HIM LIKE A HURRICANE!

What if you have just met someone but are afraid he will turn out to be like me? Be safe with your very own lie detector! What makes this thing so much fun, is that when a person is caught in a lie, he gets a painful jolt of electricity. The subject slips his hand into the special, ergonomic hand clamp, and you ask a series of "control questions" that even I could answer truthfully, such as: “Who is the president of the United States?” Then... ask what you want to know. When the lie detector senses lying -- ZAP! How much does it hurt? Well, according to the manufacturer, there are two settings. The "Low" setting hurts a lot. No one has ever had the guts to try the "High" setting.

The Shocking Lie Detector $21.95

I'm OK, You're a Dum Dum

I want to thank you, fans, for all the emails about my recent post: 'A Tarquin Churchwell Christmas Carol.'

The note that made me puke the most came from reader Sally B. She wrote, "You know what kills me about people like you? That you actually think you are UNIQUE."

How deep. My first thought was to email back: "F*** you!" I felt like sitting her down, tying her to a chair with heavy rope, and not letting her up until she 'understood' why she was being a dum dum.

Hehehe.

In therapy, my therapist sits still. He doesn't moe around or talk much, except for an occasional comment about TV. I hate the patient/wise Yoda relationship. I hate insight. I think I could overcome my fears if my therapist just came out and said, "Holy shit! You are nuts. But not as fucking crazy as me trying to find meaning in another rerun of Seinfeld. Let's take a handful of Abilify and go out for burgers."

I understand, Sally B.

My Balls

Yep, they are big and blue.

Administrator's note: "Blue Christmas" is not currently playing.

Tarquin Churchwell's Christmas Songs

Who said Tarquin Churchwell doesn't like Christmas? Here are my top ten favorite Christmas songs:

10. Santas roasting on an open fire

9. Come on, it's lovely weather for a lap dance together with you

8. I'm dreaming of a libel Christmas

7. Grandma got run over by a Range Rover

6. I saw the crack dealer kissing Santa Claus

5. On the first day of Christmas, a blogger gave to me, one restraining order

4. It's a beautiful sight, I'm happy tonight, probably because I'm so full of gummy bears

3. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh, what fun it is to lie on my blog all day

2. The little blogger boy

1. Joy to the world, the time has come, I'm going to jail!

Santa Centerfold!

It's Naked Friday again! As you can see, Santa has leprosy.

Pic of the Day

Actually, this is the wacky gift of the day. You turn it on, and the lips start moving! Or, you can press a button in the back and the lips will call you insulting names. Yep, twenty-three names are included on a chip. This is my kind of gift.

S&M Moving Lips Radio, $29.95

A Tarquin Churchwell Christmas Carol

Last week, I was feeling very Scrooge-like.

"Why am I writing this stupid Christmukkah blog?" I asked myself as I trudged up Beach Street, spitting on the ground. "I don't even like Christmas. I don't celebrate Christian holidays."

I walked by a make-shift Christmas tree lot, set up in the parking lot of a Mickey D's restaurant. There was snow on the ground and crappy Christmas music was playing from a speaker on the ground.

"Bah humbug!" I said. "I'm going to close my Christmukkah blog. I don't care about the holidays and I don't care about people. All they do is catch me in lies on my other blog. And their "holiday cheer" is phony. After the holiday, they just go back to being dum dums and morons!"

That night I started writing a blog post explaining why I was cancelling Chrismukkah posts, and basically insulting every person I've ever met.

All the anxiety must have made me very sleepy, because I fell asleep before I had a chance to press "publish." That had never happened before.

I was awakened by the presence of a shadowy figure.

"Scarlett?" I asked. "Is that you at last?"

"No, Thomas. It is the Ghost of Christmas Past."

Yikes.

"The Ghost of Christmas Past? What do you want?"

"What is this bullshit about you shutting down your blog this year?"

"Uh, why do it anymore? Hanukkah is already half over. And I'm not even Jewish. I don't like Christmas either."

"But don't you remember how much you loved Christmas?"

My Ghost reminded me of a happy Christmas when I was a kid.

"Well, you're a more sentimental person than me. I'm selfish. What's in it for ME?"

The Ghost started to fade.

"Ghost, where are you going?"

