Wide-eyed, leather-clad, here's to all the fun I had!

As I was unpacking my things four years ago, my roommate pulled out his poster of a man dressed in leather with a riding crop in one hand and a leather pride flag in the other. He was International Mister Leather (IML) 2000, Mike Taylor. I was so fascinated by the idea of different countries of men brought together by leather. At 22, I thought I knew everything about my sexuality. Boy, was I wrong!

I had my first IML experience last year while volunteering for the Center on Halsted. Our booth was right next to the booth selling S&M Christmas ornaments. This was great because it would be just the thing to send to my bible thumping mother back home. I made a note to buy one before the day ended. A bunch of us went exploring the expo, browsing the wares that catered to every fetish known to man. I tried the vacuum bed. It's a device similar to a giant ziploc bag with a breathing tube for the mouth. The air is sucked out and you're left encased between two layers of silicone sheeting while people come up and touch your naughty parts. It was one of the most intriguing experiences of my life.

That year I also got in good with a group of Polish and German uniform fetish men. A lot of them were dressed in police uniforms, so I went to Dunkin Donuts to get them some goodies. They were so grateful that they let me sit with them and play with their night sticks. I even got to wear a uniform for an hour.

I made out like a bandit this year, scoring free stuff left and right. I tried a variation on an experiment where a man wrote 100 letters to 100 companies, telling them how much he enjoyed their product so he could see what kind of free stuff they'd send him. I was telling the vendors about how great this product was and how great that lube worked during marathon sex sessions. A lot of them were so impressed by my knowledge of the obscure details about certain fetishes that they hooked me up with some great stuff. My big prize this year was a vibrating dildo.

It was then that I realized that my party boy days in Houston were just a glint compared to the world I was seeing now. I thought I'd seen it all on the dance floors and the bars, but that is just a small facet of my sexuality. It's kind of a humbling experience, knowing that there's so much more out there to learn about when it comes to the different lifestyles and sexual preferences in the world. I invited my mother to come to next year's IML market. We'll see just how strong that heart of hers is.

The Migrating Fag, four years later

This weekend marks the four year anniversary of my trek from Texas to Illinois. A lot of people ask me what brought me here, and I honestly don't know the exact answer to that question. I was extremely comfortable there with a great job, a lot of quality friends, a long bed truck, and a bartender fuck buddy in every gay bar. I guess I'm the type of person who never stays in one place for a long time. Another reason for my need to see new places was because I was having coffee with a group of friends (about eight or nine of them) and I realized that I had sex with everyone sitting at the table. When you've seen that many penises, it's time to jet.

I packed everything into a U-Haul trailer and was sad to know that every one of my possessions fit into that little thing. I drove north with the theme from "Perfect Strangers" playing in my head, and I felt like an adult for the first time in my life. There'd be no family to help me, no comfortable job, no spacious apartment, and no safety net of any kind in Chicago. I'd also have to find all new friends.

Independence would have to wait just a bit longer. I didn't make it out of Texas on my own. Once I hit Texarkana, the transmission on my truck gave out and I was stranded. I called my sister and she couldn't do anything to help me, so I decided to stay in a motel for the night. Then there was a knock at my door at 4 A.M.. It was my mother and stepfather, who had come to hitch my trailer and my pathetic ass the rest of the way to Illinois. My sister called her and explained the situation and my mama came rushing in to save me. This was odd because I'd completely written them out of my life for saying such harsh things to me about being gay and moving away so quickly.

The thing that I learned from that experience was that no matter how much planning and preparing you do, things will seldom go the way you think they'll go. I thought I had all the answers. I looked at everything with a scientific point of view. Here are the controls, there are the variables, and these are the possible outcomes. I never accounted for the unpredictability of nature and the love of a crazy religious mother.

Father Forgive Me For I Have Sinned

It's been twelve years since my last confession. I was raised Catholic and my grandmother would always tell me that I've got a bit of Satan in me and that I needed to pray constantly. I'd have to go to confession every Sunday to cleanse my soul, telling the priest every dirty sin I was able to achieve since the last confession. For the record, you can absolve homosexual thoughts about your soccer-playing chemistry partner with twenty Our Fathers and twenty Hail Marys.

I haven't had a lot of contact with the church since I came out of the closet because I just thought that God knew you loved him no matter where you were.

