O Rly?

Edit: I just realized that this comes off as dirty, and I'd like to clarify that the proposed hour of time was for a coffee date.  You gutterslut cumgoblins.

Some men just don't know how to treat a lady.  Confidence is cute, arrogance is a boner assassin.  Don't make me slap a brick and read you to filth.  You really don't want me to go there.  I own a condo there.

"You can't serve sufficient face, girl"  how is that for six words?

A Note on A Common Term

exhibit A

I was recently asked what exactly I mean when I say shitty faggot.  This was my response:

The phenomenon of the shitty faggot is a difficult one to describe.  I'll tell you the origin even though it's kind of useless.  There was a tranny who used to be a frequent guest of my favorite gay podcast, Sophia Lamar.  She looks like a fucking trainwreck, and she pretty much seems like a bitter cunt.  She had a little segment where she talked about things she hated.  One such thing is the shitty faggot.  This type of homosexual might tan, wear gel, have a tribal tattoo, do crystal meth, and other stuff.  So....whatever that means.  I just stole the term from her.  My use is really kind of vague.  A queer who is ashamed of his gayness would be a shitty faggot.  Or guys who are obsessed with being a bro and calling themselves masculine,  Or ones who are all about going out and partying.  Bitchy gay guys who spread lies about people.  Just, poor examples of human beings, but who happen to be homosexual.  Does that make any sense?  I just know when someone is a shitty faggot.

I forgot an important one:  asymmetrical haircuts.

A Lovely Little Jaunt

I spent the weekend in Chicago visiting my dear kindred spirit Blanche. We went to high school together, but I didn't know her very well then. We started reconnecting this year, and I am so so grateful for it. She is a peach and a half and makes the world a brighter place. I took the train up, and you know how well that went. I stayed with her and her husband, and met Judy and Jim: also peaches.

We kikied for hours, and Blanche made us homemade pasta. A regular Martha Stewart, that one. She puts Ina Garten to shame. Bitch keeps a TIGHT household.

We headed to a club to see the wonderful Pandora Boxx perform. She was supposed to go on at 12, but there we were, milling around the place, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Drag performers are notorious for their tardiness, so we thought nothing of it and busied ourselves with the goings on around us. Ooooh there was some shit. As expected, there was a plethora of shitty faggots. A few of them cute. Not many great looks, but oh well. It may have been cool outside, but it was HOT in there. One gay really committed to his whatever looks in the cardigan and beanie. I hope he had a heat stroke. There were SO many girls too. I'm not used to that at a gay club. And tons of lesbians too. As evidenced here:



I was a little shy about taking pictures, but then I thought, what the fuck? I don't know these bitches and probably won't see them ever again. Also seen: the trashiest skank ever. She had ratty Britney hair, raccoon eye makeup, a ruffle denim micro-skirt, and some kind of Ugg BOOTS WITH THE FUR. I didn't get a good picture of her unfortunately.

There were two go-go boys, which was a new experience for me. One was really muscled and meh in the face. The other was adorable and had a sexy scar on his midsection. He was still a shitty, shitty faggot. Look, even at my sexiest and lowest-self-esteemiest, I would never have danced on the bar in my underwear for money--and I've done some crazy shit in my twenty. . . one years. What really killed me was his Santa's little helper look. His red underwear was attached to red suspenders. The pièce de damn résistance that brought it all together was the mark of a crummy faggot: FLIP-FLOPS. Yes, boy was shaking his ass on the bar for dollars in flip-flops. I didn't want to be attracted to him, and at first I was determined. He won me over though. That mop of hair gave him a boyish cuteness, and he really did have a nice ass. We decided, however, that he was stuffing his underwear. Oh well. I still wanted to hate fuck him:



We witnessed a great scene through the window. There was a party trolley filled with all kinds of wasted people dancing and carrying on. There was one kid who had obviously started the party early, and he was swaying in his seat, chugging water from a giant jug. Luckily the traffic light was long enough for us all to observe. Some drunk buddy talked to him for a moment, and the kid drank more water, swaying the whole time. He gagged and fought the urge to vomit. This continued for what felt like a long time, but must have been only 45 seconds. It was a game, and I was really hoping he would puke before the trolley took off. He heaved more and more, and finally he threw up! All of us watching in the club cheered and laughed as the kid spewed onto the street. Fantastically hilarious.

