Operation: There's Two in Every Family

I left one of my DVDs at my sister's place when I visited this past December. It was disc 3 of the first season of She-Ra Princess of Power. For all of the non-latchkey kids of the 1980s, She-Ra was He-Man's twin sister. She was a tall, leggy blond and she kicked major animated ass while managing not to pop out of her sculpted bodice. She-Ra is considered a gay icon, right up there with Wonder Woman and Xena.

Last week I got a call from my sister, telling me that I left the disc there and that my three year old nephew can't stop watching it. He runs around the house with a cape and a sword, proclaiming "I'M SHE-RA!" and she now blames me for the gay-ification of her son.

The debate over whether or not we're born gay is still around. I like to think that everyone is born with a little homosexuality seed inside them and that certain factors help it to grow into a wonderful tree. Learning hard life lessons, loving friends and family, confidence, and respect for the world can make your homo seed grow into one of those giant willow trees you see at botanical gardens in Vancouver. Conversely, you can end up with one of those Charlie Brown Christmas trees if you neglect your homo seed or feed it with repression and self-loathing. Nobody wants that!

I've decided to help my nephew's homo seed grow by incorporating my secret tactics. "Operation: There's Two in Every Family" was inspired by an episode of Alias, where children are tested and conditioned to become spies when they grow up. The next step is to teach him to put together his own outfits and to always make sure that his shoes are neat and clean.

Once he gets older, I'll have him memorize the Grease! soundtrack and we'll get him enrolled in some voice and movement classes. I also made flash cards with pictures of runway models and his job is to identify which outfit belongs to which designer.

As much as I would love to have two gay boys in the family, I wouldn't be upset if all my conditioning had no effect on my nephew. I guess I was just projecting my own feelings there. I never had a mentor when I was growing up, and it's going to be tough as hell for him if there isn't anyone to look out for him. And I just felt my heart beat with emotion after I typed that sappy bit, so that means I have to stop and practice my emotion suppression.

Sex Toy Story

While shopping for an appropriate gift to commemorate my friend recent taking of the oath of American citizenship, I decided to hit the sex shops. Why, you ask? Well I think that a bottom without a dildo is like a day without sunshine. It's the 'must have' sex toy for any gay man, and now that he's an American citizen, he's officially fucked. HA HA HA! How's that for appropriate?

Then I went to Tulip, a lovely adult toy store that sells quality, non-porous, hypo-allergenic products, and I saw a product called the iBuzz. It's a bullet vibrator that works with your mp3 player to produce marvelous sensations that go with the beat of the music you've got playing. It's a little bulky and not very pretty to look at, but it's a great way to spice up your morning sessions at the gym. Just make sure that no one is looking when you take it off... or out. Yikes!

Amazon.com has the one that I saw at Tulip, but there's a site from the UK that has the second generation iBuzz. This baby has TWO bullets and is meant for couples, but selfish queens like me enjoy having double the pleasure. It's a little more pricey than the original, but I think that it's a must have for any iPod enthusiast who also enjoys sex toys.



A lot of people think that people who purchase dildos, vibrators, and other sex toys are weird and kinky (in a negative way). These are the same people who have sex in the missionary position, or prudes like my ex-boyfriend whose name rhymes with "schmuck." They don't realize that it's a great way to explore undiscovered regions of your body and your sexuality in general. It's a fun way to achieve sexual pleasure without the unpleasantness of having a boyfriend who wants to cuddle or talk about feelings afterward.

I'm with stupid

After much consideration, I've decided to attempt to revive our defunct book club. Last year, a bunch of gay men from different generations, with different backgrounds, and different opinions decided to get together to read books and discuss books over a lovely cup of coffee. It was supposed to be like a gay version of The View, except there were only three people who showed up to discuss the book... and one of the three didn't finish reading it. Ok so it wasn't anything like The View.

The problem with having a gay book club is that most gay people's schedules are booked solid. We've got bars to drink at, waiters to ogle, cocks to suck, and mothers to complain about to our therapists. We don't have time to meet to discuss books, no matter how mind-boggling they may be. Have you ever heard of a successful and regular gay book group? Neither have I. So why do we keep doing it?

My answer comes as a result of a conversation with a waiter at Charlie's Ale House last year. I was having dinner with my friend Scott and we were discussing the importance of television. We started talking about the distance from the viewer to the screen (or "throw" in the world of projection), and we decided to ask the waiter for his opinion. Somehow, he didn't think our subject matter was enlightening enough, so he said something to me that came out like this:

"Uh, well there ARE other things to do. Do you even READ?"

It was as if the entire restaurant fell silent at the bold statement made by the overcritical server, who BTW had to read the specials off of a little paper. The nerve! He was insinuating that all young, nubile, rippling, ghetto-bootied, Filipino guys sit around lazily and watch television. Nothing could be further from the truth! We also play video games!

