Yesterday was just a little heavy, a little angry, and a little overwhelmingly bitter; so, as I so often like to do after I go off on a rampage, it’s time for something a bit lighter and sillier. I swore I’d never stoop to these levels, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and I still have about four hours of work left to do, so…
Caption Contest 04.09.08
Your mission: Come up with a humorous, ironic, witty, or in some other way interesting caption for the above picture. Post it as a comment to this entry, or if you want, you can Photoshop it in and post a link to your image. It’s up to you. Either way works. You can come up with as many as you like, but only one can win.
The deadline: Monday, April 14th, 12a CST. That means the second the clock rolls over from Sunday to Monday in my time zone, the contest is over. I’ll pick the best caption and post the winner when I post Monday’s comic.
The reward: A $30 Amazon gift card (we’ll even use the e-cards so you don’t have to wait for it to arrive via postal mail or give me your address). That’s enough for you to order enough junk to even get their renowned (and horribly slow) free Super Saver shipping.
The catch: Er…there’s no catch, I think; I’m just pressed for time and not above doing stupid internet-typical things to find something to post about. At least it’s not lolcats. Although if you’re an international reader and you don’t have access to Amazon or $30 would barely even cover shipping for you, if you win we’ll talk about getting you a gift card to some other place that’s better suited to your locale.
Sorry I’m late today, guys. Conference calls are the bane of my existence; conference calls that demand voluntary agreement to an illegal invasion of privacy and sacrifice of confidential personal information just leave me steaming and ready to tear someone’s head off. But since I can’t talk about that here because 1. it’s not topical, 2. it would violate confidentiality, and 3. I have to hurry and go finish some work for my new job (which is creating its own difficulties that I can’t discuss due to being gagged by an NDA), instead we’re going to indulge in a little frivolity with the end goal of inviting you to participate (you people have been way too quiet lately) and distracting me from shanking a b*tch.
I’ve mentioned before that I probably identify as a Kinsey 5, meaning it would take a female version of Vin Diesel to turn my head towards the fairer sex. People jokingly ask who straight people would go gay for all the time, though, so I have to wonder: if you’re gay, who would you go straight for? (Or if you’re straight, the age-old question of who you’d go gay for. If you’re bi, just pick the three people you’d like to get the horizontal monkey on with the most.)
My top three women:
1. Michelle Rodriguez.
She’s tough, she’s fierce, she’s tight, and she’s gorgeous. She plays hard, gritty characters rather well, with a bit of a wild side and definite hard-as-nails core. I have no idea what she’s like outside of the characters she’s often typecast as in various action flicks (The Fast and the Furious, Resident Evil, the atrocity of Bloodrayne that not even she could salvage with that horribly faked accent)…but that doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy looking.
2. Milla Jovovich.
I’m not sure what it is about Milla that gets me. Maybe it’s because she has the same air that Michelle Rodriguez does, only packed into a more graceful, elegant package: that mixture of ferocity and delicacy with a sharp dash of playfulness. (It probably helps that she looks like a young man sometimes and I love androgyny, although I find her beautiful in a way that transcends gender. Oddly, I didn’t like her when I saw her as Leeloo in The Fifth Element (I was paying more attention to Bruce Willis anyway), but after the Resident Evil films and a few others, I’d gladly switch teams if Milla offered - even if her eyes creep me out a little.
Not…that she’d even give me a second glance. But a boy can dream, can’t he?
3. Lucy…no…um…Drew…no…er…oh, damn. I really don’t have a third; I guess those two ladies are it for me. Anyone got any suggestions for a third?
Gather now, unbelievers, for I shall tell you a tale of a power older than the deepest roots of human culture, a force of nature born of the beasts that we claim to have risen above - an instinct so primal, so raw, that it overpowers all else and summons the very earth to quiver before its almighty and terrifying grace.
Homosexuality.
You think you know divinity? You think you know truth? Blasphemers. Weak pawns following a false god. Hearken, then to the truth that even heathens feel burning in the very core of their damned souls: the truth subscribed to by men of all faith, men of Christian and Muslim roots and more, men of all walks of life united, despite their differences, in this belief.
Today is a day for humor, sweetnesses. Adri has had a bad few days and is not in the mood to rant, rave, spout doom and gloom, and otherwise froth over the ills of society, culture, politics, and the pathetic farce that is our upcoming presidential election. So today, kids, we are going to talk about a little Texas TMI that will probably make every woman, gay or straight, and quite a few gay guys breathe a heavy sigh of relief.
You see, my little petroleum-based lubrication products of love, up until very recently it has been illegal to sell sex toys in the state of Texas. It has also been illegal to carry more than six on your person, as carrying more than six is considered intent to distribute. Should the police raid the bamboo storage cube in my bedroom, they would likely find enough evidence to have me carted off to jail and then dealt a hefty fine probably worth ten times the value of the items confiscated as exhibits A through Z.
Now that you know a little too much about me, though, perhaps you wonder: how do people in the state of Texas obtain sex toys? One way is to order online. Another is to visit a variety of “education” shops, as the lovely Dildo Diaries so wonderfully demonstrate:
If you’re done giggling yourself silly, you may be asking yourself, “Where’s he going with this? Oh, sure, it’s a little bit of amusing trivia about the state that, not surprisingly, spawned George W. Bush, but where’s the news? What’s his point?”
Okay, I’ve been saving this for a day when I was too brain-dead to write anything substantive, and today definitely fits that bill. You don’t want to know how late I was up last night working, but the timestamps on the cracked-out commentfest to yesterday’s post should give you an idea. A while ago Sandra over at Globally Green Living tagged me with a meme (aren’t we just the little scions of journalistic integrity?), something about posting seven fascinating things you may or may not know about me.
Er. I’m not good at being fascinating, but here’s me being a good little memesheep and posting seven things anyway.
1. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a neurologist. No, seriously. I was fascinated by the human brain, loved the term medulla oblongata, and thought I’d spend the rest of my life researching synaptic behavior. That was before I got sidetracked by a passion for jet propulsion and weeks spent studying breakdowns of jet engine parts and the progression of jet engine technology over decades. What? I was a dorky kid.
