Meth, Oooo Meth

OH GOD~ This is the most hilarious thing that I've ever seen. I had totally forgotten about this anit-meth ad...

Avatar Movie!

I diddled a little when I saw the preview for this movie, the cartoon was phenomenal and I assume that with an A list Director like M. Nightshambalamalalamon that it should have high production values and amazing effects. I just pray that Good 'ole M. Night doesn't try one of his infamous twists with this movie as it has a well known story plot and can't be changed. So, M. Night, since I know that you check out my blog and value my opinion...don't fuck shit up. K? Good, glad we had this talk.

They're dying, and no one seems to care.

The most popular subject of the past 38 hours has been the death of Micheal Jackson, Ferrah Fawcett, and Ed McMahon. No doubt these three have accomplished some truly awesome things in their lifetimes, but they were NOT gods. They were humans, just like us, designed to wear down and wither away. I just can't understand why people idolize celebrities as if they were parts of their own family. I've seen people actually cry over Michaels death whom didn't shed a single tear at their own mothers funeral. It's ridiculous. I can't let myself believe that these emotions are real. I'm sorry, I think that people love to make spectacles. Everything is an opportunity to be in the spotlight. When news broke, it became almost a game to see how many people you could tell before they found out from someone else, just to be the one to have broken the news to someone. Why? Because of voyeurism. People enjoy attention and praise and sympathy and will move at any pace to obtain it. Even if it means turning the death of someone else into a chance to pull focus on them, by crying hysterically, or becoming insanely critical of the life that the deceased led during life. I don't think that I've seen more negative posts and statuses about MJ in the last day or so than there was during his trials. People who weren't even really fans are all of sudden die hard MJ fans and are torn up over his death. GET OVER YOURSELVES. It's oddly frustrating the length that average fuck ups will go to in order to be noticed.

We should indeed acknowledge that they were talented and gifted individuals, then we should fucking MOVE ON.

Another thing that bothers me is the response to these deaths on a national level. Why is there not such an uproar when young men and women of the armed forces are brought back in boxes? They're dying and no one seems to care. Some of these people were barely 18, never married, never owned homes, never had children, they died young and horridly just so we could sit comfortably at home and give the sympathy and attention that is rightfully theirs to a singer, actress, and announcer. Sure Michael Jackson sold countless records, but he never slept in a barrack afraid for his life. Sure Farrah Fawcett was a legendary sex symbol, but she never had to take someones life in order to protect her own and YOURS. For these artists, their lives go on through their albums and movies, but for the solders at war, they die nameless and without recognition, living on through our FREEDOM.

Get it together.

Jessica and Hunter: Go to Pinkberry

I don't think that I've ever laughed so hard. THE BEST HUMANS OF 2000whatever forever.

Xtube me.

I never thought that I could become bored with limitless amounts of information and entertainment. But, it appears that the Internet is not as limitless as I had once believed. Without a purpose or goal, the Internet becomes a sick whorehouse filled with cheap boys and bad actors. Since when did I become addicted to porn? This can't be my life. I remember a time when a man's vice used to be alcohol, or drugs, or beating his wife even. This cyber age has opened up a whole new type of freak within the human psyche. It's gross. Even men who were hooked on hookers had to leave their homes to find the blessed "woman of the night", I don't have to leave my room. The shiny men of Corbin Fisher and the slightly sleazy folks at Xtube have become my new BFF's, providing countless hours of entertainment. This disease has evolved so much that I'm not even tuning my disco stick anymore. It's almost like porn is the new soap opera. Take for example, Maverickmannn on Xtube, I (sometimes) can't WAIT to get home to see which little 14 they're passing off as barely 18. I need help. No, FO REAL DOE. I'm about 40lbs and a saved by the bell t-shirt away from being Bruce Vilanch.

Summer...bring dat ass

This week is the last week of my academic year and I cannot be more ecstatic. Summer has been dragging her feet and I'm bout ready to snatch a mafuck'n bitch and pop mad caps in dat ass, on the real. bitch.

For me, the summer means two things; money and braces. I'm really stoked about the money, not so much on the braces, but hey, it needs to be done so why not now? I'm aware that I'm about 6 years late on the braces craze, but I figure that if I've reached physical perfection by 25 that I'll still stand some chance of making something of myself. Let's be honest, in this country, being unattractive will never get you that promotion. Be as smart as you want to be bro, but that guy who's filling out the sleeves of that baby blue button up with his perfectly sculpted arms and dashing smile has already accepted the raise. All that's left is for you to do is walk humbly by his cubicle while he prepares to move into an office and you prepare to kill yourself in the parking lot using stolen office supplies (which, by the way, will get more press than your actual death). VIVA LA AMERICA!


(Oh,and I'll see Markesha too)

You Like To Fuck Baby Heads

Sarah Silverman. Goddess.

Why I'm Gay

The RoadWarrior

You're 18 and I hate you

I'm finally starting to realize that I'm aging and that there are people that are just now graduating from High School and beginning to look for colleges and it makes me sick. Like, who graduates from High School anymore, I mean, that's so 2006. I'm actually jealous of these kids. I would give anything to be a freshman in college again, I would actually work and apply for internships instead of blacking out on the bathroom floor of my fraternity house.

