OK, so the Blog is back up and running. Yes, I rant. Yes, I rage. And, yes, I do indeed blow smoke and mirrors out of my ass when the mood strikes me. Hey, it's my Blog, get over it.
I just checked my stats and it has come to my attention that I actually have readers from 10 different countries. From North America, Central America, europe, (oops, sorry, that should have been a capital "E") and Asia. China to be specific. How the hell did you find this Blog? Hell, how did any of you find this Blog??? Why am I not being censored in China??? Does China think that I am "safe"? LMFAO!!! OK, for 10 trillion Renmibi's I will agree to perform at the Birdsnest. But only if Celine Dione is my opening act. And she's in drag. Oh, wait, she is in drag. But I digress...
For you far flung souls out there, please leave me a comment. Let me know how you found me. Let me know what you think. Both of the Blog and how you think in general. Play your cards right and you might even get my email address. Would love to hear from you and know where you are from!!!
Yes, this is a weak post. But I'm curious to see who actually reads my rants. Inquiring minds want to know...
Sunday, March 17, 2013
THANK YOU, SWEDEN!!!
Been clothes shopping lately? Taken a close look at the mannequins modeling the clothes? It's bad enough in the Men's Department where everything is displayed on a mannequin about the size of a high school freshman but the Women's Department is truly nightmarish. Female mannequins in America are designed to display either size 4 or size 6. The average size worn by American women is size 14. 14!?! Hell, I don't even where a size 14 and I'm a guy. Trust me, I can schwiggle this saggy little old ass into a women's size 12 gown in a heartbeat. A 10 if it's cut right. And still have enough lee-way to need it taken up a tad around the bodice.
Why is it, as a nation that is expanding waistband wise at an exponential rate, that we are being subjected to waif-thin bulimic mannequins? Let alone wearing clothes that we fall in love with right up until we walk out of the dressing room and take a look in the mirror? I once spent 20 minutes in a dressing room putting myself into an ensemble I loved. On the mannequin. In the mirror I was an Umpa-Lumpa. OK, I'm gay, I notice that sort of fashion faux pax . Straight guys don't. It's sad...
Ladies, I bow to your patience and apparent unwillingness to take a store hostage in anger. I have noticed those mannequins. They have no boobs. They have no hips. Their legs are chop sticks. I have seen more meat on a scarecrow!!! Why do you think that the dress doesn't look as good on you as it does on "her"? And that size thing... What a joke. You do know that about 18 years ago the fashion industry decided to "re-size" the sizes, don't you??? Oh, yeah... Size 10 suddenly became an 8, 8 a 6, 6 a 4, 4 a 2. And then the ultimate weirdness.. the size ZERO. Yes, zero. Who the bloody hell wears a size zero??? Pencils? Bamboo skewers? Pipe cleaners?
This has all managed to create a rather entertaining back-lash around the world. Magazines have been berated for Photoshopping covers to make models slimmer, models have been getting younger so they are smaller, that rail thin, bulimic "look" is being accepted as desirable (if not fully expected), we can actually seen the models skeleton and sleep overs became puke overs for way too many junior high school aged girls. And we finally got fed up.
Sweden has come to our rescue. A chain store of women's stores there has had some custom made mannequins done for them. To model lingerie. OMg, has this sparked a hissy fit on the Web. The mannequins are amazing!!! They have curves where curves should be. They have boobs. They have hips. And lordy, do they have legs. Totally realistic. Right down to where the body fat should be. I'd say they are about a size 8. Which is really a size 10 but I digress... And they actually look healthy, which is kind of hard to do when you're made out of fiberglass and aluminum. Unless of course, you're Anne Francis in that really bizarre Twilight Zone episode. This chain is getting slammed with emails. Some in support, some not. The supportive ones praise them for showing women as they really are and encouraging healthy self images and the others are blaming them for supporting obesity (WTF did size freaking 8 become obese???). In all honesty, these mannequins look like one of those bikini wearing surfer girls in one of those 1960's beach movies. I don't remember that being fat...
Again, Sweden, I commend you. One small step. But a great leap forward. We come in all shapes, sizes and heights. Colors, too. And, yes, some of us have hips...
Why is it, as a nation that is expanding waistband wise at an exponential rate, that we are being subjected to waif-thin bulimic mannequins? Let alone wearing clothes that we fall in love with right up until we walk out of the dressing room and take a look in the mirror? I once spent 20 minutes in a dressing room putting myself into an ensemble I loved. On the mannequin. In the mirror I was an Umpa-Lumpa. OK, I'm gay, I notice that sort of fashion faux pax . Straight guys don't. It's sad...