Today while walking back from lunch, I saw a group of clergymen leaving a restaurant and I swear I was about to fall on my knees in front of them... not to pray, of course. It was like someone took models from a J. Crew catalog and slapped some clerical collars on them. My mind immediately flashed to the love scene from The Thornbirds, but then progressed to me and all the young priests together doing a scene from The Other Side of Aspen 4. Oh yeah.

If this is the Vatican's new campaign to win people back into their flock, then it's fuckin working for me. I almost wanted to go up to one of them to ask some phony theological question or to appear as a spiritually lost young man who just saw the DaVinci Code and whose faith is now shaken and can only be brought back to the light by several intense one on one sessions in private quarters. Ok how many rosaries is it going to take to cancel out THAT impure thought?

Plain Talk and Common Sense

I was having lunch with my boss today and the conversation somehow was steered into the direction of foreign affairs, which is weird because I could have sworn that we were talking about Anderson Cooper. He's an interior designer and he was sitting there blabbing about how China has nuclear capabilities and that the only way for America to win the upcoming war, we'd have to establish diplomatic relations with the countries that surround China. He went on to say that there was a big plan for China to shoot down two American satellites to disable all of America's technological capabilities. The sad thing is that he really believed everything he was telling me.

I don't claim to know a lot about the world, but at least I don't go around thinking that I'm some sort of political analyst that knows all the answers just because I saw five minutes of CNN. I stick to things that I know, like episodes of Three's Company or the difference between a weave and an extension. I'd feel more comfortable talking with people if they just said whatever was on their mind, instead of thinking that they have to talk big and about what they think are important issues in the world. Ultimately, how is it going to affect my mood as I eat a burrito?

To balance the discussion, I decided to have a little fun and I introduced the idea that all of this information could be someone's way of manipulating things to turn out the way they want. I stroked the conspiracy theory like a teacher's aid earning extra credit. It wasn't all a bunch of hullabaloo, because I do like to think about situations from all angles. I often wonder if we're all just some alien kid's science experiment and we're sitting on an intergalactic classroom shelf somewhere being observed by enormous beings.

Quick Thought

I used to get on peoples' cases for not having open minds about dating. I used to scoff at people who wouldn't date someone for some stupid reason like they're too short or they're too hairy. One day I met a great guy who made me feel all giddy and I had flashes to what our wedding would be like and how many dogs we'd have. Then he told me what his name was and all of the dream clouds disappeared in a big poof. He had the same name as my stupid brother, who I can't stand.

I don't think I can ever date anyone with the same name as a member of my family. I just find it weird to be in the throes of passion with my legs in the air, screaming my brother's name or my grandfather's name. Isn't that just gross? I know it's not the same thing as incest, but it's pretty damn close in my neurotic world.

All About the Bear... or Under Cub Bear Blues... or Dry Bear's Ed

As I was coming into work this morning, I saw that someone had thrown away a stuffed dog and it was on the floor in front of the dumpsters. It was old and worn out, and I'm sure it provided many years of comfort to someone. I laughed a little because I thought of the Simpsons episode with Mister Burns and his Bobo, then Smithers in his Bobo costume. I had a stuffed bear when I was a kid.

I was six years old and I got him for Christmas. I named him Courtney, after a boy in my class with whom I had a fond relationship. Courtney Bear went everywhere with me and he was my best friend. He smelled like soy sauce because he was on the kitchen counter when I accidentally spilled a bottle of soy sauce when I was in the cabinets trying to get cookies. You can imagine how I get a little misty-eyed whenever I'm in a sushi restaurant.

When I was ten years old, I started making fun clothes for Courtney and that's when my mother got alarmed. She thought it was cute at first, but she freaked when we had matching outfits. One day I woke up and Courtney was gone. I searched frantically, but I never found him. Later when I was in high school, my mother confessed to throwing him away because she thought he was making me weird. She also complained that he had a bad smell, but that was only the soy sauce. I wouldn't let her launder him because I was afraid he'd drown. I never really forgave my mother for throwing away one of my best friends.

