Smokeless Friday

The first thing they told me when I was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Disorder was that I have to stop smoking. That smoking is the greatest threat to my immune system that was in my lifestyle. That was in May. My partner Mike has been hounding me to stop every since. He even threatened to leave me if I didn’t. Once he actually did, for the longest six hours of my life. But I’m still smoking two packs a day. And I did try to quit, three times. Now I have stopped drinking, stop using drugs years ago, you name it, but nothing compares to how hard it is to stop smoking. Nothing.

Now anyone who visits my blog knows that Mike was recently laid off. So we’re in a bit of a financial bind. Actually we’re in a terrible financial bind. I know that this will pass, but it has been stressing the hell out of me. Hence more smoking.

Wednesday morning Mike slammed down a piece of paper in front of me. On it stated the exact monthly cost of my smoking, $341.00. Then he barked, “OK, you can continue to kill yourself or we can pay our rent. You decide” As I was looking at the figure in shock he came back in the room. This time this is what he said, “No , I’ll decide. I’m bigger than you, stronger than you, younger than you (I could have lived without that remark), and if I have to, I will tie you to a chair. I just saw that you have four packs left. I know what a cheap bastard you are (again, another remark I could have lived without) so I’ll let you finish them. But Friday you will stop smoking. Period.”
He said this in such a forceful and masculine tone of voice that I was left both vaguely aroused and totally petrified. This time he means it. I know it.

So what I’m asking from you is to wish me luck. I will be posting a day to day diary of how it’s going. They may very well just be the rantings of a madman. Or the posts might actually be interesting.

And by no means, if I do succeed (wrong attitude already), I will never become an anti-smoking fanatic. I firmly believe that it’s your right to do whatever you want to with your own body. And truth be told, if I could afford it, I’d most likely still be smoking. And I fully intend to throw myself to the floor doubled over in pain every time I hear Mike coming. But I know what he’ll do. He’ll just step over me and adopt my Mother’s favorite saying whenever I’m being overly dramatic, “ Michael get off the stage, nobody’s watching.”

"Private Misty Reporting For Duty. Sir!"

His name was Anthony, and he was as hot as hell. He was a very handsome and masculine young man who also happened to be in the Army Reserves. I was a manager at a restaurant at the time. One day Anthony came in looking for a job, and of course I hired him immediately. The second he left I was confronted by a gaggle of gay waiters and every woman who was working at the time. “Did you hire him? Did you hire him?” I was standing at the podium at the time, so in order look at them, I had to look down. From that view, they were so exited and their mouths were flapping so quickly that they looked exactly like hungry baby birds. So I looked down at this flock and said, “But of course my darlings.” I swear I thought they were going to throw me over their shoulders and parade me around. They were that exited. And frankly so was I.
From day one he set of my gaydar. There was something different about him I just couldn’t put my finger on. But he had a girlfriend and all, so I chalked it up to wishful thinking. But on his very first day he asked me,” Michael, can I ask you a personal question?” I said it depended on just how personal the question was. He said never mind and started to walk away. I stopped him and said,” Go ahead Anthony ask your question”. “Are you gay” he asked. “Yes I am” I answered, “Does that make you uncomfortable?” “No,I just wanted to know”. And away he went.
From then on questions from him about my sexuality never stopped. Of course this old chestnut was among the first. “When did you first realize you were gay” I gave him my stock answer to any presumed straight man who has ever asked me that question,” The second I looked at you baby” Then I brace myself for either a laugh or a sock on the jaw. Amazingly I never got the sock on the jaw. And I didn’t this time either. He just laughed and said, “You’re not going to answer me, are you?” I said, “Anthony if I knew the answer I would tell you. Let’s just say it was from the second I could remember”.
So one day he asks me this:”Michael, I don’t have a computer. Do you mind if I use yours to see if my favorite porn star has a website? In my mind I was thinking “Hmm, hot man + porn = erection, leading to who knows what?!!” Mind you this was long before I met my partner and was in the middle of a long dry spell. So I just shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sure, why not?”
So the second the shift was over I grabbed him and announced,” Great job everybody, see you all tomorrow. WE are leaving now.” Every jaw in the place dropped to the floor.
I got in my car and he got in his. I must have driven at 90 MPH , I was amazed he kept up. When we got to my tiny little studio apartment, the first thing he did was pull a very stuffed book bag out of his trunk. You know those things that students carry their books in over their shoulders? Of course I took this as sign that he spending the night. I couldn’t have been more mistaken.
So we get on the computer and sure enough this porn star had a website. The front page of the website only had a picture of her face and boobs. He gazed at her and gushed,” Isn’t she just beautiful. She makes me so horny! Can I jerk off?’ After catching my breath, I asked back, “Can I watch?” “I guess so” he answered. Now what I wanted to say was, “WELL THEN PLEASE, BY ALL MEANS, KNOCK YOURSELF OUT. Jerk off at the computer, jerk off on the table, jerk off in the yard. As long as I can watch you can jerk off in the middle of the frigging street for all I care”. But all I said was, “Then go right ahead”
In a flash he in was in the bathroom. My bathroom so was literally two feet from my computer. So when I say in a flash I mean in a flash. He was in that bathroom so quickly I didn’t even notice he grabbed his book bag on the way.
So 15 minutes pass by, then 20. I knocked at the door and asked him if he was alright. He said yes, he just had to get ready. “Get ready?” What does one have to do to get ready to masturbate? Five minutes later I found out.
In a completely different voice I heard “I’m ready” come out of my bathroom. Then he dramatically slammed the door open. What I saw gave me shock so intense I almost passed out. I am not exaggerating this story in the slightest. I wish I were. He was dressed from head to toe exactly like “Frank’N’Furter” from the “The Rocky Horror Picture Show”. I scanned him down from the wig, to the make up, to the pearl necklace, to the corset, to the fingerless gloves, to the panties, to the garter belt, to the stockings, to the angle bracelet, to the pumps. This man did not forget a thing.
And then he said, “Anthony is gone now. My name is Misty. Refer to me only as Misty. And be careful, I hate men” “Should I be scared” I asked. “That’s up to you”.
Now my feeling of shock was replaced by absolute terror. I thought of calling 911, but I was afraid he might have a gun in that book bag. That’s how totally freaked out I was.
He went to work right away. He clicked on “pictures”. Apparently this porn star was a “chicks with dicks” porn star. Which only made the situation that much more surreal. He kept saying, “doesn’t she have a huge dick?” over and over again. I just kept my mouth shut. I didn’t want to risk angering “Misty”. He then asked me if I had a dildo. I didn’t, and when I told him I half expected him to try to strangle me to death. He then shoved two figures up there and demanded that I tell him how pretty he was.
OK at first this was almost easy.” Oh Misty your eyes are beautiful” etc. But he kept demanding more compliments and I was running out of things to say. So bizarre words like, “Misty your hair is like a beautiful field of golden wheat. I want to run barefoot though your hair”, started coming out of my mouth.
Finally with a few squirts and a high pitched squeal it was over. This squeal sounded exactly like a seagull that was just pelted by a rock. Whenever I see a seagull that managed to fly so far inward from the ocean to Philly, I’m reminded of him. He was back it his original clothes and washed off his make up much more quickly than it took him to get into his drag. On his way out he said this to me, “Michael, you are the only one I trust with this secret. If you tell anyone else I will kill you”. I said, “You’re kidding, right?” He said, “No, I’m not kidding. As much as I like you Misty must remain a secret. So I will kill you.” And with charming goodbye he was gone.
Now everything else was now replaced by blind fury. I don’t particularly enjoy having my life threatened. Especially by someone I invited into my home. I invited him in for completely selfish reasons; still I did invite him in. And at that time I knew junkies that would gladly break his legs for a dime back of crack. So I wasn’t the least bit frightened once he left the house. Had he not threatened my life, I would have kept it to myself. It would of killed me, but I would have.
So I immediately got out my phone book and gave every detail of just what happened to everyone I worked with. It took about two hours. Then I called him and got an answering machine. So I just left this message, “Anthony I think I just slipped and let your secret out, to every single person at work. So I guess you’ll have to kill me. And by the way, expect to have you’re legs broken. I hope they'll still look good in stockings."
Of course I never did ask for his legs to be broken. And for about a month or two I was a little scared he might show up at my front door or wait for me after work. Then I found out he moved the day after the incident. They didn’t know where he moved to, but I suspect it was Transylvania.