Ladies, I bow to your patience and apparent unwillingness to take a store hostage in anger. I have noticed those mannequins. They have no boobs. They have no hips. Their legs are chop sticks. I have seen more meat on a scarecrow!!! Why do you think that the dress doesn't look as good on you as it does on "her"? And that size thing... What a joke. You do know that about 18 years ago the fashion industry decided to "re-size" the sizes, don't you??? Oh, yeah... Size 10 suddenly became an 8, 8 a 6, 6 a 4, 4 a 2. And then the ultimate weirdness.. the size ZERO. Yes, zero. Who the bloody hell wears a size zero??? Pencils? Bamboo skewers? Pipe cleaners?
This has all managed to create a rather entertaining back-lash around the world. Magazines have been berated for Photoshopping covers to make models slimmer, models have been getting younger so they are smaller, that rail thin, bulimic "look" is being accepted as desirable (if not fully expected), we can actually seen the models skeleton and sleep overs became puke overs for way too many junior high school aged girls. And we finally got fed up.
Sweden has come to our rescue. A chain store of women's stores there has had some custom made mannequins done for them. To model lingerie. OMg, has this sparked a hissy fit on the Web. The mannequins are amazing!!! They have curves where curves should be. They have boobs. They have hips. And lordy, do they have legs. Totally realistic. Right down to where the body fat should be. I'd say they are about a size 8. Which is really a size 10 but I digress... And they actually look healthy, which is kind of hard to do when you're made out of fiberglass and aluminum. Unless of course, you're Anne Francis in that really bizarre Twilight Zone episode. This chain is getting slammed with emails. Some in support, some not. The supportive ones praise them for showing women as they really are and encouraging healthy self images and the others are blaming them for supporting obesity (WTF did size freaking 8 become obese???). In all honesty, these mannequins look like one of those bikini wearing surfer girls in one of those 1960's beach movies. I don't remember that being fat...
Again, Sweden, I commend you. One small step. But a great leap forward. We come in all shapes, sizes and heights. Colors, too. And, yes, some of us have hips...
Tuesday, March 12, 2013
gOD LOVE A THEME FUCK!!!
Y'know, sometimes people just got to get down, get funky and get loose. I can appreciate that. Been there. Done that. Still got the whip... marks...
C'mon, you've all seen what's hanging in my closet. "Hey, Donn, why do you have all of these police uniforms?" "Uh, Donn, what's up with all of the SWAT uniforms?" "So, Donn, just how many pair of jackboots do you actually own???" "Donn, what the hell is this THING???" "Donn, honey, you have enough leather in this closet to build a cow." What can I say, I've always leaned towards the road not taken...
Sex can be dirty. But only if you do it right. I'm a firm believer in that. Ya gotta be inventive. O, come on, sex is pretty generic until you put your dark side behind it.
I am a collector of porn. Love the stuff!!! In the last couple of years a whole new niche genre of "fetish" porn has popped up on my screen. Much to my delight. You like feet? We'll give you feet. You like bald? We'll give you bald. You like boots? What kind? We got em all. Uniforms? Just let us know what kind. Construction workers? Road or building? Belts? Where and how? Socks? Athletic or dress? Dress shoes? Lace up or loafer? Suits? Two or three piece? 5 o'clock shadow? Where? OMg!!! It's an incredible ala carte menu of satisfaction out there. You name it, you got it. Streaming. Oh, lord, I think I need a cigarette...
But I have questions. I studied film in college. I know what continuity is. It's kind of important. How the hell did you get your pants off but you still have your boots on? How did you get completely naked without removing your tool belt? How did you get completely out of that uniform without removing your belt holster? When did you change from knee high jack boots to lace up construction boots? And who the hell was the set decorator that decided to hang a clock on the wall in the background with no battery in it??? THAT one pisses me off!!! No one has sex for 45 minutes from 12:05 to 12:05!!!
Anyway... the minutia of all of our secret fetishes and twisted romps is out there. On demand. Downloadable. (Flash drives. I LOVE them!!!) Viewable in the dark. Privately. Wink wink... And all just a couple of key clicks away. I have a rather extensive list of file share sites that I frequent for my fetish fix. I am surprised that most of their search engines have not jumped out of the window thanks to me. I put them to task. I search for really weird stuff. I once typed in "worker boots hairy doorbell daddy". Oh, my. 227 freaking pages of stuff popped up. All porn. Lord, I SO need some more flash drives!!!
I have been dressed up strangely since the day I was born. My second pair of shoes was a pair of cowboy boots. I was 7 months old. A fetish can start so innocently... And then blossom into 6 decades of strangeness. I was born into a world of METAL rotary dial phones with party lines. 5 digit phone numbers for chris'sakes!!! Metal ice cube trays with handles. Coal fired home furnaces. Linoleum. Yeah, look that one up...
Now, I am happily at my computer at 3 AM, while Seasquirt happily snores away, getting a fetish-fix. Door bells. Oh, lord, I love those things...
