Neatness Counts

I have a secret to tell all of you. Since Friday, I've been living with a roommate. He's a nice guy who needed a place to stay while he took care of some personal business, and I have a three bedroom home, so it was a logical idea for him to crash at my place.

That being said, I never realized how much of my life would change while having a roommate. My smallest bedroom (which would only fit a twin bed) is my walk-in closet, but it is the furthest room from my bathroom. Each morning, I shower (with my bathroom door open) and walk down the hall naked to get my clothes I wearing for the day. I can't do that when I have someone standing in my hallway.

I've had to learn that if I have someone come for an evening visit (perhaps someone who takes his clothes off for a living) that it would be in our best interest if we kept our voices down, as it could be embarrassing to wake someone up in the night. Sadly...I like to hear my visitor's ear splitting enthusiasm. Also...on a side note...condoms and their wrappers need to be wrapped in tissue to mask what is going in the trash. Of course...I wouldn't know anything about that.

But I have had some benefits to having a roommate. Upon arriving, my roommate stated that he was going to wash my bathroom and kitchen floors as payment for letting him stay in my place. In my neurosis, I thought "my floors must look filthy!" Therefore, while he was sleeping, I washed both floors, dusted, cleaned the fridge, and did several loads of laundry. My place is cleaner than when I moved in. If this guy offers to wash my windows I'm probably going to paint the entire outside of the house.

Maybe I should get a neat freak roommate permanently.

Suck-Sess

As I've mentioned before, I am an NPR junkie, and Monday, while listening to the radio, I was listening to an author who was discussing the book he has recently written. This book is about how we as a society define success.

He wrote of an unnamed man who was a graduate of Dartmouth. This man had raised a family of three daughter with his wife, and lived a modest life in a small farming town. According to his daughter, he had been suffering from depression when he received a letter from his alma mater. They had sent him the 25 year reunion questionnaire, and wanted to know what he was doing so they could publish it in the newsletter to all of his classmates. One of the questions was "Where is your summer home?" The college assumed that since he was a Dartmouth graduate, he obviously must have a summer home somewhere. His daughter stated that he listed that question in his suicide note and his insistence that he was a failure in his entire life.

Why does our society define wealth (and more so materialism) as definitions of success? I've got shit for possessions right now, and with my finances...will probably never own my home. However, I've got friends all over the country (God bless nights and weekends cellular minutes), and although I've suffered some setbacks in my life, I've kept going. I'm up to my ears in debt (lets all say a silent prayer that the gas company doesn't turn my heat off anytime soon...I like showers and cooking my dinners), but I'm the first person in my family on either side to ever go to college.

Do I think I'm a success? Well I still need to work a bit at it (and maybe get a job) before I'd call myself a successful person. I'm more of a work in progress.

So what do you think is a healthy definition of success?

I Slept With a Married Woman

Right before visiting TunaGirl, one of my best drinking buddies from college came to visit me. Several martinis, a chocolate cake shot, and a couple of games of pool later, we went back to my place and slept together. Ok...we just shared the bed, but I was drunk! It doesn't count.

Anyway...the next time someone asks me if how I can be sure I'm gay, I'm going to answer it this way. If you can sleep next to this hottie and NOT do anything...you are gayer than a three dollar bill. Of course...after she sees that I've posted this picture, I'm going to be very glad that she lives across the country. Never let me near a camera...

On a side note...does this picture remind anybody else of "Riviting Rosey"?

I Talk Good

Each year, the gym where I used to work out, closes the facility for Easter. The sign says every time:

Gym Closed for Easter!

He is Risen!!!

Now far be it from me to pick on the Christians, but my Ex is an English professor. He can spot a grammatical error from 75 feet away, and he rubbed off on me (not to mention I've picked up his grammar habits). Shouldn't it be "HE HAS RISEN?"

Maybe I'm just not getting it, and I probably wouldn't make a big deal about it, but I see those words everywhere around town. Church signs, some fast food restaurants, and even a few offices. It makes me cringe a little, but it does make me question a lot about Easter in general. Catholics believe that Easter is a bigger holiday than Christmas. Birth of Christ = Good. Death of Christ = Better (Ok...I know it's the resurrection...but I couldn't pass the joke up). So can someone who has a better knowledge of religious beliefs tell me why Easter is a floating holiday based on the moon cycle? Seriously...if Christ was born on December 25th, why don't we celebrate his resurrection on the date it happened? Did the scholars just forget to record the biggest date in Christian history? Ehh..What do I know...

He is Risen!!!

Now I know that this site can easily offend someone. As a comedian, I've learned that you have very few items that unify an entire audience, except for their primal instincts. Toilet humor?...Well that is so grade school, although I will tell a ditty about a doody once in a while. Another unifying factor is sex.

Are there any of you out there who does not like sex? If so...that's because you haven't had sex with me yet. Those of you who would like the opportunity, please form a single file line. Ladies, please move to the back of the bus. You may want to look elsewhere...I prefer an "outtie".

Recently, I posted about a very conservative blog that I was surprised had linked to me. Although I limited my comments to the case about Terri Schiavo, and how I felt it was better to die without years of suffering.