I remember when I was in High School, the only thing that mattered was the day that I'd live in an ACTUAL DORM with other "college kids" where I'd get drunk and become a whore and live my life just like I'd seen on The National Lampoon Movies. The reality of the life I ended up leading was substantially different than what I had expected. I was unaware that getting drunk led to puking out your life as you cried to the bottom of the toilet making deals with God that you'd never ever drink again if he'd only release you from regurgitating your pelvis.

I wonder what college would have been like if I'd gone to a larger school in New York. Would I have attended a celebrity hosted party by now, or possibly ran into dozens of iconic figures that I see on my magic picture box everyday? Would I dress differently, being influenced by the mecca of fashion? I think I'd probably just be dead.

I really like Asparagus.

I was reading the requirements for auditioning for MTV's The Real World, (why? Because it's my right as an American youth to try out...don't EVEN act like you haven't thought about) and I saw that the age cut off is 25....WHAAT! I'm almost too old to be on The Real World! Gross. This getting older thing is so lame. Before you know it, I'll like have a house and an actual job....and a budget, and some cats. This sucks hard!

I'll just start lying now.

"Hey! How old are you?"

"11 and loving it."

Lil Kim...

QUEEN BEE!

There's been a lot of buzz about Lil Kim and all of her Plastic Surgery since her appearance on Dancing With The Stars. I happen to think that she looks amazing. I know that a lot of her African American fans are upset by her numerous surgerys. Anytime that a black person get's rhinoplasty or wears contacts, all of a sudden that person 'wants to be white.' Uhm, no, lame. Maybe they just make you look better. In lil Kim's case, her nose job is awesome and the eyes work. She's cute.

HOWEVER!!!!

this is a mess.

Chelsea Lately

Beats Chuy...I'm sure of it.

HELL YEAH

Get with it.

"Done, again." Emotional psycho bable #3001

Being gay is the lamest thing on the Earth. All you do is wonder if you're hot enough to be loved. Not smart enough, but hot enough. Not witty enough, but hot enough. Not caring enough, but FUCKING HOT ENOUGH.

I've deemed myself completely incapable of being loved or cared for. I'm so insecure in who I am that I make it nearly intolerable to date me. I'm always second guessing whether or not you think that I'm still attractive. In the front of my mind, I believe that you'd rather be with that other guy on your facebook, or the one that's always making you laugh. I'm not pretty enough for anyone. I'm not fit enough for anyone.

I'm the friend.
Not the Boyfriend.


Well I'm done and out. Again.

Humans...what fucking peices of shit we are, eh?

I stumbled across a rather interesting theory called The Diffusion of Responsibility Theory. Basically its the idea that the more people present around an emergency, the less bystanders feel obligated or responsible to interfere on the behalf of the helpless, or victimized.

"This phenomenon has been thoroughly researched since the murder of
Kitty Genovese in New York in 1964. She was attacked at night just outside her home. She fought the murderer off, but he returned and attacked her again as she lay in the street. Repeatedly he ran away and returned, the murder taking a full half hour. Although she was screaming for help in a densely populated neighbourhood, no one came to her assistance, nor even alerted the police, although police established afterwards that her screams were heard by at least
38 of her neighbours." -

It's truely awful that this woman had to die, but it just makes me wonder why these aren't rare or isolated occasions. These events (maybe not to such an extreme) happen everyday, and we walk right by them feeling as though it's "not our business." I have to admit, if I saw a woman being stabbed to death in the middle of the street the following thoughts run through my head:

1. DAMN! Is he really stabbing her!?

2. OH MY GOD, he's really stabbing her?!

3. THAT'S FUCKED UP!

4. I SHOULD HELP HER!-

----PAUSE----(insert reality)

5. HELL NAW I'M NOT HELPING HER, if he THAT bold to just stab someone in the middle of the street, then he will surely would have no problem coming after my black ass. Plus, I don't know what she did to him. Shit, I need to know the whole story before I go risk my life for some white bitch that just simply, wasn't fast enough.

6. I hope somebody calls the cops man, this is really fucked up.

You may ask, "Well, Dexter, why don't YOU just call the police, you think-for-yourselfer? The answer is simple. Warrants. I have them. And cops are too damn nosey. I'm joking, I don't have warrants, but I'm not calling the police because I don't know how deep this thing goes. I've seen Four Brothers and I know that cops can be crooked and corrupt and like I said before. I'm not going to risk my life without knowing the whole story. I don't blame those people that stayed in the safety and comfort of their home and did nothing. And who knows, maybe it was just too damn cold or rainy or a combination of both to be outside trying to wrestle a knife away from somebody. See what I mean, details are important. Her neighbors simply wanted to live...heeaaarrrd that!

SO FUCK THIS SHIT!

but it is rather interesting.

Source:http://www.cultsock.ndirect.co.uk/MUHome/cshtml/socinf/diffusion.html

For more information on this theory...google it, I guess.

The HP TouchSmart IQ816

I'm Fucked!

This computer is so damn amazing! I was so certain that I was going to be purchasing the Dell XPS One 24, but this computer is cheaper for more features...well, actually, the only feature that this one includes at a cheaper price over the XPS is the Blue Ray. At base, the XPS with Blue Ray is like 2k+ but with the Hp w/ Blue Ray, it's only gonna run me about $1,900. Oh and did I forget to mention that this computer is TOUCH SCREEN!!!!! WHAAAT! JACK ME OFF WITH SOME SAND PAPER! Check out this motherfucking video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZdVfD77cqPI

The Dell XPS One 24

WILL BE MINE!!