2. It’s not unlikely to find me talking to myself like a crazy street corner prophet while in the grocery store, walking down the street, or even cleaning the kitchen. This includes heated back-and-forth conversations muttered under my breath. It’s not as crazy as it sounds, and it generally only happens when I’m in the middle of working on a story. I often work out dialogue as I’m doing other things away from the computer, and I tend to mutter the speech of the various characters in a conversation to myself while working out natural-sounding dialogue…complete with mimicking their accents. (Sihaya, stop imagining me doing Sujit’s voice.)
3. I refuse to eat anything that comes from a pig. …except bacon and pepperoni. No idea why; I just hate pork and all pork-related products. ~shudders~ Ham makes me gag.
4. I can curse in fourteen different languages. Don’t ask for a demonstration. Cyrillic characters don’t carry over well in browsers anyway, and you can be damned sure I’d pick Russian; the curses are always strange, creative, and the language just sounds so deliciously vulgar. (Although Greek isn’t much better; the weird things they come up with as insults…)
5. Even though I’m almost 28 years old, I cannot sleep at night if I watch a scary movie just before bed. Which is disgusting, considering that in my cynicism I don’t believe in ghost, monsters, spooks, and various other things supernatural. It doesn’t change that I have a hyperactive imagination and just the right sort of battiness, peculiar to writers, that enables me to convince myself that yes, that lump under the covers really is the creepy chick from The Grudge rather than just my cat. Or my feet. I know, I need to grow the hell up and stop pulling the “I’m a speshul writerly snowflake with a speshul imagination!” card. Laurell K. Hamilton, I am not. (Gods, I hope I don’t write that badly.)
6. Despite the vituperative way that I express myself, my overall jaded nature, and a heaping ton of bitterness, I’m actually a much happier person than most people think. I may have certain stark beliefs and a rather coldly pragmatic outlook on life, and have no qualms about deadpanning a scathing retort to someone’s overly-chirpy syrupyness…but on a day-to-day basis, I’m generally cheerful, silly, playful, prone to laughing easily and smiling often. I still don’t talk much out loud if I can get away with it (shut up Hikaru, I know we’re over 9,000 minutes), but even when worked to the bone I’m too busy slogging towards the finish to let myself be unhappy. I’m still a grouch, but I’m a happy grouch. Hush. It works, somehow.
7. And, just to be a little vulgar…I am terrified of black men’s cocks. No, it’s not the purported size; nor is it a race thing. It had better not be; I’m part African-American (wholly, if you listen to the state of Louisiana and the idiotic Napoleonic code), and there are plenty of black men that I find unbearably attractive (Will Smith, Taye Diggs, one of my ex-boyfriends, this boy Jason Thomas that I had a completely lovelorn crush on in high school, Usher as long as he’s dancing and not trying to act)…as long as they keep their jockeys on. It’s the color. The penis is not a particularly attractively-hued thing no matter the ethnicity/skin tone of the male mammalian sporting it; I’m not even pretending that mine is the prettiest thing out there. But that dark, purple-brown, muddied slickness of African-American cock just frightens me silly, and I refuse to touch it unless the lights are out or my eyes are closed.
That’s it. I’m supposed to tag seven more people (half of whom have probably done this already), so I tag…um…
And…um…um…oh, to hell with it. I’m tagging all of you. Post your seven things in the comments, tagging optional (who are you going to tag around here, anyway?). I’m going to take a nap, then get back to work.
Okay, here we go, kicking off the hundred-comments party. The aim is as follows:
Fill this post with 100 comments before the comic goes live around 12:01a CST Monday, January 14th.
There are three prizes:
1st place, 100th comment: A t-shirt of any style, with either the red or pink version of the Ten Speeds shirt design, from the CafePress store. You can pick out the style and color you want when the winner is determined; I’ll pay for it and have it shipped out to you.
2nd place, 101st comment: A mug from the CafePress store with either the red or pink version of the Ten Speeds design. Something a little less embarrassing than the shirt. Again, when the winner is determined, you pick out the style and color and I’ll pay for it and ship it out.
3rd place, 102nd comment: Little pin-on buttons with the designs on them. Do I need to explain about picking and me paying and shipping again?
I’ll post a link to the store after the contest is over, as I’m still fixing and re-uploading the designs. Here’s an overly-wordy version of the rules/things to try to avoid so we keep this to sane levels while still being fun:
Try to post something that actually has meaning, even if it’s not particularly substantial or thought-provoking. I’ll even take “I like pie” over “ljosjkljslkdfjslfdslj =)” or “OMG EPIC LULZ”. No just posting smilies or spamming meaningless crap to raise the post count. I’d prefer for your post to at least have a subject, object, and verb, and either throw a new topic into the mix (doesn’t have to be anything serious) or else respond to a comment someone else made. Have dialogue. Talk to each other. Have fun. Don’t make me shiv anyone. (…I will make an exception if anyone wants to follow the grand tradition of internet ‘tardia and post “FIRST!”)
Basically anything that comes from a person counts as a post; pingbacks from other blogs or sites don’t. I’ll allow the pingbacks to go through, but they’ll be subtracted from the overall post count - so if there are any there, it might be post number 104 or 109 or whatever that wins just because some of the posts won’t be counted in the overall tally.
I don’t care about language, about possibly vulgar topics, etc., even if I may refrain from joining in in kind (because you can be damned sure I’m going to be right in the thick of this hoe-down). With that said, don’t post something disgusting just for the sake of being disgusting (no, Hikaru; just no - and you know what I’m talking about). Other than that, anything goes. Laugh, play, get in arguments, start flame wars (though if you do it on any other post, there will be much wrath). Just this once, you can take your adult hats off and have a free-for-all. Hell, you can chase each other with spoons if you want to. (…there’s an old in-joke that I doubt anyone else remembers…)
Posting links does not count as a post unless you actually say something and it’s not just linkspam.
Same with pictures.
Do not reply to different people in multiple posts all at once just to increase the post count. If you have something to say to multiple people at a time, do it in one post rather than in several.
If you have multiple topics to bring up, don’t post them in multiple comments all at once; keep them to one comment. Basically, just post one comment at a time and you’ll be fine. Give someone else a chance to respond before you dive right back in.
