I don’t often broach serious subjects here at Crazy Monkey Gurls Unite. It’s not because I am incomprehensibly shallow. Though, there is that. Serious is really, really, really hard to pull off. Really. Okay, it’s not as hard as writing an entire novel in the second person or even as hard as writing a believable sex scene. But, frankly, I don’t know if I have the chops for serious.

Silly? Check. Crude? I’m all over that. Funny? I have my moments. Irreverent? I like to think so. Serious? Uh uh.

Sometimes, though, nothing less will do. This is such a time.

Yesterday, I got a text from an old friend letting me know he’s back from his six-month tour in Iraq. I won’t get into what I think of what’s going on there, because it’s beside the point … the point being: I’m happy he’s back and that he’s in one piece.

Welcome home, Chris! And, no, I don’t fantasize about famous people when I masturbate. I don’t think it’s all that common. Readers?

(I didn’t say it was going to be 100% serious. Sheesh. Lighten up.)