the boss jerks off
I wonder whether Bruce Springsteen still likes to masturbate. I say "still" because at one time in their lives, all boys like to masturbate, and at one time in his life, Bruce Springsteen was a boy, but I'm curious whether the fifty-something working-class musical hero sometimes sits around in his mansion flipping through cable channels, looks around to make sure the servants and the wife aren't home, then plops his rock-star cock out of his sweat pants and begins strumming on it like it's his beloved guitar. It's possible, right?
As much as he postured himself as a stubbly, pit-stained, danger-seeking rebel, Bruce Springsteen's main appeal has always been that everyone knows he's a dork. You can tell all those old songs about Jersey girls named "Jenny" or "Wendy" or "Cherry" weren't really about vadges the young Bruce had pierced—he looked too much like a gawky chimp to score much tail—but it's a sure bet that these girls were the fantasy fodder for many a Springsteenian self-pleasuring session. It's safe to assume that his Joisey adolescence consisted almost exclusively of self-administered hand jobs. By extension, it would be fair to say that his entire musical career is a reflection of the fact that he's an incurable jerkoff.
But when he became a famous man—even gracing the cover of Time and Newsweek in the same week, a feat equaled only by O. J. Simpson, Jesus Christ, and Jared Fogle—it became easy for the awkward masturbation addict from Central Jersey to score pootie-tang whenever he wanted it. Yet on absolutely no evidence, I suspect that throughout his professional career, Bruce Springsteen has retreated to the solace of carnal self-abuse.
That's all I'm suggesting. That he's a lifelong jerkoff.
And by the way, he's looking more a Jewish cantor the older he gets.
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Here's the new Trucker Fags.