The Calming Effect Of Meditation

And to think I believed that Buddhism was the sanest of all religions.

Buddhist monk cuts off penis and renounces refix
Wed Nov 22, 6:23 AM ET
A Thai Buddhist monk cut off his penis with a machete because he had an erection during meditation and declined to have it reattached, saying he had renounced all earthly cares, a doctor and a newspaper said on Wednesday. The 35-year-old monk, whose name was withheld for privacy reasons, allowed medical staff at Maharaj hospital, 780 km (480 miles) south of Bangkok to dress his wound, but refused reattachment, hospital chief Prawing Euanontouch said."We cleaned up the wound, gave him some stitches, but he declined to have it reattached because he said had abandoned everything," Prawing told Reuters by telephone.
Prawing declined to comment on the monk's erection, which Bangkok-based Kom Chad Luk tabloid reported on its Web site.

This is one of the most horrifyingly bizarre and strangely funniest articles I have every read. Read the words I highlighted a couple times. “Prawing declined to comment on the monk's erection”. First of all what possible question could a reporter ask about the erection? Was a press conference held? Were reporters rapidly asking the doctor questions about the erection?

Reporter: Doctor, I heard that monks are hung like horses. Is this true?
Doctor: No comment.
Reporter: Since the erection was killed while the monk was meditating, did the erection have a sense of oneness with the universe about it?
Doctor: No comment.

Now think about how casually it was thrown in at the end. Think about how outright bizarre the sentence is. Try to replace the word erection with any other noun. Try to see if there is another noun that would make those words even more bizarre. Now I know this story is not the least bit amusing. But I never in my life thought I would ever read the words “Prawing declined to comment on the monk's erection”. And what kind of reporter refers to a doctor by his first name, as if they were old buddies? I know it’s wrong, but I burst out laughing when I read it. Maybe I needed the comic relief or maybe I’m just a sick puppy. Who knows.

I showed this article to my partner this article yesterday morning. Later that night I found him standing next to me with a huge hard on and an even bigger smile. I just slowly turned my palm toward him, turned my head and said, “Michael declines to comment on the grinning idiot’s erection “. It took him a second but he burst out laughing.

Hell I could run with that line for years.

The doctor did made one comment however. He told reporters that the monk was singing this song while they were rushing him into the ambulance.

A Day Of Thanks In The Worst Of Years

I knew this Thanksgiving would be a tough one. This has been, without question, the worst year of my life. It started with the death of my Father in March. Then, at my most vulnerable, I was hit at a monthly basis with events so traumatic and stressful I honestly thought I might not make it through them. That I would snap, go insane and be institutionalized. At the very least I thought I would start drinking again. But somehow I made it through it all.
I sat at my computer and tried to think about what I have to be thankful about this year. I thought of my family and friends. I thought of my partner. I thought that I have eyes that can see, and legs that can walk. I thought of a lot of things. But nothing could lift me out of my state of self pity. My Father is gone, my Mother is in constant pain, and we are both in the worst financial situation of our lives. I can go on and on. But trust me; everybody I love, including myself, could be in a much, much better place.

Then for the third time I heard this coming out of the bedroom, “Mike, come to bed. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow”. And for the third time I answered, “In a minute. I have to finish this”. A half hour past and then I heard, “Michael, if you don’t get in this bed right now I’m going to get up and carry you into it!”

It hit me in an instant. A memory I have never forgotten and never will. I don’t know why it didn’t hit me earlier: the fact that one single memory can get you through the toughest parts of your life. I sincerely hope that everyone has a memory like that. Here is mine.

When I was a child I would always fall asleep on the floor watching T.V. On this particular night the movie Gypsy was on. I remember a debate between my parents to whether or not I was old enough to watch it. These debates were always held in the kitchen. I don’t now why. Eventually these debates became so loud you could hear it down the block. My Father won this debate with this:” This women was not just a stripper, she was an artist and a survivor. There is a great message in this movie. To be proud of yourself no matter what the world thinks. And you know Michael needs to hear and see that message.” Then there was a slight pause followed by, “And Michael will not grow up to be a stripper. He doesn’t have the legs for it”.
Of course I had no idea what he was talking about at the time. Still I remembered every word. I remember every word he has ever said.


I don’t remember exactly when I fell asleep, but I did see the whole movie. When I woke up I found myself in my Fathers arms being carried up the stairs. I didn’t open my eyes. He never knew I was awake. Cuddled up so gently in my Father’s strong arms, I felt so completely safe, so unconditionally loved, so full of love, that I found myself wishing that the flight of stairs were a hundred floors up. Suddenly I was not being carried by a mere man; I was being lifted by God into the gates of heaven. It was, without a doubt, the most beautiful feeling I have ever felt. I’ve been searching for someone to make me feel that way my entire life. I doubt I’ll find it. Only one man is capable of producing such profound effect. And that man is gone. At least for now.

Shortly before he died, I sat on his bed and told him this. That I was awake and every since that night I continued to pretend I was asleep. And what those trips up those stairs meant to me. He was pretty bad at this point. As a matter of fact, I wasn’t quite sure he could understand what I was saying or that I would understand what he said if he managed to say something at all. But a light flashed in his eyes halfway through it. When I was finished he lifted his head toward me as best he could and said in a crystal clear voice,” I knew Mike. I know my son. Thanks kiddo”. And then he smiled and fell asleep.

That was the last time I saw him alive. While he was sleeping. He was lifted up to heaven while he was asleep, just as he lifted me to heaven while he was carrying me to sleep.

So now I’m asking myself what I can possible be grateful for this year once again. The answer came to me quickly this time: The very life my Father breathed into me and the love he gave me to help get through it. I promise you Dad, I will never feel sorry for myself again.

This song sums up perfectly the way my Father makes me feel. Beautiful, both inside and out. It was written and performed by another great man. The love for his son fills yours soul with a warmth so strong that it erases everything else. He is another man that I miss every single day. My Father played the guitar. I’m certain that at this very moment, my Father and John are strumming their hearts out.And the entire universe is singing along.

I'm Going To Be Filthy Rich

Now that I have you attention, I have an announcement to make.