This computer is the most amazing piece of technology that I've encountered and shall soon be under my ownership. It is an all in one computer. What you see in the picture (above) is all that is needed. There is no clunky, massive, gross CPU unit that you end up hiding under you desk (that you smash your knee into when you try to lounge back while masturbating). All of the computer is behind the screen. It's 24 inches of glorious screen and makes me go from 6 to midnight in 3.2 seconds. It has a wireless keyboard and mouse and touch sensitive controls on the right side of the screen for media control. AAAAAHHH, fuck me sideways THIS COMPUTER IS AMAZING!

-For a while I was torn between this computer and The 24 inch iMac, but then I remembered that Macs are for douchbags.-

Jai Ho Bitch!

Good heavens! I don't think that I've ever heard a song that makes me want to sacrifice myself to the gods of dance so much. It's been on repeat for so long that I swear my roommate has started singing it in his sleep! Ha, he's fat. It's from the movie Slumdog Millionaire and was revamped by PCD, both versions are orgasmic and crack filled. "You are the reason that I still believe!"

You know how sometimes you listen to Hannah Montana and you get the overwhelming urge to steal shit? Well, this song makes me want to take the 20 hour plane flight to India, buy a hand made scarf, beat a woman that seeks an education, fly back to God's favorite Country and Dance on Meryl Streeps left tit. Trust me friends, this song is more than worth a listen.

Envy of a Farm Life.

As I watch the CMA's I realize that I'm falling back in love with country music. I have always fancied country music because it's, at it's base, more positive than any other genre of music. Everytime that I listen to an artists song, they paint a vivid picture of a life that is simple, filled with hard work, love, and bliss. I envy them. Whether they are false fables or not, I long for the peace that I feel when I close my eyes drifting into their words. I remember watching the video for "I need you" by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill and crying. That's a love that you can't script. You can just tell that they are both perfectly content with their lives with one another. It appears that only in the world of country that celebrity marriages survive and last. I think that it has a lot to do with their value systems and expectations of life. To me, rural people search for the simple pleasures of life, wanting only what God will give, and needing only one person to love for eternity. City people tend to be a little harder to please, they aren't easily satisfied or content with what they have. Only in country music do I hear men sing and dream of marriage and raising a family. It's like they're the only realistic people left on this awful earth built on momentary satisfaction and tangible possessions.

I want to live like all I need is the Lord and a love.

I hate my life: The Pholcus phalangioides Spider

I remember being a tot and playing with my brother in the basement. We had this old green couch that had survived our short lived stint with army pocket knives from The Boy Scouts. It had all of these tiny slits in it from the frequent stabbings it endured. Once, while playing on the sofa, a Daddy long leg spider crawled from within the couch and was just hanging out on my leg. I didn't freak out, because it was a common looking spider. So, my brother and I played with the spider, trapping it, spraying it with air freshener and such. I come to find out that the Pholcus phalangioides spider (Daddy Long leg) is the most venomous animal in existence!


AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!


How lame! The poor insect is FEARED in the animal world. It would probably walk into a bar and errbody would be like "Ahhh shit, der go Daddy Long Leg, lets get the fuck outa herr!" (yes, I realize that insects don't actually have clubs, but you don't know WHAT they do when you cut off the light...bitch) But, due to it's tiny fangs it can't bite through the human skin, can you imagine? Being so damn awesome and bad ass and no one giving a fuck. Poor Pholcus phalangioides. I know your therapist must be gifted. And and your esteem! HA! WHAT ESTEEM! I was ten and I was spraying you with misty potpourri! AND YOU COULDN'T DO SHIT! I could just imagine what he was thinking... "Yeah, lil black bitch, if you was a grasshopper, I'd fuck you up right now." hahahahaha, lame ass insect. BOW TO MY HUMAN SUPERIORITY!

(Pholcus phalangioides A.K.A Bitch)

Shanice, fucking love ya.

"...never fully give yourself to anyone.. yet allow them to try to take it"

I'll start on monday, promise!

Diets.

I'm starting one. Well, I don't think that it's fair to call it a "diet" per say, because I'm not going to change what I eat, just how much I eat of what I'm already eating. Shut up bitch, I know that's called dieting. AAAAANYWAYS, mainly what I'm going to do is work out a shit ton. I'm not really a weight lifter, I have this thing about gyms and Hepatitis. SO, I think I'm just going to run more. Like, a lot more. Like twice a day, 4 miles each time. (that's eight miles, put the calc down)
The way that I see it, I'll burn way more food than I can use to create evil looks at clubs. Either I'll get a nice all over tone or I'll get huge calves and a skinny torso which might make my head look a little disproportionate, but that's cool. Works for Adrian Brody BAAAAZING! I'm really just trying to get to that point in my physical appearance so that I use less words to get into your pants. aha. I'm joking...sort of. Love me? ahhhh, we have fun. I kid.

I'm serious

May they be the last.

My heart cries an ode to your memory.

Kyle.

You were, for a lack of a better word, the "First."

The first to show me what it means to be gay.

It doesn't mean that you can finally be yourself and find love...

...but it is to be in constant question of yourself.

You taught me that perfection is a basic requirement that I'll never reach

I lay down my fear of rejection to you.

TAKE IT.

I no longer want it.

Dan.

The Internet blogger.

I actually fooled myself into believing that I actually meant something to you.

