Sunday night was the unfortunately named "Tons of Fun" night here at the dorms. I don't usually enjoy parties (too much pressure) and last night was no exception. I mean, who throws parties on Oscar night and then doesn't watch the Oscars? Bitches.
Anyway, the posters called for an "Open Mic" from 7-8. My roommate and I were amused.
See, I grew up doing musical theatre and therefore know how to carry a tune. I have since given up theatre, because I fucking hate everyone in musicals, especially high school musicals. Ugh. I've since given up singing, more or less. Except when I've been drinking. All I need is a Mike's Hard Lemonade or a Poor Man's Cosmo and I'm bursting out songs like a twink Bernadette Peters with a faux hawk. Or something.
Anyways, when found out that there was an open mic, we decided to break out with a kick-ass cover, one that would have everyone rolling in the aisles. We decided on a little ditty from the early nineties, back when we were in first grade. While an acoustic version of said song was pretty amusing, it was lacking something. It was then that we turned it into a ballad. And we knew that we were the greatest things since sliced bread.
Yeah, that's right. We broke out the "Achy Breaky Heart" in ballad form. I wish someone had thought to record it, because it was the definition of GENIUS!
February 28, 2005
February 24, 2005
Ganymedier than Ganymede
Yesterday's mythology test didn't go so well. As my friend on the second floor says, it totally raped me up the ass, and I wasn't even dressed skanky or nothing.
I should mention, though, that even though the test raped me, it at least used lube. Sexy lube.
There's about 400 people in my mythology class, and it seems at though everyone's in that class. At least ten percent of the building is in that class. Sure, ten percent of the building works out to be something like ten or eleven kids, but it's still a lot. Every time I go, it seems like there are more people in my class from last semester that I never talked to.
But today I noticed that there was someone that I had blogged about in my class. Yep, the Truman Capote lookalike is back, with the same cold eyes and the same affect on my nether regions.
It was warm while we were taking the test (too many furrowed brows and panicked stress), so the hottie took off his sweatshirt, revealing a wife beater, and rolled up his sweatpants as makeshift shorts, revealing some lovely calves. I was sitting on the aisle, and he was sitting on the other side of the aisle, one down--perfect gawking distance. It was fucking hot.
And that made the test all the less painful.
I should mention, though, that even though the test raped me, it at least used lube. Sexy lube.
There's about 400 people in my mythology class, and it seems at though everyone's in that class. At least ten percent of the building is in that class. Sure, ten percent of the building works out to be something like ten or eleven kids, but it's still a lot. Every time I go, it seems like there are more people in my class from last semester that I never talked to.
But today I noticed that there was someone that I had blogged about in my class. Yep, the Truman Capote lookalike is back, with the same cold eyes and the same affect on my nether regions.
It was warm while we were taking the test (too many furrowed brows and panicked stress), so the hottie took off his sweatshirt, revealing a wife beater, and rolled up his sweatpants as makeshift shorts, revealing some lovely calves. I was sitting on the aisle, and he was sitting on the other side of the aisle, one down--perfect gawking distance. It was fucking hot.
And that made the test all the less painful.
Sweet buns let me be your gun
Well, there goes one of my justifications for sexually harassing my roommate so much. (Link is not very work-safe.)
Fortunately, I still have Peaches on my side:
Back it up, baby.mov (Quicktime movie of live performance) (lyrics)
Don’t you know it’s supposed to feel better for boys?
Don’t you know it’s supposed to feel better for boys?
Fortunately, I still have Peaches on my side:
Back it up, baby.mov (Quicktime movie of live performance) (lyrics)
Don’t you know it’s supposed to feel better for boys?
Don’t you know it’s supposed to feel better for boys?
February 23, 2005
Limp this love around
I'm in need of a good night's sleep; hell, I'm in need of a lot of things. We rearranged the beds the other day, and the sun seeps through the blinds and hits me in the face. The beds are bunked, and I'm on bottom, so I've hung excess throw blankets as a poor-man's canopy bed. It'd be divinely decadent if it weren't so half-assed. I'm fighting the urge to use that controlling metaphor: secluding myself, hiding myself from the sunlight.