I just patented a new drug. It’s called “Gaynesta”*. It instantly turns straight men gay. It will be marketed to straight men who are tired of dancing like robots, who think that plaid paints and strip shirts match, and those that never experienced the sheer joy of crying at “ET”.
I am typing this from a laptop at the airport. I am flying to the home of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. When I get to their house I’m sure a maid will answer the door. I will then mace this maid with police mace. She will run screaming in pain hence giving me entree into their home. I will then introduce myself to Miss Jolie. I will hug her and genuinely thank her for all the good she has done in the world, then promptly knock her unconscious with a baseball bat.
Knowing that Brad sleeps late I will then head to their bedroom. I will find him sleeping. He will look like an angel sleeping. An incredibly sexy angel, but an angel none the less. I will then take a capsule of Gaynesta and ram it down his throat clear down into his stomach. This will wake him up. He will take one look at me and fall immediately in love. We will leave the house hand and hand, carefully stepping over Angelina’s unconscious body on the way. We will move in a mansion and have a butler named Eduardo. David Crosby will impregnate a lesbian for us and we will adopt the baby. No matter what the gender of the baby, we will name the baby Thighs, after Brad. We will sell People magazine the exclusive rights to publish the first pictures of Thighs, for seven million dollars. We will live happily ever after. It will be a fairly tale in every sense of the word.


WARNING: If you have a medical condition that prevents you from quickly waving your arms and snapping your fingers, consult your physician before taking Gaynesta. Possible side effects may include everyday events to appear extremely dramatic, uncontrollable projectile vomiting at the sight of a Republican, spontaneous combustion, maxing out your credit cards in two hours, watching “The View” without ever understanding why, and a never ending yearning to be the most famous human being on earth.

The Man Who Saved My Life

Imagine a thirteen year old boy. A boy who has had Catholic dogma pounded into his head since he was five years old. A boy who’s sexuality is just awaking and it is pointing to the wrong gender. Imagine this boy praying day after day that these evil thoughts will leave him. Imagine his fear that God is not answering his prayers. Imagine this boy terrified he will go to hell for simply having these thoughts. Imagine this boy suddenly feeling completely and totally alone.Imagine that this boy is too terrifeid to even tell his parents about this. Imagine that this boy seriously considering suicide.

Now imagine a grown man across the ocean. He has worked very hard to become a well know recording artist. So far this has not worked. He has already tried many different musical styles and up to that point he was considered a one hit wonder. Imagine this man’s beloved Father dying. Imagine him falling into a depression so deep that he needed help bathing himself. Now imagine him emerging from that depression feeling strangely freed. The only person on this earth he was afraid to offend or shock was now gone. He now goes from writing standard pop fair to writing dark, complex, sexually explicit lyrics. He poses for an album cover wearing a dress. He announces that he is bi-sexual. This causes a great interest .Suddenly he is invisible no more. His next album produced two top ten hits in England. Word of him quickly reaches The United States where his albums start to sell. He is now every critic’s darling. He is posed for stardom and he knows it. He also knows that anybody who has ever felt different will be buying his next album. He toils greatly over this. It was the last song on this album he gave the greatest thought to. He knows this will be his message his fellow misfits. He titles the song “Rock’n’Roll Suicide”. When he records the song he begins it in a slow melancholy way. Suddenly he burst into a powerful, unbridled, unhinged passion. He sings, almost screams, “You’re not alone” over and over again.

Now back to that boy in America. His sister, who he worships, brings home two albums, “Hunky Dory” and “The Rise And Fall Of Ziggy Stardust And The Spiders From Mars". Both of these are the works of a man who renamed himself David Bowie. He is the same man described in the paragraph above. The boy listens to his sister’s description of the David Bowie concert she had just come home from. He watches her face in amazement. Very rarely is she this exited. She says the sentence, “And he’s bi-sexual, isn’t that amazing?” Never having heard the term before the boy doesn’t even answer.
The next morning the boy sneaks into his sister’s bedroom and picks up both albums. He looks at the pictures. He is amazed at the look of androgyny. He is absolutely startled by the look of defiance and pride. The title “Rock’n’Roll Suicide” catches his eye. He plays the song. Not quit believing what he just heard, he plays it again. This time he listens even closer. He begins to cry. After realizing he can’t stop he gets up and locks the door. He sits on the bed and cries some more. He cries like he never cried before. He cries from relief. He cries from happiness. He cries because he instantly feels no longer alone. He cries when he feels the first sense of pride growing in his soul.

During the song David Bowie asks the boy to give him his hands. The boy reaches out and holds his hands as tightly as he can. He never let go of those hands. And he never will.

Mike's Thought Of The Day

Please try and follow me here. The currant population of the planet Earth is 6,558,097,717 people. And growing larger every second. Of these people 3,279,048,858 are male. Assuming the average length of a man’s erect penis is 6 inches that would mean there are now 19, 674,293,151 inches, or 3,093,442 miles of penis flesh now swinging around our planet. That is enough penis flesh to circle the earth 3.8 times. Just let that sink in for a second.
If I had the power, I would merge this mass of penis flesh into one long hard 3,093,442 mile long erection.
I would then take that erection and shove it up a certain world leader’s ass. I’m sure that would feel quit painful for this world leader.
But for the rest of the world, it would feel like sweet justice.

Mike's Thought Of The Day

We made love on the couch. We feel asleep naked in each others arms, our two souls bonding as one. When we woke up, he strutted naked and majestically over to the stove to light his cigarette. After all these years I still couldn't help but to marvel at the masterpiece that is body. Of the love that still grows in my heart day after day, for this amazing man. And I thought to myself,
” Why the FUCK did I just buy him a $150.00 gold plated engraved cigarette lighter?”

Torture Comes And Torture Goes

"The healthy man does not torture others - generally it is the tortured who turn into torturers". Carl Jung