Anyone who has owned a stuffed animal understands the connection and the importance. Psychologists call it a 'transitional object,' but I hate it when they do that. When you think about it, a cherished stuffed animal is something that you love and it won't ever talk back to you or tell you anything that you don't want to hear (partly because it can't talk at all). And isn't it cute to go to a guy's place and to see his favorite stuffed toy on his bed or on his night stand? Yeah it can be creepy if he clings to it, but it looks cute from far away. It's also a great way to get the guy to do whatever you want. "You're gonna cuddle with me or the bear gets it!" ::letter opener positioned over the poor bear::

Balls bounce, cookies crumble

Every time I see prices skyrocket, a part of me becomes disconnected with the world. I've seen the price of gas rise ever higher, and I died a little when I saw that an eight ounce bottle of lube was priced at $34.99. Nothing could prepare me for the most appalling price increase in history, the increase in the cost of a box of Girl Scout cookies.

I'm an old school cookie fiend, calling them by their original names like Tagalongs and Samoas. I realized last month that time was running out before I could get my hands on boxes of Girl Scout goodness, so I called the handy dandy cookie hotline and spoke to a perky woman about the whens and wheres. She told me that the troupes in my area are selling them for $4 and I just about flipped. I paid $3 for a box last year and she told me that each region has room to play with their prices based on blah blah blah. I don't know exactly why the price varies because I tuned her out after learning about how much I'd have to pay.

I can't shake the feeling that there's someone out there who doesn't want me to drive, masturbate, or gain weight.

Nemesis

There's a Filipino boy in Chicago who looks almost exactly like me. We've got the same skin tone, we're the same height, we've both got humongous Asian ghetto booties, and we've got deep voices. I met him at a party last year and I don't remember what his name is, which is fine because he's a complete asshole and knowing his name would only take up more memory space in my brain that I could be using for more important things like remembering the words to a Dolly Parton song. For the sake of clarity in this blog entry, I'll call him Mitchie.

I went to the party with the intention of finally snagging a guy I've been after for quite some time. The guy was there, being all charming and witty just like he is in every one of the fantasies I have of us together in the Markham Islands with our many slave boys who tend our pineapple crops. Just when I was about to talk to my guy, in walks Mitchie with his flipped up collar and his cell phone permanently attached to his ear. Mitchie comes over and talks to my guy, and eventually makes his way over to where I am. I'm discussing Kylie Minogue's recent announcement of breast cancer and how she's in for a tough fight with all of the stuff she has to deal with. My mama is a breast cancer survivor, so I know what happens.

When I make it known that my thoughts are with Miss Kylie during such a rough time in her life, Mitchie immediately balks at my comment and says that she's a tired old cow who's milking it for publicity. I was in shock because I don't see how anyone can be so evil. For the record, she announced it because she was in the middle of touring! Mitchie went on to say that the party was stupid and that he was already bored. I guess people are heavily into jerks because my guy was totally enamored by Mitchie's badboy attitude. I never thought I'd see Mitchie again... until this afternoon.

I was out getting lunch and I saw him on the corner. Mitchie had the same shaved head, the same flipped collar, the same bloody cell phone attached to his ear, and was also sporting a nice pair of sunglasses during one of Chicago's cloudiest and dreariest days. He probably wanted to hide his premature crow's feet. Then I saw a guy walk past him and he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Mitchie wasn't paying attention because he was too busy cursing and complaining about something to someone on his phone.

I still don't understand why people are so into assholes who will more than likely end up treating them like shit in the long run. You see it all the time on talk shows and made for TV movies. Wouldn't you want someone who doesn't think that everything in the world is boring and stupid? Imagine trying to buy something for Mitchie's birthday. Meh, I don't even want to think about Mitchie. Of course I'm jealous! I'd love to be a bitch and get away with it, but I'm just not that lucky. People tell me that if guys go for an asshole like him, then they're not worth my time anyway. Fuck that shit, I'm more worried about looking like a saint when I'm next to someone who acts like an asshole - and I'm not a saint. Just last week, I didn't hold the door open for a woman who was coming up behind me. Ha!

The Boogie Man

Some people think that they've achieved fame when their name is headlining a show or movie. Others think that it happens when they walk into a restaurant and they're able to get a table without having made reservations. I believe that you haven't truly "arrived" until your name is used to strike fear into the hearts of young children.

Picture my defiant two year old niece pouting and huffing because she doesn't want to finish her dinner. My sister, a mother of three, has many methods of persuasion and she quickly goes for the scare tactics by saying:

If you don't eat your food, Uncle Chard is going to come over and get you!