His answer involved bringing up a slight dig against gay marriage. Now I already know that religious conservatives will never agree with me about gay marriage. We've had a bit of a comment war where he quoted my answer and his response.

PATRICK: Ok…Matt…for reasons we both know…we are never going to agree on the gay marriage deal…

MATT: Yeah- Want to know why I know? Because you post your orientation on the top of your blog! Personally, I don’t care what your orientation is, and it is silly to advertise it.

There are only a few absolutes in this world.

1. I'm a GAY STAND-UP COMIC and I make fun of everything...including my self.


2. I love men. Top, bottom, in between...as long as it involves Sam Tyson (or a good substitute). Oh...if anyone can arrange for Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, and Antonio Banderas to mud wrestle over who uses me as a clean up towel, I'd really appreciate it.


3. and He is Risen!!!

Nothing else in this world will be as absolute. So why do I put that I am gay in my tag line? Because it's who I am. It isn't about who I sleep with, but it's how I look at the world. I can't see the world from an evangelical view very easily. I'm an atheist /recovering catholic. I thought Tadvent put it best in his comment. "I am also learning quite a bit about a culture I have no experience with or exposure to." Likewise, I have no real exposure to a conservative culture. So I put that tagline up at the top as a warning to all others that I may write some things that are offensive and

He is Risen!!!

Trains or Barbies?

Two friends of mine who are parents had made the conscious decision that their children would not be genderized into playing with toys only geared for their particular gender. As my one friend put it: "Why should my daughter only play with Barbie?"

Funny thing is that both sets of parents failed miserably. In both cases, their daughters love playing with "girly girl" stuff. Barbie, everything pink, and lots of frilly things...play makeup. The boys...lots of trucks, trains, and heavy machinery.

So I've been thinking about this. What causes us to genderize our children and their play toys. Why don't boys play with the Barbie's and girls play with the trains? At first I thought it was the other kids in school, but I don't think that's it. I think it's the television advertisements. Kids learn by example and imitation. In all the advertisements for Barbie, all the kids playing with them are girls.

What does this do long term? Is this the first moments when masculinity and femininity are defined and is this a good idea?

hmmm...Can you tell I'm awfully glad I don't have a show this weekend? I'm beat!

Career Management

The other day I said to a friend "If my career life went like my social life, I'd be the freaking CEO of IBM by now." It's a known fact that when you aren't looking for a relationship, that's when you find one. I'm proof here. I'm not really in a place where a relationship is in my best interest, and I've got offers coming out of...well my ass. (not to mention offers for my ass...but that's another story).

When I was working as a financial aid administrator, I was getting job offers constantly, but at the time I didn't want a new job. Now that I'm looking, it's like I'm the fat guy on the dance floor with a mole on his face. Nobody wants to even look at me.

So I've decided to turn over a new leaf and NOT LOOK FOR A JOB! That's right! I'm going to go to networking events, and not inquire about employment opportunities in the person's company. I'm going to spend my day watching Jerry Springer, and learn to cook Beanie Weenie Casserole, and listen to advertisements about how all I need it to call Attorney Tom Sessney in the event that I am injured in an accident. After I've gained 100 lbs and lost all my self respect, then an employer will find me to be the one they are looking for.

***sigh***

I guess I should send a couple resumes off this morning before my afternoon activities begin. I have to choose what I want to do today. Which would you choose? Option A or Option B? Decisions...decisions.

Option A:
Tournedos Henri IV (Filet Steaks with Artichoke Bottoms and Béarnaise Sauce)
Grilled Asparagus
Baked Sweet Potato

Option B:

Thinkin' of you's workin' up my appetite
Looking forward to a little afternoon delight
Rubbin' sticks and stones together makes the sparks ingite
And the thought of lovin' him is getting so exciting
Sky rockets in flight
Afternoon delight
Afternoon delight!

The Main Event!

OK...Yesterday's post is over...you can stop sending me the "die in hell...homo emails". I'm very aware that this site is read by a very large and diverse group of people, but we can all get along by agreeing to disagree. So if you attack each other and I have to go in there and kick your asses...well you all better hope that doesn't happen. You don't want to piss off a bitchy queen!

So I'll answer the big question that is on everyone's mind lately. Yes...I do wear a size 32 waist (the same size I was in high school).

Ok...I'm stalling...I never blog about dates because it puts pressure on the both of us. So I'm breaking one of my rules. Yes...I had a date with the gay stripper on Monday night. I'm not going to attach his real picture as I'm sure he wouldn't be pleased, and I asked him to read this post before I actually posted it...because it involves him.

So what does he look like?
Well he looks a lot like this guy with shorter brown hair. And he has nicer eyes.

What happened on the date? He arrived on time at my home for a dinner and movie date. He was to choose the movie and I would choose the dinner. When I opened the door, he presented me with a bunch of roses.

Instead of going to a movie, he brought a DVD for us to
watch and suggested we just have dinner and then come back to watch the DVD. I one upped him and suggest we get Chinese take-out and eat at my place. And order of moo-shoo vegetables and chicken and broccoli later, we were sitting on my living room floor eating while watching the movie. Well more like talking while the movie played.
Conversation snippets:

"I just realized I've seen you nearly naked."
"You can return the favor later."