It's so damn tempting, though.
It's 9:30 in the morning and my mind couldn't be more devoid of thought, Middleton be damned. I think I convinced someone to throw a hump-day party tonight. We're all going to dress to get laid, and by 'we' I mean everyone who isn't me. It's sort of fruitless (pun intended, unfortunately). When it comes to gay boys in the dorm, it's me and my suitemate, and the suitemate won't have anything to do with anyone in the building. As fun as putting on my XS black Banana Republic shirt and watching everyone else get drunk is, it isn't.
Oh, and if anyone else says something like "Don't worry about it Bob. You'll find someone eventually" they're getting a punch in a face. After 15 months without a date, I'm acknowledged that it's me. This weekend marks the 12th weekend where the guy I've asked out is going out of town. I know I haven't mentioned the previous 11, but that's because I've plastered that grin on my face so often it's like a Pompeiian fresco.
I'm sick of it.
It's so damn tempting, though.
It's 9:30 in the morning and my mind couldn't be more devoid of thought, Middleton be damned. I think I convinced someone to throw a hump-day party tonight. We're all going to dress to get laid, and by 'we' I mean everyone who isn't me. It's sort of fruitless (pun intended, unfortunately). When it comes to gay boys in the dorm, it's me and my suitemate, and the suitemate won't have anything to do with anyone in the building. As fun as putting on my XS black Banana Republic shirt and watching everyone else get drunk is, it isn't.
Oh, and if anyone else says something like "Don't worry about it Bob. You'll find someone eventually" they're getting a punch in a face. After 15 months without a date, I'm acknowledged that it's me. This weekend marks the 12th weekend where the guy I've asked out is going out of town. I know I haven't mentioned the previous 11, but that's because I've plastered that grin on my face so often it's like a Pompeiian fresco.
I'm sick of it.
February 22, 2005
NB-
Apparently, the people from whom I borrow bandwidth have run out for the month. And no, 'borrow' does not need quotation marks around it--a few friends got together and bought a website, and since they had a lot of extra bandwidth they let me host some pictures. Unfortunately, I've proved too popular for them, so the pictures will be down until March.
So unless anyone wants to buy some webspace for me, you're stuck with text for the rest of the month. Sorry guys.
So unless anyone wants to buy some webspace for me, you're stuck with text for the rest of the month. Sorry guys.
What a drag
I forget who originally posted this meme.
What songs would you "sing" as a drag queen?
"I'm Can't Say No" from Oklahoma!
"Bad Girl" by Madonna
"In These Shoes" by Kirsty MacColl
"She Bangs" by Ricky Martin
"I'm Not A Fucking Drag Queen" by Star Maris
"Dirty" by Christina Aguilera
"Whatta Man" by Salt n Pepa and En Vogue
"My Boyfriend's Back" by the Angels
"I Know What Boys Like" by the Waitresses
"Coin-Operated Boy" by the Dresden Dolls
What songs would you "sing" as a drag queen?
"I'm Can't Say No" from Oklahoma!
"Bad Girl" by Madonna
"In These Shoes" by Kirsty MacColl
"She Bangs" by Ricky Martin
"I'm Not A Fucking Drag Queen" by Star Maris
"Dirty" by Christina Aguilera
"Whatta Man" by Salt n Pepa and En Vogue
"My Boyfriend's Back" by the Angels
"I Know What Boys Like" by the Waitresses
"Coin-Operated Boy" by the Dresden Dolls
February 21, 2005
An Exercise in Verse
"you eat eight spiders a year in your sleep"
You checked your email, and found a forward:
Don’t throw rice at weddings! The excess rice
is a feast for unsuspecting pigeons!
they eat the rice; it swells in their stomachs
and then the birds explode over playgrounds!
You got concerned, but I didn’t buy it.
I said things like rice takes twenty minutes
in boiling water, and I’ve never seen
a pigeon graveyard underneath a slide.
You were always the one for urban myths—
spiders in bouffants, dogs in microwaves,
and the man-with-the-hook on make-out point.
