MonthAugust 2004

Question 3:

Well these strips are awfully small. I can hardly feed a man on those. Why don’t you give me another one.
Woman at KFC, IF you are going to buy the value $1 meal for 2 strips and a biscuit, do not bitch about the size of the strips. And if it is not sufficient for “man” — which are you buyin’ the $1 value meal in the first place!?
I literaly had to bite my tongue to withhold my comments from her. On top of that, she was dressed extremely poorly for someone with such an elitist attitude. Not to mention her hair . . . good lord. They could probably have found a cure for cancer in that nest.
But again, I stress, if you are going to skimp on the flo, don’t bitch at the size. What do you expect for $1? I can’t even buy gas for $1. And you know why they’re $1 . . . cuz it’s the chicken that fell on the floor that they need to get rid of. “Special seasoning” my ass. It’s dirt and pubes.
So tacky woman at KFC, I hope your chicken strips were sufficient for your “man.” And that the $2 you saved from buying the normal meal is going to help put your tacky child through college, or to pay for some surgery for your paralyzed sister.

Question 2:

Is that all love is to you — a chemical reaction?
I wonder how much of who we are is really a physical manifistation of chemical reactions. Obviously chemistry is a huge part of our emotional makeup, but I wonder how much “the heart” and the firing of a few neurons are the same.
Attraction stems from smells, pheromones — it’s really obvious with animals — monkeys and such — but perhaps not so much with people. And there’s there the whole dopamine thing that makes us feel good . . .
But love — I don’t know. It’s an attachment. And when you have it, life is a total uphill ride. And when it leaves — there is a withdrawl (dopamine) and life is just one sad bowl of shit.
But does justifying love as a few chemical reactions take the man out of the machine? Does it dehumanize me? Or does it give me an upperhand in my search for another fix?
And if that’s the case — pheromones, interactions, spark here, spark there — we’re really like Legos. And as adolescent as it sounds — does your Lego peg fill my Lego hole? Is it a matter of finding a certain chemical makeup that keeps that dopamine aflow and makes that attachment become something stronger? And how unique are these patterns? Does being blonde hair, blue eyes, ripped, and godly make your pheromone chemical pattern more common?
I don’t understand attraction. What makes me attracted to one person more than another. And how does attraction turn to love — and love to committment — and committment to attachment. And what the hell is love at first sight?

Question 1:

What was it like when you two first met?
Was early December — kind’a chilly outside. I’d gone to Guava Lamp on whim — threw on this old tent my mother had bought in the Netherlands a few years before and a hat that didn’t match. I was meeting friends there, the same usual, needy, self-involved group.
It was fairly crowded that night, and we’d gathered around the front curve of the bar, in front of the jungle of wires they call the karaoke monitor. Smoky and loud, I was feeling kind’a sick from the mixture of smoke and overly-sweet milk-based cocktails. We didn’t really talk that much because it was so loud — but it was Christmasy-feeling and everyone was in a pleasant, stable mood. I remember how we’d make social comments on the drab fashion that was gracing the bar.
I remember seeing him at the corner of the bar, thought he was cute — our eyes met, but I quickly continued back to the off-pitch fat girl emoting “Killing Me Softly.” His eyes didn’t leave me. I’d look back everyone in a while, and he was still there. He eventually introduced himself to our group of friends — him and his friend, Laslo.
I was in the back corner, kept to myself as usual. And he went around the group separatly making formalities.

To Clay: “Hi, are you always this plastic?”
Clay: *gasp* “…”

Then he moved on to me. Stopped in front of me, set down his martini, looked me at the eyes and said:

To Me: “… Will you marry me? …”
Me: “When did you have in mind?”
To Me: “When’s your birthday?”
Me: “The 16th — why you gonna make it a gift?”

He asked for my number that night. Never a name, although he knew it before. I left that night feeling alive. A big smirk on my face. He was beautiful. And I was wearing a huge bright blue tent with non-matching hat.
And that is what it was like when we met: Intense. And every day of the next four months was equally as moving as the first day.

A Friendly Haiku

Friends are like sunshine.
There to brighten up my day.
And give me a tan.
Friends are like assholes.
Sometimes they are full of shit.
And irritating.
But usually friends are
wonderful people to have.
Unless they like Bush.

A Medicinal Haiku

“Baby, come sit here.
Watch me take some medicine.
Yah, that’s real good, boy.”
“Take this here powder.
Put it in the little jar.
Now use my lighter.”
“Breath in like mama.
Don’t you be scared of the smoke.
Medicine is good.”
“Don’t you tell no one.”
Mama’s medicine’s secret.”
“I love you, mama.”

