Me Fail English? That's Unpossible!

There aren't a lot of things that make me crazy. I'd like to think that I have a lot of self-control when it comes to tolerating other people and their little "things." But one thing I can't stand is terrible spelling and grammar. I'm playing an online multiplayer game, Final Fantasy XI, and I can't begin to describe how bad it is when people are chatting. I mean, we're supposed to be slaughtering goblins, not the English language! Literacy is one of the most important things a person should have in life. I know that the literacy rate is pretty high in America, compared to other countries. I also know that the people who CAN read and write don't read and write very well.

How do you feel when you read a memo or a web site that is loaded with spelling errors? Don't you want to find a stick so you could beat the author senseless? That's how I feel. What's worse is that we've got technology to help them hide the fact that they're clods (it's spellcheck), but they never use it! Run-on sentences, fragments, interjections... is nothing sacred?

My plan is to combine the forces of the stylish and sassy Gay Mafia, the fearsome and secretive Yakuza, and the Modern Language Association. Basically, it'll be fiercely-dressed ninjas who go around threatening people if they use bad grammar or spell things incorrectly. This brilliant plan will eliminate crime AND illiteracy. Everybody wins!

Surreptitious Mummification

My boss put cheap, generic, one-ply toilet paper in the bathroom at work this week. I didn't know until it was too late. As I reached for the tp, I felt the thinness and roughness in my hand and I said "OH DAMN!" It was like sand paper against my delicate, nubile boy flesh. How can you sleep at night, knowing that your employees are suffering like that? There are two things you don't skimp on and they are toilet paper and cotton swabs.

Have you ever cleaned your ears with generic cotton swabs? It's the equivalent of the Egyptian embalming methods of ancient times. Priests would take thin, rigid objects and stick them into various orifices to extract tissue and organs. Then they'd cover the bodies in papyrus, a fibrous and rough material used in mummification and writing. Oh my GOD! That's just like the cheap toilet paper! I've been preparing my body for the afterlife all this time and I didn't even know it. Spooky.

The human body is a wonderful thing, and it should be treated with extreme care. That means two-ply toilet paper and heavy duty Q-tips. Moisturizing with Dove products is also a good idea. I can't tell you how many guys love to touch my supple flesh while taking in my fresh aroma. They're like "your skin is so smooth and you smell so nice!" And I'm like "it's genetic." Then I whisper to the camera: "Thanks, Dove!" Then we shag like rabbits.

Fortune Favors the Bald

I found a few hairs on my pillow when I woke up this morning. This makes seventy four stray hairs that I've counted this year. I shudder to think how many other hairs I've missed that have gone down the shower drain. For those of you who don't know me, I am genetically fated to lose my hair. Every male on my mother's side of the family went bald by age 25. I'm 26 now, so I think I'm ok for the moment. I have nothing against the bald look. If anything, I think it's sexy as hell. Having little or no hair would almost be preferrable because I'd save tons of money by not having to buy hair products.

The thing that I'm worried about is the shape of my head. I can't pull off the bald look because my head is shaped like an alien. I'm not joking, it's huge. Whenever I get my hair cut, I have to get a style that draws attention to my horribly mis-shapen head. I just know that if I go bald, I'll get snatched by some secret service agents for fear of an impending invasion by the High Council of the planet Glarnaxhhh. They'd think I was the messenger of the high commander or something. I've got a weirdly shaped head and I can't do anything about it.

So now I guess I'm condemned to a life of fashionable hats and turbins. I'll be forced to join up with Helen Hunt and Ted Danson to join the big forehead club.

641

Today at lunch, my order number was 641 and my change was $6.41 as well! How fuckin spooky is that? That means that something significant will happen to me at 6:41 today. That's in about three hours. If I die, then you'll know that fate caused it and I was warned. If I live, I'll win the lottery which is probably at 6.41 million dollars.

Super Sonic, Lesbionic, Christians and their Gin and Tonic

A 14 year old girl in California was expelled from her Christian school because her parents are lesbians. What were her parents thinking, enrolling their daughter in a Christian school? There's a certain caveat when dealing with the Christian Church. The first one being THEY DON'T TAKE KINDLY TO CARPET MUNCHERS! Lesbians versus Christians... there's a conflict for the history books. Though seemingly unalike on the surface, lesbians and Christians both possess terrifying powers of persuasion and are not to be taken lightly! I learned this lesson in junior high...