C'mon, you've all seen what's hanging in my closet. "Hey, Donn, why do you have all of these police uniforms?" "Uh, Donn, what's up with all of the SWAT uniforms?" "So, Donn, just how many pair of jackboots do you actually own???" "Donn, what the hell is this THING???" "Donn, honey, you have enough leather in this closet to build a cow." What can I say, I've always leaned towards the road not taken...
Sex can be dirty. But only if you do it right. I'm a firm believer in that. Ya gotta be inventive. O, come on, sex is pretty generic until you put your dark side behind it.
I am a collector of porn. Love the stuff!!! In the last couple of years a whole new niche genre of "fetish" porn has popped up on my screen. Much to my delight. You like feet? We'll give you feet. You like bald? We'll give you bald. You like boots? What kind? We got em all. Uniforms? Just let us know what kind. Construction workers? Road or building? Belts? Where and how? Socks? Athletic or dress? Dress shoes? Lace up or loafer? Suits? Two or three piece? 5 o'clock shadow? Where? OMg!!! It's an incredible ala carte menu of satisfaction out there. You name it, you got it. Streaming. Oh, lord, I think I need a cigarette...
But I have questions. I studied film in college. I know what continuity is. It's kind of important. How the hell did you get your pants off but you still have your boots on? How did you get completely naked without removing your tool belt? How did you get completely out of that uniform without removing your belt holster? When did you change from knee high jack boots to lace up construction boots? And who the hell was the set decorator that decided to hang a clock on the wall in the background with no battery in it??? THAT one pisses me off!!! No one has sex for 45 minutes from 12:05 to 12:05!!!
Anyway... the minutia of all of our secret fetishes and twisted romps is out there. On demand. Downloadable. (Flash drives. I LOVE them!!!) Viewable in the dark. Privately. Wink wink... And all just a couple of key clicks away. I have a rather extensive list of file share sites that I frequent for my fetish fix. I am surprised that most of their search engines have not jumped out of the window thanks to me. I put them to task. I search for really weird stuff. I once typed in "worker boots hairy doorbell daddy". Oh, my. 227 freaking pages of stuff popped up. All porn. Lord, I SO need some more flash drives!!!
I have been dressed up strangely since the day I was born. My second pair of shoes was a pair of cowboy boots. I was 7 months old. A fetish can start so innocently... And then blossom into 6 decades of strangeness. I was born into a world of METAL rotary dial phones with party lines. 5 digit phone numbers for chris'sakes!!! Metal ice cube trays with handles. Coal fired home furnaces. Linoleum. Yeah, look that one up...
Now, I am happily at my computer at 3 AM, while Seasquirt happily snores away, getting a fetish-fix. Door bells. Oh, lord, I love those things...
Monday, March 11, 2013
A WEE BIT OF TIME AGO AND A LOT OF TIME ZONES IN THE OTHER DIRECTION...
Lord, I was lost. In Asia. I was out of my element completely. After a 9 day stay in Seoul (where BTW, I truly learned the meaning of smog and how to fasten my seat belt when I was in a taxi) I found myself getting off of a plane in Hong Kong. In the middle of the night. On the tail end of Typhoon Ruby. Talk about a brown trouser sort of landing...
OK, so I didn't really step off the plane in Hong Kong. It was Kowloon. Get over it. I'm telling a story here.
Hong Kong and it's surroundings drop kicked me across the street. OMg!!! That place is insane. I shopped my brains out, drank my liver into oblivion, ate like a starving man and shot over 120 rolls of film. I had a fling with a waiter. I dumpster-dived at 3 AM in alleys I wouldn't otherwise be caught dead in at high noon. I was threatened by a duck. I swapped spit with some English guy in the back row of a multi-plex while we tried to ignore the incredibly bad American movie playing that had been dubbed in Mandarin. I think it was "You've Got Mail".
So, two weeks later I'm hopping on the hydrafoil and taking a 90 mile skim up the river into actual-factual CHINA!!! I was in trouble from the word go. The questions I had to answer on my visa application that they gave me on the boat scared me. Of course, I lied on all of them. Then I step off of the boat and head towards Customs and Immigration. I get stopped immediately. Guess who doesn't look anything like the picture in their passport. The picture in my 5 year old passport shows a guy with short hair, parted in the middle, large aviator style glasses and totally clean shaven. Yes, you could actually see my upper lip. I, on the other hand at the moment, have shoulder length hair, it's highlighted for christ's sake, I have a full beard and mustache (dark at the time) and I'm wearing what can only be described as taupe colored Sally Jesse Rapheal glasses. So, off I got to that small window-less room surrounded by the worst fitting uniforms and the biggest ass guns I have ever seen. I just immediately resigned myself to the upcoming strip search and anal probe. So the interrogation begins. They ask me questions in Cantonese, which I don't understand. And I give them answers in English which they don't understand. Can this possibly get any better??? Finally, thank god, a woman walks in that could not have been more that 3 feet tall. Oh, shit!!! I'm going to be tortured by a little person!!!