But seriously, a lot of people get defensive when they feel that their intelligence is questioned. It happens to the best of us. This is another example of presumption on the part of small-minded individuals to undermine the self esteem of unsuspecting guys. They do it because they're afraid that they, themselves, are stupid. It's like when closeted homosexuals act homophobic towards people who are out and proud.

Just remember that reading books doesn't make someone smart. Not sleeping with your best friend's cute father (the one with the enormous bulge in his swimming trunks) who liquors you up with rum and coke and wants to "experiment" with you because you're so down to earth and you'd NEVER tell his wife because he thinks you're so trustworthy... THAT's smart.

Losing It

I got a mailing from Atlantis, a gay vacation company, advertising all the great new cruise packages this season. Included in the mailing was a brochure for the cruise which featured many pictures of gorgeous men with gorgeous bodies, all with perfect teeth and evenly tanned bodies. As if my self esteem couldn't get any lower! I just happened to be stuffing my face with food when I opened this packet, so you can imagine how disheartening that was for me.

I've never been on a gay cruise, so I wouldn't know what it what to expect. I imagine it would have a lot more tension than the pictures would suggest. I imagine myself in my swimsuit, walking past a bunch of guys who are scrutinizing every inch of my supple body. They'd look at my posture, my stride, and how well I fill my shorts. Three of them would be picturing what it would be like to violate me with various phallic-shaped objects. I guess you can say that it's a lot like being in a child pageant.

Seeing the men in the pictures prompted me to lose my belly fat. I've got okay looking arms and legs, but there's that pesky midsection that's always bothering me. I look like those sculptures of African fertility goddesses with the big bellies and heads and short stubby arms and legs.

I know.... I KNOW! It's what's inside that counts. The people who say that obviously have never been in a room full of gay people. They're like vultures that wait for lame gazelle to hobble by. They feed on other peoples' imperfections the same way that actual vultures tear the rotting flesh from a carcass in the steppes of Mongolia.

I'm pretty happy with the way I look right now, but it would be nice to not have to suck it in whenever I pass by a gaggle of queers. Fortunately, I've decided to follow the wonderful advice of my friend Joe. With his eating plans and my tree trunk legs running a bunch of miles each day, I hope to look less like Humpty Dumpty and more like one of the king's men.

Those cruise brochures are not really accurate anyway because I only saw one black guy and one Asian guy in the whole packet, even in the panoramic shot of the thousands of queens on the deck at the same time. I know that the people who actually attend the cruises don't all look perfect like the guys I saw in the brochure, but I think that having abs would be nice. They'd use a mold of my midsection as a tray for making ice cubes!

Nice guys finish last, while selfish guys have a blast

Some people out there think that I'm selfish. Boo! Nothing can be further from the truth! I really hate how much negativity is associated with the word 'selfish,' and I would like to set the record straight today.

I used to be a big pushover when I was younger. The self esteem level wasn't as high then as it is now, and I felt that it was my obligation to be as accommodating to others as I could possibly be. If I got the wrong order at a restaurant, I'd eat it because I didn't want to trouble the staff by asking for what I originally ordered. When receiving gentlemen callers, I would always buy the condoms and make sure that the other guy's needs were fulfilled because I wanted HIM to be happy. I always gave everyone a piece of myself and I often found that nothing was left for me at the end of the day. Little did I know that my days of being the world's doormat would soon be numbered.

It happened about six years ago when I was living in Houston. I was so happy to be able to see my friend and her fiance finally tie the knot. "Meeka" had been going on about it for months, and I was always there to assure her that things would be smooth and effortless on the big day. When it finally arrived, she frantically called me about two hours before she was to walk down the aisle. The caterer's car broke down and she needed someone with a truck to bring the food to the reception hall.

I quickly made my way to the caterer, all the while wondering why I was the only one of her friends who owned a truck, and was dismayed to learn that the reception hall was 20 miles in the opposite direction. When I got to the reception hall, I quickly began unloading the food until one of the employees came up to me and asked me to move my truck to the back of the building where all the other "help" parked. It was one of the hottest days of the year and I had no time to argue, so I did what they told me.

After depositing the last tray of sliced fruit, the reception hall manager pulled me aside and asked me to set up the dessert table. She told me that "Meeka" told her that I agreed to help set up the reception, which I never did. I didn't argue because I already knew that I wasn't going to make it to the ceremony in time. I proceeded to assemble these really tacky 'strawberry trees' by affixing strawberries onto foam cones with toothpicks.

It wouldn't have been that bad, except for the fact that I was assigned a partner who thought I was some sort of Latin lover sent to her by God. Lavonne, an 82 year old widowed grandmother, kept making passes at me. She'd eat the strawberries very sensually while undressing me with her cataract-stricken eyes. She'd fan herself with her old lady fan and say "it's very hot today... perfect LOVEMAKING weather."