Mary stood 6 feet tall and played basketball, baseball, and football in junior high. Everyone knew she'd be a big lesbian but they were all afraid to say it. Mary was huge! You knew she was coming your way when you'd be holding a drink in the quad and could see the liquid rumbling like in Jurassic Park. She also had this loud, booming voice and you jumped every time you heard her speak because it was so loud and sonorous. I made the mistake of calling her Scary Mary when she showed up to class with nappy hair. She had me in a choke hold an hour later, making me swear that I'd never make fun of her again. To this day, I clench my throat when I see a large woman with bed head.

It was also in junior high that I had a run-in with the Christian church. My best friend at the time convinced me that I should go to church with him one night. Church on a Wednesday? I didn't care because I had the hots for him. He must have thought my soul needed some extra saving because he did his best to convert me. Which is weird becuase I was actually trying to convert HIM, but for totally different reasons. He took me to his youth group and they all ganged up on me because I said that I wasn't saved. I didn't know what they meant by "saved." I just thought that I'd never been in a life-threatening situation. Saved? Hmm. Anyway, they all started singing to me and hugging me. I hadn't seen so many white people swaying in unison since I saw a clip of a Yanni concert on PBS. What was scary was the fact that there were so many of them. But then I found out that they just waited for the adults to leave so they could get wasted on the liquor they stole from their parents' liquor cabinets. I lost touch with my friend over the years. I hope he's gay now because he had the cutest ass I'd ever seen on a white boy.

Like Water For Latte

I only go into Caribou when I see that Aaron is working. For some reason, Aaron makes my soy lattes taste fantastic. I've had lattes from other people, but they taste so bitter and the foam isn't as foamy as the ones he makes. The reason that his drinks come out so great is because he makes it with feelings of happiness and eagerness. I believe that our souls leave an imprint on everything that we touch. It's what connects all of us to the world and someone with a bitter soul can make a bitter latte. Blargh. Who wants that?

I'd love to test this theory on a church bake sale. Lately I've been feeling extremely randy and I would like to imbue some rice krispie squares with my spiritual sexual energy. I haven't been sexual in a long time, so you can imagine how much I've been storing up. It flows through me with a desparate longing and a primal hunger that can only be satiated by someone with a similar torrid passion. People buy my rice krispies squares and they bite into them, but they're really biting into my wanting flesh... my tender yearning. As they become nourished by my fervent desire, they begin to feel a familiar swelling in their nether regions. Then the fun begins!

Whew, ok I'm going to fan myself off and take a cold shower. I'll leave the rest of the imagining up to you. Happy endings!

The Importance of Being Richie

I think it would be cool to be the head of a clique where all of the members have their names associated in a cool way. I used to work with a woman named Joanie when I lived in Houston and everyone knew not to mess with us. They'd say, "look out, here come Richie and Joanie!" We'd open up a can of Cunningham whoopass on anyone who crossed us. It was a little hard finding someone named Chachi to join us in our theatre-management bullying endeavors.

There's a young man who works at the Diversey Street Panera and his name is Ricci (pronounced like Richie). All we need to do is find another young man who spells his name RITCHEE and we'd have the perfect trio... "The Three Richies" or "R3." Remember that group named Tony Toni Tone? People would see us at bars and they'd say "Hey Richie!" and all three of us would turn around and say in unison: "YEAH!?!?" and we'd throw our heads back and chuckle warmly. That would be hilarious.

Think of how hot a three-way with three Richies would be. We'd never have to worry about remembering the other guys' names. It would be like... "Oh Richie! Yeah, Ricci? Work it, Ritchee!"

The Hair Down There's For You To Stare

I finally found a picture of these Dolce & Gabbana jeans that grossed me out when I saw them on tv a couple of weeks ago. These are the new "Pubic Pants" that people think are ultra sexy. But when I look at how much man-minge that guy has, I am immediately turned off. Can you imagine how rank stenchy his crotch would be with that amount of growth? Blargh! Eeew think of going down on that guy and having to hold your breath. Is it rude to wear nose plugs when giving a hummer? I'll have to ask Heloise about that one. She still hasn't asnswered my previous question on hummer etiquette. Should I wipe my mouth with my hand or a wet nap after a blow job? Come on, Heloise! Gay boys need to know these things!