---

"So what do you like for breakfast?"
"Presumptuous...aren't you?"
"Not really"

After the movie, we just relaxed with a bottle of wine and got to know each other a little better before I suggested that we light some candles and play a game of monopoly. We passed start, collected $200 and kept playing until the wee hours of the morning. Around 3:00 am, I suggested he just stay over as it wasn't right to make him drive 2 miles home that late.

He stayed the night (nothing happened) and in the morning I cooked him a breakfast of Eggs Benedict (with my own Hollandaise sauce...get your minds out of the gutters). We've made another date and we'll just leave it at that for now.

Oh...This Will Be Fun

Last night was the date with the stripper and well...I'm exhausted. It was a long day followed by a late night. I was going to write about it today, but it's going to have to wait for reasons you'll see very shortly.

Every once in a while, I'll run a technorati search to see who has linked to me. It doesn't catch everyone, but it gets quite a few. Know this...if you link to me, I will try to read your website periodically. I average 2500 to 3000 hits a week, so it's a bit overwhelming to get to all of you daily...but I do check you all over. If I ever get to updating this site (I've been planning a major overhaul for months now) I'll actually get to updating my links as well.

Imagine my surprise when I found a website called Ohio for Blackwell. This is an unofficial website to garner support for the next Republican candidate for Governor of Ohio (****muffled laughter*** shut up...it's not funny...). This conservative blog has listed me as a fellow Ohio blogger (although I'd be out of this state in a heart beat if I had a job offer in another state...FARB?...you still need a secretary?), and I felt it only right if I actually really read their website.

Sadly...I'm not amused. Supposedly this blog states that the Terry Schiavo case is about the "right to life". As most of you know, I had a terminal illness, and I haven't been in remission for 5 years yet. For God's sake...when will we just let that poor head of cabbage die already? She's been living a piss poor life for years now...just let her die already! Let it be known...If I'm spending my days lying in a bed, no sex to be had (remind me to tell you about the date with the stripper), no conversation to be had, and no ability to blog...let me fucking die!!!!!!!

So I felt compelled to comment on their site. Somehow I feel I'm going to be getting a lot of hate mail real soon.

I've found that you recently linked to me, and felt it wise to read a bit over your website.

Although I am a fiscal conservative, I have also suffered from a terminal illness. I was lucky enough to have created a living will that specifically said to not leave me in the state that this woman is in. With my own illness, when I had finished chemo, I was done with treatment period. Although in remission, if I had to go through Chemo again, I'd choose against it. The pain and sickness isn't worth an extra few months. It's the difference of Quality of Life vs Quantity of Life.

I can't agree with you that she should be kept alive. She has no quality of life. She may have been raised by her family, but she is now her own family with her husband. One of the benefits of heterosexual couples getting married is that the spouse is allowed to make medical decisions for the other spouse. If heterosexual couples can't trust their spouses to make those health decisions, then maybe that right should be taken away from marriage.

As the child of an estranged Catholic father, I've had to deal with his family attempting to circumvent my will and decisions to not have a religious burial. I don't believe god, and yet...his family feels I must be mentally unstable for making the decisions I've made. This has included their trying to take my decisions from me. I've had to do several wills and go for a mental evaluation to prove I could make my own decisions.

Traditionally the Republican Party was about keeping big government from legislating our lives. That being said, we now have the federal government involved in a married couples right to end extraordinary measures, and a push to have federal govt. legislate marriage. Why is it that the conservative party wants federal intervention when they are losing an argument?

A Numb Little Pig Boy

The other day, my friend and I went shopping at the adult toy store for a few items that she and her partner could use. Walking into the store, you are immediately bombarded with dildos, lubricants, vibrators, and lots of videos. Televisions are playing videos and from the sound of it, the private video booths were collecting lots of quarters.

What I found the most interesting was the clerk in this store. She was so numb to the sexual stimulus around her that her work had become just a crappy job. Guys with erections are purchasing products off the woman and she's telling them to have a nice day. I've grown numb that way.

As I've mentioned here before, I've worked as a phone sex operator, and because of that...well I've heard it all. Seriously. From the woman who wanted to have me pretend I was her unfaithful husband so she could yell at me (hell hath no fury) to the guy who wanted me to say that I was shoving bite sized snickers bars up my ass so I could crap them into his mouth (shudder). I have heard everything.

A few months ago, I was "with" someone who got into talking dirty, which was fine with me, although I get nothing out of it. I can handle a little dirty talking, but once it crosses into the demeaning and degrading, I'm completely turned off. Don't call me your "cock sucking faggot crack whore" and expect me to be turned on. Call me that again and you'll be lucky if I don't just bite it off…Fucker!

What's interesting about performing in phone sex is that you take your cues from the other person. I've learned to listen to what the other person says, and take it one half step further. So if the person calls me sir, I'm very likely going to call him boy.

Patrick: I'm going start by giving you a long and passionate kiss. I'll work my way to your neck, and nibble on your earlobes.

When I'm inside of you, I'm not going to let you touch yourself. I'm doing the work, and you'll cum only when I let you. When you do...you'll shoot so far you'll hit the headboard, and all the while I'll smother your screams with my own kisses.

Caller: WOW............now how am I supposed to get to sleep?