"God!" I cried. "It’s just an urban legend.
You can’t trust everything you hear… or read.
You…your problem is that you’re too trusting."
"Your problem is that you’re too cynical.
I’m going out!" you yelled, grabbing your coat.
You returned with a full grocery bag
and plans for a romantic evening.
While you unpacked, I got the picture:
we mixed together some rice and glitter
and took a sadistic walk in the park.
(Inspired by the latest a softer world.)
February 20, 2005
Simpsons.
This post contains discussion of same-sex marraiges: viewer discretion advised.
Simpsons rocked something fierce. I wish all cartoons would go gay. Remember how funny Family Guy was when Stewie was acting all queer? Remember the lesbian undertones of Peanuts, which is considered to be the best comic of all time? Adult Swim is always better with gay undertones. Spongebob's better with a tongue in cheek about cocks in cheeks, and Dmitri from Anastasia always made me feel a little funny downstairs.
"OOH! Look at me! I'm as straight as a one dollar bill!"
Simpsons rocked something fierce. I wish all cartoons would go gay. Remember how funny Family Guy was when Stewie was acting all queer? Remember the lesbian undertones of Peanuts, which is considered to be the best comic of all time? Adult Swim is always better with gay undertones. Spongebob's better with a tongue in cheek about cocks in cheeks, and Dmitri from Anastasia always made me feel a little funny downstairs.
"OOH! Look at me! I'm as straight as a one dollar bill!"
February 18, 2005
Poker Night with the Boys
There was no poetry that night and fiction was never my forte, so I guess I’m stuck somewhere in the middle. Again.
I didn’t need that cigarette as much as I needed the fresh air and the ostentatious display of packing the pack. I flipped down the grand staircase and imagined excuses for sneaking out of Casino Night early. Unlike Odysseus, I didn’t need beeswax earplugs to sneak between the sirens at the gates, directing latecomers to the blackjack tables; as a side note, their seductive powers have been greatly exaggerated by time and soft lighting. Preferring the taste of nicotine to cheap perfume, I cut, cocked and swaggered past the girls, through the doors and into the light rain. I popped open the case, extended my favorite phallic symbol and placed it to my lips, posturing masculinity with an acknowledging head tilt to my fellow lung-redecorator.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I dug through my coat pocket in search of a light, embellishing the search with what I hoped was frantic eye contact. I pulled out my glossy lighter and pushed thumbs on the gear. A combination of the greasy hors d’oeuvres and the bad-movie mist kept my flame in check. In one fluid motion, the blonde haired blue eyed boy wonder slipped into his pocket and whipped out a lighter. He tossed it to me with a smile and a “here” but surprisingly enough the greasy hors d’oeuvres on my fingers and the B-movie atmosphere hadn’t dissipated in the previous thirty seconds. I gave what I hoped was my best coy smile with an admission of inadequacy.
“I…can’t. I’ve got grease on my fingers. Could you…?”
Success! His smile outcoys mine, as he dangles his cigarette from his lips and flips on his flame. I let my cigarette droop from my lower lip and cupped my hands around the little inferno, accidentally grazing my hand against his, marking the first flirtatious contact in over a year. I almost burnt my fingertip on his flame; in retrospect that line could be the story of my life. Sparks flew, and I took a drag. “You here for Casino Night?”
Once a year, the dorms chip in and rent a room in a nearby hotel, making with their best Las Vegas imitation; without alcohol or hookers, it amounted to something akin to a high school dance, only now spiking the punch wasn’t nearly as novel as in years prior. My building, the smallest of the bunch, had a mini-soiree before the event, resulting in all of our RAs to show up wasted out of their minds; we all knew why no one from our building won any of the door prizes.
“Bob!” Goddamnit my roommate had found me and was propping open the door with his football frame. “Bob come on, you’ve got to see what Amanda is doing!” Our RA was drunkenly serenading people from atop the blackjack table.
“Just give me a sec—” I have yet to learn this cute young lad’s name, phone number, and whether his roommate is going to be at the library for a while.