"Thomas, you old pathetic fellow, your heart has turned to stone. I'm unable to change your ways. Now the BIG GUY will come for you."

"The big guy? Who are you talking about? Are you talking about God?"

The entire room shook like a tornado. Smoke filled the room and another ghost walked toward me. He was older than me, and short. He was dressed in a blue suit and had dark, bushy eyebrows.

"Thomas..." he spoke.

"Who are YOU? Are you God?"

"Of course I'm not God, you schmuck. I'm Irving Berlin."

"Irving Berlin? You're the Big Guy?"

"Irving Berlin. Songwriter, born Isreal Baline. My father was a cantor in the synagogue."

"So what? What do you want from me?"

"I also had doubts about Christmas. What do I know about Jesus? But then I said to myself, 'What do the goyim know about writing a Christmas song?' It takes a Jewish imagination to come up with "White Christmas." Some wonderbread in a cardigan like Bing Crosby sings it. He gets the glory, but I get the babes."

"Babes? You got women from writing "White Christmas?"

"Come, Thomas, let me take you to my Christmas past."

Irving Berlin took my hand and we flew out the window. We flew from Queens to Manhattan...and then to 6th Avenue and Radio City Music Hall. Suddenly, we found ourselves in a penthouse apartment. In front of us was a scene from the past -- a younger Irving Berlin dancing cheek to cheek with three naked Rockettes.

"You see, Thomas. Shiksas love Jewish men who can write a good Christmas song."

My eyes widened. For once in my life, I was speechless.

"You mean if I keep writing my Christmukkah holiday blog this year with all these female bloggers around...I will...?" I asked.

"First, let me show you what will happen if you DON'T write the Christmukkah blog this year."

The composer grabbed my hand and we flew back to Beach Street, into the future -- to MY FUTURE. Time blew away like sand through my fingers and we found ourselves in my room, watching the future Tarquin. It was Christmas Eve 2007, and I was sitting by myself, the computer in front of me and...my pants unzipped.

"What am I...am I looking at online photos of Britney Spears' vulva and playing with myself?"

"That's what it looks like!" said Irving Berlin. "Ha ha! The best part is that in a second a staff person is going to enter your room with friends she invited over for coffee and arsenic cake (which is another story!) and everyone is going to be shocked, especially Toto, the woman's young dog."

"This really sucks. I can't stand it. Stop it! Stop the future!"

"What about the blog..."

"Ok, Ok, I won't close the Christmukkah holiday blog. Just take me from this future. This is shameful! Take me away!" I screamed.

I grabbed the arm of the ghost's jacket and we flew out the window and into the night.

"I understand now. Thank you for letting me see what could happen. I am a changed Tarquin. Or, at least I am changed for this one minute. I will not badmouth my blog. I want to make people happy and not just SAY that I do. I want to please the female bloggers so much that I get three naked women kissing my cheeks, just like you did! Please, Mr. Berlin. Show me the other future. Show me the REAL Christmas Eve after I write the Christmukkah blog."

Time swirled like a tornado and we were back in my room on Christmas Eve.

"Here is your REAL future, Thomas."

I was sitting in front of my computer, still leering at photos of Britney and my hand was reaching for a can of Crisco...The staff person was about to open the door, her friends and dog behind her.

"What the fuck!" I yelled. "It's the exact future as before! What about the blog? What happened to MY three babes?"

"The blog is great. But you with three women? What do you want from me, you schmuck? A miracle? I'm Irving Berlin, not God!"

Top Ten Signs I'm Freezing

10. This morning I had to defrost my computer

9. I spilled McDonald’s scalding hot coffee on my lap and liked it

8. The rats are climbing in bed with me to stay warm

7. Inmates are hugging me

6. The staff is wearing long underwear

5. In cafeteria, inmate hit on head with bowl of congealed jello dies

4. Drug dealers selling "nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, achy, stuffy head" crack

3. I can see my breath when I yell "Fuck you!"

2. My fingers are stuck to my keyboard

1. My ass is frozen shut

Pic of the Day

I Got a Letter from Santa

Santa is an asswipe.

Not Really a Post

Thanksgving survivors meet in Central Park

See If I Care

Santa is gonna leave a lump of coal in my stocking.