Now imagine my niece wolfing down every last bit of food on her plate in record time. When I heard this story, I was filled with an emotion that was sort of a mixture of shock and glee. It was a little hard to describe because I didn't know if I should be angry or pleased that I'm the new boogie Man. I wasn't a terrible uncle when they were in my charge a month ago. My sister and I just have two very different ways of dealing with kids' bullshit like when they don't want to wear the hair clips I selected. Guess which one of us doesn't tolerate it.

The old boogie Man tactic never really worked on me. I was a little more clever than other children, and everyone knew it. I once debunked the Santa Claus myth in our family by comparing handwriting samples from my mother and "Santa." No one ever tried to scare me, but I certainly had my share of fears as a kid. The one thing that kept me up all night wasn't scary movies or ghost stories. It was something that was very common on television and in public places such as the supermarket or the post office. I was afraid of composite sketches.

We'd always watch Unsolved Mysteries and I would duck out whenever the segment was titled "Wanted." Oh God, when I saw those words flash and heard the scary Unsolved Mysteries music playing, I would run away and hide in my room because I always knew that they'd show a scary composite drawing of a criminal at the end of the segment. As the seasons progressed, they'd even show computer aging techniques to show how the perp would look in the present time. UH! SCARY!

My sisters caught on to it and decided to torment me by forcing me to watch episodes of UM that they recorded. They'd pause the part where they show the sketch and I'd freak out. Sometimes they'd take wanted posters and slip them through the bathroom door while I was on the toilet. How scary is that? Toilet time is a very vulnerable time in a person's day.

I still get a little nervous when I see a sketch or a computer aged picture of a criminal. I can just imagine being in my room as a kid and thinking of the scary picture... then seeing the actual person in my window looking at me exactly like he looked in the picture. I'm a little less sensitive to it now because I'm older, but the fear isn't completely gone. Fear is an essential part of our lives because it warns us of danger and makes us aware of how we fit into the world. Everyone is afraid of something, so it's completely normal. The fun part is knowing what people are afraid of and exploiting it! Mua ha ha ha ha!

TV rots your brain! Turn the volume up!

A lot of people make fun of me because I watch soap operas and many other television shows, saying that I get too caught up in the drama and that I take the shows too seriously. Nothing can be further from the truth!

Last night a bunch of us had an American Idol/Veronica Mars viewing party because we love to sing and solve mysteries and no one in the group ever has a man. For those of you living under a rock, Veronica Mars is a senior in high school whose father is a private detective. Madcap hilarity ensues as she helps him solve cases while trying to maintain a perfect grade point average. It's not that silly, really. I enjoy watching it because of all the cute boys and the Nancy Drewish element. All through the show, I kept hearing comments like "Oh I am SO sure!" whenever anything happened that required a little bit of faith on the viewer's part. This particular outburst came after Veronica sent a text message to Logan using one hand and without looking at her keypad. Hey, it can be done!

The same people who criticized me for being all up in the tv shows are the same people who are trying to analyze a weekly one hour drama about a skinny little high school kid with high tech gadgets who solves murder mysteries. They even go on the message boards and look at the spoilers for the shows in advance. When Veronica found out who the killer was, we all let out a gasp. Little did I know that my gasp was the only genuine one in the whole group because everyone had peeked online to see who caused the bus crash in the beginning of the season.

Television should just be a way for us to relax and get away from the stupid shit we have to see in our daily lives. I admit, there have been some crazy things on tv that have made me roll my eyes. I'm talking about the demon posession storyline on Days of Our Lives. When you go picking apart at something for so long, it tends to fall apart and become unusable. It's like going to Disneyland and reading all of the technical schematics for the haunted mansion ride while you're riding it. Where's the fun in that?

If you think American Idol/Veronica Mars night was bad, think of how much worse American Idol results/Alias night will be. Oy!

Tech Bits

I had a discussion with my friend this morning about Batman and he said that Batman shouldn't be classified as a superhero because he would be nothing without his toys. I argued that Batman was first trained as a detective and his intelligence far exceeds any superhero in my opinion. I think that Batman is no sissy when it comes to being low-tech. He's got that Macgyver instinct about him where he can use his environment to his advantage and get out of any situation just by using his noodle.