Meanwhile, I'm sitting there working on a crossword puzzle and clipping my toenails. It's been 10 years since I did that job, and I'm still a bit numb to the whole dirty talking bit. I've wondered what would stop that numbness. Do I go to church for a few months? Avoid bars with strippers (not going to happen as long as I get dates from them)? Turn off the porn (that's true blasphemy!)?

Maybe I should just not have sex for a while.

Bwaaahaaaahaaaahaaahaaaahaaaaahaaaaahaaaaahaaaahaaa

Sorry...Sometimes I crack myself up.

Lick Me...I'm Irish

Really...what would a St. Patrick's day be, without some drunken fool making a complete ass of himself? Luckily it wasn't me. In fact, all I drank all evening was three beers, but when you are the sober one, you are a little more aware of your surroundings.

Imagine my surprise when the stripper at the bar walks up to me and says "you look familiar". He asked where I worked out (and I nearly laughed thinking "If only I could afford the gym"), if I go to other bars in the area, and even if we had ever worked together. At this point I was beginning to think he wasn't trying to work me for a tip, but he walked away to shake his ass for the paying customers.

Cut to watching my friends making complete asses of themselves, groping random guys walking through the bar (ok..that was me...but it was on a dare and he was cute) and someone buying a round of shots. Alcohol does a mean thing to people. It makes them over emotional at times, and when that happens they do stupid things, like arguing over the fact that one guy ate the other guy's fruit garnish. I watched this argument get more and more heated, and as I was trying to break up the disagreement, the stripper grabbed my arm.

"I know you. You just got laid according to your website. You're The Traveling Spotlight."

Now normally I am a very bad flirt. Many people have been surprised with how far I'll go, but for some reason I stood there with a slack jaw, with an incredibly buff man in a thong in front of me (he was also wearing a black rubber cock ring as well...just saying), just a little embarrassed. I didn't know what to say as he praised my writing, and felt the need to return the favor and praise his work. What do you say to compliment a stripper? "You tease with your thong well?" "I love the way your dick shakes side to side when you shake your hips?" "Nice shaving job?" He stood around waiting, and my idiot self said: "Your underwear really brings out your eyes."

I'm thinking the three beers over 5 hours all hit me at the exact time and I put my foot in my mouth right then. He smiled at me while backing his ass into another customer for a little extra tip money. "They bring out yours better."

I've been out flirted. Good thing we're going to the movies on Monday night.

Clearing House!

This morning, I looked at my apartment and decided, I'm living in nearly a frat house. So I decided it was time to clean.

Right now...I am swimming in cleaning fluids and my home has a near pine fresh scent.

Once everything is clean, then I'll write more.

I Like it Spicy!

Today I could write about how I had an absolutly miserable day yesterday. From my rejection letter for a job I applied for (fuckers), or that my bills are beginning to get scary, that I had to eat a slice of "humble pie", some other personal issues I'm not discussing online, or that my chocolate chip cookies turned out horrible (although edible) and were not worthy of being called cookies! By the time I was ready for bed, my attitude was along the lines of "I will fuck the next man who offers, just for a little consolation!"

Instead, I called a straight female friend and our conversation turned to sex (a common theme in my life...Why is that?) We were discussing her sex life and that she was wanting to spice things up. I was willing to offer a few suggestions.

"How about having him put a few ice cubes inside you?" I suggested.
"That's really vanilla...", she responded.

I sat there stumped...I have no clue what would make a straight couple's sex life spicy. So I've been pondering about it this morning, and I came up with some ideas.

• Get a large dog cage and dominate him. If he's a bad boy...he gets to sleep in the cage.


• Fist him.


• Put on a CatWoman suit and whip his ass with a flogging tool.
• Do him in the Wal-Mart dressing room.


• Give him a hand job in a church.


• Make him beg for it...and don't give it to him.


• Have him put a little Icy Hot on his dick and that should warm things up for the both of you.

I need to stick to gay sex...I'm more of an expert.

Please Pick Me!!!!!

Last night I was having dinner with a gentleman who was a fraternity boy. Relax...he's only a few years younger than I am and graduated. Just discussing the fraternities and sororities brought back so many memories from my college days.

At the University of Colorado at Boulder, the Fraternity life wasn't that big, but I did consider joining when I first arrived on campus. Something about living in a house with 200 buff college guys really appealed to me. So I went to go check out the houses, and the one common theme among all of them was that they were all pits of hell. Filthy 25 year old couches that stank of stale beer, piss, and drunk girlfriends. On one couch I found a pair of panties in between the cushions and a rotting piece of pizza under a chair. I knew at that point it wasn't for me. Then I saw a sorority house.

Immaculate mansions, filled with antiques, and with freaking maid service! What the hell! If it didn't require having my dick surgically removed, I'd have become a woman just to live in the damn house. Those woman know how to live. The only problem...they are some serious bitches!

The whole process of rushing a sorority astounds me. The poor new girls trying to get the sister's acceptance, dress in their best outfits, and go to every single sobriety house for the introduction parties. They smhooze and make small talk with the girls of each house hoping they can keep the sister's attention enough that they will be remembered for the coveted "bid". Fat girls, ugly girls, and smart girls are generally rejected very quickly. Rich girls with eating disorders move to the front of the line.