The currant pedophile scandal cannot help to bring to mind the Catholic Church. They are using the same playbook that the Catholic Church perfected. You find out about the pedophile and then, for reasons of money and power, you hide and protect them. As a matter of fact this administration has become the Catholic Church. The only thing missing are the Prada gowns.
Yes, Virginia, the pope wears Prada. I am not making this up. The man who took a vow of poverty is using donations to stroll around in incredibly expensive gowns. And they are gowns no matter what you choose to call them. But I digress, where was I? Oh yes, the politics of fear.
You control people by fear. In the Republican’s case they are using terrorists to attempt to scare us blind. The Catholic Church uses the brilliantly evil concept of hell to scare us into our allegiance and our money. They both work, and they are both means of torture.
Elizabeth Taylor, who knows a thing or too about both physical and mental pain was once asked which was worse. Without hesitation, she replied, “I have been at deaths door many times. I have felt excruciating pain. But no physical pain I’ve endured has come close to how horrible mental torture is”. Notice she used the word “torture”, not pain. This was not a mistake. Miss Taylor might appear a bit “out there” now, but most of her life she was as sharp as a whip, and as witty as hell.
Now I want you to try and picture a six-year-old mind. It is a sponge, thirsty and, unless it experienced some sort of abuse, very, very trusting. Now picture the little boy or girl who has that mind going to their first day of school. The world as they know it is changing. They are both excited and petrified. And without their parents, siblings and friends they are, most of all, vulnerable.
To make this more vivid, I am now going to make this personal. Everything I am about to tell you is true. I will not exaggerate anything, I don’t have to. As John Waters once said, “I’m glad I was raised Catholic. They gave me my sense of drama”.
I grew up in a neighborhood with three major ethnic groups, Italian, Irish, and Polish. Each group had its own church and school. If you were Irish and lived close to the Polish school, you couldn’t get in. This bizarre and blatant segregation didn’t hit me until years later, of course, but forty years later nothing has changed. It is still the policy, at least in my neighborhood anyway.
So on a beautiful September day in 1963, I found myself facing my first day of school. The first thing that hit me was the nun, Sister Mary Jane Francis.
Why was she dressed like that? Why is she talking so loud? Why is she always holding that ruler?
They moved very fast. The first day I was taught the difference between mortal and venial sins. By day three up came the concept of hell, and who would go there.
I have a good imagination. As she was describing it I was picturing it. The way she said “will burn forever, in unimaginable agony, for all eternity” still wakes me up at night.
I timidly raised my hand. I told her my parents don’t go to church and asked her if they were going to hell. This was her exact reply, “The Bible clearly tells us that if you die with a mortal sin on your soul you will go to hell”. That was enough for me. I started crying hysterically. She tried to “comfort” me by slapping my head with that ruler and demanded that I stop crying. When that didn’t work, I was taken to the “Rectory," the place were the priest lived.
I was, at first, left alone in the office. The office had an enormous and amazingly detailed sculpture of Christ on the cross. It was so horrible an image I couldn’t even look at it. So I sat with my head down waiting for what was to come next.
As if by magic, a priest was suddenly behind me.
”Look up, my child, and see what Jesus went though to save your soul," he said. I shook my head no. This exchange repeated itself untill he lost patience and actually grabbed my face and forced me to look.
Then with the power of a thunderbolt came the words, “Get your motherfucking hands off my child”. We both turned to see my Mother, still with curlers in her hair, in a house coat and bedroom slippers. We lived a half a block away, so the instant she got the phone call that her child “was disrupting the classroom” she flew out of the house. To me she looked silly, so I began to giggle.
The priest, however, was scared shitless.
He mumbled something like "I was only trying to.”
“I don’t care what you were trying to do. If I ever see with your hands on my son again, I will kill you with my bare hands. I’m taking him home now, but I’ll be back for you,” Mother said.
And back she went. I don’t know what was said then, but whenever I raised my hand during religion class since that meeting, I was completely ignored.
That night my Mother and Father went into the bedroom to discuss what happened. They were speaking very quietly, so I only got bits and pieces.
”But he’ll be beaten in public school"..."I told you before, I don’t want him exposed to this nonsense”..."at least here he has his brother to protect him”.
I guess I should tell you at this point that I’m gay and was pretty feminine in appearance and manner at that time. My brother, however, was a tough little kid, two years older then me. Soon our room would be filled with his boxing trophies. So I was never teased. As a matter of fact, I didn’t realize I was different until I went to school. So I was able to do and say what I pleased. A quality I have to this day. A quality that sometimes gets me in trouble, but mostly gains me peoples' respect.
When the talking stopped, I ran away into my room. My Father came in and this is what he said to me.
“The people where you go to school believe in some pretty crazy things, don’t they?” I shook my head yes. “Crazy people are everywhere so you have to get used to it. Do you think you can do that?’ I shook my head yes. “Are you absolutely positively sure?’ Again I shook my head yes. ”If you have any trouble, do you promise to tell me?” I said, “Yes, Dad, I promise.” He then rubbed my head and told he would be right back.
When he came back his demeanor was different, I could tell he wasn’t happy about something but I didn’t know what. The he took a deep breath, put me on his lap and said,” Listen Michael, for reasons you won’t understand now we are going to keep you in this school. We will take it day by day. I want you listen to every word they say, I want you to learn all you can, I want you to be the best student you can be. But after religion class, I want you to come home and tell me what they told you. It will all sound pretty crazy, but I’ll try my best to explain why they believe this nonsense to you."
Then he pulled the big move.
Whenever my Father had something important to tell he would always kneel down so we can be eye to eye and and he would hold my arms. Since I was, at this point, sitting in his lap, he got up and put me down, and I sat on the floor.
He lifted me up and then knelt down and held my arms. “I want you listen to me very, very closely. Do you know much I love you?"
“Yes, Dad this much.” I then stretched my arms out as far as I could. He smiled and held my arms again. "That’s right, that much and much, much more. More than I can ever explain. Now do you think I could ever, no matter what you did, throw you in a fire, even for a second?" I said, “No way”. His smile got bigger, “Now, as much as I love you, God loves you even more. And he loves all his children just as much, each and everyone one of us. Now can you possibly imagine God throwing you into a fire, even for a second, when I couldn’t even to that?"
I said, “No, throwing your kid in a fire would be crazy.” Then with complete sincerity, he stared me right in the eyes he said, “You are the smartest boy in the world. I am very proud of you. I’m so lucky to have a son like you.”
We both just smiled at each other for a moment. Then he stood up, and without missing a beat he said, “Now that that’s settled go downstairs and annoy your Mother, she deserves it.”
I shot out of the room. He ran after me. “Michael, stop right there,” he said. I froze, “I was only kidding. Never, ever annoy your Mother.” I said, “Darn it”. He found that to be very funny. He was a very loud laugher. After the echo of his laughter went through the house he winked and said, “Well, not on purpose anyway”.
I wish I can tell you that my Father’s brilliant handling of that situation worked. But it did not. Once something as powerful as the image of a hell gets into a child’s mind, it is almost impossible to fully get it out. When I began to realize that I was gay, that’s the first place my mind went. I am going to go to hell. Despite the illogic of it, that’s the first thing I thought. It was torture, pure mental torture. But it forced me to ask myself questions I normally would not have. People never question their religion unless something profound happens to them.
How could love be evil? It went from that question to years of study. I now know who wrote each chapter of the Bible and why. I know when passages were changed and why. Most of the Old Testament was written by Moses, a senile alcoholic, who in a desperate attempt to keep the Jews from being slaughtered, created a vengeful, “eye for an eye” god, a god to be feared, not loved. He successfully terrorized his people into loving his god. His writings were so confusing that over one hundred religions grew out of it.
It’s astounding it worked.
The very first chapter gives the first clue. Original sin is the sin of eating from “the tree of knowledge”. In other words, thinking is forbidden, only blind faith will get you into his heaven. And blind faith is the most dangerous thing there is. Not to question is insanity. It is also the easy way out, hence the success of religions. I honestly believe that the writing of Moses has done more damage to the human race then any other concept, individual, government, or organization before or since.
Jesus realized the danger of his writings. He was a man of remarkable wisdom and love. Whatever references he made to being the son of god were always followed with the words “we all are”. These references were quickly removed once that the powers that be decided this particular profit would be the true Messiah. Jesus came to tell the world that God was all-loving and all-forgiving. That it wasn’t “an eye for an eye,” it was “turn the other cheek”.
And Jesus never even uttered the word “homosexuality”, let alone passed judgment on it. Jesus came to tell his people that Moses was wrong and his writings dangerous.
And they slaughtered him for it. The greatest irony in history is that the Old and New Testament were bound together. The two books completely contradict themselves, with the exception of “Revelations”. No one is quit sure who wrote this cheerful little ditty.
But they do know that “This book was sent to seven churches in the Roman province of Asia (present- day Turkey ) to warn them against falling away from their faith in Christ”*
After all this research, the realization that the belief in hell is insanity really didn’t hit me till I fell in love. I mean real love with another man. I was holding him while he was sleeping. Police sirens were wailing in the night. Something awful was happening somewhere outside. But here in this tiny bedroom, there was nothing but peace, comfort and love. I looked at the look of contentment in my sleeping lovers' face and felt the warmth of his love in ever fiber of my being.
And I thought to myself, “What could possibly be wrong with this?”
And for the first time in my life, with complete and total belief, I was able to tell myself, “Nothing, absolutely nothing”.
This moment of clarity did not come to me by way of knowledge, but by way of love.
It took the invincible power of love to finally erase the hell out of by head. And along with the hell went the terror.
When I started writing this my intent was to show the correlation between the Catholic Church and this current Republican administration’s use of terror to control the populace. But I now see it has turned into a cautionary tale.
Do not take anything at face value. Question everyone and everything. Do not let terror scare you into blindness.
And for God’s sake, if you truly love your child , let the child grow up enough before you expose them to anything as profound and life-guiding as a religion.
There are better ways to teach morality.