Unfortunately Akismet is still screwed to hell and back, which is going to put a bit of a damper on this - but I’ll do my best to keep an eye on it when I’m conscious and catch anything that comes through as quickly as possible. If you see others’ new posts showing up and yours isn’t, that means you were spamming gibberish or multiple posts and I deleted it. Or…it just didn’t go through properly.
Both Kaine and Hikaru are disqualified from winning, just to be fair - Kaine because he won the last contest, Hikaru because he won the first and because he’s a bastard. That doesn’t mean you can’t participate and join in whatever madness ensues, though. If either of you post the 100th or 101st comments, then the prizes will go to the next people to comment.
I know that looks like a lot, but it’s pretty simple. Basically just post as you normally would and you’ll be fine. Er…to get you started, let me give you a topic: a peanut is neither a pea nor a nut. Talk amongst yourselves.
…
Okay, I’m kidding. No getting veklempt here, or however you spell it. Topic…topic…hmm. How do you feel about the gay community’s apparent need to have separate events/hangouts/possessions labeled as specifically gay (such as gay cruises, gay cafes, gay etc…)? Do you think it provides a welcome retreat for those of like minds to seek each other out and share things in safety, or do you think it’s unnecessary elitism and isolationism - or does it just not matter? (I give that one ten comments max before the whole thing derails and goes swerving into madness.)
Knock yourselves out. Let’s see if we can get this biatch to 100 before Monday.
Holy crap, people. Less than 24 hours and you’re already over 100 comments? I thought it would take all bloody weekend! Guys, we broke the effin’ post template! Well, in Firefox anyway; I’m not opening IE to check, but in Firefox the three-digit comment numbers are overlapping the border area. Anyway…the winners are:
1st place: Sam, for the 100th comment. Once the store is live (give me a couple more hours, still tweaking things) you’ll be able to pick one shirt of your choice from the Apparel section.
2nd place: Lessa, for the 101st comment. There are three styles of mug in four different designs (well, one design, variations on color and with or without text); you’ll be able to pick one mug in the style and design of your choice.
3rd place: JM, for the 102nd comment. You’ll get two 3.5″ buttons, in your choice of four designs. (Edit: Actually, you can choose between 3.5″, 2.25″, mini-buttons, and rectangular magnets - one each of two different ones, or two each of one; still updating all the store stuff and it’s up to you which you want.)
3rd place runner-up: Indikaze, for the…um…110th comment, but the first one since 100 that isn’t Sam, Lessa, JM, or me. I wasn’t going to do a runner-up, but figured it wouldn’t be fair for two out of three prizes to go to 451 Press writers - but neither would it be fair to deny those writers when they contributed to the overall insanity of the contest. So Indikaze, you’ll also get two buttons/magnets in your choice of four designs.
Now, just for the hell of it…
There is one mega prize pack available if we hit 500 comments before Monday.
That’s one hell of a challenge, but what the hell, we just might make it. I thought the 100 would be a flop, and you guys proved me wrong.
There’s only one winner (because this is getting kinda expensive, and coming out of my pocket) - but no one’s barred from winning, since this is kind of an unpredicted bonus round. Hikaru, Kaine, Sam, Lessa, JM, Indikaze - you can all win, but you’ll still be competing with everyone else who comes to the site. The prize pack will include:
One white T-shirt with either the red/blue or blue/pink Ten Speeds deisgn on it;
One teddy bear with one of the four design variations on its shirt;
Your choice of either a mouse pad or a wall clock with one of the design variations on it.
To start off the morning, Kaine won the 1,500 comments contest and is now the proud owner of a horribly pink 1GB Sandisk Sansa MP3 player with FM tuner and voice recording capabilities. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but Kaine, I’ll be e-mailing you (I owe you one anyway, and got a little sidetracked) regarding where you want the MP3 player sent. Poor Lessa; missed it by just one.
This weekend, we’ll be having a comment party. Yes, a comment party, as weird as that bloody well sounds. The basic idea is this: at midnight CST on Friday, I’ll put up a post solely for the sake of commenting, explaining the full rules of the party…ish…thing. The purpose is to hit 100 comments to that post alone (comments to other posts won’t count) over the course of the weekend. You can’t just spam the hell out of the post, but like I said, the post itself will explain the rules. Whoever gets the 100th post will get a t-shirt in the Cafepress style of their choice with either the pink/blue or red/blue design posted in yesterday’s comic. There may be a runner-up prize for #101. I’d say if we really wanted to, we could hit 100 posts in one day; hell, if Hikaru and I start bickering, we can manage 50 of those ourselves in just a few hours.
Moving on to the usual mini-discussions of news that occur when Adri just isn’t in the mood for a high-blood-pressure sermon:
Arthritic, sporty, gay? Your finger ratio may tell you: Although it’s pretty common knowledge that apparently the lengths of your fingers in relation to each other can determine whether or not you’re good at math, researchers have also found a correlation between various other traits and the lengths of particular fingers. Long ring fingers indicate a likelihood for osteoarthritis; “male” finger ratios hint at lesbianism. I keep surveying my hands looking for “female” finger ratios to see if that’s supposed to be an indicator of my status as a fabulous king (one queen comment and I skin you) of gay snark. Funny how this one finger in the middle keeps popping up a bit higher than the others…
Gay bar’s straight bouncer wins discrimination suit: A straight woman who worked as a bouncer in a UK gay bar often dealt with harassing comments about her sexuality - a reversal of the usual harassment of homosexuals. She also claims she was fired for it and that her employer often called her a “breeder”; while the court determined that her firing had nothing to do with her sexuality, she was still awarded a settlement for facing discrimination in the workplace - and right well she should be. I still don’t know where we get this idea that because some heterosexuals are nasty to us, that gives us the right to behave in an equally bigoted, discriminatory fashion towards them. Two wrongs don’t make a right, more cliched BS, blah blah, the point is that no one’s sexuality gives anyone the right to behave like a complete douche towards them. It’s not all right to place the shoe on the other foot and “show them how it feels”. It just makes you as bad as the people that you mock and loathe.