“Bob if I’m not smoking you’re not allowed to either.” He had recently given up smoking in a blatant attempt to woo a girl from the second floor. Results so far were mixed. I took another drag, pursed my lips together and blew the smoke in his general direction.
“I don’t think it works that way. Just because I look cool when I smoke and you don’t…” I took my last drag and threw the cigarette into the street, its embers leaving a rainbow tail. I rolled my eyes, bobbed my head in an attempt at a manly goodbye, and made my way back to the party.
I half worked out a metaphor for those embers falling to the curb, comparing it to my love life, but decided against it. At my age, I’m petrified of becoming a cliché, so I’m just going to let the ashes fall, and end this now before it gets too late.
I didn’t need that cigarette as much as I needed the fresh air and the ostentatious display of packing the pack. I flipped down the grand staircase and imagined excuses for sneaking out of Casino Night early. Unlike Odysseus, I didn’t need beeswax earplugs to sneak between the sirens at the gates, directing latecomers to the blackjack tables; as a side note, their seductive powers have been greatly exaggerated by time and soft lighting. Preferring the taste of nicotine to cheap perfume, I cut, cocked and swaggered past the girls, through the doors and into the light rain. I popped open the case, extended my favorite phallic symbol and placed it to my lips, posturing masculinity with an acknowledging head tilt to my fellow lung-redecorator.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
I dug through my coat pocket in search of a light, embellishing the search with what I hoped was frantic eye contact. I pulled out my glossy lighter and pushed thumbs on the gear. A combination of the greasy hors d’oeuvres and the bad-movie mist kept my flame in check. In one fluid motion, the blonde haired blue eyed boy wonder slipped into his pocket and whipped out a lighter. He tossed it to me with a smile and a “here” but surprisingly enough the greasy hors d’oeuvres on my fingers and the B-movie atmosphere hadn’t dissipated in the previous thirty seconds. I gave what I hoped was my best coy smile with an admission of inadequacy.
“I…can’t. I’ve got grease on my fingers. Could you…?”
Success! His smile outcoys mine, as he dangles his cigarette from his lips and flips on his flame. I let my cigarette droop from my lower lip and cupped my hands around the little inferno, accidentally grazing my hand against his, marking the first flirtatious contact in over a year. I almost burnt my fingertip on his flame; in retrospect that line could be the story of my life. Sparks flew, and I took a drag. “You here for Casino Night?”
Once a year, the dorms chip in and rent a room in a nearby hotel, making with their best Las Vegas imitation; without alcohol or hookers, it amounted to something akin to a high school dance, only now spiking the punch wasn’t nearly as novel as in years prior. My building, the smallest of the bunch, had a mini-soiree before the event, resulting in all of our RAs to show up wasted out of their minds; we all knew why no one from our building won any of the door prizes.
“Bob!” Goddamnit my roommate had found me and was propping open the door with his football frame. “Bob come on, you’ve got to see what Amanda is doing!” Our RA was drunkenly serenading people from atop the blackjack table.
“Just give me a sec—” I have yet to learn this cute young lad’s name, phone number, and whether his roommate is going to be at the library for a while.
“Bob if I’m not smoking you’re not allowed to either.” He had recently given up smoking in a blatant attempt to woo a girl from the second floor. Results so far were mixed. I took another drag, pursed my lips together and blew the smoke in his general direction.
“I don’t think it works that way. Just because I look cool when I smoke and you don’t…” I took my last drag and threw the cigarette into the street, its embers leaving a rainbow tail. I rolled my eyes, bobbed my head in an attempt at a manly goodbye, and made my way back to the party.
I half worked out a metaphor for those embers falling to the curb, comparing it to my love life, but decided against it. At my age, I’m petrified of becoming a cliché, so I’m just going to let the ashes fall, and end this now before it gets too late.
February 17, 2005
February 16, 2005
Online quizes are cheap and easy. Unlike me.