She speaks perfect English. Oh, shit!!! She's going to curse and threaten me in perfect English while she tortures me!!! I think to myself, "China, you are a wicked mistress!". Ten minutes later I have bowl of hot water and a mirror in front of me and I'm digging stuff out of my shave kit and I'm shaving my way into the Glorious People's Republic of China. Half an hour later I am liberated and I am in a taxi and on my way to the White Swan Hotel. Damn nice old colonial style hotel!!! A couple of days later I started bouncing my way around China. Always escorted by a guide and driver. I spent damn near a month in China and took trains, buses, planes and barges. I sailed down river from Guilin to Yangshou. Went to X'ian. Coughed my lungs out in Beijing and marveled at Shanghai. BTW, just to get you up to speed... livestock of varying sizes is considered acceptable carry-on luggage in China, ALWAYS book "soft seat" on ANY trip longer that 3 hours on a train, NEVER eat off of the foot cart on a train, never turn down a couple of dozen shots of moatai . Trust me, moatai will fuck you up so royally!!! Yes, I had fun in China.
Next stop Hong Kong. Again. Oh, just bite me, I knew a really hot waiter there... I had a week to kill. So I went to Macau for few days. Macau at that time had a footprint smaller that Lake Kegonsa. Now, Hong Kong was England and China. Macau was Portugal and China. A short hop on a hydrafoil but truly worlds away from each other. Again, I was lost. But I was in heaven. I was a day short, literally. A pesada short of a taxi ride back to my hotel. And a world away. From everything that was me. And so many time zones I couldn't even begin to count them.
Ahh, yes... the other side of world. I highly recommend it.
OK, so I didn't really step off the plane in Hong Kong. It was Kowloon. Get over it. I'm telling a story here.
Hong Kong and it's surroundings drop kicked me across the street. OMg!!! That place is insane. I shopped my brains out, drank my liver into oblivion, ate like a starving man and shot over 120 rolls of film. I had a fling with a waiter. I dumpster-dived at 3 AM in alleys I wouldn't otherwise be caught dead in at high noon. I was threatened by a duck. I swapped spit with some English guy in the back row of a multi-plex while we tried to ignore the incredibly bad American movie playing that had been dubbed in Mandarin. I think it was "You've Got Mail".
So, two weeks later I'm hopping on the hydrafoil and taking a 90 mile skim up the river into actual-factual CHINA!!! I was in trouble from the word go. The questions I had to answer on my visa application that they gave me on the boat scared me. Of course, I lied on all of them. Then I step off of the boat and head towards Customs and Immigration. I get stopped immediately. Guess who doesn't look anything like the picture in their passport. The picture in my 5 year old passport shows a guy with short hair, parted in the middle, large aviator style glasses and totally clean shaven. Yes, you could actually see my upper lip. I, on the other hand at the moment, have shoulder length hair, it's highlighted for christ's sake, I have a full beard and mustache (dark at the time) and I'm wearing what can only be described as taupe colored Sally Jesse Rapheal glasses. So, off I got to that small window-less room surrounded by the worst fitting uniforms and the biggest ass guns I have ever seen. I just immediately resigned myself to the upcoming strip search and anal probe. So the interrogation begins. They ask me questions in Cantonese, which I don't understand. And I give them answers in English which they don't understand. Can this possibly get any better??? Finally, thank god, a woman walks in that could not have been more that 3 feet tall. Oh, shit!!! I'm going to be tortured by a little person!!!
She speaks perfect English. Oh, shit!!! She's going to curse and threaten me in perfect English while she tortures me!!! I think to myself, "China, you are a wicked mistress!". Ten minutes later I have bowl of hot water and a mirror in front of me and I'm digging stuff out of my shave kit and I'm shaving my way into the Glorious People's Republic of China. Half an hour later I am liberated and I am in a taxi and on my way to the White Swan Hotel. Damn nice old colonial style hotel!!! A couple of days later I started bouncing my way around China. Always escorted by a guide and driver. I spent damn near a month in China and took trains, buses, planes and barges. I sailed down river from Guilin to Yangshou. Went to X'ian. Coughed my lungs out in Beijing and marveled at Shanghai. BTW, just to get you up to speed... livestock of varying sizes is considered acceptable carry-on luggage in China, ALWAYS book "soft seat" on ANY trip longer that 3 hours on a train, NEVER eat off of the foot cart on a train, never turn down a couple of dozen shots of moatai . Trust me, moatai will fuck you up so royally!!! Yes, I had fun in China.