I'm sure I'll see one of the nellie Chicago queens walking down Halsted St. with those jeans and the faux-hawk hairdo that I hate more than root canal. He'll be strutting past the people with his nose in the air and his ass sticking out and he'll be wearing big Willy Wonka sunglasses. If you see someone similar to the person I just described, please do the world a favor and throw an egg at him.

Don't make me vomit!

I was poking around on the internet and I came across this blog by a high school kid named Cody. He describes himself as an all-american boy who plays football and blah blah blah. I don't know what the rest of his profile said, but I tuned out when I read the words "All-American." Newsflash, Codester... AMERICA IS STOLEN LAND. If you're so All-American, where's your wigwam?

In every post of his blog, he tells his girlfriend that he loves her. Cue the violin music and bring me a vomit bucket. Is he gonna love her when she gains forty pounds from the pregnancy? I doubt it. The poor boy can't even spell. He hasn't even been outside of Texas and he thinks he knows everything. I have a feeling that my tax dollars will be going towards his Lone Star Card. That's the Texas version of food stamps.

My advice to Cody: WISE UP! And never refuse dick. Ha ha. It's not too late to be gay, buddy.

Arr matey!

September 19 is International Talk Like a Pirate Day, so take a moment to say "Ahoy" to your fellow crewmates! If ye don't, then I'll have ya keelhauled! Avast, me hardies! Arr!

My favorite pirate was Errol Flynn as Captain Blood. There was something in Mr. Flynn that I found extremely sexy. Maybe it was his thin moustache. Maybe it was his wicked, wicked smile. Whatever it was, I get all hot and bothered when I see a picture of him. He was a really hot pirate and I would have loved to be his cabin boy. He could hit my poopdeck with his seamen any day. I'll clean his ship from stem to stern. Can I think of any more sexually ambiguous pirate references? Of course! Here's one more: He could drop his anchor in my lagoon any day!

The Finnish Line

I had a fantabulous time at the AIDS run on Saturday. Leslie Jordan was there to honk the starting horn and he was in full "Beverly Leslie" mode! As I waited for the run to start, I noticed the woman with the number 666 and I smiled sweetly at her. Then I tried to look for the person with the number 69 so I could get a good laugh, but the run had already begun.

It was more of an obstacle course, really. I kept having to maneuver around people and you totally have to watch where you're going because a lamp post can appear out of nowhere and bop you in the face! It almost happened to me. The same goes with park benches and barriers. I felt like I was on an episode of American Gladiators. I finished with a time of 32:01, but was more like 31:50 because I didn't start at the start line. There weren't any family or friends there to cheer me on, but that's ok. There's always next year. My nieces will be old enough to travel by then, and they're all about cheering for their uncle. They're my little cheerleaders whenever I play Dance Dance Revolution at the movie theatre. =)

During the run, I saw this father running with his son and daughter and they were wearing t shirts with the flag of Finland on them. It was really funny because the son kept lagging behind and the father and daughter were yelling at him and taunting him in a foreign language. The boy was like 14 or 15 and I could tell he'd grow up to be a cute little foreign gay boy. Foreign Gay Boys (FGBs) rank up there with Hot Gay Nerds (HGNs) in my heirarchy of turnons. Also in that bracket are Ski Instructors with Leg Injuries (SILIs) and Unusually Tall Altar Boys (UTABs). Anyway, the father and daughter totally left the boy behind and he was totally pissed the rest of the way. I've never heard little boys swear in Finnish, but I think he was swearing when he saw them at the finish line. Foreign people are just plain interesting.

A Trannie's Sage Advice

Every morning on the train, I see this trannie who always talks to the person next to her. It reminded me of Tia, a trannie that used to ride the city bus with me every morning when I was in the seventh grade. Tia was one of those career girls who had a normal 9 to 5 and a cabaret show in the evening. I think she knew that I'd be a big queen when I grew up, so she took me under her wing and gave me all sorts of advice. She'd tell me what to do when someone was bullying me, and she'd give me tips on how to make the most of my lunch money: "Baby, stay away from those tater tots! They'll go straight to your thighs! Go with a nice salad and a bean burrito."