The idea of him not being able to cut it in the field without his gadgets kind of bothered me though. I think that America has gotten really techno-heavy in the past ten years. I do get the feeling that we've become so dependent on technology and there may be a time when we have to be without our precious iPods or cell phones. Imagine being a passenger on Oceanic Air flight 815. That's an allusion to "Lost" for all you non-couch potatoes. So you're stranded on an island with no computer, television, or cellular phone and you're bored out of your wits. What do you? For a person who lives and breathes technology, every moment is agony. That's why I think that we need to wean ourselves from the teat of electronic devices.

What's the first thing you do when you get home? I open up the refrigerator to grab a cold drink, turn the air conditioner on, turn on the television, and plop down on my bed to relax until I get the urge to watch some porn on my computer. Now imagine how you'd handle your evening if James Bond wasn't able to stop the Janos crime syndicate from releasing an electromagnetic pulse on our city. You'd have to drink warm beer, fan yourself with a magazine, and light candles as you attempt to write a letter that you'd have to send via snail mail.

In writing that last part, I just became completely distressed. Forget all that talk about weaning ourselves from technology. I can't imagine life without it and I kind of don't care that one day all the technology will turn against us and enslave anything with a heartbeat. Frankly, it's a small price to pay for having the opportunity to look at nudie pictures on the internet while watching all the shows you tivoed while you were at work. Here's to electricity!

O Happy Day

I get a lot of compliments from people whenever I walk down the street with a big smile on my face. Some people think it's because I'm on some sort of super antidepressant. Others think that I'm in love. Both assumptions could not be further from the truth. I honestly think that the world is a much better place when people walk past you with a smile. It's better than having some crabby mother fucker ruining your groove with a sourpuss on their ugly mug.

Wouldn't you feel better knowing that other people are in a good mood? My mind would be much more at ease thinking that people either just had sex or are thinking of a funny joke they saw on Conan O'Brien (who is currently taping shows at the Chicago Theater this week). It makes my world ever more liveable. Is liveable a word? Well it is now.

I sometimes get the giggles when I see some hideous fashions out on the street. Yesterday I saw a man wearing a blouse. It was a blouse. It was such a blouse and it didn't look right on him. I couldn't help but stare, and I had to supress an enormous laugh or else I'd look like a crazy person. I thought about really depressing thoughts like the one Christmas Day when I discovered that my rabbit died. It helped to keep me from laughing, but then I imagined that it was wrapped in the blouse as I was burying it, so I let out a laugh. Luckily, the blouse man was past me and he didn't see me mock him.

People ask me why I'm so happy and I tell them that I'm not really THAT happy. I just prefer to focus on fun and exciting things rather than dwell on the bad things. I have to be careful though, because my smiling tends to attract a lot of unwanted sexual advances from the wrong people. And by 'wrong people,' I mean people with that nasty "I want to pound your boy pussy" look in their eye. UGH! You know who I'm talking about! If I ever get in those situations and they ask me why I'm so happy, I'll just tell them that I'm on a Paxil/Prozac/Sunlight therapy regimen.

Your feet's too big

We all have parts of our bodies that we don’t like. Every time you pass by a reflective surface, your eyes dart to that one problem area of your body that you wish was different. Some guys suck in their potbelly. Some women arch their back to make their tits pop out further. I obsess over my enormous feet.

The distance from the edge of my heel to the tip of my second toe is 10.5 inches. Shoe sizes vary from brand to brand, so it’s hard to say what size shoe I wear. I’ve worn shoes as big as 11 and small as 8. That’s not so bad for someone at least six feet tall, but I’m 5’8” tall. That’s weird. What’s weirder is that I have to measure to my second toe because it’s longer than my big toe. I feel like a circus freak sometimes and I can’t look at them.

My feet are also very wide and it looks extremely freakish. Imagine Kevin Kostner’s feet in Waterworld. Then imagine his flipper feet in a pair of flip flops. I bought a pair of flip flops last week and after I found the one pair that actually fit the length of my foot, I was so excited that I wore them home to break them in. I was distressed to find out that the sides of my feet poured out over the edges of the flip flops so it looked like they were too small for my humongous flipper feet. So now whenever I wear them, I have to crunch the sides of my feet in so they’ll fit inside the width of the flip flop. How sad am I?

The constant crunching has lead to various pains and it only added on to the list of injuries I’ve had because of my stupid feet. One particular problem that I’ve had for years is my fallen arches. Yes, I have flat feet and it only enhances the ‘flipper’ façade I’ve got going on. Sometimes when I run, every step feels like I’m walking on poisoned needles.