Next stop Hong Kong. Again. Oh, just bite me, I knew a really hot waiter there... I had a week to kill. So I went to Macau for few days. Macau at that time had a footprint smaller that Lake Kegonsa. Now, Hong Kong was England and China. Macau was Portugal and China. A short hop on a hydrafoil but truly worlds away from each other. Again, I was lost. But I was in heaven. I was a day short, literally. A pesada short of a taxi ride back to my hotel. And a world away. From everything that was me. And so many time zones I couldn't even begin to count them.
Ahh, yes... the other side of world. I highly recommend it.
Sunday, March 10, 2013
THE SUMMER OF 1970...
Oh my, those were heady daze. I was 16 and soon to be 17. And I was growing up in San Francisco. Ahh, a smile comes to my face but I don't know why. I honestly don't remember that summer at all. I was 16, going on 17 (with my apologies to "The Sound Of Music") and was in the center of the universe for the best LSD on the face of the planet.
I used to take a 10 minute bus ride over to the Haight and score. I knew this burn-out over there that washed dishes in my parents restaurant. He was the most amazing crispy critter I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. He lived in a crash pad (i.e., 27 "roommates") in a miserable 3rd floor walk up. It smelled of goats. And brown rice.
Half an hour later, safely back at home and barricaded in my room I start chowing down on Mr. Natural. and a quarter of a piece of Windowpane. Thank god for X-acto knives. And I start giggling. For the next 16 hours. And that was only because I had enough sense to set the alarm on my Sears Signature clock radio to go off about 6 hours into this little vacation so I could pop another quarter of the Windowpane just about the time I was peaking. Now, trust me, this is a totally acceptable way to do this sort of thing. That way, about the time you're about to start crashing off of the first dose you start boosting up on the second one. I like to call them "floaters". Trust me, they're FUCKING FABULOUS!!!
I was doing this from pre-Memorial Day Weekend until some time late September. 3 to 5 times a week. Oh, good lord, I was mess. A train wreck. A puddle... But I always had a smile on my face. Conversationally I became very animated for the first time. Probably just so I could watch my hands "trail". (That is SO fucking cool!!!). I was liquid. My parents were clueless. Obviously, a much simpler time...
I do not remember moving across the country in October of 1970 when my father retired and went full blown bat shit crazy. I came to sometime around the end of November. I was in Jefferson, Wisconsin. I was sitting at a desk in a public school for the first time in my life. I was no longer in a uniform, I was in jeans. And there were girls in the class. And not a nun in sight... WTFIWWTS??? WTF is my briefcase???
Then I found out that dad had bought hobby farm. I live in the country??? I'm a "farm kid"??? I ride the FUCKING bus??? WTF!!! Please, god, just give me a sinkhole... NOW!!!
I have softened over the years. Not really. I have mellowed. Not really. I am no longer rude, crude, lewd and socially unacceptable. Not really. I am warm and fuzzy. Not really. Well, maybe fuzzy. In more ways than one. Trust me, you don't want to see my back...
No surprise to any of you, I have the short term memory of a gold fish. I do not know my home phone number. Or my cell phone number. Or my zip code. Or most of my PIN numbers. Thank god for masking tape and post-it notes. Has anyone seen my wallet? Car keys? What??? I own a car??? REALLY??? Is it anywhere close? What does it look like? Are you sure that it's mine? Can I have a pickle? You got change for a penny???
Yes, I am damaged. Oh hell, I have enough baggage to move to Mars with!!! Including the spice rack. And a bunch of shit I haven't even unpacked from IKEA yet. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE LET ME BABY-SIT YOUR CHILDREN???
I used to take a 10 minute bus ride over to the Haight and score. I knew this burn-out over there that washed dishes in my parents restaurant. He was the most amazing crispy critter I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. He lived in a crash pad (i.e., 27 "roommates") in a miserable 3rd floor walk up. It smelled of goats. And brown rice.
Half an hour later, safely back at home and barricaded in my room I start chowing down on Mr. Natural. and a quarter of a piece of Windowpane. Thank god for X-acto knives. And I start giggling. For the next 16 hours. And that was only because I had enough sense to set the alarm on my Sears Signature clock radio to go off about 6 hours into this little vacation so I could pop another quarter of the Windowpane just about the time I was peaking. Now, trust me, this is a totally acceptable way to do this sort of thing. That way, about the time you're about to start crashing off of the first dose you start boosting up on the second one. I like to call them "floaters". Trust me, they're FUCKING FABULOUS!!!
I was doing this from pre-Memorial Day Weekend until some time late September. 3 to 5 times a week. Oh, good lord, I was mess. A train wreck. A puddle... But I always had a smile on my face. Conversationally I became very animated for the first time. Probably just so I could watch my hands "trail". (That is SO fucking cool!!!). I was liquid. My parents were clueless. Obviously, a much simpler time...