You're Desperately Seeking
You've already picked out the curtains! Of course you'd be a great mate -- but make sure your eagerness to couple up doesn't come across as desperation. Nobody likes to feel like they're being auditioned for the part of Your Spouse -- forcing the issue could even be sabotaging your chances with potential partners. Keep it light, and be patient: Some day your prince or princess will come, and it will be that much more magical if you haven't been standing around waiting for the carriage.
Are you relationship-ready? Find out now!
I normally don't put much stock in online quizzes, but sometimes they're a lot more succinct than I could ever be on the subject. Plus, there's a picture! I like pictures, because pictures don't involve philosphical treaties of antiquities.
Want another picture? Here:
It's a little something by Steve Walker, who has a lot of pictures like this but with more skin (if you're into that sort of thing). I know I am.
February 15, 2005
Radio, Radio
For those of you lucky enough to be in the Madison area, the cutie-sans-acronym (who doesn't trip my trigger as much as he used to, which sucks because he's been returning my flirting lately) and I are guest hosting the late night slot on the local radio station tonight (Tuesday). You might be able to listen to it online, but that's not very death-metal of you. Set your alarms for 2 AM Wednesday, Central Standard Time, cos we'll be bringing not only the noise, but also the funk. Our musical selections will make the bourgeoisie and the rebel (never gonna stop). Well, we'll stop, but not until 6 AM / whenever we get bored.
And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools
Tryin’ to anaesthetise the way that you feel
Radio is a sound salvation
Radio is cleaning up the nation
They say you better listen to the voice of reason
But they don’t give you any choice
’cause they think that it’s treason.
So you had better do as you are told.
You better listen to the radio.
My valentine to my roommate.
That's my roommate he's having a beer and that's me cos I have a limp wrist and that's the sun and that's a flower and we're watching tv and we're smiling!
Whee!
Sex is for fags!
I, [MY NAME], hereby pledge:
1. To stay massively cool by not having sex. Because only major losers have sex – which everyone knows is only for fags.
2. To never let any slutty girls peer pressure me into touching their vaginas – because vaginas are totally gay.
3. To ignore my raging hormones and burning drive to fondle, suckle, and thrust furiously into a hot gooey pit of creamy-soft fleshy ecstasy.
"Premarital sex isn't worth it! You can catch AIDS, or cancer, or testicle weevils, or a bad body image or rickets. You know what IS worth it? Making love to Jesus. Because you can't knock Him up and He'll never ask what you're thinking – cuz He already knows!"
I, [MY NAME], hereby pledge:
1. To stay massively cool by not having sex. Because only major losers have sex – which everyone knows is only for fags.
2. To never let any slutty girls peer pressure me into touching their vaginas – because vaginas are totally gay.
3. To ignore my raging hormones and burning drive to fondle, suckle, and thrust furiously into a hot gooey pit of creamy-soft fleshy ecstasy.
"Premarital sex isn't worth it! You can catch AIDS, or cancer, or testicle weevils, or a bad body image or rickets. You know what IS worth it? Making love to Jesus. Because you can't knock Him up and He'll never ask what you're thinking – cuz He already knows!"
February 14, 2005
Stolen from Faustus
Saint Valentine was
beaten with clubs, head chopped off:
Fucker deserved it.
I know I haven't been posting as well as I used to, and I was all set to come up with a brilliant mindfuck of a post on Valentine's Day. I wrote it down on my list of homework; right between reading Bacchae and The Sacred Disease was "kick-ass blog post."
After three hours of staring blankly at my monitor (what can I say? Hippocrates can lick my newly shorn balls) I realized that I couldn't do it. Everything was too whiny. So I trolled the internet, and realized that my blog daddy, Faustus, summed up my feelings wonderfully with a haiku.
My thoughts last year weren't bad, if they would have actually worked.
But really, when it all comes down to it, no one can say it better than zefrank, because no one can ever say anything better than zefrank. Plus, I find him sort of attractive.
February 11, 2005
Huh?
.jpg "2(ist) underwear advert")
I'm sorry. I, uh, wasn't paying attention. I got... distracted. What was I going to say?
