Relax… And Listen To Whale Sounds To Soothe My Soul

No Siree! I have feeling, this spontaneous pop and jab in my step. This renewed sense of growth and nurture that only one man can give: Keep On Keepin’ On Kenny. When I come home from a long, strenuous day at the rat race that this material world is, my soul is revived by the illustrious, jazzy jazz of Kenny G. Kick back and relax, Kenny G. will take you there; Bahamas, The Road Less Traversed, The Long and Winding Road or even Valhalla. He soothes my soul and not to mention the hearts of my lady friends. Once you’re done wining and dining a bosom bodied, sex kitten that is your 38 year old sister's co-worker’s friend’s twice widowed daughter (if you must ask Gulf War 1 and 2, tears aplenty) at P.F. Chang’s, you whisk her away to your conveniently placed bungalow near the airport. There in your rustic abode, Kenny G. mesmerizes your date into a trance unknown this side of Transylvania. Your dirty, mismatching socks go unnoticed and the tater tots’ stench that reeks from two nights past is, in fact, an aphrodisiac when the G. is in tune. Her lips moisten; protrude from that ugly duckling of a face. Her eyes poke out and meet your desperate, doggy eyes, blinking hysterically, behind those archaic lenses. Those fake, plastic rose petals become an expensive path to your piss stained mattress. There, two, truly uglies, conjoin and make passionate love as the G.’s curtain closes and his sax quietly oozes like your vegetable, pale penis in her womb spawning a hideous cartoon character that is the child of the future. Kenny G. thanks for making those less fortune for true feeling have to resort to the enduring pain known as your beautiful croon of that brassy, sassy sax.