I do not remember moving across the country in October of 1970 when my father retired and went full blown bat shit crazy. I came to sometime around the end of November. I was in Jefferson, Wisconsin. I was sitting at a desk in a public school for the first time in my life. I was no longer in a uniform, I was in jeans. And there were girls in the class. And not a nun in sight... WTFIWWTS??? WTF is my briefcase???
Then I found out that dad had bought hobby farm. I live in the country??? I'm a "farm kid"??? I ride the FUCKING bus??? WTF!!! Please, god, just give me a sinkhole... NOW!!!
I have softened over the years. Not really. I have mellowed. Not really. I am no longer rude, crude, lewd and socially unacceptable. Not really. I am warm and fuzzy. Not really. Well, maybe fuzzy. In more ways than one. Trust me, you don't want to see my back...
No surprise to any of you, I have the short term memory of a gold fish. I do not know my home phone number. Or my cell phone number. Or my zip code. Or most of my PIN numbers. Thank god for masking tape and post-it notes. Has anyone seen my wallet? Car keys? What??? I own a car??? REALLY??? Is it anywhere close? What does it look like? Are you sure that it's mine? Can I have a pickle? You got change for a penny???
Yes, I am damaged. Oh hell, I have enough baggage to move to Mars with!!! Including the spice rack. And a bunch of shit I haven't even unpacked from IKEA yet. WHY DO YOU PEOPLE LET ME BABY-SIT YOUR CHILDREN???
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
FMTT!!!!
It has just occurred to me that I am now 4 months and 15 days away from turning 60. Oh, just fuck all of you, don't you know that I can hear you laughing??? Yes. 60. Sixty. Ahem... Old...
So... Who wants to go skydiving? Bungi jumping? Concrete poisoning while skate boarding? How about hang gliding? Swimming with sharks? Perhaps a "family fiendly" cruise. Yes, I really did mean to say fiendly.
No, wait, I take that one back. I am so NOT family fiendly...
I am no longer 59 and a half. I am on the skid marks to 60. 60... FM!!!! For those of you older than me: FUCK YOU!!! For those of you younger than me: FUCK YOU TOO!!! Don't forget I know where all of you live and I am not above breaking in in the middle of the night and doing you in with a boat oar. I'm a devious little bitch and your certain to not be my first victims. Think about it. I've been buggered with a dead body in a basement in the middle of the night. Oh yeah, that was fun. That was when I finally realized that I should be on Broadway. Damn, I'm good... especially in a totally suck ass situation. Who knew...
For some unknown reason my skinny little ass is still walking around the unarmed, the unsuspecting and the unaware. You bitches need to duck and cover!!!
Sixty. I remember fifty. Sort of. Not really. Well, kind of. Not really.... I was dressed up like Sponge Bob Squarepants and I was carrying a pineapple. Trust me, I was lit getting out of the car... Hell of a party as a vaguely remember...
60. OJFMTFT!!! Sixty??? Holy shit!!! Sixty!?! Oh, just FUCK ME AND FEED ME FISH!!! christ, if I was a dog I would have had the good graces to have died when I was eleven. In my sleep... In the basement..
Sixty. Start looking for boat oars now. Trust me, you're going to need them... That's about the only way to eradicate us. We're a tough little bunch of in breds. Southern, don't you know...
SIXTY!!! FMTT!!!
So... Who wants to go skydiving? Bungi jumping? Concrete poisoning while skate boarding? How about hang gliding? Swimming with sharks? Perhaps a "family fiendly" cruise. Yes, I really did mean to say fiendly.
No, wait, I take that one back. I am so NOT family fiendly...
I am no longer 59 and a half. I am on the skid marks to 60. 60... FM!!!! For those of you older than me: FUCK YOU!!! For those of you younger than me: FUCK YOU TOO!!! Don't forget I know where all of you live and I am not above breaking in in the middle of the night and doing you in with a boat oar. I'm a devious little bitch and your certain to not be my first victims. Think about it. I've been buggered with a dead body in a basement in the middle of the night. Oh yeah, that was fun. That was when I finally realized that I should be on Broadway. Damn, I'm good... especially in a totally suck ass situation. Who knew...
For some unknown reason my skinny little ass is still walking around the unarmed, the unsuspecting and the unaware. You bitches need to duck and cover!!!
Sixty. I remember fifty. Sort of. Not really. Well, kind of. Not really.... I was dressed up like Sponge Bob Squarepants and I was carrying a pineapple. Trust me, I was lit getting out of the car... Hell of a party as a vaguely remember...
60. OJFMTFT!!! Sixty??? Holy shit!!! Sixty!?! Oh, just FUCK ME AND FEED ME FISH!!! christ, if I was a dog I would have had the good graces to have died when I was eleven. In my sleep... In the basement..