None of us had ever been to that particular venue before, so we didn't know there was also a giant basement, which was apparently where the performance was. By the time we wised up, we had missed the first set. Oh well, we saw enough to gag us. The opener, Jade (also from RuPaul's Drag Race) was great. She did a ballet number while lipsynching, and she was really on point. And en pointe. Pandora was her usually goofy self, and she delivered. She performed to what is becoming her signature song:

Ready for Dick on Valentine's Day

Also from the best friend pile today comes a delightful paragraph about revenge. Earlier this year I had a date with a guy we'll call the Joker. I liked his smile, but the bff said he looked like the Joker. Old school giant grin Joker, not new school Heath Ledger jagged face. Nothing came of the date, and really I was just smitten because I was so attracted to him. He was a complete mess in every other aspect. I saw him last weekend, and he's not as cute as I thought he was. I generally like 'em skinny, but this bitch was a toothpick. He looked like Ethan Hawke with AIDS. Anyway, Brady asked me why I even thought I could date such a mess. I told him "I wanted to jizz all over his jokerface." This was his response:

You could still jizz on that fugly joker's face. We could lure him to an undisclosed location with promises of big cock and then get him naked, on his knees and blindfolded (ready for dick on Labor Day). Then BAM you pull off the blindfold and jizz right in his eye. Then he'll have to have an eye abortion to kill your baby.

EYE ABORTION. I love it. That phrase also works for when you wish to unsee something. Allow me to explain the hilarity that is being ready for dick. It comes from this fantastic video that I've shared before (that is worth watching at least once every day, as are all videos by this guy):




At about the 1:20 mark, Blanche says "giiiirls, ya'll ready to get dick on Valentine's Day?" So now we've worked that phrase into our everday lexicon. If I'm getting ready to go out and look cute, then I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. If I'm feeling snizzy and want to play with myself, I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. If I have a date and plan on making a move, I'm ready for dick on Valentine's Day. From there, the leap to other holidays was simple. Hence, ready for dick on Labor Day. You could also be ready for dick on Guy Fawkes Day, Boxing Day or Arbor Day.

Boo, You Whore

Even though today was destined to be shitty day (and it did not disappoint in that respect), it started off great. I had a dream that I was a vampire and was sort of dating Vampire Bill from True Blood. I'm not particularly attracted to him, but in the dream he was HOT. There were no fangs, and there was no blood. Just lots of dry humping. We were in bed in our underwear, and I remember that he frightened the Black Baby Jesus our of me. Anyway, he was grinding himself on me and begging me to bone him. Mmm. Of course I woke up just before anything happened :(

So lady was singing the blues today, and I started getting frustrated at the littlest things. I was waiting forever to cross the street to my building, and it took so long I almost started to cry. Now I'm grumpy, starving, and I don't know what the fuck to make for dinner. I just want to eat fatty food, listen to sad songs, shoot things in a Wii game, and use several Bioré pore unclogging strips.

Not This Again

I've tried watching the new season of The Real World: Back to New Orleans. (for starters this is sacrilege, as the original New Orleans was a fantastic mess. Mormon Julie and HOT as fuck Danny with his seekret boyfriend. Perfect trash). I don't know if I'm going to be able to make it through any more episodes. It has always been a shitshow, but at least it was entertaining before. Now it just kind of hurts to watch. It's terrible and has lost its fun. Like Lindsay Lohan, you just can't enjoy the misery anymore. Because I would sooner slash my own throat than write detailed notes on an episode of this season of TRW, I'll just touch on a few points.

Ryan Leslie. This motherfucker:



He's a fourth-generation hairstylist, and claims to be straight. Fine. He's 21 and says he's a virgin. Okay, totally possible. Not everyone is a slut like you, after all. When their shitty roommate Preston (I'll get to his busted ass) makes a big production of going off to hook up with a guy, Leslie is disgusted. He made some uncalled for comments, which really just make me think he's in the closet himself. It's like he wants to defend the position that straight guys can be hairstylists, but can't admit that he's gay because the last thing he wants to do is be a stereotype. Fuck off and die, faggot. Jesus. He'll be out of the closet in a couple years, don't you worry. Just like Stephen from Seattle. Remember him? And the slap heard 'round the world? Oh that was fantastic. That bitch Irene had it coming. Not really, but her face was so slapable.

Preston. Ugh. UGH. BLARF. He is the worst. He makes me ashamed of my people. Black people that is. No, really, he sucks. He seems like a terrible person, and I would hate him in real life. First of all, he claims to be a stylist and have an amazing fashion sense. FALSE. This bitch is telling lies. Look at this asshole. He looks like a faggoty Bill Cosby:



I wouldn't trust him to style anything but a bowl of Jell-O. He and allegedly-in-the-closet Leslie don't get along, and they start pulling stunts. Leslie wipes his ass with Fagsby's cigarettes or something, and Mr. Huxtable uses Leslie's toothbrush to clean the toilet for a while and pees on it. I guess Leslie gets really sick and has to go to the hospital, and complains that it was because of the homo's shenanigan. Police were called, blah blah blah. Whatever, you know it wasn't the toilet's fault. Leslie probably got gonorrhea of the throat from dIsKrEeTlY blowing guys in bathrooms.