* The Quest Study Bible, New International Version
Copyright 1994 by The Zondervan Corporation
General Editor: Marshall Shelley.

Note: Some of you may have already read this piece. It was originally posted on HillCountryGal’s blog(please see links). I was her guest blogger. If anyone is curious as to why I posted anonymously, just ask me. I assure you it was necessary at the time. I must also point out that it was HillCountryGal who first saw something in me that I did not. She took the time, patience and energy to pull this out of me. And believe me, it wasn’t easy. She is one amazing woman. And I am proud to call her my friend.

Food On Your Family: Discuss

“I know how hard it is for you to put food on your family”

“Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.”

“They misunderestimated me.”

“Rarely is the question asked: Is our children learning?”

Yes, these sentences were actually uttered by the still current President Of The United States. So you can do three things about this. You could laugh, you could cry, or you can do everything in your power to have this idiot thrown out of office. Or you could do all three.

Here are just a few more gems:

"The only way we can win is to leave before the job is done." --George W. Bush, Greeley, Colo., Nov. 4, 2006

"Finally, the desk, where we'll have our picture taken in front of -- is nine other Presidents used it. This was given to us by Queen Victoria in the 1870s, I think it was. President Roosevelt put the door in so people would not know he was in a wheelchair. John Kennedy put his head out the door." --George W. Bush, showing German newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C., May 5, 2006

"I like my buddies from west Texas. I liked them when I was young, I liked them then I was middle-age, I liked them before I was president, and I like them during president, and I like them after president." --George W. Bush, Nashville, Tenn., Feb. 1, 2006

"I think we are welcomed. But it was not a peaceful welcome." --George W. Bush, defending Vice President Dick Cheney's pre-war assertion that the United States would be welcomed in Iraq as liberators, NBC Nightly News interview, Dec. 12, 2005

"Those who enter the country illegally violate the law." --George W. Bush, Tucson, Ariz., Nov. 28, 2005

"I'm looking forward to a good night's sleep on the soil of a friend." --George W. Bush, on visiting Denmark, Washington D.C., June 29, 2005

"See, in my line of work you got to keep repeating things over and over and over again for the truth to sink in, to kind of catapult the propaganda." --George W. Bush, Greece, N.Y., May 24, 2005

"I can only speak to myself." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., April 28, 2005

"If they pre-decease or die early, there's an asset base to be able to pass on to a loved one." --George W. Bush, on Social Security money held in private accounts, Cedar Rapids, Iowa, March 30, 2005

"This notion that the United States is getting ready to attack Iran is simply ridiculous. And having said that, all options are on the table." --George W. Bush, Brussels, Belgium, Feb. 22, 2005

"Who could have possibly envisioned an erection -- an election in Iraq at this point in history?" --George W. Bush, at the white House, Washington, D.C., Jan. 10, 2005

"I have a record in office, as well. And all Americans have seen that record. September the 4th, 2001, I stood in the ruins of the Twin Towers. It's a day I will never forget." --George W. Bush, Marlton, New Jersey, Oct. 18, 2004

"The truth of that matter is, if you listen carefully, Saddam would still be in power if he were the president of the United States, and the world would be a lot better off." --George W. Bush, second presidential debate, St. Louis, Mo., Oct. 8, 2004

"Too many good docs are getting out of the business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country." --George W. Bush, Poplar Bluff, Mo., Sept. 6, 2004

"I hope you leave here and walk out and say, 'What did he say?'" --George W. Bush, Beaverton, Oregon, Aug. 13, 2004

"We actually misnamed the war on terror. It ought to be the Struggle Against Ideological Extremists Who Do Not Believe in Free Societies Who Happen to Use Terror as a Weapon to Try to Shake the Conscience of the Free World." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Aug. 6, 2004

"I want to thank my friend, Senator Bill Frist, for joining us today. You're doing a heck of a job. You cut your teeth here, right? That's where you started practicing? That's good. He married a Texas girl, I want you to know. Karyn is with us. A West Texas girl, just like me." --George W. Bush, Nashville, Tenn., May 27, 2004

"I'm honored to shake the hand of a brave Iraqi citizen who had his hand cut off by Saddam Hussein." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 25, 2004

"Then you wake up at the high school level and find out that the illiteracy level of our children are appalling." --George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Jan. 23, 2004

"I'm so pleased to be able to say hello to Bill Scranton. He's one of the great Pennsylvania political families." —George W. Bush, Drexel Hill, Penn., Sept. 15, 2003

"I'm the master of low expectations." —George W. Bush, aboard Air Force One, June 4, 2003

"First, let me make it very clear, poor people aren't necessarily killers. Just because you happen to be not rich doesn't mean you're willing to kill." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 19, 2003

"I think war is a dangerous place." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., May 7, 2003

"You're free. And freedom is beautiful. And, you know, it'll take time to restore chaos and order — order out of chaos. But we will." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., April 13, 2003

"I'm the commander — see, I don't need to explain — I do not need to explain why I say things. That's the interesting thing about being president." —George W. Bush, as quoted in Bob Woodward's "Bush at War"

"I promise you I will listen to what has been said here, even though I wasn't here." —George W. Bush, speaking at the President's Economic Forum in Waco, Texas, Aug. 13, 2002

"My mom often used to say, "The trouble with W" — although she didn't put that to words." —George W. Bush, Washington, D.C., Apr. 3, 2002

"I've been to war. I've raised twins. If I had a choice, I'd rather go to war." —George W. Bush, Charleston, West Virginia, Jan. 27, 2002

"I want to thank you for taking time out of your day to come and witness my hanging." —George W. Bush, at the dedication of his portrait, Austin, Texas, Jan. 4, 2002

I could go on and one till my fingers break. So here’s what I ask of you. Please post your own favorite Bushisms. Let’s have an open discussion about it. Because frankly, I can get enough of them.

Insanity In Black And White

This is my cat, Miss Kitty.
I know, don’t blame me, I didn’t name her.
I know everybody has funny or strange stories about their pets. But believe me this is one bizarre animal.
She must have been severely abused before I adopted her. Either that or she is so cunning that she is purposely driving me insane.
When I was a kid, we always had a couple cats around the house. For some reason they would always be hit by cars. This would always send me into a day long crying spree. Every time this happened, my father would decide that we would have no more cats. And every time, a few days latter, we would have another cat.
The last time one of my cats died I was determined to show that I was all grown up. I decided that no matter how much it hurt I wouldn’t cry. And I didn’t. What I did do, however, would have Freud scratching his head.
I woke up in the middle the night opened my bother’s underwear drawer and peed in it. I didn’t remember a second of it. This, of course, completely freaked out my parents. My Mother sympathetically screamed, “Michael, have you lost your fucking mind!?” My Father quickly picked me up, took me in the next and said, “I guess your Mother is a little upset. But Mike, the next you feel like crying, just cry. Everybody does. Some people just do it from the inside”

If this doesn’t describe the polar opposites of my parents, nothing will.