At Ohio University it culminates into a processes ending on a Saturday morning, where all the lists of which houses want which girls to pledge are placed on the bulletin boards at the end of the quad. All 300+ girls find out which 150 ones are going on and which ones have been rejected. The ones who have been selected are then sent running down the street to their new respective houses (which the locals call the "Running of the Cows") and the others are left bawling on the quad like American Idol rejects.

What I want to know is...what's the point? Is it sort of like the desire to be in a country club? Why would someone beg to be someone else's "friends". If selected to pledge, these kids have got to pay a serious chunk of money to be in this club (just like country club fees). Are these people not going to be your friends if you don't pay the fees? So can someone tell me why bother joining at all?

Three Wisemen Get Me Laid!

First...for those of you who know me personally...well...you might want to skip today. Otherwise...well you might not be able to look me in the eye later. Please note...you've been warned.

A few weeks ago, I had received a letter from the three wise men, each sending me $6 dollars bus fare to hell for my mocking of religion. In return, I bought beer with the money and thanked them publicly.

What I didn't mention yet, was that I received a birthday card from Caspar, Balthiar, and Melichoir the Friday before my birthday. The reason I didn't mention it? Well because Tunagirl promised to hang me off the side of the house by my balls if I did, and because I needed to find an appropriate way to spend the $18 dollars bus fare to hell. So I searched around town, looking for ways to spend this money.

Thank you, three wise men. With your money, I was able to buy lubricant for when I have sex. Currently silicone based lubricant sells for $21 dollars, but it was on sale for $17.95, so it's official...my plan was to fuck someone with your bus fare to hell. It was the least I could do. And really...the silicone stuff doesn't dry out and get sticky like the water based lube, so it lasts so much longer.

Last Saturday night, in Vermont, I met up with a handsome young 21 year old college student, who I hit it off with. We spoke after the show, where he invited me back to his dorm room to share a bottle of wine with him. I, of course, happily agreed. I stopped back at my room, where I showered and changed, and in my head, I heard the Wiseman Caspar tell me to grab several condoms and the lubricant. Ironic? Not really...as it's always "wise" to be prepared. I'm sure Caspar was smiling down at me.

I arrived at his dorm room (and yes...his roommate was out of town) and sat on the lower bunk bed, while he unscrewed the cap of the wine bottle. Candles were lit everywhere while he had music streaming in over his DSL connection. He was going for the romance bit, and it was working.

As we sat and talked, I suddenly heard Melichoir whisper in my head "Make a move...it's really romantic and he's hot!" As another sign, the song changed to Loving You on the speakers.

Loving you...is more than just a dream come true.
'Cause every time we ooooo....I'm so in love with you!

And with that, I leaned in and kissed my young host, exploring his lips and tongue with my own. My hands began to wander along his leg, up towards his waist. In my mind, I could hear Melichoir and Caspar chanting "Take his shirt off!". I obliged, and took mine off as well. His 5'9" frame was much more muscular than his clothes showed, and as I lay on top of him, I could feel his substantial hardness pressing against me, straining to be released.

Caspar and Melichoir worked their stereo magic, and as I begin to undo his pants, Sheryl Crow starts to play on the speakers:

God, I feel like hell tonight
Tears of rage I cannot fight
I'd be the last to help you understand
Are you strong enough to be my man?

I thought to myself, yes boys...he's strong enough. My young partner was very eager, and soon had me unclothed and on my back as he began to orally please me. I tilted my head back, and enjoyed the sensation he was giving me, when he stopped and looked up at me. I looked down and as we made eye contact, he said "I want you inside of me".

Melichoir changed the song on the stereo to something so appropriate. Etta James:

At last, my love has come along
My lonely days are over
And life is like a song
Oh, yeah, at last

My young lover lay on his back, and in my mind, Caspar and Melichoir were applauding as I pulled out the Silicone lube, placed the latex condom on my "tenderness" and prepared my young love for our impending passion.

That's when the third wise man, Balthiar, changed the song. Just as I was lining up body parts for our uniting as one, I hear a booming voice from the stereo:

I like big butts and I can not lie
You other brothers can't deny
That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist
And a round thing in your face
You get sprung

Yes....that bitch Balthiar put on Sir Mix-A-Lot's I Like Big Butts as I was about to penetrate my loving partner. I could hear that wise man laughing as I fumbled with the remote, trying to fast forward to the next song. Do you know how hard it is to change a song with a remote when your hands are covered with silicone lubricant. My young lover, with his legs on my shoulders was not really at best advantage to do this either, and I could hear Balthiar wickedly laughing as I began to run the risk of loosing my erection.

But thankfully I opened my ears up and heard Caspar and Melichoir telling me to just "push past it as I...well...push past it"...and with that, I took my lover as I heard Mix-a-Lot say "Red beans and rice did miss her!"

So thank you Caspar and Melichoir for getting me laid. Balthiar...I'll deal with you later...Bitch!

Finding the Humor in it All

It's going to be a short post today. Tomorrow morning I leave for Vermont for the first comedy show. I've been brushing up on my Howard Dean and Civil Union jokes (If I get into a civil union can I go on strike?).