EDIT:
So I was talking to someone online and they mentioned that I'm posting a lot more pictures and writing a whole lot less. At first, I was all like "SUCK MY COCK BITCH IT'S MY BLOG!" but then I explained that I have a whole lot more to read this semester and I'm sick of words. To paraphrase the Replacements, "I hate literature, it's got too many words!" Hopefully that clarifies things, and no one really minds.
February 10, 2005
Sticky hair, sticky hips, stubble on my sticky lips
Two brief notes about hair:
I had a impromtu haircut yesterday. That's what happens when I forget to bring the book I was going to read inbetween classes. When I met my stylist and told her what I wanted, she said that she thought that it would work, because I have sort of an "Alan Cumming" sort of thing going on. I tipped 30%. I am now the proud owner of a faux fauxhawk.
Also, later last night, I trimmed. Down there. Just keeping my hopes up for Valentine's Day. Also, there's no greater feeling that shorn testicles. Well, there is, but it's been FIFTEEN FUCKING MONTHS so my memory's not too great about some things.
I had a impromtu haircut yesterday. That's what happens when I forget to bring the book I was going to read inbetween classes. When I met my stylist and told her what I wanted, she said that she thought that it would work, because I have sort of an "Alan Cumming" sort of thing going on. I tipped 30%. I am now the proud owner of a faux fauxhawk.
Also, later last night, I trimmed. Down there. Just keeping my hopes up for Valentine's Day. Also, there's no greater feeling that shorn testicles. Well, there is, but it's been FIFTEEN FUCKING MONTHS so my memory's not too great about some things.
February 9, 2005
February 8, 2005
Closeted
For the last day or two, I've been fascinated about being in the closet. After adding Secret Simon and reading So This' latest post, I wonder if I could do it.
So This, whose name is Tony, is moving to Arizona, and once he moves in, he's vowing to be "a Christian first, and a Gay second." While that statement doesn't sit well with me for a number of reasons, it at least got me thinking about what it would be like to go back in the closet. I don't think I could do it.
I started coming out to friends in seventh grade. It was never anything overt, and since I didn't actually date a boy until after high school, it was never that big of a deal. Growing up doing musical theatre meant that none of my friends gave a shit. It was never that big of a deal. Even my parents didn't care too much, after the original shock wore off.
And don't get me wrong: I'm not some big whiny queen who makes Carson Kressley look like a professional footballer or something. It's just that there are so many little things that I say and do throughout the day that make it apparent to others that I'm a cocksucking faggot (well, at least in theory). I have a potty mouth, which probably gives it away.
I'm sort of tempted to pick a day and see if I can do it. Keep from ogling inappropriately at the pretty boy in my creative writing class (I could jump rope with his eyelashes!), not watch Topsy Turvy during lunch, hide my Ab Fab DVDs, stop wearing nice underwear, refrain from theatening to molest my roommate, drink cheap beer and find lesbians attractive.
Well, I don't know about that last part. But I can give it the old college try.
I don't know how it's going to work out for Tony, but I'm interested in how it all turns out.
So This, whose name is Tony, is moving to Arizona, and once he moves in, he's vowing to be "a Christian first, and a Gay second." While that statement doesn't sit well with me for a number of reasons, it at least got me thinking about what it would be like to go back in the closet. I don't think I could do it.
I started coming out to friends in seventh grade. It was never anything overt, and since I didn't actually date a boy until after high school, it was never that big of a deal. Growing up doing musical theatre meant that none of my friends gave a shit. It was never that big of a deal. Even my parents didn't care too much, after the original shock wore off.
And don't get me wrong: I'm not some big whiny queen who makes Carson Kressley look like a professional footballer or something. It's just that there are so many little things that I say and do throughout the day that make it apparent to others that I'm a cocksucking faggot (well, at least in theory). I have a potty mouth, which probably gives it away.
I'm sort of tempted to pick a day and see if I can do it. Keep from ogling inappropriately at the pretty boy in my creative writing class (I could jump rope with his eyelashes!), not watch Topsy Turvy during lunch, hide my Ab Fab DVDs, stop wearing nice underwear, refrain from theatening to molest my roommate, drink cheap beer and find lesbians attractive.