Wasn’t asked, told anyway: In a refreshing change, a gay servicemember (who, if you follow the link, is not only brave but quite attractive) came out on public television and wasn’t in any way rebuked or confronted about it by his unit or his commanding officers - and he’s discovered that he’s not alone. Hundreds of gay servicemembers serve active duty with their sexuality fully known by their units. Their fellow servicemembers just don’t care. Out in the field, one’s sexuality doesn’t matter. What matters is capability, and whether or not the people in your unit can put their skills to use saving your life and the lives of the soldiers and civilians around you. Too many highly skilled individuals with knowledge and experience that could be valuable in avoiding bloodshed have been barred from service for the most idiotic reasons - the top reason being that the Pentagon somehow thinks that open homosexuality in the military will foster dissent in the ranks.
I feel as if I should write something profound this morning, and yet I’ve got nothing - and I’m out of Seagram’s. Anyone can be profound after a few shots of Seagram’s. It’s a pretty slow gay news day, there’s no point in spending more time hashing through the same recycled political points (just have the bloody election already; we’re damned either way) and the most interesting thing I’ve stumbled across lately has been some wanker in a local Iowa newspaper claiming that a barely-gay film on ABC ruined family TV on Christmas. The comments are priceless (and a little disjointed, but it’s Iowa, after all).
Yeah. Merry Christmas, we dragged your head out of the sand for you; no need to thank us. Gay people exist. We’re a part of the population, which means there’s going to be a percentage of representation on television - especially when television struggles to reflect real life. No one’s trying to force anything on anyone. You can’t close your eyes and wish your gay next-door-neighbor away. At least on TV you can change the channel, so stop your griping and use your thumb for more than a navel cork. Jerk.
Anyway. It’s been a little while since I’ve done an “Ask Adri” question, and I’d saved this one for a slow day when one might need some amusement. I certainly hope the person who wrote it isn’t serious, but either way, I’m going to take a stab at it.
hi Adri I really like your comic
I like to read yaoi slashfic
But its weird
No one uzes lube
Is that true
Do gays use lube
Sweet Pea
Kind of reads like a weird kind of haiku or tanka, doesn’t it?
Sweetie, here’s your first problem: you’re reading gay porn written by girls. Specifically by girls in their late teens and mid-twenties who’ve probably never taken it up the back door (or the front door, most likely) and thus have no idea how the mechanics of that work. I know there’s a huge craze in the female-dominated yaoi fandom; I used to help fuel it with a yaoi webcomic. (If you don’t know what yaoi is, have a gander here.) I know that porn written by girls is more appealing. It has plot, characterization, and descriptions of sex that don’t involve words like “sloppy”, “squishing”, “gaping”, “gushing”, and…well, I’ll spare you the rest.
But to dispel a few illusions created by yaoi fanfiction and slashfiction: the bum does not self-lubricate. It is not a magical transformative thing that instantly takes on properties of the vagina at convenient moments when the bumsexing is about to occur.
Water is not lube. Saliva is not lube. Blood is not lube. Cooking oil is not lube. And for all that’s holy, unholy, and somewhere in between, soap of any kind is not lube. Stuff a bar of soap up your nose until your mucosae rip, then give your nostrils a good swabbing with Palmolive before jamming a finger in and out of there a few dozen times at rapid speed. Tell me how good it feels, eh?
With that said, yes, real gay sex does involve lube (unless you’re dealing with an idiot or a masochist). There’s KY Jelly, Platinum Wet Glide, various body oils that do dual duty, pre-lubricated condoms, the list goes on. It’s not an option. It’s a necessity. He may say “oh, I like it rough” now, but he won’t be liking it so rough when his doctor is giving him a prostate exam and lecturing him about the damage done to his rectal tissue. Not to mention that penetration isn’t particularly easy without lubricant and preparation, and it’s not just uncomfortable for the recipient. Friction is a scabies-ridden b*tch.
Real gay sex is not as pretty as the fiction makes it seem. No sex is as pretty as fiction makes it seem. Sex is messy, crude, awkward, and funny as hell no matter the gender of those involved; human beings are some oddly-put-together things, and when you’re trying to cram two or more naked bodies together in certain ways the limbs start going everywhere like you’re doing the wild pony with a Gumby doll. Funny thing is if you keep a sense of humor about it and just relax…sometimes you find something even better than the fiction. It may still be messy, it may not be perfect, but there’ll be something there in that wild meeting of bodies and the hiss of skin on skin that makes it not matter anymore, because every touch is just right and it’s hard to care about how silly you both look when you can’t even manage to think for the distraction of each sensation.
I’d like to see any virgin-written fanfiction capture that.
This morning in Wal-Mart, I got my a** pinched by some random little Hispanic rent-a-tart.
I swear to gods, every time I go into that store is an utterly surreal experience. The stories I could tell…
This time I was quite calmly perusing the men’s grooming section, trying to pick out a decent rotary shaver for under $100 and completely lost in my own world, when I heard a simpering murmur of “aiy, Papi” and suddenly felt the sharp sting of two fingers doing a quick topographical survey of my nether regions and possibly trying to snatch a sample of topsoil for further study (he pinched hard; that hurt!). I nearly jumped out of my skin, whirled around, and there was this tarted-up little culo, smiling at me like I’d just told him he’d won Diana Ross’s part in a Broadway adaptation of Lady Sings the Blues.
I admit that at first, I had no idea what to say. No witty retorts tripped off my tongue; no scathing remarks cut him down to size. I was too flabbergasted that I’d just been groped by a total stranger in the supermarket, all while minding my own business.
“Did you think that was cute?” I managed, amazed irritation dripping from every word. He actually batted his eyelashes at me.
I sh*t you not. I felt like I was dealing with a cross between RuPaul and Scarlett O’Hara.
“I think you’re cute, Papi.”
I suppose I should have been flattered. Instead I was just aggravated by the most crass, trashy, tasteless pickup attempt I’ve experienced in years, even if you have to give the boy credit for having the balls to pull something like that with a completely unknown entity. I guess he saw what he wanted, and he went for it. That takes courage. It’s also annoying as hell.