Sixty. Start looking for boat oars now. Trust me, you're going to need them... That's about the only way to eradicate us. We're a tough little bunch of in breds. Southern, don't you know...
SIXTY!!! FMTT!!!
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
"LORD OF THE FLIES." THE MUSICAL!!!
So, I was out drinking a late lunch with a dear friend of mine the other day and completely out of the azul he turns to me and asks "Who's the worst queen you've ever been subjected to?". After I had signaled to bartender to line up another round of Sauza shots I felt obliged to answer. What the hell. Apparently inquiring minds hungered to know.
OK, I'm anal. My mind starts to immediately Google my brain looking for the juiciest links. As my friend signals the bartender to set us up again I query, "May I ask a qualifying question?". Of course, he says yes. Silly man... "How do you want this?" I ask. "By decade? City I have lived in? Proximity at any given moment? By bar? Sheer bitchiness? Total lack of ability to accessorize? No more Gay-Dar than god gave a toothpick? In drag or out of drag? Not as pretty as they thought they were? Dead or alive? The ones who stabbed me? The ones I filed charges for assault on? 911? How far do you want me to go back? C'mon, point me in a direction!!!" He looks at me. Kind of stunned. I ordered another round just to keep us both lucid. "Oh, just spill your innards." he says. I respond with "Fasten your seat belt, cupcake."
I decided to do it by decade. Flashback.... the 70's.
They started in my hometown of San Francisco, migrated to Wisconsin for college and ended up back in San Francisco for my whore period. Sort of like Picasso's blue period only a LOT more fun. OMG, I knew some of the most incredibly bitchy clones back then. It was WAY beyond dog eat dog. And I was one of them. Oh, god... Tight 501's. Top button undone. A specially custom shrank white t-shirt. Porn 'stache. Black tennis shoes. Oh, lord,we were just too awful for words. But at least we got laid a lot. A LOT!!! I met the most devious, bottom feeding, awful SOB I had ever seen up to that point.. OMG, we're talking psychic-vampire!!! I swear, that bitch could suck the color out of wallpaper!!! I still shudder. I hope to god someone finally put a stake through it's heart!
Fast forward... the 80's.
Cool, this gives me two cities. Minneapolis and Portland, OR. In Minneapolis I met a queen so freaking evil that she actually carried poison apples around just so she wouldn't have to pay for cab fare home after she wasn't snagged up at the "sidewalk sale" when the bar closed. Hideous. Just hideous. Her name was Chi Chi La'rue. Drag don't you know. Today she CEO of Chi Chi La'rue Productions. One of the largest gay porn studios in the country. I salute you. But you're still just a fat guy in a dress, you bitch!!! Portland. Oh, my... That city was just a clusterfuck waiting to be set on fire and then flushed. I met the chart topper of emotional cannibals there. Holy shit, he was amazingly toxic. And a total and complete cunt. My apologies to the sensitive out there, but holyshit this guy just sucked rocks!!! He was a pompous fuckwad with nowhere the money he needed to have behind him to be this big of a shithead. He and I served on two Boards of Director's together and came to so many (way to many) bitch slapping smack downs for me to count. I wanted that SOB to get hit by the moon!!! This is the one instance in my life where I can honestly say I prayed for the permission to instill bodily harm. To where the end result was a funeral. Where I would attend and piss on the corpse. Yes, I HATED THAT MOTHERFUCKER!!!
Flash forward... The 90's. Pretty boring really. I moved back to Wisconsin. I divorced husband number 3. I isolated. I drank. Heavily. I was happy. And then I moved to Madison. I had the next door neighbor from hell. Her name was Todd. FMTT!!! He had emotional canines! Talk about a great white in a pod of baby seals!!! I kept threatening her with a cattle prod... hooked up to Sears DieHard battery. Just get TFAFM!!! Thank god, she's dead. Poisoned, I've heard. Then there's John.. Dead body in the basement. At 2:00 in the morning. Oh yeah, instant freak-out. Don't ask questions. It was sort of a private moment for me. Thank god for a liquor cabinet full of Scotch and the good sense to "sanitize" the house!!! OJFMTTT!!! TOTAL homo-hands!!!
Flash forward... The 'Oughts.
Again, pretty boring. Unless you want to count the cranial hemorrhage, the "paper clip" in my brain, Lyme Disease and the building fire that I was rescued from. Out of window. Over the back of a VERY burly fireman. Had I been conscience I would have been in heaven!!! My car, my dog, me and everything I owned smelled like a bbq at Twelve Oaks. OJFM!!!
Flash forward... the 'teens...