Now back to present day. When I pet Miss Kitty, I must be very careful. If she doesn’t like the way you’re petting her, she’ll suddenly bite your hand so hard that you will see stars. But the strange thing about it is that she won’t move. She will look up at you as if to ask, “So why did you stop?” She doesn’t have a clue that almost biting your finger off is a sign of aggression.
My friend Ricky (see “Chasing Noodles”) and I were discussing this one day. After giving this a great deal of thought, and with Ricky, that mean 15 seconds, he said, “The answer is simple. Miss Kitty is transgendered.” “What the HELL are you talking about?” was all I could reply. “Well when a male cat makes love (makes love?) to a female cat he always bites her. It’s like when we kiss. So Miss Kitty is really a male cat trapped in a female cat’s body. She or he is not biting you; she or he is kissing you. I’ll look into it for you.” “And what do gay cats do while” making love”? I asked. “I don’t know. Dance maybe?”was his answer.
He said this with complete sincerity. I have never been ever to figure out if he is a comic genius or Jack from “Will And Grace”
Keep in mind that we were handing out flyers at the time, so each of these remarkable insights into the feline psyche were interrupted by him singing, “Thank you for supporting the Gay and Lesbian Community. We love you” The, “we love you” part was not in the script, but no one can stop him. So he would sing this to cops, construction workers, bikers, nuns, thugs, you name it.
Personally I love this improvising, but it makes the organizer of our volunteer group very nervous. That’s why we were always paired together. Apparently I am, and I quote,” Almost bizarrely masculine in appearance”, he thought we would balance each other out. The fact is standing next to Ricky even Richard Simmons would look masculine in appearance. But I am more than happy to “protect” my little friend. Still I always carried mace when we are sent out together.
But I digress.
Miss Kitty loves to smell trash. I just emptied her litter box and tied up the thrash bag. BTW, her crap smells like a mountain lion’s and she has never mastered the basic cat instinct of covering her poop. Also, God forbid I should ever forget to clean her litter box out, she will look me right in the eyes and brazening shit right on the carpet. This she knows is wrong because she’ll then run like hell.
Before I could put out the trash bag full of her crap, the phone rang. Unfortunately it was a “chatty Kathy” so I could get off the phone. Keep in mind that this was a beautiful and cool summer evening, so I had the kitchen window wide open. Also keep in mind that we live in a row home. You’ll need to know this, trust me.
So after about a half an hour of her trying to rip the trash bag open, I lost control and screamed at the top of my lungs. “YOU ARE SMELLING YOUR OWN SHIT. YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOT!”
Now you know how you don’t notice that there is noise in the background until it stops? Well right next door to me they were having a barbecue. The second my screech traveled out my window and into their yard, all conversation came to a deafening halt. I was so humiliated I didn’t leave the house for a week. I still can’t look the women in the eyes. God only knows what they were thinking when they heard this. And frankly, I don’t want to know. As for my friend on the phone, she’s now deaf.

Miss Kitty also can not eat unless I’m in the room with her. So there is a bowl of food in every room of this house. She also is too afraid to go outside the house without me. And she always wants to go outside. I have found myself enduring blizzards both heat strokes until she decides she has seen enough. The only time she won’t go out is when it rains. If I knew how, I would start every day with a rain dance.
She is also bulimic. She throws up at least once a day. I have taken her ever vet I know and they all say the same thing: hairballs. Believe these are not hairballs. I’ve even bought evidence to these vets. Not one vet sees anything to worry about over these. The next time I get our carpets cleaned, I am going to send them the bill. Our carpets have been cleaned so many times, my partner refers to them as “those threads on the floor”.
And getting her into the pet carrier is a four man job. One to hold it, one to keep the door open, one to try to get her on the bag and one to man the phone in case we have to call 911. My Mother, who Miss Kitty used to tolerate, was the person who brought this pet carrier into house. Now every time Miss Kitty sees my Mother she runs like hell. This is the ONLY sane thing I have ever seen her do.

So why do I put up with this you ask? It’s because of a nightly ritual that I don’t think I could live without. My last moments of the day are always on the computer. Since she is always in the same room I am in, she usually falls asleep beside me. When I shut down the computer and turn off the lights, I try my best not to wake her up. I tip toe past her and climb next to bed with Mike. But she always wakes up. I can hear her stretching out and yawning and slowly heading for the bed .Sometimes she hasn’t woken up enough to make the jump on the bed. So I reach over and pick her up. She will then crawl up my body, up to my chest and actually licks my lips. This both grosses me out and melts me like butter. I’ve never had a cat that licked my lips before. She will then lay on my chest, purr like a BMW, and await her goodnight petting. I am always too tired to pet her. That is why I don’t carry her to bed with me in the first place. But I do pet her. If she hasn’t had enough she will then rub her head on my hand until I start again. I will then pet her until she has had enough. This is only time I don’t have to worry about her biting me. I don’t know if it’s because she’s too tired, but she never bites me during this time. When the petting is over, she will stay on my chest purring long enough to let me know I am the creature she loves most on this earth. When she’s content that I have this knowledge, she’ll slowly walk back down on my body. If she pauses on my stomach, I winch a little because she is fat as hell. Then she makes it down to my feet, she’ll ball herself up and purr herself to sleep. If I roll over, she will wobble up and crawl between my feet again. This amazes me.
This happens every single night and every single night I think the same thing. In this insane and often brutal world, there is at least creature on this earth that is totally and completely happy. And I am the person who made her that way. And for this nightly gift, I love her .

How could I possibly give that up?

I'm Pissed!

OK, I’m pissed. Really pissed. I’m so pissed I can barely see.

I’m pissed that my partner was just laid off from a job he worked for ten years without missing a single fucking day. For “financial reasons”. Financial reasons my ass. They’re just pissed because I lost control at the office Christmas party and screwed him on top of the Xerox machine. I’m kidding, but I wish that I wasn’t. Right now all I feel like doing is putting everyone at that company the hell they’re putting us through.

I’m pissed that I have Chronic Fatigue Disorder and have become almost worthless. I used to tell myself that things could be much worse. Fuck that. Things could also be a lot better. I know that sounds crazy, but at this moment, this is how I feel. I’m a good person. I don’t deserve this.

I’m pissed that most people have no idea what this condition is. Or worse yet, that it isn’t even a real condition. That I am imagining my fevers of 102. That I am imagining the ache in my bones, the sweating at night, the struggle it takes to get out of bed every morning. The bizarre fact that one day I’m fine and the next day I’m almost crippled. That this is “all in my head”. Well right now, I would like to take their heads and pound them on a wall.

I’m pissed that I’m even feeling anger toward these people that are simply ignorant. I hope it passes and passes fast. It makes me feel ugly. And feeling ugly makes me pissed.

I’m pissed that my Father was a W.W.I I veteran and the military didn’t pay one cent toward his funeral. My Mother assumed they would and could only afford a small insurance policy. This insurance company didn’t cover a tenth of the funeral. All they sent us was a flag. Well the flag was nice, but so is eating. My Mother had to borrow the money to pay for the funeral. So right now even feeding herself is a struggle. This pisses me off so badly that some days I think I will lose my mind over it.