When "Meeka" came into the reception hall, she walked right past me and never thanked me for helping with the food or the strawberry trees. I later found that my name card was nowhere to be found, so I didn't have a place at any of the tables. "Meeka" finally did come up to me, but it was only to ask if I got all the food because it didn't look like all the food she paid for.

That was my cue to leave the party, but not before taking the two strawberry trees that I painstakingly made in the Texas heat. I am no longer friends with "Meeka." Now whenever I hear that yet another one of my friends is getting married, I never volunteer to be in the ceremony or help out afterward. I just go in, throw my rice, roll my eyes, drop my Brita off at the gift table, and make for the door. It's nothing personal. I just know better than to get suckered into another wedding drama.

So whenever someone calls me selfish, I think back to that hundred degree day in Houston. I think back to my brand new dress shirt, soiled with armpit sweat and strawberry seeds. I think back to the sheer terror of fighting off the advances of an alarmingly sex-starved octogenarian. I think back to all the times that I helped "Meeka" through her pre-wedding jitters, only to have her peddle me as her pack mule and get mistaken for the help at the reception hall. That was the straw that broke the camel's back. The help? Come on!

People who accuse others of being selfish are only hurt because someone in the world isn't doing something for THEM. They want people to genuflect and make sure that they're nurtured and that their own personal needs are looked after. Just go tell them to get over themselves and remind them about my strawberry trees.

Switzerland

I was at the gym this morning where I attempted to do bench presses. I get really self-conscious sometimes because I can never go higher than 115 lbs. From the look of my massive rack, you never would have known. Just then, a skinny little boi glided past me and stacked up a daunting 225 lbs. on his barbell. He proceeded to outbench me and I was ready to walk away in shame, but I noticed that his form was all off. He was arching his back on the bench the same way I arch my back when I look in the mirror pretending to be a porn star on the set of my new movie. He was cheating.

I wanted to say something to him, but it's never really safe to get involved in certain situations. The boy could have been taking steroids, which would explain why he was able to lift that much. If I called him out on his terrible form, he very well could have clubbed me with a dumbbell while my back was turned.

I remember walking past an alley last month where I noticed two men in a car. They were in their seats, but beating the shit out of each other and screaming. It got so intense that the guy in the driver's seat kept bopping the horn on the steering wheel as he was turning to punch the other guy in the face. It was a little comical to see two grown men screaming at and punching each other.

A lot of people would be quick to come up to the car and pull them apart, but is that really wise? How do you know that one of them isn't packing heat? What if one of them has a knife? What if one of them had just taken a dump and hadn't washed his hands and accidentally scratched you while you got in the middle of the fight? Gross!

The smart thing to do in those situations would be to walk away and mind your own business. Be neutral, like Switzerland. You'd stay safe, and you'd also protect that cute face of yours from getting scratched up by a crazy person. People try to be heroes to make up for the years in their lives spent wasted on stupid things like neglecting their children or subscribing to Entertainment Weekly, but how often do you see their faces in the papers? Never!

Foreign Tongues: Penetrating... the language barrier

Earlier in the week, I got cruised by a very snacky latin boy. I see him all the time when I'm on my way to work, and this time he got up the courage to cross the street and chat me up. Any man who is brave enough to risk being hit by a car is okay in my book! Then he started talking to me in Spanish and I had no idea what he was saying. He, like so many other people, assumed that I spoke Spanish.

When two gay boys are hot for each other, they won't let a small thing like a language barrier keep them from having it off. After several attempts to get our messages across to one another, we tried charades. That didn't work, and I was getting a little upset, so I just did the "I'm late for work" gesture by pointing to my imaginary wrist watch and he understood.

How far would you go to sleep with an extremely hot young man who doesn't speak a lick of English? You can either take the time to learn the language or get a translator to follow you around. It would be just like that episode of Friends where Phoebe was dating Sergei the diplomat, but hotter. Your translator has to be someone you trust, because he's likely to steal your non-English speaking dude away from you without your knowledge. Imagine being in a three way with your dude and your treacherous translator. You say "that feels so good!" and the translator tells the dude "is it in yet? I can't feel a thing!"

There needs to be a course or seminar for guys like me who want to have sex with men in other countries, but don't want to bother with the hassle of learning a bunch of different languages. The instructor would teach essential phrases in various languages and the sexual gestures that go with them. Here are a few choice phrases that every guy should have prepared in other languages:

1. Are you a top or bottom?
2. Are you a cop?
3. I am trained as a ninja, so don't even think of trying to rob me.
4. Do you spit or swallow?
5. Follow me to my hotel.
6. Does your friend want to join us?
7. Of course there are no hidden cameras in my hotel room!
8. I've never done this before! (accompanied with a naive batting of the eyelashes)
9. You can spank harder than that, can't you?
10. Ok, get out now.