Well, I don't know about that last part. But I can give it the old college try.
I don't know how it's going to work out for Tony, but I'm interested in how it all turns out.
February 7, 2005
New Blogs of Interest
Even though visually I enjoy having my sidebar all snug and tidy in dropdown menus, I don't like that no one can notice when I link people. There is some good stuff hidden in that dropdown window, I swear it!
I'm going to start doing blogs of interest whenever I run out of things to blog about, just to bring attention to some deserving mos.
I've heard rumors that Frank from TMI has the world's most beautiful cock, but I might just be saying that because he sent me his old MP3 player as a Christmas present.
I go to the second largest university in the country, so you'd think I could find more than one alumnus. Don't get me wrong; dunner's a great, topical blogger, but there's bound to be more somewhere.
I meant to add nemein, like, a bazillion years ago. Unlike some of the other bloggers I know (myself included), took a while getting a hang of this whole "blogging" thing, he started out of the gate running.
I can't think of anything semi-witty to say about homo say what?. I like him, though, and his friends are pretty.
I like the irrelevant newspots that Josh and Josh seem so fond of doing.
Truth be told, I decided to do this blogs of interest/lazy post because I found Secret Simon fabulously addictive. A closeted 27 year old gay man with a wife and two kids? Who would have thought that I could be so interested after four or five posts?
I'm going to start doing blogs of interest whenever I run out of things to blog about, just to bring attention to some deserving mos.
I've heard rumors that Frank from TMI has the world's most beautiful cock, but I might just be saying that because he sent me his old MP3 player as a Christmas present.
I go to the second largest university in the country, so you'd think I could find more than one alumnus. Don't get me wrong; dunner's a great, topical blogger, but there's bound to be more somewhere.
I meant to add nemein, like, a bazillion years ago. Unlike some of the other bloggers I know (myself included), took a while getting a hang of this whole "blogging" thing, he started out of the gate running.
I can't think of anything semi-witty to say about homo say what?. I like him, though, and his friends are pretty.
I like the irrelevant newspots that Josh and Josh seem so fond of doing.
Truth be told, I decided to do this blogs of interest/lazy post because I found Secret Simon fabulously addictive. A closeted 27 year old gay man with a wife and two kids? Who would have thought that I could be so interested after four or five posts?
February 4, 2005
I'm talking about oral sex!
Oh Jake. You can blow my horn anytime.
Also! New biography link in the sidebar. Personal Ad edition, since filling them out seems to be a new hobby of mine.
No luck yet, though.
February 3, 2005
Everybody rise! Rise! Rise!
As I was going down to get dinner I noticed that HBO was showing Elaine Stritch's one-woman show. Being that I was really hungry, I went and got dinner and switched the station on the large screen television we have in the cafeteria. Everyone had to listen and watch her sing.
After about five minutes, I realized that I didn't really give a damn about Elaine Stritch, but I didn't allow anyone to change the station. I just like forcing my sexuality on others. I'm a stinker.
After about five minutes, I realized that I didn't really give a damn about Elaine Stritch, but I didn't allow anyone to change the station. I just like forcing my sexuality on others. I'm a stinker.
At least I watched S&TC later that night
I feel like less of a gay man, because I wasn't the first one in the building to throw a fondue party.
I guess those classes haven't kicked in yet.
I guess those classes haven't kicked in yet.
February 2, 2005
We'll have sex a million times a day!
Recently, I have rediscovered my inner twelve year old girl and have practiced signing my name as 'Bob Gyllenhaal.' No, I am not kidding. This is how I will sign my name:
I give you all full permission to print this out and sell it on Ebay after we get married.
In other news, I am now officially 100% compatible with my love-muffin:
Your compatibility with Jake Gyllenhaal is 100%
SOUL MATES
You and Jake have the same style and personality
that makes you guys perfect for each other.
Your relationship will last forever!
How compatible are you with Jake Gyllenhaal?
Suck it, bitch.
February 1, 2005
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