You were amazingly intelligent and well versed.

I loved just talking to you.

I loved falling in love with you.

Our first date was a little racier than I would have wanted but

to this day, I remember every moment of it.

You never wanted anymore than a quick fuck before work from me.

I died.

I had failed myself, again.

Promising it happiness that I would never give it.

To you I leave my naiveness.

TAKE IT

I no longer want it.

Zed.

The Last.

You were manipulative, controlling and I took it.

I trusted you with my insecurities

and you took advantage of them.

You allowed me to fall for you with no intent of meeting me halfway

Saying just enough to keep me hanging on.

I followed you.

Like a Dog.

Despite my better judgment I lusted after you

telling myself that "the others" where just friends.

You dropped me out of the blue.

I had never been ignored in my ENTIRE LIFE!

You were able to break me.

And I let you.

To you I leave this pain.

TAKE IT.

I no longer want it.

To you all.

Know that I am an amazing man that will fulfill my destiny. To love. Unconditionally, Passionately and for eternity.

Take with you these tears,

May they be the last.

Best Day Ever.

It's a nice day today, the breeze is warm and the sky is slightly cloudy. The weather is perfect. I'm strolling through the campus, journeying my way to the computer lab to do some research on what MAC computer I should buy (any input would be appreciated). As I'm walking, I smell Mariah Carry's fragrance (I know the smell, because a lot of the prostitots that I help at the community center love it) I turn, and see a really pretty blond chick. She's tan, wearing a teal tank with the perfect amount of cleavage. You know, just enough to make even me look at her supple meat mounds. That was kind of gross, sorry. I end up "following" her to the lab, meaning that we took the same combination of rights and lefts to find our way to the lab.

Reaching the lab, the seating is limited and the only available spot open is one that's about a seat away from "Blond Rando." I take the seat. The following happened EXACTLY as written.

TIME: approx. 12:15p.m.
PLACE: SFCC Computer Lab

I sit down. The blond sighs a sigh of frustration. I had forgotten my pen on top of the corner table by the vending machine, so I leaned over and asked her if I could borrow a writing utensil from her. She rolls her eyes and digs in her JAN SPORT to give me an actual pencil. I kind of looked at her for a second and took the pencil, mumbling a "thanks." This, by itself had grabbed the attention of the kids behind us. Then, OUT OF NOWHERE she shoots her head to me and says, "I HAVE A BOYFRIEND." rolling her neck in sync with her eyes back to her computer.

and without thinking I responded

"I know, you should stop feeding him pineapple, it makes his cum bitter."

The entire computer lab went up in laughter. But the best part was when she tried to respond and this black girl behind me stopped her saying

"Shut up bitch, he gotcho ole cocky ass"

I queffed.

Best Day Ever.

This month's song that makes me weep.

Without You.

Without you, the ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows.Without you, the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play.The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly, without you.The earth turns, the sun burns, but I die, without you.

Without you, the breeze warms, the girl smiles, the cloud moves.Without you, the tides change, the boys run, the oceans crash.The crowds roar, the days soar, the babies cry, without you.The moon glows, the river flows, but I die, without you.

HIM

the world revives

HER

Colors renew

BOTH

But I know blue, only blue, lonely blue, within me blue.

HER

Without you.Without you, the hand gropes, the ear hears, the pulse beats.

HIM

Without you, the eyes gaze, the legs walk, the lungs breathe.

HIM

The mind churns!

HER

The mind churns!

HIM

The heart yearns!

HER

The heart yearns!

BOTH

The tears dry, without you.Life goes on, but I�m gone.Cause I die, without you.

HER

Without you.

HIM

Without you.

BOTH

Without you.

Rules? What the fuck are these RULES?!

Blazing balls of holy frustration

Exactly how long am I supposed to wait to call you after getting your number?

Should I expect you to open doors and such, are you expecting me to open your doors and shit. Goddammit, talk to me!

Uhm, how much skin is too much skin?

Is it too cliche to go see a movie and then dinner?

Can I use your bathroom if this is a one nite thing?! I really have to poo...sorry, Mexican was an AWFUL idea.

Should I attempt to hold your hand? Are you into that?

If you leave your shirt at my house after a one niter, is it now mine?

(you probably should come get this)

Can I blast some Barry Manilow during an intense make-out session? (LOVE ME SOME BARRY HEEEEEY)

How many dates have to pass before I can attempt to kiss you? Screw You? You Screw Me?

hmmmm.....

if your boyfriend catches us cheating, should I just stand there or should I get my shit and bounce ASAP?

If you ask me to beat you during sex, is it okay for me to...like...not do that?

I need answers. These rules are confusing and make me itch. How am I supposed to know how much tongue to use on a first kiss. Is there tongue on the first kiss? Ugh, I barely got any time to study and this test is ridiculous.

ahh, the wonders of being gay and young. God Bless America eh?