When I’m annoyed, I get a little caustic. Especially with uninvited physical contact.
“Mmkay.” I crooked my finger at him, beckoning him closer. “C’mere. I need to know you’re listening to me. You listening?”
He wiggled - yes, wiggled, I swear he made me look as straight as Chuck Norris - closer and smiled up at me, admittedly rather sweetly, and lisped, “Si, Papi, I’m listening.”
“Good.” I mustered the best smile I could, which probably looked more like a pained grimace. “Because I want to make sure you understand: if you ever touch me again, I will break your sh*t off. Mmkay, pumpkin?” Now granted, I stole that line from Alex Hitchins, but it was extraordinarily useful in that situation.
He pouted. I grabbed the Norelco I’d been eyeing and fled to the cash register.
I’m just…left in awe, honestly, that anyone of any orientation would think that was an acceptable way to approach someone. I suppose he thought since he was tiny and cute, I wouldn’t hurt him. If so, he was right, in a way; I wouldn’t hurt him, because despite my consistent snarling and threats I’m a primarily non-violent person. Basically I’m a harmless, crotchety old bastard. My friends know this and take delight in baiting me.
He didn’t know that, though. I could have turned around to plow a fist into his face. He was half my size, and I could have done some serious damage to him all because he decided to provoke me. Not smart. Not smart at all. I hope he doesn’t try pulling that on a meaner guy (or a straight guy angry that the little rent-a-tart’s gaydar missed the mark that time); he could get seriously hurt, and that’s a hard lesson to learn where a little common sense would suffice.
Besides, I really prefer a “hello, what’s your name” before anyone tries to cop a feel.
Honestly, what happened to a little tact and subtlety?
You know what? I’m not in the mood for serious discussion this morning. It’s Friday, it’s been a horribly long and busy week, and I have one more day of work to get through (and about six articles to finish) before I can go anywhere near my Don Rodolfo Malbec and a few chunks of nice, aged asiago. So you’ll have to pardon me if today, I randomly blurt out pretty much anything that comes to mind, tongue firmly in cheek and heavy on the snark. It will likely be silly and pointless, but most of life is anyway.
First, I really can’t imagine why anyone would care if Lindsay Lohan is potentially swinging from the fence. Who gives a rat’s? Celebrities play on ambiguous sexuality all the time, especially those noted for bouncing in and out of rehab like yo-yos on Prozac (or LSD, or heroin, or whatever the trendy drug of the week is…). They’re not gay/bi, they’re just vapid and indiscriminate in their partners, and think a girl/girl kiss makes them as edgy as Madonna. This is news pretty much only to Slashdotters and other such socially inept dwellers in the parental basement, who’ve just found new fodder for their Lindsay Lohan girl-on-girl fantasies. Make sure to lotion up, boys. Your palms will start to chap pretty quickly.
Despite aggressive spam filters, I routinely get hundreds of spam e-mails a day. The majority of them are overly concerned with the size of my endowments, with a fixation oddly reminiscent of my cat’s unhealthy obsession with watching me undress. (Or unsure of what they want to say about my pen, as they start out so often with “Your Pen Is…” My pen is what? It’s right there, on the desk. What about it?) The concern is admirable, really. Too many men aren’t concerned enough about their sexual health, so all these lovely solicitous e-mails are a heart-warming reminder to schedule my annual doctor checkup.
I’m horribly distressed to see, though, that my spam e-mails just aren’t politically correct enough. They always assume that I have a girlfriend or a wife, or am desperately seeking one, or just “want to know her how she is from the inside”. For shame, spammers, for shame. Have you ever thought that I, your target customer, may not be interested in the young woman whose image you’ve kindly provided to illustrate your point, however lovely she may be? What if I want to know him how he is from the inside? I’m shocked and hurt by your lack of consideration, really. Especially since your constant comments that Concetta has a conspicuous f***stick are really quite insensitive to MtF transgenders.
Or is it a veiled compliment? Are you somehow implying that not a single gay man on the face of the earth needs your enhancement products, and that our online profiles tell the truth and we are, in fact, all gifted like John Holmes?
A weighty point to ponder, indeed.
Any transgendered individuals who read Darkside Rainbow will no doubt be relieved to know that, according to American Daily, your gender dysphoria is just an affliction indicating a disconnection from reality that should be treated and ultimately cured with therapy and prayer. Liberalism is also a mental disorder, transgender rights are ridiculous, and gender identity is pure nonsense. Prayer should be able to fix that, too. The FtM gay male he’s talking about in the article? Just a confused straight girl in plaid shirts and dockers who’s an absolute fool for trying to do anything that would allow her to live more comfortably with the lot she’s been given. There. Don’t you feel better now that Matt Barber’s cleared that up for you? Run along now, pray for a few hours, and maybe his God will be kind enough to “cure” your gender dysphoria and make you so happy with your birth gender that you’ll happily fall into your appropriate 1950s-esque gender role. Remember to start your prayers with “Dear Lord.” He likes being called “Lord.”
To close things off on a more serious note: I’m not a praying man despite my seeming familiarity with the Captain’s Almighty’s titular preferences, but if any of you out there are (well, or praying women, considering the demographics of my reader base) , keep Mehdi in your thoughts; the young gay Iranian is awaiting the decision of a Dutch court over whether to return him to the UK, where he will likely be summarily packed up and sent right back to Iran - and we all know that gays don’t exist in Iran.
I’m done, and out. See you Monday. Yes, I’m posting a comic on Christmas Eve. Just call me Scrooge, baby, and get your plebeian butt back to work.
Since Doug over at Current Events Watch snitched the topic I’d intended to froth at the mouth over today (we apparently rank below animals, so I suppose there’s nothing wrong with acting like a rabid dog, now is there?), I thought perhaps we here at DR might wind down with a little humor.
Ladies and Gents, I’m going to clue you in to the most beautiful thing about men: the second that you begin to agonize and worry over whether you should or should not be flirting/dallying/doing whatever with us, we will choose that opportune moment to say just the right thing to ensure that you’ll never want to again. Gay, straight, young, old, we are a self-resolving problem. It’s convenient, it’s efficient, and as prevalent as it is, it’s a miracle that any of us manage to maintain viable social interaction. Give us enough verbal rope, and we will eventually hang ourselves.