Prince Adam’s Big Adventure, Part One

Once upon a time, Prince Adam embarked on a grand adventure to visit his distant friend, Father Michael. The two friends had not met face to face in many years. Father Michael was a religious man, to be sure, and guided his flock of devoted followers in the ways of Lehi and the Grand Nagus.
Prince Adam assigned his best slaves to the task of assembling a caravan for the journey. Foods and trinkets from his native land in the Sonoran Desert were stocked, camels were prepared for the long journey, and a small harem of barely legal boys- a gift for Father Michael.
The trek began in the waning days of winter. The blowing desert wind carried a chill and left many of the entourage longing for chapstick and hot cocoa, but they pushed through the difficulty and eventually emerged into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where Father Michael lived.
Descending through the thickly forested mountainside, Prince Adam halted the caravan at the sight of a grove of coconuts. One particular coconut tree looked almost as though it were beckoning to him, and on that very tree, one particular coconut looked especially beautiful. Prince Adam’s best tree-climbing slave climbed the tree and fetched the coconut, after which they continued into the city below.
Father Michael heard a rap at the door. Ashamed of his nudity, he quickly covered himself in his priestly robes and shouted, “Just a moment!” He pulled at the heavy brass door handle and nearly fell back when he saw the smirking face of Prince Adam waiting there to greet him.
Prince Adam clapped and said, “Michael! It is so good to see you!” They exchanged gang signs appropriate to the Valley of the Shadow of Death and embraced. “I come bearings gifts of the bounty of the Sonoran lands and ask for nothing but your company in return.” Father Michael welcomed the prince into his home and the two sat and spoke for hours, sharing stories and playing innumerable games of rock, paper, scissors.
At last Father Michael became impatient and steered the conversation back to the gifts of which the prince had spoken. “Oh, yes yes!” Adam replied, and snapped his fingers at his best gift-fetching slave. Moments later he returned with the coconut, which still seemed to shimmer in the light.
“The first of my many gifts,” Adam began, “is not from my land, but rather from yours. Its beauty was so overwhelming that I could not resist bringing it for you to enjoy.” Father Michael gasped and said, “Prince! You have been fortunate enough to discover a very rare Enchanted Coconut!”
Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Prince Adam took the Enchanted Coconut in his hands. “Truly? Tell me more.”
Father Michael took the Enchanted Coconut and walked to the kitchen. “Let me show you, instead.” He removed a RonCo Coconut Cracker

Gotta Love A Man Who Toots His Own Horn

Dubbya is such an asshat. “America is better off under my leadership.” Better for whom? You? Me? My faggot community?
Yah, you asshat. Get off of CNN.
He’s so delusional — a la “My descamisados still worship me! PERON! PERON! PERON! OHH WAIT! BUSH! BUSH! BUSH!”
. . .
Here in the US
With “Dubbya” Bush
Our nation is falling apart.
With unemployment and terror
At an all time high.
We must maintain freedom
And unification of the worldly type
With no faggots or liberals in sight
To corrupt his appearance world-wide.
Yet then there’s Cheney,
With his own new style.
Who is polite and reserved to the bone.
With not an ounce or a smidgeon of moral decay.
He’s undefiled,
And good for our country in a round-about way
Except when he starts to get mad.
He’ll say something deep like “FUCK OFF!”
Don’t cry for me, Laura Bush …
The truth is your husband’s an asshat.
He’s so misguided
Thinks he’s our leader.
“The world is safer
Under my guidance.”
And as for Iraq,
I think it’s strange
That the war ended months ago.
Yet there’s more violence and killing than ever before.
Now there’s beheadings
And carbombs, explosions, and kidnappings too.
Our soldiers are killed everyday
And not in a dignified way…
Don’t cry for me, Laura Bush …
The truth is your husband’s an asshat.
He’s so misguided
Thinks he’s our leader.
“The world is safer
Under my guidance.”
He always says too much,
There’s nothing more he can think of to win this war
But all we have to do
Is vote for Kerry and make Bush number two!

Fat-Free Haiku

Fat gal on a couch
Sits for six years with no bath.
Couldn’t leave to piss.
Six years on a couch
at four hundred eighty pounds.
Hey, want a twinkie?
Six years on a couch
Skin has grafted to the chair
Have to cut her out.
Fat gal on a couch —
What ever were you thinking?
Call Jenny Craig!

A Politically Queer Haiku

James E. McGreevy,
Govenor of New Jersey
Has had an affair.
Not just an affair.
A rainbow colored affair.
Hey, we all like cock!
Don’t have an affair
If you are married with kids
And decide you’re gay.
Wait. Unless, of course
It’s a la Abercrombie
Then I want photos.

Killer Haiku

Killer on the loose.
Killed over eighty women.
Up for release soon.
Bastard Governor,
Happy to turn a blind eye.
Karma is a bitch.
How many women
Must a man slaughter these days
To die in prison?
Coral Eugene Watts.
A man with no compassion.
You disgust me, sir.

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