Chance Encounter 1.3

Misadventures of a Xender King

"So, this party is really pretty lame." "Yeah, I know, total dud," I said, lying. I was having loads of fun. In a two hour time period, I had gone from 'most popular' to 'most likely to stab someone out of jealously'. "Do you play any vids?" The dark haired stranger asked. I took a chance assuming that "vids" were video games. "Sure, what systems do you own?""I have them all really, you could come back to my dorm, we could chill and play a little."So, if you recall my confusion on where this guy buried his totem pole. Let your confusion on my confusion end here. This kid was more than just the typical American Gay. He was a cross breed of a french bread-maker and a Las vegas "lady of the night". I examined him, but this time, not as a social threat, or as competition, but as a possible one nighter. Shoes:black and white vans, Pants: Tight, black jeans, Shirt: A black and pink element Tee. Evaluation complete. Emo. Ooo emo. I'd never been with an emo kid.
"Sure, that seems like more fun than sweating my nuts off in here." As I followed half-breed out of the lounge, I looked back at Emmanuel. He was looking at me. I froze. Had he been watching this entire debacle unfold? I realized that this was my chance to regain the upper hand. I turned around quickly in hopes of giving the illusion that I hadn't noticed him noticing me. I ran up to half-breed giving him a friendly, completely hetero hug from behind.
"Sorry, I'm still unpacking, so my room is thrashed right now," he said fumbling through a key ring that would make any janitor proud. "You're good." Entering his room, the first thing that caught my eye was the blank space on a T.V. stand. You know, where a T.V. should be. "I thought you said you had video game systems?" I asked now thinking this kid was about to lock the door and murder me. "Yeah, I have systems, but not a T.V., my roommate is buying one next week." "Soooo, how are we going to play?" I ask. I knew what would follow, I set him up perfectly. I knew how I would respond..."I have other ways we can play." Biting his lip he turns to a stereo laying on the empty bed across from his own, and begins to pump some Death Cab. I lay back on the bed awaiting his company. He cuts on a small lamp and cuts off all other lights. Sitting next to me on the bed he leans in to kiss me. Whoa, whoa. I stop him. I don't know what kind of guy this kid thought I was, but things were not about to go down like this...I mean, I don't even know this guys name. I'm not a whore. "What's your name?" "Vincent." "Cool." I kiss him. He's a decent kisser. He uses a little tongue, but no so much to the point where I feel like I'm being drowned. I take the lead, pushing him further on the bed and climbing on top of him taking a break to take off my shirt. He followed suit, taking off his ridiculously tight tee-shirt, reviling a cute little tattoo on his hip. It was the shape of a heart, but it had little devil horns and a whip tail. Things speed up, he slipped his hand in my jeans grabbing hold of my major hard on. He looks up at me smiling. He was surprised. I was proud. This was going to be a good night...

Chance Encounter 1.2

Misadventures of a Xender King

I hesitated to respond, still startled at the preposterous notion that I, Dexter, King of All that is cool, was being reduced to a level of social retardation where Amber Cook reigned as Queen. That's it! I was being sized up. I, simply scanned the room and preyed on the weakest, most likely to swoon under my charming good-looks and witty humor. Emmanuel scanned the room and chose the opposite. Why didn't I think of this before? By befriending me first, all those that had fallen victim to me where now his. He let me do all the work. I like him. I hate him. He's genius.
"Hiya, I'm uh...uh... (shit! I had spent so much time thinking about how manipulative he had been, I forgot my name)...Dexter (there you go). "Cool" he said. "Well, it was uh nice meeting you Derek." I stood there, watching him walk away thinking about the mumbling doofus of a first impression that I had left on him. Seriously. Derek? I just told him my name was Dexter, I mean, my name is rather rare. I think one would remember it. And where does he get off ending the convo at just "cool"?
I watched him the entire night. Buzzing around the lounge with his perfect smile and two hundred dollar Lacoste shoes that I really wanted, but that bitch at The Galleria refused to place them on hold for me, which was totally ridiculous because-I'm getting off track. I watched him buzz around the room leaving behind a trail of laughter and admiration. These fools were in a trance, I could see it on their pathetic little faces. Even after he said only about a total of ten words to them, they kept their eyes on him. Not me. I had better things to do. There was a half drunken cup of Sprite in the corner, that I'm pretty sure (now looking back in retrospect) was spiked, but it was hot as shit and someone had swiped my bottle of Aquafina. As I began my journey to the forbidden beverage, I started to notice out of the corner of my eye a figure that seemed to be miming my movements. I wasn't the only one who had spotted the cup. I took a quick peek to my right pretending to sneeze. I didn't know who this kid was, but there was no way in hell that he was going to get that cup. What if that's his cup? TUFF SHIT BITCH! Losers can't be...like...losers can't...whatever, I'm thirsty. I speed up. He speeds up. By this time, we're both fully aware of each other, within in a matter of two or three seconds we had both entered into full sprints for this cup. But It was no longer a cup.We both had instinctively tapped into our primitive caveman and the battle for the last slab of saber tooth meat began. I reached the cup first. Savoring my victory, I sipped the drink looking at the no longer faceless figure that had been my rival. He wasn't that bad looking. He had black hair which allowed his amazing green eyes to pop. I lost all interest in the sprite. I had a new goal. This stranger. "I'm guessing you didn't run track in High School," I said flirting. He laughs, "I guess you never learned to not to steal." "Oh, is this yours?" I asked. "Well, it was." "I'm sorry" (as I take another sip...) "It's fine," he replies. Immediately I evaluate our short lived flirting session. I detected a hint of sarcasm, with a few hair flips and tiny sweet smiles and giggles. Classic signals of an American gay.

Chance Encounter

***SHORT STORY ALERT***

The Misadventures of a Xender King.