Last night at 6:30 pm, my mother of my friend (the one whose bathroom I'm painting) was involved in a hit and run accident. She was minding her own business, taking a short walk after her dinner. While on her walk, she was brutally run down by a elderly woman driving her motorized wheel chair down the nursing home hallway. It's bad enough that his mom had to go to a hospital, and the crazy bat driving the chair never even stopped.

Is it sad that I find this funny?

A Dilemma

A good friend and confidant of mine is in the process of trying to sell his condo so he can move into a house he has recently bought. The condo is a beautiful property that overlooks the lake and the river, and is a decent sized place. This being more of a large home market and less of a condo market, he's been having difficulty. Thus why he asked me to help him out a bit and repaint his bathroom.

To say his bathroom was colorful would be an understatement. He wanted something funky…and he got it by painting the walls and ceiling an electric yellow with the trim an intense purple. I liked it (although I would have skipped the ceiling). Possible buyers would hate it, and it needed to go back to the neutral drywall gray color and white trim.

Decorating books always tell you that if you want a dramatic change for cheap, paint the walls. What those books don't tell you is how much primer is needed to cover up an intense color. After six coats of white primer, the yellow and purple were still slightly bleeding through, but the primer was so tacky that running the roller over the wall was lifting more paint than painting. I started at 2pm and finally called it a night at 8pm.

It's been too long since I did any manual labor. Today…my hands are so cramped from holding a brush for that long. I can barely make a fist with either hand. So I'm aching in a really bad way. If I can't make a fist…how am I going to masturbate?

A Shocking Confession

If you've never read this site before, or don't know me, you may be surprised to find out that I love sex. I was raised by a parent who taught me that sex is a positive thing, and as a gay man I've come to realize that "I fuck to cum...not to conceive!" We are given a sex drive by God...so we should use it. The economy may suck, our lives may be in shambles, but we can still derive pleasure from our genitals! It's our given right to get off!

Now another thing about me is that I am an activist. I will stand up for my rights and will perform acts of civil disobedience if needed to make my point. It's why I've an arrest record while living in NYC, and why I felt the need to make a point this weekend.

Have any of you noticed that nearly every airport magazine stand sells Playboy, Juggs and Hustler magazine? Ever notice that they never sell Playgirl? Playgirl magazine was created as a feminist stance against the exploitation of women (even though 1/2 the subscription base is men). Men should be equally exploited! Yet magazine stands in airports call this magazine (and any other that features naked men) obscene. I'm not having that crap! Why should only the straight men and lesbians get eye candy for the plane?!?!? I asked one of the shop owners why only female nudes were featured and she informed me that they were for the traveling business men. What? Only straight men in business travel?

It was time for me to act out! I needed to assert myself in the best way possible, and say "Yes, I'm gay. I'm proud of it, and I love looking at hard bodied men with big dicks!" Just like little kids will ask for cookies when they see it, I'll ask for dick when it comes into my line of vision! I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!

So I enacted my plan and brought a porn magazine on the plane with me. Nothing hard core (although hard dick) but I wanted the magazine to be similar to Playboy. So I chose an issue of Men Magazine. Same as Playgirl with just a few more asshole shots. I was doing this for gay rights, women's rights, and for the comedy aspect as I looked forward to freaking out the person next to me on the plane. Fag power!!!!

Once the plane had taken off, I pulled out my magazine, opened my tray table and opened to the first pictorial. The woman next to me at first did not notice. I turned the page and heard the sharp intake of her breath at her shock and realization that she was sitting next to a perv. I adjusted the magazine so she could get a better view (I was in the window seat). She moved as far away as her seat would let her.

By the time I got to the second pictorial, she had pushed the flight attendant call button. She asked for another seat, but sadly…the plane was completely full. The flight attendant looked over at me and my magazine and then up into my eyes. The look on his face said "I have that issue at home. Check out page 43." He was right…that page was hot!

During the drink service, I asked for a cranberry juice. The attendant gave me a free vodka with it. While sipping my drink, I rested the cool plastic cup against my forehead, hoping to cool myself down. That was when the woman next to me decided to speak up.

"You don't need to flaunt your homosexuality in my face." She commented.
I pointed at her wedding ring and said, "You flaunt your heterosexuality in mine."

Breeder 0, Patrick 1

So I now feel empowered. I think the next time I fly, I'm going to rent one of those portable DVD players and I'm going to watch some gay porn. Of course, I would love to have some company. Anyone want to fly with me?

Is My Tongue Bleeding?

I'm back from the bayou, and to be honest...I'm exhausted. On the military base, I was able to experience a whole new universe...one I don't see much.

Tunagirl and the tunakids met me at the airport, and suddenly I was transported from my universe of "gay man" into "the Family man" universe. How the hell do you parenting type people do it? Keeping up with a child is insane! Keeping up with two children...Oh my God!

Tuna gave me the tour of the base, and she doesn't even realize it, but she is living in an episode of Desperate Housewives. Seriously...from the pristine pastel houses, to the husband who is hiding money from his wife while she thinks he makes less pay.