Tia gave me two valuable pieces of advice when I last saw her during the last week of school. She said: "Don't change yourself just to please anyone" and "Never refuse dick"

If I had listened to Tia when I was a teenager, I would have had an easier time getting where I am emotionally. And I'm talking about the changing advice, not the dick advice... though the dick advice is certainly true.

My Gay Aura... YOU CAN'T SEE IT!?!?

I saw my friend Benny at the gym yesterday. He used to come into the pro shop at the Naperville Ballys when I worked in the pro shop. Benny is a cute ex-fratboy who now works as a lawyer somewhere. He's definitely a talker! If you're not careful, you could find yourself stuck in a Benny conversation for a good hour or even longer. So Benny corners me while I'm on the dip machine and he's going on about how many girls he slept I last saw him. I don't think Benny knows that I'm gay because he keeps trying to go on double dates with him and his girl of the week. I try to drop subtle hints about my sexuality, but he doesn't catch on. I keep staring at the huge bulge in his pants and he just thinks that I'm sad all the time because he notices that my eyes are always looking down. What a sweetie. What a naive, big bulgy pants sweetie.

I don't know how people can think that I'm straight. I just assumed that I had the gay aura constantly surrounding me. You know, the "I give great head, just ask your dad" aura? Ryan Carnes has that aura. So does Tobey Maguire. I think I should tell Benny the next time I see him. Or maybe I should shake his cock instead of his hand when we're changing in the locker room. That'll definitely clear up any confusion... and maybe I can score a conversion. I'm a great converter. All I need is a blindfold, a bottle of tequila, and five minutes.

Who doesn't want to wear the ribbon?

I got my packet in the mail today for the AIDS run this Saturday. I am number 550 and I am going to run the shit out of that 5 kilometers. I was completely unprepared last time and I’m a little ashamed of it. Somewhere in my drug-marinated brain, I got the idea that the run was only two miles. Boy was I wrong! After forty five agonizing minutes, I staggered across the finish line and collapsed to the floor wanting more drugs to ease the pain.

This year I’m off the smack, I’m twenty pounds heavier, and I’ve got an ass that’ll make the spectators do a double take. I wish my family could be here to cheer me on. This run will definitely be a milestone in my life after drugs. Drugs are bad. And to all the Seinfeld fans out there, I will wear the ribbon.

Mr. Sandman, bring me a stake!

Last night I had a dream about being a vampire hunter. It definitely goes with the whole television show dream motif I've been experiencing in my dreams lately. The night before last, I dreamed that I was a secret agent and that I was helping Sydney Bristow climb a rope.

Anyway, I was at an outdoor funeral and I was waiting for the corpse to spring into motion so I could do away with it. The weather was nice and it suddenly began to rain. Then everyone pulled out an umbrella because they're so prepared at a funeral. I kept watching and waiting and then I saw another funeral in the distance and everyone was running away from the corpse that just turned into a vampire. I realized that I was at the wrong fuckin funeral! I raced over to the other side of the cemetary and I was looking for a piece of wood so I could stake the vampire. I tried to break a piece off of a plank that was laying on the ground, but I kept getting blunt pieces. Finally, I just gave up and ran. I was like... fuck this.

Now I'm eager to have my dream tonight because I have a feeling that I'll be on the bridge of a starship. Sci-fi is the third genre in the sequence... I had a prime time drama dream, a fantasy dream, and now I have to have a sci-fi dream. I hope Patrick Stewart is in it. Mmmm I don't care what anyone says about him. I think he's a cutie.

Video Gayme

I've been playing Final Fantasy XI and I'm having a fantastic time. One thing that I didn't count on was having a gay character. Here is a screen shot of my guy.





Now I didn't plan on him looking like he just walked out of a West Hollywood leather bar. That's just a bonus of playing the game, I guess. But get a load of this dude. He's a level 10 monk with brass knuckles as weapons and a leather speedo and harness as armor. I love the hat, too. It's like a hybrid beret/chef hat. Meow! His name is Dixoncox. Look for him online!