The simultaneously best and worst example of this?
The dreaded pickup line.
To paraphrase Alex Hitchins, it takes a great deal of courage for a man to spot an attractive member of his preferred gender and take on the burden of approaching them, knowing that the first words that come out of his mouth with most likely determine whether or not this person will smile at him or throw their drink in his face. With that in mind, you’d think we’d take better care with the things we say. You’d think we’d try our best to be straightforward and engaging, rather than making sad attempts to be clever and witty even though we know we’ll fumble and fail at every turn.
We hardly ever learn, though. I’ve been victim to a number of cringe-worthy pickup lines myself, from the Harry Potter guy and his magic wand to the admittedly attractive woman (yes, women do it sometimes, too, just not as often - don’t think you’re off the hook, ladies) who approached me in the line at the movie theatre and, without so much as a hello, told me to meet her by the side of the building by the blue Camaro and she’d take me back to her place and we could…well. You get the picture. She walked off before I could say a word, leaving me gaping. I can’t help but wonder if she actually waited there, and if so, for how long.
You can’t even escape it online. I still have my membership on OutinHouston.com, created during the experiment that led to The Steve Incident, and now and then I check my e-mail on the site. Just yesterday I ran across this lovely gem, dated 11.16.07:
“ha baby wanted to know would you like to hook up an mess around alittle an if so when because I would like to taste that juice **** 4 its milk but i dont swallow but like to taste it all so let me know baby mike..”
Censoring asterisks mine, typos his. Not…that censoring really does much to lower the ESRB rating of that little gem, nor would proper grammar and punctuation make it any more appealing.
But Mike, you see, is a persistent one. Since I never answered his first e-mail, yesterday he sent me another, this time with a picture attached:
“ha guy lov the photo of you an wanted to know would you like to hook up an mess around at my place if thats ok with you are i can cum to you as well baby me lives on the southwest 59/hillcroft an love to suck on a sweet **** today if thats ok with you baby mmm ..mike”
Oh, Mike. You and your homonyms! So witty. I truly admire your dogged determination. It takes quite a bit of courage to view a total stranger’s profile online, read their commentary, and gather the balls it takes to honestly think that anyone would be impressed by that approach, let alone by getting it twice. Mike, you and I need to have a little talk about subtlety. Really. And while we’re at it, here, let me lend you my little pocket edition of Webster’s handbook of grammar and style…
Can’t fault the man for knowing what he wants, though.
I have to say that my most memorable experience with a bad pick-up, though, happened in a gay bar where another ex, Arturo, used to bartend. We were dating at the time, naturally, and I dropped by the bar just to see Arturo and say hi to the owner, as he was an old friend as well. It was a busy night, so I found a spot on the bar and stayed out of the way, amusing myself by watching the typical drunken non-complexity of the night life. I wasn’t particularly projecting an air of availability, but I suppose this fellow was just drunk enough to give it a shot. He was actually rather handsome; dark hair, eyes in a particular color that I have a weakness for, and just a trace of a sexy English accent. I might have entertained the idea of flirting with him to pass the time if he hadn’t stumbled over, grinned at me with a touch of inebriated charm, and said,
“Is that a cucumber in yer pocket, luv, or are ye jes’ ‘appy to see me?”
Cue the expected raised eyebrow and flat look. “Neither.”
He just grinned wider, though, and at this point I could tell he was building up to something. “Got a nice big cucumber in me pocket for ya.” He patted his hip, and against my better judgment I glanced down. Sure enough there was a long, large, clearly-outlined bulge in his rather tight pants. At that point my brain broke; I didn’t even know how to process that, but he wasn’t done yet. He snickered and said, “No, really, it’s a cucumber.”
He wasn’t lying. He stuffed a hand into his pocket, rooted around a little, and dragged out a genuine lean and green cucumber, already starting to wilt from being shoved in there for so long. He waved it under my nose, nearly giggling.
I cracked up laughing.
It turned out his name was Rick, he actually wasn’t so bad, and yet I still made him promise to never use that line on anyone again. He gets points for ingeniousness, but dear gods…how drunk do you have to be to think that stuffing a cucumber down your pants is a good idea?
I could probably deluge you with stories both hilarious and horrifying all day, but I think you get the idea. I’m sure you’ve all got plenty of stories of your own. Bad pick-up lines, funny come-ons that ended up as epic failures…we’ve all experienced them. I suppose it’s universal, and honestly with such a legacy I’m surprised that gay men and straight men don’t get along better. We all suffer from the same foot-in-mouth syndrome, after all.
We’re just lucky that there are a few people out there who find that struggling awkwardness cute.
If you’re looking for something of substance, skip back a post, because you won’t find it here. I know I’m supposed to be gone for the weekend (and catching up on my NaNoWriMo word count), but someone posted this to my LiveJournal friendslist and I just had to share:
Oh my god. I’m torn between laughter and sheer horror, but I really can’t stop giggling long enough to be horrified. That is freakin’ priceless, I swear to gods - and so, so very wrong. The worst part is that it makes me think of some self-styled “leather daddies” who dress and act like that seriously.
If you want to be analytical, it’s a delightfully tongue-in-cheek mockery of some of the more out-there aspects of the American gay subculture that some could even take as an insult, but it’s all in good fun. But oh, man, those kids…I almost choked on my coffee watching that.
Thanks to Keres for sharing. Now I’m going to be snickering all night.
This morning I had trouble choosing between news topics to ramble about, and finally just gave up and decided to touch briefly on the ones that caught my interest/amused me/outraged me the most. This is going to be a long one, I suppose. So without further ado:
Remember when I asked who’d be next among the noisy right-wing anti-gay GOPs to get caught with his pants down and a you-know-what replacing the foot in his mouth? Turns out it’s Washington state Rep. Richard Curtis, who’s voted against gay rights legislation in the past and yet who apparently has no problem having sex with strange men he meets in erotic video stores…and then telling the press about it.