On Friday, I got to experience life on base by going to the base store. I believe it's called a "Com X". Think a tax free wal-mart with a huge food court. When I save up the money for an Apple Ipod...I'm sending the check to Tuna to buy it there. But I digress. Tuna and son took me to the food court for a little lunch with all the military hotties on lunch break. DAMN!!! Those military boys are hot! But here's the kicker. When you are on a military base...everyone assumes you are a straight parent. The pregnant woman who was waiting for her food in front of me on the base informed me that she "would just die if her kids turned out to be gay!"

I bit my tongue.

Saturday I did the suburban soccer dad thing and got to watch the Tunadaughter play a game. Afterwards, lunch and shopping before we had to get ready for a kids birthday party. I've learned a few rules about kids birthday parties. Did you know that at every birthday party, a child will get hurt? Usually it's the birthday child. There was an injury, although minor. I could tell I was the talk of the housewives. "Who is he and does her husband know?" One of the wives commented that I was so good with children and asked if I had any of my own.

I bit my tongue.

Delving more into suburbia, on Sunday, I made dinner for the Tuna Family. Now I'll admit this and say...I love to cook. It's a hobby I picked up in my 20's and I love making flashy types of meals. So the kids got grilled peanut butter and jelly on tortillas, while Tuna and I got Beef Tenderloin stuffed with herb stuffing and wrapped in bacon, Onion Pasta, and baked asparagus. We finished with crepes with berries and white chocolate sauce. Fly me to your home, and I'll make you dinner as well.

There's so much more to say, including that one of the children found my porno magazine in my bag (neither child will admit to it...and I'll explain tomorrow why I had it with me), that I got to hang out in the showers at the gym (military men...need I say any more?), that not 8 hours into my trip I got to see a naked woman, and that the next time I want to have children, all I have to do is remember changing the diaper I changed.

You straight people are crazy!

Is That A Hand On My Penis Or Are You Happy To See Me?

Happy Monday. MAK here, reporting for one final day of guest blogging duties. Over the weekend, I did much drinking. Okay, in truth, I have done much drinking for pretty much the past fourteen days. But before I check myself into rehab, I thought I'd tell you about Friday night.

On Friday evening I met up with some pals at one of the local taverns in New York City. This particular establishment is known for its older clientele, as well as their 'for hire' clientele, if you know what I mean. But often, you just get regular hookers folk like myself who simply enjoy the establishment for both its proximity to the subway and mega-cute bartenders who know how to tip the bottle in your favor.

After several cocktails and an absurd number of shots, my bladder needed a little relief. I pushed my way through the geriatrics and the working class to get to what must be the smallest bathroom in all of New York. I squeezed myself up to the only available urinal, unzipped, and prepared to do my thing when I noticed that the gentleman next to me was hovering a little too close for comfort. The man was taller than I am, too, and out of the corner of my eye I could clearly tell that he was using his height to his advantage.

Now, I'm not one to be pee shy, and I'll whip it out for just about anyone. But in this little pub, it's best to exercise discretion lest you be mistaken for one of the working class. Something in me responded, and suddenly I found my bladder unwilling to perform in front of an audience. This was the sign that my neighbor was waiting for. As I was about to zip up and flee the bathroom unfulfilled, he reached over and grabbed hold.

Me: Um, excuse me, but I believe your hand is on my cock.
Him: I could do amazing things with this.
Me: Right now, I really need to do something with it myself and it would help me immensely if you weren't attached.

As I went to remove him from my special place, he rerouted my hand and placed it on his, shall we say, fully-awake member.

Him: Why don't we wait for the private stall to open up?
Me: If you think your penis will serve you better while it's still attached to your groin, then I think you should let go of mine and we'll call it a night.

He let go, however reluctantly, and stood in the corner of the tiny bathroom while I washed my hands. Back out front at the bar, I was telling the story to my friends when he sidled up behind me and leaned in to my ear.

Him: You're feisty. I like that. I'm putting my card in your pocket. You should seriously consider using it.
Me: Oh, I will, don't you worry.

So. I have a business card for sale. Anybody feel like some prank calls?

The Dr. Camille Show

Good morning, dear readers. Let's dip right into Camille's mail bag and see what guidance she can offer to the masses.

Dear Dr. Camille - I have been dating my boyfriend for several years now, but lately our sex life just doesn't have the spark it used to. We used to have so much fun in the bedroom. What can I do to liven things up and make those sparks fly again? Your faithful reader - The Milk Man

Dear Milk Man - You just need to shake things up a little bit. You should buy my book, "Dr. Camille's Relationship Guide: How To Rump His Roast" and talk with your partner about some new techniques to try. From whipped cream to cattle prods to threesomes with the Farmer In The Dell. Live it up and milk that man! Oh, and send pictures.

Dear Dr. Camille - Once upon a time, I was a heifer on the rise, full of talent and potential. But the jobs just weren't coming my way, and I started a downward spiral. I posed naked on milk cartons to help earn my way through law school - it was only a temporary job, but it got me mixed up with the wrong crowd. I got addicted to Bovine Growth Hormone and I couldn't make it through an ice cream social without having to run to the cowshed to get a fix. I always needed money to buy the drugs, and next thing I knew, I was flashing my udders at any lonely farmer with a bestiality complex and renting myself out by the half-hour. I've hit rock bottom. I've gone from prime rib to stew meat. How do I turn my life around and get back on track? Please help, Dr. Camille. You're my only hope. Signed - Tired of Being A Side of Beef

Dear Tired Beef - I have faith in you. If Star Jones Reynolds can do it, anybody else can do it better.