For the sake of the tale, we'll call him Emmanuel. Emmanuel Tyler Brock. Manny is the type of guy that takes your breath away when you see him walk across the quad, which, coincidental, is as close as you'll ever get to him. He's the stylish, funny, fit gay guy that seems to have everyone eating out of the palms of his hand. He's captain of the Cheer leading team and has a singing voice that makes you swoon.

I can still remember the first time that I saw him. There's this "tradition" that my school has. At the beginning of each year, each dormitory holds what I like to call "swamp parties." They're these ridiculous get togethers where incoming freshman can decide to party and sleep in the dorm lounge for about two days. Don't get me wrong, it can be really bad ass, but after a while, the room begins to smell like swamp ass. My freshman year I attended my swamp party 'cause I wanted to get to know the people that I would inevitably be showering with. So, I start my usual friend making tactics, you know, scanning the room for the loser and working my way up the social ladder 'til I reach the prettier kids, where I'd ultimately set up camp. Scanning. Scanning. Scanning. Bingo. There she was, Amber Cook. Six foot three and producing an odor that would make Rosie Odonell's vagina look like a vacation in Maui. "Hey, I'm Dexter."And from there I worked the crowd, moving from each little pod sharing the same hilarious story of my getting locked in a port-a-potty while at a spice girls concert (which was total bull). Pretty soon, everyone in the room knew me. Me, the funny black gay guy who "I could totally hang out with and not feel like he was going to beat my ass and rob me!" Great. My strategy had re-proven itself yet again, leading me to believe even more that there isn't a person on this God forsaken Earth that I couldn't befriend.

That's when HE made his appearance. Standing 5 foot ten inches, brunette with a perfectly placed blond streak, and sun kissed skin. He was wearing a blue hoodie that seemed to have been tailored to fit his amazing slender body. I was drooling. Catching myself I realized that I had fallen into what seemed to be a 1998 made for T.V. teen angst movie starring Nev Campbell and James Van Der beek. The room slowed to the beat of a flies wing flap. He stood there Scanning. Scanning. Scanning. Bingo. "Hey, I'm Emmanuel" he said to me. Wait, WHAT?! Me? Was I really his Amber Cook...

Unsinkable Urge

So, I've just finished watching Titanic. I haven't watched it in about 2 years, the last time I sat and watched the entire movie, I cried uncontrollably. This time, however, I completely dried every fluid from my body. I sobbed for almost half an hour. It started when Rose told the shipmate that her name was "Rose Dawson." I lost it. By the time that they were reunited in Rose's dreams, I was on the floor convulsing and soaked in my tears and snot.

While watching, I put myself on the boat. I envision how it must have felt to look up at Jack as Rose was on the boat nearing the water away from him. The way that she looked up at him, I felt lost within myself. There stood her true love. There stood a force greater than the iceberg itself. Jack. He was the promise of eternal bliss and joy, in his arms lie a comfort unknown by her before. She knew that she would rather take her chances drowning, as long as she took them with Jack.

I love this movie because it is the perfect example of love. It's that everlasting oasis. No matter how far you journey from it, you'll forever long for it. Even when Rose was old and time had withered her body, in her mind, Jack's love was still as strong as the moment he caught her on the deck. THIS MOVIE IS SO DAMN POWERFUL! GODDAMMIT YOU FUCKERS! FEEL WHAT I FEEL!!!! I want that Jack Dawson love. I want the kind of love that would push me to the end of the world. The kind of love that warms my heart when my body has grown cold. The kind of love that dances through your waking moments and serenades you in your dreams. I want the kind of passion for a person that would force me off of a lifeboat BACK onto a sinking ship. I want to be able to hold his hand and look death in the face. I don't want some one niter who'll be gone in the morning. I want a love that will be there 50 years later.

Second verse, same as the first.

America.


A Nation of Inclusion, Security, and Acceptance



Gay America.



A Nation of Inadequacy, Envy, and Exclusion.

Before

This is me...Straight Me. Dexter, if you will. He's outgoing, witty, brilliant, incapable of standing up for himself, but doesn't have any enemies due to his passive aggressiveness. He's secretly into boys, but keeps his feelings locked up inside a box under his bed. The bible is his favorite book and his best friends are all girls, most of them from his church. Every night when he lays his sweet, virginal self down to sleep, he utters this prayer " Lord, please let me awaken straight, I want a wife and children someday. I know that my feelings and lust are against your will, and I long to see your kingdom when I die." Off to bed he drifts. Morning after morning he awakens to thoughts of Mario Lopez and Ryan Reynolds. His hatred for himself grows with each breath. At school, rumors of his homosexuality brew under the whispers of his "friends" as he dances around the theater pretending to be Storm from the X-Men. Truthfully, he's a good, decent kid. He wished harm upon no one and loves a good laugh. A wide smile is draped across his face, doing its job. Hiding the pain, the inner torture. He walks by his locker and hears "fag" being whispered into the crowd. They all laugh. He runs. At home, in his bed, where it's safe, his prayer of change, is screwed into one of hatred. Hatred for a God that would leave him damaged and defected. He thinks that he's an abomination. A freak accident. Cursed. His parents are distant as a sunset in the early morning. They're perfect. They're straight. Who cares if they're liars, selfish, rude, broke, or depressed. At least they're not gay, he thinks. He would have given anything to be like them. To be normal.

He's never felt so alone. It's as if there's no one out in the world to lift his head and love him.