In situations like these, one can only make the best of what one is given. I take really good care of my feet, even though they’re huge. I moisturize and groom so they look and feel great. I don’t feel ashamed in my yoga class because I have nice looking feet. The wideness of my feet also helps me to balance when I do certain poses. Perhaps it’s some de-evolution. I must be descended from tree monkeys that could open coconuts using their feet.

There’s not a lot I can do when I pass a reflective surface and see my feet. It’s not like I can hide them. The best I can do is make fun jokes about the myth of people with big feet and I get a few laughs out of that. Sometimes I’m lucky enough to get a few offers from people who try to disprove the myth. See? Everyone wins when someone with bozo feet is around.

Leveling the playing field... or looking good on it, at least

One thing that really annoys me is when people who are really good at something do something that they're really good at in an environment where they're surrounded by people who are nowhere near their level. It happens all the time and I think that people do it to make themselves feel better at the expense of others. I consider myself a jack of all trades and a master of none. It keeps life interesting! I just hate having a shaky sense of self worth because it can all come crashing in on me at any time. There is hope for people like me. Being able to recognize the fact that these people are socially inept is the first step in keeping your self esteem. You just have to be scientific about it by watching and observing.

Have you ever been to a karaoke bar where everyone is having fun because they're drunk and they can't sing? It's all fun and everyone is having a good time until a prissy little queen with nine years of professional voice lessons under his Dolce & Gabbana belt comes in and sings a Mariah Carey song perfectly and makes everyone feel like untalented shit because he didn't make it to the American Idol competition. The only way to steal his thunder is to be witty.

I was in a similar situation when I lived in Houston. After the prissy queen sang Mariah Carey's "Hero," it was my turn. I chose Madonna's "Like a Virgin," and made a little announcement before it started. I told the audience that anyone who thinks that I'm not a virgin needs to buy me a shot and I'll drink it during the song. I assured everyone that I was as pure as mountain spring water from the French Alps. That made everyone even more eager to get me all liquored up. I'm singing the song and downing shots of Jagermeister and I successfully finish the song while standing. The crowd loved it and the karaoke host was in stitches. I dedicated the song to the prissy queen and he rolled his eyes at me.

People get caught up in the initial shock of being compared to people who seem to be really good at something. It's something I've had a problem with for a really long time, but I've learned that I've got my own thing going on and I'm proud of it. Being able to recognize your strong suits and exploiting it to combat silly gay boys at karaoke bars is what makes life worth living. Hmph. Who wears Dolce & Gabbana to a karaoke bar, anyway? What a loser.

Just My Type

Have you ever gotten a really long e-mail from someone and gotten that feeling deep down inside of you that took you back to taking the verbal portion of the SAT? I really love getting e-mail, but when I see one long paragraph, I immediately lose all interest. I got one recently and it took me five minutes to read it because my eyes weren't up to the challenge. My friend is just very wordy and she just needs a little e-mail intervention. I don't think she even knows about the spellcheck function.

If people are going to write lengthy "e's," I think they should take a little time to organize them like a college term paper. I need to have a thesis statement and five paragraphs, all organized with an attached works cited list. Ok that's a little extreme and I would never ask anyone to do that, but how can people subject others to that type of torture? E-mail is supposed to be short and succinct. I have enough trouble remembering the names of my gentlemen callers. How can she expect me to remember what she wrote in the e-mail?

I recently spent some time with my little nieces and I learned that if you want someone to stay interested in something, you have to find a way to keep their focus. My friend knows that I like puzzles and other things along that line, so I will suggest that she put all her e-mails in rebus form. A rebus is a thingie where words are replaced by pictures. If you've ever seen that old gameshow "Concentration" or "Classic Concentration," then you'd know what I'm talking about.

Quick sidebar: I loved that show! It was Alex Trebek's time to shine as a witty and sarcastic middle aged man. He's no Peter Tomarkin, but oh yeah. Mmmhmm!

We've been getting lazy since e-mail became the preferred method of communication across the country. My poor eyes can't take much more of the long paragraphs or mistypes. I shudder when I imagine reading those e-mails from high school kids where every other letter is capitalized so it looks something like this:

ThE qUiCk BrOwN fOx JuMpS oVeR tHe LaZy DoG.