Naked Friday

In the tradition of Hateful Monday and Fuck You Sunday, I, Tarquin Churchwell, would like to welcome you to my hottest blogging craze -- Naked Friday.

Yep, it's Friday. You've worked hard all week, unlike me. But before you go home and have a relaxing weekend, why not sit back while I tell you how dumb you are.

Ha ha ha! Why not look at pictures of semi-naked women, is what I meant to say.

Pictures like the one below don't faze me, fans. This is because I am an artist. I can look at naked pictures all day long, and never hear my penis talking inside my pants.

Anyone remember Caesar? He had a blog for awhile, then he stole a car and dropped out of sight. On my Bat Droppings blog there's a photo of him with a pumpkin tattooed across his butt. Anyways, this week Caesar (not his real name) emailed me again. Here it is:

From: "Caesar" ceasarl***@hotmail.com
To: "Tarquin Churchwell" tarquinchurchwell@msn.com
Subject: hottie in the haystack
Date: Tues, 04 December 2007 11:15:03 -0600

Tarquin,
Me and Chris are still hiding out. We left the Ozarks, and now we're living somewhere out west in a barn. We were fooling around the other night, playing Santa Claus, and Chris took pictures of me. Later Chris said, "Caesar, let's send this picture to our all friends in cyberland!" And, that's what we done! Check it out.

Up To You

As usual, I've been snapping reputations like twigs on a Christmas tree on my hater sites, so I decided to lug my bulk over here and post introspectively.

What, you didn't think I knew that word, or that I could spell it? You thought that if I hadn't spent so much of my life doing evil, I would've had time to learn how to spell? Well, you're a bunch of dum dums.

I hate you, bloggers. All you ever whine about is:
"Read me!" "Read me!"

And I'm no different. I'm like a trained pooch trying to get attention from the humans.

At least some bloggers get paid to write.

Or if I hadn't blown it with Scarlett last year, we could be having phone sex right now -- and that would be one person reading my blog.

"But no," she said. "You're a big fat liar!"

I would quit blogging right now, but I have too much hatred in my heart to not ruin everyone's holidays. Plus, I'm a Libra. Very wishy washy. That's why I'm going to let Fate decide. Whoever writes the SECOND comment -- I want you to tell me whether to continue blogging or to quit after Hannukah or Christmas. Whichever comes last.

YOUR DECISION will be final, fans. You will decide the future of Tarquin Churchwell...

This boot was made for stalking

You know You Want it

I look cool in hats. This is my new Santa hat. Anyone touches it, I'm gonna shove a North Pole right up your ass.

Top Ten Signs I'm Already Sick of the Holidays

There are still something like 20 shopping days left till Christmas, but I, Tarquin Churchwell, am already sick of the holidays. Here are the top ten signs:

10. I've got dark circles under my tattoos

9. I'm eating elf pot pie

8. When I hear, "Do you hear what I hear?," I scream, "No! I don't hear it, dum dum!"

7. I climb on the roof and start shooting SUS staff with my BB gun

6. Christmas trees are laughing at me

5. Instead of spending time with family, I'm thinking up lies to put on my blog

4. I got busted for riding the subway wearing nothing but a Santa hat

3. I got something that looks like eggnog coming out of my keyboard

2. My standard response, "And Merry Christmas to you too, asswipe"

1. Tinsel burn!

Bribing Santa

I was 8, when I wrote this note to Santa. The year

was 1920.

Welcome to My New Blog!

Welcome to Tarquin Churchwell's annual Christmas slash Hannukah slash atheist blog! This is the third and final blog in my trilogy of holiday blogs. My other blogs are listed below (the map pinpoints the geographical locations where they are based).

It's only going to get better from here!

Swerving across six lanes:

The Online Reporter wrote an article about me:
http://tarquinchurchwell-report.blogspot.com/

This is a "sneak preview" page:
http://tarquinchurchwellphoneconversations.blogspot.com/

A repulsed fan wrote this:
http://scarletttotchruchwellandall.blogspot.com/

And don't forget my trilogy:
http://tarquinchurchwell-droppings.blogspot.com
http://tarquinchurchwellbatdroppings.blogspot.com/

http://tarquinchurchwell-reindeerdroppings.blogspot.com