I’m pissed that Impeachment is even a matter of discussion. What the fuck is there to discuss?

I’m pissed that right now I can look out my window and see two homeless people. I’m the only one that gives them the dignity to talk to them. I have learned that both of them are Vietnam War veterans. This pisses me off.

I’m pissed that there are people who have to decide between heating their homes and eating this winter.

I’m pissed that every human being doesn’t have heath insurance.

I’m pissed that some people still see homosexuality as a sexual issue. IT’S ABOUT LOVE YOU STUPID HATEFULL IDIOTS.

I’m pissed that I don’t have the energy to type out everything I’m pissed about.

I’m pissed about every social injustice ever commented.

I’m pissed that so many gay kids commit suicide.

I’m pissed that I drank away ten years of my life. I’m pissed that I had to file for bankruptcy, that at the age of 39 I had to start my life all over again. I’m pissed that I can’t apologize to everyone I put through hell over this.

I’m pissed because the reason I can’t apologize is because they died of AIDS.

I’m pissed that some stupid young people are not using condoms. They think it’s now no longer a death sentence. I know people with AIDS. It may no longer be an instant death sentence, but it isn’t exactly a pleasant life. Some of these people throw up continuously because of their “drug cocktail”.

I am pissed because I am so fucking pissed.

OK, if I don’t stop now, I just might never stop. I will not apologize for my ranting. I had to get this off my chest. And I consider you all as friends. I’m sorry if you find that statement presumptuous. But that is how I feel. And I believe that’s what friends are for.If this presumption pisses you off, feel free to let me know.

My Mother The Activist.

This is actually a picture of me and my mother circa 1964. It’s one of the last remaining photos of my childhood since the “great cellar flood” of 2001. Once you get over the shock of her hair and sunglasses you will see the one thing that sums up my mother perfectly: attitude. Look at her. She looks like a lioness scanning the jungle for any threat to her cub.
She doesn’t, and has never had, any editing system between her mind and mouth. Whatever comes into her mind comes out immediately. This has led to many hilarious, surreal, and humiliating situations throughout the years. It would take a book the size of the Kink James Bible to tell you of all of these, so I just share this one.
Whenever my mom and I talk on the phone, which is at least twice a day, I eventually go into a political tirade. She always says the same thing, “Mike, I don’t understand any of this”. To this I always reply, “I don’t care, just listen “. When I’m done I’ll always ask her, “Now do you understand?” “No”, has always been the answer. Apparently she was wrong.
Late last night she called me and my partner and begged us to take her to a 24 hour Pathmark. Somehow she ran out of every ounce of food in her house overnight. This is some sort of reverse miracle, because we had just taken her food shopping the day before. But as she explained her best friend and her husband came over and ate her out of house and home. As she was telling me this I was visualizing her forcing food down their throats, and preparing the platter to go. There is always a platter to go.
Being the master of implied guilt that she is we quickly found ourselves in a very long check out line at Pathmark. The first thing that came out of her mouth was, “Hey, don’t you know how to count?” to someone one in the express line. This sent my partner right out of the line and over to the magazine section.
It is important to note here that my mother absolutely loves my partner, whose name is also Michael. She liked most of my boyfriends, but nothing like this. She actually makes her call her “mom”. And the feeling is mutual. I have given great thought to this special bond between them. The only thing I can think of is that when they are both exited they completely butcher the English language. My mother only spoke Italian till she went to school. And Mike only spoke Polish till he was about fourteen. Plus my mother picked up some Polish from a friend of hers. This might not be the answer, but it the only thing I can think of.
So there was my mother and me waiting in line. Mike is reading within feet away. Two older women in front of us start talking about the “glory” of George W. Bush. Seeing my face getting redder by the second my Mom said to me, "Now Mike, keep your mouth shut. Respect your elders.” Then one of them said, “Now all those Democrats are going to let gay people get married. It’s disgraceful”. Huge mistake.
Poking the woman in the back, my mother said, “Hey you. The one with the cheap ass wig, you are disgraceful. Not the gay people” The women turned around, looked my mom up and down, and then turn away. Another huge mistake.
This time she was screaming, “Look at me when I talk to you. Both of you, you rude bitches.” This time they both turned around. They both had an expression of combined anger and fear. “Look at this person next to me. What do you see? One of them managed to mumble out, “Well he seems like a very nice young man. Why?’
“Because he my son and he’s gay.” Instant mortification. Now I’m not the least embarrassed about being gay, but I never actually shouted the fact in public. I have lived here all my life, I just assume everyone knows it. And to top it off, the acoustics of the place made her sound like she was speaking thru a megaphone at a baseball game. So “and he’s gay” sounded like. And, and, and, he’s, he’s, he’s, gay, gay, gay,”
I looked at Mike for help. By now he was holding the magazine up to his face, with only his eyes peeking out. He looked exactly like spy you would see in a comedy movie.” And you see that man over there?”, she shouted pointing at Mike, “that is his boyfriend. Before my son met him he was a drunk. A fall down, obnoxious, hopeless drunk. ( instant modification times ten). Now he’s sober and happy. And your president Bush would like to make that illegal. That idiot would like to make my son’s happiness illegal. I hate the frigging pig. I hate him!”
What followed next can only be described as senior citizens night at Crossfire. Every eye in the place was on us. I wish I can remember every single word, but I really was,and still am,in shock. What I can’t help but remember was that my mom was tossing out names and words like “ habitant corpernateuas”,“Ken Mailman” and “Russ Limpbald”(perhaps the most unintentionally funniest thing I’ve ever heard). Mike remembered everything and told me she beat down every point they brought up right to ground. And not with her anger, but with real facts. When I asked him what facts, he replied, “You name it”.
When he wakes up tomorrow, I will demand a full type written transcript.
The ride home was pretty quite. I told her I was proud of her .Then Mike said, “Yeah mom, what the hell got into you”. She sighed and said, “I really don’t know. Maybe it was the beer I had with supper”
Tomorrow I’m buying her a keg.

BTW, this picture really doesn’t do her justice. She was really a beautifully young woman. She still looks great. As we were going through the pictures after the cellar was flooded, she picked up this picture and said, “Of all the picture to make it, it had to be this one”. Then she angrily “frisbeed” it clear into the kitchen. I don’t know. I love it.

Office Assistant Would Like to Help Republicans

Celebration!

Congratulations America! Yesterday we collectively yanked the crown off the head of King George and stomped it to pieces. We swept clean The House Of Representatives like a glorious blue tidal wave. We may even take the Senate. Now George W. Bush will actually be held accountable. Articles of Impeachment are already written up and ready to go. I do not think the year 2007 will be a good one for poor little George. Excuse me will I wipe away my tears.
We are back on track. Soon America will once again reclaim her rightful place as the greatest country on this planet.
No more smear and fear.
No more editing our Constitution as if were simply an entry on Wikipedia.
No more global destruction or embarrassment.
No more torture.
No more of a completely hidden government.
No more blatant lying.
Soon all of this will come to pass.
If we make it happen.
This isn’t over yet my friends. Nor will it ever be. Corrupt politicians will always exist. And we must always watch out for them.
I’m not quit sure how we got to this point. War always scares people mindless. But the corruption of this administration is unprecedented. If we learned anything from the last six years is that we must never let another George W. Bush happen again. Ever.
But today we celebrate. I had this song waiting for weeks hoping I can use it. I’m sure you all know what it is. So set you speakers to maximum volume, pump up the base, and dance.
You deserve it. We all do.