Now granted, this was while telling the press about an attempt the man (Cody Castagna) made to blackmail him, but Curtis might have wanted to choose his words more carefully when detailing the attempt. Might he be innocent? Possibly. Do I think he is? After the latest string of scandals, it’s hard to say. This could just be an attempt by a gold-digger to capitalize on the scandals plaguing the right-wing and cash in at yet another representative’s expense, and Curtis’s admission is actually just a result of poor phrasing.
And it could just be another hypocritical conservative trying to cover his butt, too.
I went to a Catholic school as a child, up until third grade or so. I remember in kindergarten the school staged a play that involved a great number of us dressed up as barn animals and singing. I don’t remember what the play was about, and while I still have the videotape of it, I don’t think my self-esteem could survive watching it to refresh my memory. I do, however, remember that I was cast as the donkey amidst constant teasing that it’s suitable because I’m stubborn as a mule. (Or, now that I’m older, you could just say because I’m an a**.)
I also remember - and now we get to the point of this humiliating little anecdote - that one of the closing musical numbers involved all of the children lining up to sing, “I don’t wanna be a hyyyyyypocrite! ’cause they’re too hip to it!” with the associated and expected hip motions involved to emphasize. I also remember MawMaw White (yes, MawMaw, not MaMa) smacking the crap out of us with wooden cooking spoons if we a.) got it wrong or b.) did anything hypocritical.
I’m not even a Christian anymore, haven’t been for as long as I can remember, but I do still have a major problem with hypocrisy. The lesson was drilled into me early, and drilled into me hard. Maybe a few of these hypocritical politicians need to spend a humiliating few hours dancing around on stage in a donkey suit while a crazy old woman with a wooden cooking spoon stands threateningly over them. That alone could be punishment enough for not practicing what they preach, and I’ll bet they’d remember the lesson for a long time.
Please allow me a moment of hysterical, maliciously cackling laughter.
…
Okay, okay. [wipes tears of mirth from his eyes] I’m done.
No, wait, no I’m not. [dissolves into snickers]
…okay, now I’m done.
You just don’t know how it made my day to see Phelps and his cadre of loonies getting what they deserved for their insane and cruel actions. In this case they’re being punished for picketing the funeral of a soldier killed in the Iraq war:
(Baltimore, Maryland) A grieving father won a nearly $11 million verdict Wednesday against a fundamentalist Kansas church that pickets military funerals out of a belief that the war in Iraq is a punishment for the nation’s tolerance of homosexuality.
Albert Snyder of York, Pa., sued the Westboro Baptist Church for unspecified damages after members demonstrated at the March 2006 funeral of his son, Lance Cpl. Matthew Snyder, who was killed in Iraq.
The jury first awarded $2.9 million in compensatory damages. It returned in the afternoon with its decision to award $6 million in punitive damages for invasion of privacy and $2 million for causing emotional distress.
Snyder’s attorney, Craig Trebilcock, had urged jurors to determine an amount “that says don’t do this in Maryland again. Do not bring your circus of hate to Maryland again.”
Yes. And I say it again, in all caps, YES. These people have set a wonderful example that I hope others follow. It’s not even about financially punishing Phelps and WBC. It’s about making them see that their brand of intolerance, their brand of hatefulness, is beyond inhuman and will not be tolerated by the people that they inflict themselves upon. I hope others follow suit, and make it quite clear to Phelps that he and his kind are not welcome.
Of course, he’ll probably just say that he’s the next Noah, the only true believer who’ll be spared when God destroys the world with fire…
This isn’t really topical, but it gave me another good giggle anyway. When a man who claims to have seen a UFO questions your mental stability, you’ve got problems:
WASHINGTON, Oct 30 (Reuters) - Democratic presidential candidate Dennis Kucinich on Tuesday mockingly questioned President George W. Bush’s mental health for saying Iran’s nuclear ambitions might trigger World War III.
“I seriously believe we have to start asking questions about his mental health,” Kucinich, a quirky, long-shot candidate in the race for his party’s presidential nomination in the November, 2008 election. “There’s something wrong. He does not seem to understand his words have real impact.”
[...]He told The Inquirer he did not believe his remarks about Bush’s mental stability were irresponsible. “You cannot be a president of the United States who’s wanton in his expression of violence,” Kucinich said. “There’s a lot of people who need care. He might be one of them. If there isn’t something wrong with him, then there’s something wrong with us. This, to me, is a very serious question.”
Amen, man, amen. You may be a little off your nut yourself, but you make a good point. It’s well-known that Bush’s own staff have questioned his stability under stress as far back as his first term, and pondered if he was back on the sauce. At this point it’s just a lost cause. We’ve got one year left to wait it out, and hope he doesn’t push any disastrous big red buttons. Then Laura can drag him off to the ranch and let him be as violent and disassociative (I really think the man has problems grasping reality) as he wants to be, out of the public eye.
Sorry I was a little behind in updating today (I usually like to write my articles the night before or wake up good and early to get them up before six a.m.); last night I crashed and let myself sleep in for once. I may be a little erratic on updating early in the mornings this month anyway, though unless hell freezes over I’ll still be posting an update every weekday. I’m doing NaNoWriMo this month, using it as a kickstart to get through the majority of my second novel without procrastinating, and that’s going to be dominating my writing schedule every day. If any of you are doing NaNo and want to keep track of each other on the way through, post your profile link in the comments. I’m Deadsong on the NaNo site. Good luck to you if you are participating.
You know and I both know what people love to say about those Navy boys (and I do so love a man in uniform). Months out at sea with hardly a woman in sight? It’d take a lot more than military discipline to stop a few antics that would make a night in Vegas seem tame, and no doubt hundreds of Navy men have been guilty of uttering “I’m not gay, I was just…” …well. You fill in the blanks there, Jolly Roger. “What happens at sea stays at sea,” indeed.
WASHINGTON (AP) — A Navy doctor accused of secretly videotaping Naval Academy midshipmen engaged in sexual acts committed a “flagrant violation of trust,” military prosecutors said Monday as the doctor’s court martial began.
Cmdr. Kevin J. Ronan is accused of using a video camera hidden in an air purifier in his home to tape midshipmen he hosted at his house last year. He is charged with seven counts of conduct unbecoming an officer, three counts of illegal wiretapping and one count of obstruction of justice.