AFTER

This is me...Gay Me. Dexter, still, if you will. He's outgoing, witty, brilliant, and will put a foot up dat ass if disrespected. He has tons of friends and still no true enemies. He's into boys and everyone knows it. That little box is gone from under the bed and now he treads life with the dignity of being honest with himself and those around him. But, do not be mislead. His prayers still bleed with a yearning to be "normal." It is true that he recognizes that he's gay, but he doesn't fully accept it. There was a time when he loved being gay, but after emotional letdown after emotional letdown, he realizes still, that life would be easier if he were straight. He's a handsome man, charismatic, and intelligent. The guy can seduce a crowd, making almost any one fall in love with him. Well, women that is. Men, on the other hand, turn from him, as if he has some intangible terminal virus. He's never had a boyfriend and cannot fully understand. The process of courtship is ALWAYS played out like this:
Dexter: Hi.
Him: Hey man.
Dexter: Hey. I'm Dexter.
Him: Cool name, I like that show. haha, I'm (Rando cute guy), nice to meet you.
Dexter: Yeah, I like that show too, Rando. You're quite the attractive guy
Him: Thanks man.
Dexter: So, if you're free sometime, maybe you'd like join me on a midnight carriage ride through the woods while getting better acquainted?
Him: haha, you're cute, but I DON'T DATE BLACK GUYS.
Dexter:...uh, ahh, that's cool man. I understand. We could just kick it then, as friends.
Him:...
Dexter: Hello?
Him:...
Dexter:...

I don't believe in Love. Well, I don't believe that there's love out there for me. I do realize that being mainly attracted to white men is a downfall, and I also realize that everyone has a personally preference. I'm not mad at the men that turn me down. I'm mad at the life that I was given. If I were straight, I would have had a host of beautiful women under my belt. I would be possibly engaged and awaiting my wedding. I'd be on a blissful course to a family, a wife, and children. Instead, I'm 21, a virgin, and hating my current self more than I have my latter.

I've never felt so alone. It's as if there's no one out in the world to lift my head, and love me.

Tutorial: Making a fool of yourself

Step 1: Become completely insecure and unsure of who you are and what you can offer anyone.

Step 2: Go out into the gay world looking for someone who you believe fits your personal criteria

Step 3: Hit on them.

Step 4: Look way too deep into every word that they tell you, until you've created a false relationship between the two of you.

Step 5: Become furiously jealous when someone who you've deemed "more attractive" than you writes ANYTHING on their myspace or facebook.

Step 6: Confront your "boyfriend" about how you feel that he's much too good for you, and that you feel like a "puppy following him around waiting for some attention."

Now, if that doesn't send the guy running and you looking more pathetic than you can possibly imagine. Then consider following through with step 7.

Step 7: After about two weeks of not talking to the guy, send him a myspace message telling him that you're a lame and you'd like to be friends with him. OH! and then wait for the "unread" in the sent folder of Myspace Mail to change to "read" so that you can go ahead and give yourself the green light to fall into a ridiculous depression.

There. You've officially made a fool of yourself.

Suck my dick...cinnamon candy

I don't like it. It serves little puropse over pissing me off to no virtual end. I don't know what spice these candy makers have been sucking on, but that IS NOT CINNAMON! It some odd limbo between bleach and sugar. It burns, it smells dredful, and its wrapped in a very ugly bergundy/red color that makes me want to backhand infants.

OLD PEOPLE

Should be kept on an Island where they can nag each other to death. They are the wrinkles of society and need to be botoxed ASAP. They do have their benefits (and I'm not talking social security, that's a myth) I'm talking about their wisdom. I agree that it is very useful for younger, sexier generations. And that's why I propose that those that I deem very wise, should be harvested for that knowledge in a very Alcatraz, Guantanamo like way.

Deep throating the question.

HOW DO YOU

Tell someone that their breath makes you extremely violent?

Cross breed a Turtle and Goldfish? (I must have my Goldfurtle)

Let a guy know that you're into him, without appearing too desperate?

Let a really nice guy down?

Get Ryan Reynolds Cell Phone number?

Kill a midget properly?

Hide a dead midget?

Make your own Vodka?

Force feed a baby Tiger homemade Vodka?

Fingerfuck Oprah?

Escape Guantanamo Bay?

Shut the fuck up?

Build a full sized, fully operational Gingerbread Loft?

Forget me?

Love me?

Hold me?

Kiss me?

Cheat on me?

Get me pregnant?

Surprise me?

Make me love you?

Answer me?**I want answers. Like, foreal, no bullshit. ANSWER ME!**

Amazing sex is promised

He's six feet 2, cute smile, green eyes and my date for tonight.

We started the night out doing a little bit of shopping, he bought the coolest pair of shoes.

We caught a 9:40 movie. It was okay, could have been a lot better. But I didn't care.

Then we walked through the Delmar Loop, the strip was alive with people and couples, and street lamps...The weather was warm with cool breezes, perfect.

He bought a hotdog from a street vendor that we shared.He's a wonderful guy.

His name, you ask.......Dexter L. Peebles.THAT'S RIGHT BITCH! ME!

I took myself out tonight, in leu of any man that would or could be interested in me. This is more than just a dry spell, it's Oprah's Vagina, the driest, loneliest place on Earth. It's actually not as funny as you or I would like to think, I'm cursed. I traded everlasting happiness for Beauty, Wealth, and Power a long time ago. You may say "well, Dexter, you're not powerful nor wealthy." And I say, Fuck You. My point is that I am beautiful, thank you for not doubting that, my point really is that I, along with two other, are bonded in a curse that will leave us lonely and wanting for the rest of our lives.