I have a stalker. He's a strange dude. Actually, he used to be a friend. Now, he's just a fiend. I have never had someone that I know go this ballistic on me. Overnight. He used to be a good friend. Now, I look over my shoulder. Just way TOO weird!!! WTF do you think I did to you dude???
As the next round of shots magically appear before us, I ask my friend, "Does that answer your question?".
He immediately orders two more rounds of shots.!
And then we ask for the dinner menu.
OK, I'm anal. My mind starts to immediately Google my brain looking for the juiciest links. As my friend signals the bartender to set us up again I query, "May I ask a qualifying question?". Of course, he says yes. Silly man... "How do you want this?" I ask. "By decade? City I have lived in? Proximity at any given moment? By bar? Sheer bitchiness? Total lack of ability to accessorize? No more Gay-Dar than god gave a toothpick? In drag or out of drag? Not as pretty as they thought they were? Dead or alive? The ones who stabbed me? The ones I filed charges for assault on? 911? How far do you want me to go back? C'mon, point me in a direction!!!" He looks at me. Kind of stunned. I ordered another round just to keep us both lucid. "Oh, just spill your innards." he says. I respond with "Fasten your seat belt, cupcake."
I decided to do it by decade. Flashback.... the 70's.
They started in my hometown of San Francisco, migrated to Wisconsin for college and ended up back in San Francisco for my whore period. Sort of like Picasso's blue period only a LOT more fun. OMG, I knew some of the most incredibly bitchy clones back then. It was WAY beyond dog eat dog. And I was one of them. Oh, god... Tight 501's. Top button undone. A specially custom shrank white t-shirt. Porn 'stache. Black tennis shoes. Oh, lord,we were just too awful for words. But at least we got laid a lot. A LOT!!! I met the most devious, bottom feeding, awful SOB I had ever seen up to that point.. OMG, we're talking psychic-vampire!!! I swear, that bitch could suck the color out of wallpaper!!! I still shudder. I hope to god someone finally put a stake through it's heart!
Fast forward... the 80's.
Cool, this gives me two cities. Minneapolis and Portland, OR. In Minneapolis I met a queen so freaking evil that she actually carried poison apples around just so she wouldn't have to pay for cab fare home after she wasn't snagged up at the "sidewalk sale" when the bar closed. Hideous. Just hideous. Her name was Chi Chi La'rue. Drag don't you know. Today she CEO of Chi Chi La'rue Productions. One of the largest gay porn studios in the country. I salute you. But you're still just a fat guy in a dress, you bitch!!! Portland. Oh, my... That city was just a clusterfuck waiting to be set on fire and then flushed. I met the chart topper of emotional cannibals there. Holy shit, he was amazingly toxic. And a total and complete cunt. My apologies to the sensitive out there, but holyshit this guy just sucked rocks!!! He was a pompous fuckwad with nowhere the money he needed to have behind him to be this big of a shithead. He and I served on two Boards of Director's together and came to so many (way to many) bitch slapping smack downs for me to count. I wanted that SOB to get hit by the moon!!! This is the one instance in my life where I can honestly say I prayed for the permission to instill bodily harm. To where the end result was a funeral. Where I would attend and piss on the corpse. Yes, I HATED THAT MOTHERFUCKER!!!
Flash forward... The 90's. Pretty boring really. I moved back to Wisconsin. I divorced husband number 3. I isolated. I drank. Heavily. I was happy. And then I moved to Madison. I had the next door neighbor from hell. Her name was Todd. FMTT!!! He had emotional canines! Talk about a great white in a pod of baby seals!!! I kept threatening her with a cattle prod... hooked up to Sears DieHard battery. Just get TFAFM!!! Thank god, she's dead. Poisoned, I've heard. Then there's John.. Dead body in the basement. At 2:00 in the morning. Oh yeah, instant freak-out. Don't ask questions. It was sort of a private moment for me. Thank god for a liquor cabinet full of Scotch and the good sense to "sanitize" the house!!! OJFMTTT!!! TOTAL homo-hands!!!
Flash forward... The 'Oughts.
Again, pretty boring. Unless you want to count the cranial hemorrhage, the "paper clip" in my brain, Lyme Disease and the building fire that I was rescued from. Out of window. Over the back of a VERY burly fireman. Had I been conscience I would have been in heaven!!! My car, my dog, me and everything I owned smelled like a bbq at Twelve Oaks. OJFM!!!
Flash forward... the 'teens...
I have a stalker. He's a strange dude. Actually, he used to be a friend. Now, he's just a fiend. I have never had someone that I know go this ballistic on me. Overnight. He used to be a good friend. Now, I look over my shoulder. Just way TOO weird!!! WTF do you think I did to you dude???
As the next round of shots magically appear before us, I ask my friend, "Does that answer your question?".
He immediately orders two more rounds of shots.!
And then we ask for the dinner menu.
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