The Feminine Mystique

I've noticed that I do pretty damn well when it comes to flirting with women. I'm not trying to brag or anything, but I have this tendency to make women crazy. Maybe it's because I'm so googly goggley milky orby sucky titty yum yum cockle tidy snuggle bosoms drop drawers gorgeous. Ha ha. No. I think it's because they're jealous of my finely manicured nails.

I'm a big hit with the older women. I remember dancing at a club in Houston and I was almost kidnapped by a pair of River Oaks biddies with their Chanel suits and Louis Vuitton oversized purses on the dance floor. River Oaks is a wealthy area of Houston that's kind of like Wisteria Lane but with bigger driveways and cuter gardeners. The two women cornered me and pulled me off to the side to buy me drinks and I felt a little uncomfortable because one of them looked scary. I think they wanted to have sex with me because they kept licking their lips and touching my nipples. Eeew. Fortunately, one of my dick dancer friends rescued me and brought my drunk ass home.

Women are such an enigma to me. There's just so much about them that I don't understand. I've always wondered about the half-squat. I've heard women talk about it but I have yet to see it. It's when the toilet seat is too dirty so they have to squat without touching the seat to take a whazz. That is awesome. I didn't know they had so much control of it that they can aim. I also wonder what it feels like to be titty fucked. My chest isn't big enough to do that and I don't think it'll ever be. I just wonder sometimes.

Nano... nah! or Crapples

Aplle introduced the iPod Nano recently. It's a thinner, more compact version of the clunky and easily breakable iPod. I personally don't like iPods because I believe that they're programmed to break as soon as the warranty runs out. They fuckin break if you look at them the wrong way. They're more tempermental than my ex boyfriend after coming down off of crystal meth. But I digress... As if there weren't a million iProducts out there, Apple also introduced a cell phone that plays mp3s. PASS! My sprint phone already has mp3 and video capabilities. It has a removable media card for easy storage and I love it to death.

I'm so anti-apple and that's not an exaggeration. I don't drink apple juice, I detest apple pie, I think Gwyneth Paltrow's daughter's name is ridiculous, and I don't like Fiona Apple. I think it came from a childhood experience where I was at home with a terrible fever and I was watching an episode of GI Joe. There was this scientific experimentish blob thing that was ravaging the city and the Joes directed it to an apple orchard to kill it because apple seeds contain a small amount of poison. I remember the blob and the apples and my high high fever... and I will never forget!

I think the mac is alien technology. It's too good to be of this earth. And have you ever been inside the Apple store? It's decked out like an alien spaceship with a lot of acrylic and white and stainless steel. I keep looking over my shoulder for fear of an anal probe. Well not so much of a fear... ha ha. Ahem. Anyhoo, Apple is evil and they're taking over the world. I think the iPods play a crucial role in the plan to enslave mankind. Yeah don't roll your eyes at me. One day you'll be looking for me to help you when the aliens are chasing you with a phallic object wanting to run "tests."

Gay Marriage Bill Passed in Kullifornia

California legislature just passed a bill yesterday to legalize gay marriage. Let's hope the Governator doesn't blast it out of the water. So take a moment today to celebrate this small victory for homos everywhere. Raise your martini glasses high as we toast to a new statistic of the inevitable gay divorce!

"We need to recognize that a government that would deny a gay man the right to bridal registry is a facist state!" - Margaret Cho

Luscious Lads in Lycra

I'm really hating the fact that the public transport is getting more crowded these days. I take the train every morning at 9:30 and I used to be able to sit in a seat. Now I have to stand really close to other people who don't use deodorant and I don't think my nose can handle much more of it. When I become the supreme ruler of the world, I will convert every train station into an obstacle course like the Eliminator on American Gladiators. I think that will weed out a good 80% of the flotsam that clog my morning commute. I'll also be able to get a good workout before work.

I'm so disappointed at the fact that American Gladiators hasn't made a comeback. That show was fuckin awesome. I loved watching the muscle-bound men in their patriotic spandex roughing each other up and flexing those bulging biceps. Mmmm. My favorite event was Atlasphere, where the competitors maneuvered giant metal cages that looked like balls. Ha ha... balls.

People don't realize that a lot of conflicts can be solved by dressing up in red white and blue unitards and running an obstacle course with steroid-infused hunks waiting to pound you at the end of it. No one ever gave it a chance, and that's why a lot of problems go unsolved.