Dear Dr. Camille - I like my steak medium rare. I bet you'd taste real good that way, too. I'd love to filet your mignon. Yours, The Butcher

Dear Butcher - Stop sending me letters, you crazy pervert. What are these stains on the paper? Is that A1 sauce?? If I have to issue a restraining order, so help me Cow, I will. People like you just churn my butter. And for the record, the only man who is ever allowed to come within a calf's breath of my mignon is Denzel. Mmm, mmm, mmm.

Calling All Crazies

MAK here, being a bad, bad guest blogger. I had promised Patrick that I would post on Thursday, Friday and Monday. However, unexpected work obligations have kept me from my creative duties during the day (...and unexpected drinking responsibilities have kept me detained during the evening).

To make it up to all of you, I will do a special Saturday post. As you may or may not know, my pet cow, Camille, is something of an advice columnist. Patrick helped her to answer some questions while he guest blogged over at my site. Tomorrow, Camille and I will answer some more questions. If you are in need of bovine guidance, feel free to drop us a note.

Cock-A-Doodle-Doo

Good afternoon. MAK here, reporting for duty. While Patrick is off in Louisiana doing research on how well the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy is really holding up, I'll be holding down the fort and making sure you all behave yourselves.

Patrick was kind enough to guest blog for me last week. I asked him if I could bring him a souvenir from jolly olde England as a token of my gratitude, and he replied "Take a picture of some uncut cock for me." I am a man of my word, and I spent many hours scouring the nooks and crannies of London in search of the perfect specimen. I asked the locals if perhaps there was some off-the-beaten-path cock to be found. I checked out the adverts in the local gay rags to see if there might be some uncut cock that I could buy somewhere, or perhaps just rent for an hour or two. But that perfect cock was difficult to pin down. They were either too small, too pasty, didn't smell fresh, had a bitter aftertaste or were asymmetrical.

But, like the kind of trooper Patrick will be trying to seduce this weekend, I stuck to it. I finally found a photo-worthy, succulent, tender yet firm cock with all the proper trimmings.

Patrick, this is for you.

A Gay TunaPet on the Bayou!

The next 24 hours are going to be a bit wild for me. One of my best college drinking buddies will be flying into Cleveland tonight, where she will be visiting me for the evening. I hear cosmopolitans in the near future. Lots of them. And unfortunately, many people in NYC witnessed what happens to me after I have a few cosmopolitans.

Since I plan on being hung over, I've found a wonderful guest blogger to fill in for me. MAK and Camille from Cows in the Barn will be posting for the next three days.

Tomorrow, I grab my bags and head to the military base in Louisiana, where I plan on working a few maneuvers on some new recruits. "Drop to your hands and knees soldier!" That being said...I do have to contain myself a bit, as I can't say EVERYTHING since TunaKids and TunaFriends will be present.


Things I can't say in front of the Tuna Family this weekend

• Shit, fuck, damn, piss, hell, mother fucker, greasy wop dego, bottom boy bitch, pound my hot hole soldier, pussy, and c*nt!


• I hooked up with the colonel an hour ago in the bathroom.

Things I can't say to TunaSon:

• Tell mommy, "Woman...you get in that kitchen and make my dinner!"


• Tell mommy, "I like a woman in the kitchen and a freak in the sheets!"


• "There is no Santa Claus!"

Things I won't say to TunaDaughter:

• ..."and that's why gay men use lubricant."


• "Repeat after me. My milkshakes bring all the boys to the yard..."


• "Let's see what's in Mommy's nightstand!"

Things I can't say to TunaFriends:

• "I love facials. You think your husband would give me one?"


• "Yes...I'm the one who had the throat cancer. I used to swallow"


• "Do you mind if I have gay sex in your kitchen?"

I'll get as many pictures as I can though and will let you know all the sordid details when I get back.

A Time and Place for Everything

The injured friend I spoke of yesterday is more injured than we all first thought. He went to his doctor and was informed that he likely has two broken bones. Since his partner couldn't get off work, I took him to the hospital for his MRI today. While traveling to the hospital, we discussed our past lives before we knew each other and the nature of love and how it all works out between two people. You know...basic conversations when on Vicodin.

Hearing how he and his other 1/2 got together, and how their prior relationships have worked out was just so interesting to me. These two men have been together for quite some time now, and they both compliment each other so very well. They've built a very good life for themselves and have moved into gay role model status. Both have commented to me that they don't envy my "single" status.

Something I find just so amazing is how random love and relationships really are. The odds are so stacked against us. Both people have to be in the same place emotionally, both have to be ready for a relationship, both have to be single and attracted to each other and on top of it all, their emotional baggage has to compliment each other. How the hell people ever fall in love is amazing to me!

Yet it happens all the time. People get married daily (and of course many divorce soon afterwards. From rushing in maybe?). Love is a strange drug that makes you do some crazy shit. It's addictive, and once you have a taste...you'll do anything to get your next dose. From what I've found though...you can't actively search for a supplier, but rather you need to let a supplier find you.