So go, you lucky soul with your sex and your hugs....ENJOY YOUR LIFE. Enjoys those blonde hair, blue eyed blessings. Those chocolate bundles of African Bliss. Those Asian...things. BE GLAD, for you are free to love and wander the world aimlessly with the man or woman...or animal of your heart. Me, I must sit at home with a vast collection of porn and dildos...waiting, wanting, crying...while Bre is cutting, and Markesha Drinking. FArewell cruel...thin, beautiful, world. I'll take my Beauty, Markesha will take her Talent, and Bre will take her life.
Don't look back at what was written, only look forward to our Deaths.

I like Girly Music

No longer will I pretend to want to hold.

I WANT TO BE HELD.

No longer making myself watch football

I WANT TO WATCH GOSSIP GIRL.

No longer listening to Coheed and Cambria

I WANT TO LISTEN TO ALY & AJ.

No longer wanting to kiss.

I WANT TO BE KISSED.

No longer wishing to be the straightest gay guy you know

I WISH TO BE THAT ONE FAG.lol, I kid.

Being true to yourself is undoubtably hard to do, but the first step is to position yourself in a place that fits who you are inside. That may mean changing your group of friends, or moving to a new place. You owe no one anything. All you'll ever have is yourself. Protect and Perfect yourself. Regret nothing, wish only for the best. Choose only the best. Take more chances, live more on an edge rather than in the middle of the platform. Don't conform. Love, Love, Love.

The "Maybe"

Do you ever think that it's time to stop?
Maybe it is?
Maybe it's time to stop wishing that you were a little prettier.
Maybe it's time to stop beliveing every word that you hear about you.
Maybe it's time to stop beating yourself up over mistakes that you've made in the past.
Maybe it's time to stop wondering what life would be like "if only"...
Maybe you're perfect
Maybe the way that you look is exactly what someone is looking for.
Maybe the words that people speak are only a reflection of their insecurities manifesting.
Maybe that mistake that you made will lead you down the correct path.
Maybe if your life was the way that you want it...life still wouldn't be how you want it.

I believe that if we thought more about how wrong we can be, we wouldn't be wrong nearly as much.

Anal stimulation

I'm different. Once again, I've managed to turn what appeared to be a "rut" into a learning experience. I'm speaking about my ever depressing battle with being single. Recently, I had become frustrated with the fact that I am utterly incapable of finding a boyfriend, or known to Carrie as the "Manfriend." But, I evaluated my need for a significant other and I discovered an ugly truth about myself. I'm a perpetrator. All this time I had been presenting myself as someone that I really wasn't. So naturally, I was sending mixed signals into the universe, thusly causing a blockage of positive energy preventing anyone from seeing me as compatible. Sound like a crock of hippy bullshit? Well take another whiff you pretentious cum guzzler because it's not. It's All American Bullshit. But, there is some truth within the corn nutty sentence above. I wasn't being Dexter, I was being what I thought others would take kindly to, and that's never a good choice. Misrepresentation would lead me down a passage of anonymous butt fucking that would leave my heart darker and even more spacious than before. This time around, I vow to only offer what is genuine and true, and if this faggoty tree bears no fruit, then I'll still have me dignity...and lotion.

The Reason you're probably single. The Gay Filter.

It's common knowledge that gay men are extremely picky when it comes to choosing a spouse. But are our requirements too specific? Of course, most of us would love to date a Ryan Reynolds or Chris Evans, but how likely are we to pass up a chance at an actuality chasing a fantasy?
The Gay filter works like this,

I want a guy who:
Has amazing Abs
Pretty teeth
Nice, Managed Hair
Big Hands
Charming
Funny
"Straight Acting"
Has Money
Is good in bed
Sensitive

The problem with the list above is that it only applies to about 25 percent of the American male population, hetero and homosexual, cutting the gays chance of finding this perfect man in half. So, technically you, fag boy, could meet 100 men and out of them you could POSSIBLY find 12 that would work for you. Sounds good right? 12? That's good enough for me, you think? WRONG! The second thing wrong with the gay filter is that most likely, you, yourself don't fit into that 25%. Which means that if you were to meet 1 of the 12 men that are perfect for you, you are NOT perfect for them. It's the sad, and very inconvenient truth, but you're a big boy now. Wipe your tears and come off your cloud of ridiculous nimbus.
Solution? Why yes, there are several. Firstly, you can wake the fuck up. Chris Evans and Ryan Reynolds are fictional depictions of real men. You have no idea what they may be like in their intimate lives. Setting your standards from hollywood celebs will only leave you lonely or in a relationship built only on physical attraction, which we all know won't last.
Second. Love yourself. Men who need constant affection and self verification through intimacy are prone to making bad relationship based decisions. The best way to find a good man, is to be one yourself. You would not want to date a guy who was unimpressed with himself, or overly insecure. Learn to hold yourself, learn to dine alone, learn to enjoy life alone. Once you're capable of loving your own life, helping someone else love you will be a lot easier.
Thirdly. Decide what's really important to you in a spouse. Detailing too much will cause even the best of men to fall short to your filter. Remember, want only as good as you, yourself, can offer.