But I've got a great... personality

I just took an online self-esteem test and I was shocked at the results. After answering forty questions, here's what I got:

You seem to be struggling to make the most of the REAL YOU

According to our scientific analysis you are currently tapping into 34% of your self-esteem potential.

The REAL ME? That's funny, I thought I was already the real me. It's almost as if they're implying that I'm the evil clone who couldn't live up to the full potential of the original. It's so science-fictiony. But I thought about it more, and the results definitely struck a chord. As a young gay asian/hispanic catholic male who comes from a military family, I still find it hard to have a lot of self-esteem. Perhaps the media is to blame with all of its adverts that feature young and skinny boys with pouty faces. Maybe it's because I never bought into all the fads like the flipped-up collar, the faux-hawk, or the huge goggle sunglasses that all the gay boys wear. Still, 34% seems pretty low... considering how far I've come since high school.

In my defense, I do my best to tread the fine line between humility and conceit. The world is full of posers and heartless phonies, and I just think that it's more attractive to have substance. But 34 percent? I'm just bothered by that. I'm so bothered that I just realized that this post is going absolutely nowhere.

No Sleeves, No Service!

There's a new bowling alley that opened up in River East, on the same floor as the AMC box office. It's called Lucky Strike and they seem to have a strict dress code, because I wasn't permitted to enter in my sleeveless shirt. I wasn't wearing a dirty old wife beater, I was wearing a nice black DKNY fitted sleeveless shirt. Fortunately, I was able to use my AMC connections to get in (thanks, Laurel!). Then I saw what everyone else was wearing and I was instantly appalled. There were girls wearing shirts that were too small to contain their bulging bellies and guys wearing black socks with sandals. What is wrong with this picture?!?!

Having a dress code at a bowling alley is like having small talk at an orgy. It's just not done.

Sans Celebrity... or What's in a Name?

As I lay in bed watching the news reports of the chaos and destruction in Louisiana and Misssissippi, I wondered why there haven't been any major celebrities in the headlines with opinions or donations or any kind of fundraising campaign. When the tsunami hit, there were celebrities up the yin yang going on the air and urging people to help out. Around this time in '97, celebs couldn't wait to express their outrage over the Princess Diana incident. Where are the celebrities now when an entire American city has plunged into utter pandemonium? Only one celebrity (and I think he'd much rather be referred to as an actor) did anything to help and that was Morgan Freeman. Alrighty for him raising money with an online auction. He's smart enough to know that most Americans are too fat and lazy to get up out of their chairs, so he cleverly constructed the fundraising auction and all the proceeds went to the American Red Cross.

But other celebs were less than generous with their help to the relief effort. Britney Spears, aren't you from Louisiana? Donate some of that money you were putting into that joke of a reality show to the real Chaotic that is going on right now. She's about to have a kid, so I'll ease up on her.

The naming of the Spears child made me scratch my head the same way I scratched it when Gwenyth Paltrow and Chris Martin named their child Apple. There's serious fruit like Plum and Peach, then there's silly fruit. Apple is a silly fruit, and so is Mango. But back to Britney... London? London Preston Spears. Apparently, it's the city where she met Kevin Unemployed. I mean Kevin Federline. It's also the city where Madonna lives. Coincidence? Hmmm... If I had a boy, I'd name him Remington Steele Magallano. And if I had a girl, she'd be called Veronica Mars Magallano. Hey, people name their children after fruit and cities and you're rolling your eyes at me for naming my kids after my favorite television shows?

The Associated Racist Press

I was looking at pictures from the Associated Press and I was shocked by the captions that were posted with some of them. In one picture, there are two white people wading through the water with supplies and the caption read:

"Two residents wade through chest-deep water after finding bread and soda from a local grocery store after Hurricane Katrina came through the area in New Orleans, Louisiana."

In another picture, a black man was wading through water with some supplies:

"A young man walks through chest-deep flood water after looting a grocery store in New Orleans."

What the fuck? I wonder what they'd write about the asian woman. It would probably go something like this:

"An oriental woman masterfully navigates through flood waters with food to take back to her dry cleaning business, thanks to years of working in the rice paddies."