At the conclusion of the course, we'd all get packets that include helpful maps of various cities with flag marks that show places to find the cutest guys. The maps will have blue marks for bars, yellow marks for bath houses, and green marks for forest preserves and other wooded areas. A list of worldwide ages of consent will be included as an added bonus for all of the chicken hawks who want to scam on the young boys of Burkina Faso, but can never remember when they become legal (psst... it's age 13).

Note: I would advise against the young foreign boys because they'd follow you around forever. Go with someone who's at least old enough to buy more than one ticket to an R rated movie in the USA. There's a little saying I made up that goes: If he's got laugh lines, the sex will be fine. If he's got dimples, it'll never be simple.

Hey dude! What's up, bro?

I found a really dumb website today called straightacting.com. It's a place where men who are 'straight acting' can find other men who are fucked up in the head.

If there's one group among the countless subcultures in the gay community that you should be afraid of, it's the "straight acting" crowd. UGH! I hate that term. The very name suggests that being gay is sub par . I really don't like to generalize, but you get to do it three times a year and I'm doing it today. Gay men who claim to be straight acting are ticking time bombs of repressed emotions. You don't want to be anywhere near them when they go off. You DO want to be near them when they GET off, but we'll get to that later.

The best places to find these weirdos are personals ads. You've seen men who advertise themselves as "a man's man" or "a str8 acting dude." They've got pictures of just their chest or a single arm. That's good for people who are into fisting, but what about the rest of us? The pictures that didn't have the head cropped off featured a man with a menacing scowl on his face. A lot of the men who claim to be straight acting held cameras up to a mirror to get a shot of themselves because it's so gay to have someone take a picture of yourself shirtless.

If you look closely, you'll find several similarities between each 'straight acting' man's profile. They'll write that they're not into the "gay scene" or "drama." They're never looking for a boyfriend, but a "cool bud to hang out with or to have a beer with while watching the game." One thing that I noticed was that a lot of the men are not into "fats or fems." The key word there is FEMS.

A straight acting man thinks that anything feminine is gay, and that gay is bad. Don't even try to figure out why that is, because it's virtually impossible to do so. The truth is that we're all a little masculine and a little bit feminine. Carl Jung had that Anima /Animus theory, but let's not get too into that. I was into hockey for a while when I lived in Houston, and I also did a lot of work on my truck. My beverage of choice at the bars was Shiner Bock (a beer), and I have an intoxicatingly deep voice. Masculine qualities? Yeah! I was also heavily into figure skating. Go figure. Ha ha.

When I lived in Houston, I met a guy who really appreciated those masculine qualities. We hung out, had beer and buffalo wings, and other things that straight acting men enjoy. He remarked how he really liked how I wasn't a big fag like the other boys. Then one night during an intense blow job I was giving him, I pushed his legs up really fast and darted my tongue so far up his hole that he screamed like a girl. After his masculine mystique was torn away, he began to exhibit violent behavior towards me and we eventually parted ways.

Straightacting.com is one of the stupidest websites out there, and all it does is allows messed up people to justify their self-hating behavior. They think that just because there's a website about it, it has to be okay. NAMbLA also has a website.

Buy me that!

Last month I was at a toy store in Andersonville and I overheard a mother talking to her son. She was asking if he liked a particular toy and he told her that he couldn't get it because it was over 20 dollars and he only had three gold stars. This was obviously a private moment between mother and son, so I did what any other gay man would do and I went in closer so I could hear more.

Apparently, a gold star is rewarded for good behavior at home. Each star has a value of five dollars. I think that this is an excellent way to reward children and to teach them the value of money. The kid couldn't have been more than five years old and he was checking prices and comparing toys like a smart consumer.

I remember going to a Target in Naperville and seeing a mother buy toys for her snotty kids, probably named Schuy'lhuar (pronounced Skylar) and Dakota. "I want this! Buy me this! Are we going to McDonalds?" The mother just wanted her kids to shut up, and the only non-violent way she could think of doing so was to buy them whatever they wanted.

In the TLC show, "Honey, We're Killing the Kids," parents are shown a computer simulated progression of their children's bodies if they continue feeding them junk food. It's pretty gross and I think that the computer people take some artistic freedom with the after results because a lot of the images are of the 'kids' frowning or looking extremely menacing.

They should do a similar show titled "Honey we're spoiling the kids!" where they show the types of sexual partners their kids would have in ten years (five years if they live in Arkansas). I have no idea why they'd do that for this show, but it came from my imagination... does that shock you?

The point is that spoiled kids end up jerks in the future and it would be a lot easier for me to find dates if there weren't so many jerks around. So stop spoiling your kids!