A line from an amusing email message made me think of the little libidinal jolt I get from seeing a husky fellow operating a leaf blower or similar obnoxiously loud and pointless mechanical device. I can work up a detailed fantasy involving a leaf-blowing man in less than ten seconds. It's something about the get-up, the over-the-shoulder or backpack contraption, the look they often have of almost spiritual peace within the racket and chaotic swirl of debris. Some guys just really dig blowing leaves around while subjecting anyone nearby to toxic emissions and earsplitting decibels, probably pretending deep down that they're really one of the Ghostbusters. Usually my fantasized leaf-blowing character is assigned a rough-hewn but gentlemanly demeanor and a slightly growling basso and made to utter some sexy grammatical solecisms as he frees his swelling blue-collar penis from his tan grass-stained Carhartt overalls, commenting amusedly but not without affection on the spotted-it-from-two-blocks-away obviousness of my appetite for male ejaculate. Too bad they didn't have leaf blowers around when Joe Gage was making pornos, unless there was a sequel to L.A. Tool and Die I don't know about.