The Navy began its investigation in January after two men, one a midshipman the other a former student at the academy, turned over to authorities recordings they said they found in Ronan’s home.
In his opening statement, Navy prosecutor Lt. Justin Henderson said Ronan recorded midshipmen either with partners or alone in his spare bedrooms, edited them down to the sexually explicit content and transferred them to DVDs. He said thousands of gay pornographic images were found on Ronan’s home computer.
Ronan “violated the trust of his midshipman sponsorees,” Henderson told the jury of six Navy officers hearing the case at the Washington Navy Yard.
Well, that just blows the lid off “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” doesn’t it? You know, I’ve always wondered where those porn videos of bona-fide military boys getting it on came from. I always just assumed they were actors (and despite what you’re thinking, no, I’ve never watched one to determine for myself, get your minds out of the gutter - and as an aside, yes, I did find it necessary and relevant to link the word “porn” to a site about Paris Hilton).
As stringent as the military is about ejecting anyone accused of homosexuality, it would be a little self-defeating to knowingly allow oneself to be videotaped in pornographic materials intended for commercial distribution. Such media could could be seen by just about anyone. Of course if a commanding officer happened to catch one of his privates (no pun intended) putting on a performance on a Grunts Gone Wild DVD, he’d then have to explain what he was doing watching said DVD…
Snark aside, I really have to wonder what kind of setup Ronan was running that he even had the opportunity to make so many tapes of midshipmen gettin’ down and dirty. Is it common for sponsoring commanders to say “Here; as your sponsor I give all you pretty little students permission to get your boots good and knocked while you’re weekending in my home”?
Now technically, my prior silliness aside, the AP article doesn’t say the tapes themselves were of gay sexual activity; just that there were images of gay porn on Ronan’s hard drive. That doesn’t mean that the images were necessarily taken from the tapes, although 365gay.com puts their own spin on it by taking the same article and titling it “Navy Doctor’s Gay Sex Tape Trial Begins“. Still…I doubt it was standard procedure to allow the men staying with him to bring women home - although I’m sure a few made it in anyway. It’s the weekend, guys are on reprieve, and they’re going to head into town to pick up women. But no doubt a few of the tapes - just by the law of averages - involved a few of those midshipmen getting it on with each other or with men they brought back to Ronan’s home. Who knows whether or not they ended up sold under titles like Military Maneuvers #3.
Regardless of the sexuality involved in the encounters, Ronan’s behavior still constituted gross misconduct unbecoming of a member of the U.S. Military (or at least unbecoming of the ideal of a member of the U.S. Military, as I think we’ve all heard plenty of horror stories about how military men can behave in certain situations). No matter what jokes I might make about the setup of the situation and the irony behind it…I do feel bad for those who were secretly taped. Many would likely be humiliated to discover that their sexual exploits had been published in such a way, and in some cases discovery of what took place on those tapes could cause problems in their everyday lives. I don’t quite buy the blackmail theory, and hope Ronan is prosecuted appropriately.
I’m done. Until tomorrow - happy Halloween, and anchors aweigh.
Maybe I’ll get myself a cute little sailor costume…
Passing out for a while…really didn’t make me feel any better, unfortunately. I’m really not feeling up to one of my usual dissertations today, so I’m just going to leave you guys with some links to a few points of interest for the day. Sorry, guys. Hopefully a weekend’s rest will fix everything.
Song Links Saggy Pants to Being Gay: Although this is horribly homophobic and of course assumes that being identified as gay because your arse is hanging out (and apparently on offer), this still cracks me up. It’s part of a citywide campaign to stop “saggin’”, a fashion faux paus that’s been around for years: wearing your pants practically around your knees. The whole thing’s just ridiculous, honestly - that anyone would wear their pants that way, and that anyone would use slurs on sexuality to try to get them to stop.
Florida Prison Guards Disciplined for Allowing “Gay Wedding”: Officiate a fake lesbian inmate wedding that is in no way legally binding, and lose your job. No, I’m serious. Just because two lesbian inmates staged a fake wedding, the guards who allowed and witnessed it were either fired, resigned, or suspended. Not only that, but the women were separated, with one sent to another facility. Am I the only one who thinks that’s a little much? It’s not like they staged a riot, and prisons put on various inmate performances all the time, such as plays and talent shows (and reenactments of Thriller…). If they wanted, they could look at this as another inmate group activity, rather than flipping their sh*t and punishing people so broadly for something that basically has no effect anyway and didn’t place those gathered at any more risk than other group activities. Last I checked, few prison guards had the power of ordained priests anyway.
Gay Baby Creates Controversy in Italy: This one is my favorite out of the lot for today. I don’t know if you remember when Sihaya sent in an Ask Adri question regarding shock advertising and some interesting ad campaigns shown in Europe, but this is the latest in one such campaign: a newborn child with “HOMOSEXUAL” stamped on its wristband instead of the usual birth information. The poster was widely circulated in Tuscany, Italy as an effort to promote activism and awareness of discrimination. Personally, I love it. I think it’s striking, compelling, and gets a very clear point across. The people of Tuscany…not so impressed. Even gay activists there think it’s over the top. What do you think?
More Toddlers Infected With HIV In Kyrgyzstan Scandal: On a more serious front…the latest in the mess in Kyrgyzstan involving hospital staff accidentally infecting people with HIV has gone so far as to affect 2-and-3-year-old children with the disease, by transfusing them with tainted blood or injecting them with tainted needles. People have been fired over this, but that’s not going to fix anything for those children. Maybe they can be among the first to receive ready treatment from the latest HIV miracle therapy…but they’ll still be on medication for the rest of their lives.
We are currently at 757 out 1,000 comments, leaving 243 to go. C’mon, guys, you can do better than that. (Or did I just offer crappy prizes? Maybe I should do another survey; that gets you guys talking…)
Oogh. Okay, sitting upright is getting to be problematic; I think it’s time to go curl up in bed with the rest of the day’s workload for my other job, try to plow through that, and then read my new book (hush, it’s a recaptured piece of my childhood) until I fall asleep. I’ll see you guys with a new comic on Monday; have a good weekend.