Flying With Hope And Prayer

The day is finally here. Our great day of hope. The most important election of our lifetimes. Rather then waste your time with words already written or words already said, I offer you a hope and a prayer. We all know what is at stake here. I need not remind anyone.
I hope that Diebold, or any other electronic voting system, won’t cripple this election. I know the problems are still there. A fact that, in itself, should bring every American out to vote. I hope that they don’t have the power to steal this one. This election will be monitored much more closely then the last. Over eight hundred lawyers will be dispersed to various polling centers. Foreign monitors are even coming in. So there is hope. Don’t let Diebold scare you into staying home.
The polls are all looking great for us. I see this as both a good and a bad thing.
I’m afraid that people will be lulled into a false sense of security by this and either let their guard down, or worse of all , not even bothering to vote at all.
I pray to you all do not let this happen. The most important advice I can offer you today is to vote. Each and every vote is important. And I hope each vote will be counted correctly.
I am not a praying man by nature. I can not prove there is a God, but my gut instant tells me that some form of higher power exists. I just don’t pretend to understand such a powerful entity. Maybe it’s as simple as God is love. And is in each and everyone one of us. Well most of us anyway. There are people so damaged and broken that love can not survive in their souls.
Some of these people now have almost total control of us. And if we don’t stop them, they will soon have total control. We can not let this happen. So once again I’m stressing this to you: vote. It is our only hope.
Tonight I will knell down and pray for the first time since my Father got ill. I will pray for victory. I will pray that America will be once again become the greatest nation on earth. I will pray for justice. I will pray to every god in the heavens. I will pray that tonight we will find out that, this time, we will be the champions. I will pray for all of us. I will pray for America.

Chasing Noodles

Last night I was knocked unconscious. Because of a noodle. I am not making this up.
Yesterday my volunteer group's mission was to hand out pamphlets to people on South Street. South Street is a tourist attraction and one of the wildest streets in Philadelphia. It's the only street that has a Condom City, A Gap , A Tower Records , a tattoo parlor and a new age incense store on the same block. It is packed year round. But before we hit there we were to put pamphlets in mail boxes in Society Hill. A section, as you may have guessed where very wealthy people live. It is also walking distance to South Street, much to the chagrin of the residents of Society Hill. South Street slowly grew over the years. I remember when all that was there was a heath food store my Father took us too. Then a TLA movie house started showing "The Rocky Horror Picture Show" there and it snowballed into what it is today. Sorry for the long set up, but it is necessary.
This was the first time Mike, my partner, drove the car and followed us. I begged him too because yesterday was a bad day for me. I was so exhausted I didn't think I'd make it through the night. OK, the set up is over.
No sooner then our group of gays and lesbians packed out of the van, that a woman came running down the street. She was screaming, "My Noodles, oh my god my Noodles", over and over again. Ricky, a wisp of a little queen whom I adore said quit seriously to me, "Isn't she over reacting a bit about burning her noodles?" As I doubled over laughing from this I saw that Mike finally found a parking space.
It turns out that "Noodles" was the name of her beagle and the dog ran out of the house. And the dog was headed right toward South Street. We all went into rescue mode immediately. Ricky stated running first. He was running exactly like the beginning of "The Mary Tyler Moore Show". You know where she runs across the street with her arm daintily waving beside her? Angie, a tank of a lesbian, barreled down the street like a juggernaut. Soon the whole groups of us were running down the street shouting "Noodles" at the top of our lungs. The range and variety of these screams had to be heard to be believed.
Finally I spotted Noodles sniffing around in a little park. I shouted," I found him" and tore ass toward him. Then everything went blank.
I woke up to see Mike's face staring into mine. Then I heard a chorus of people all shout, "He's alive!!" Apparently in my fervor, I didn't notice a low hanging branch and ran full steam into it. Right on the old noggin. I was knocked out for about ten minutes.
Here is the exchange that followed:
"Mike, are you OK?"
"I guess so, what the hell happened?"
"You ran into a tree. It knocked you out".
"Wow"
"Wow, is right, you scared the hell out of me. The ambulance is here, I'm going to tell them we're brothers so I can ride with you."
"Brothers!? Mike you're a 6'-3" Polish blond and I'm a 5'-9" Italian with black hair. Besides I'm not going to any hospital, I'm fine"
"No you're not, look at your hand"

Sure enough my hand was bleeding like crazy. I am extremely blood phobic, even with my own blood. I promptly passed right out.
When I woke up again I was in the ambulance with Mike and the lady who lost her dog. I whispered to Mike, "What is she doing here?" "She's our Mother, she adopted us both. Just remember to call her Mom", he replied. I glanced over to her and she gave me a big smile and I wink. Then I asked Mike," How did you explain that she named both her children Michael?" "I told them the Polish name for Michael, they didn't have a clue"
We were in and out pretty quickly. I didn't have a concussion, just a lump the size of a grapefruit. And two stitches on my pinkie. I'll survive.

My Weekend With Caligula

“I don’t like having casual sex. I believe you should know some very well, even love them, before you use and degrade them” Steve Martin.

Warning: This contains adult content.

One Friday morning, way back in pre-AIDS America, I was working in a health food store. As I gazed out the enormous window of the place it suddenly hit me what an absolutely gorgeous summer day it was. This was partly due to the weather, but mostly due to the fact that the two Quaaludes I had taken just hit me like a glorious hammer to the head. I was going to save them for the long bus ride home, but I was so bored I took them early. This was a huge mistake. When I went out for lunch it became very clear I wasn’t going to be able do my job. So when I came back to the store I immediately threw myself to the floor, clutching my stomach screaming, “Oh my god, the pain, the pain”. Somebody in the crowd standing over me said about food poisoning. I said, “That must be it, I have to go to an emergency room”. Everyone offered to take me, but I said it was only around the corner and I can make it by myself. So I walked slowly to the corner, bent over moaning in pain. The second I turned the corner I ran to the subway. Whoever saw this must have thought that they had just witnessed a miracle.
If you don’t know what Quaaludes were, the best way I can describe them is too imagine yourself drunk and on speed at the same time. You have absolutely no inhibitions with an enormous amount of energy. They were perfect for making a complete ass of yourself dancing at parties. But above all else they perfect for sex. Of course any drug this great had to be banned. When they did stop making them I seriously considered suicide. They were replaced by bootlegs, but they all sucked. I think the only thing that stopped me was my cult like devotion to David Bowie. When I meet him, I will tell him this. He will be moved to tears and hire me to be his personal assistant. I can’t wait.
I knew my boyfriend would be home. He had the day off and never left the house unless it was on fire, which it was, twice. I was getting progressively hornier as I was riding home. By the time I got off the final bus I was pitching a tent so high that five adults could have slept under it. I couldn’t wait to surprise him with this “afternoon delight”. It was I, however, that got the surprise.
We had a roommate at the time. His name was Marc, but I knew he was at work. When I got home I stripped down completely naked and tipped toed up the stairs to surprise him .I went straight to our bedroom, he wasn’t there. Then I heard some voices in Marc’s room. When I looked in, I saw my boyfriend “surfing” on Marc’s water bed with another man.
I skipped right over rage and hurt and dived completely into total madness. So I grabbed a letter opener, plunged it into the water bed and screamed at the top of my lungs, “Drown you fuckers!” This bit of theatrics would of more effective had water actually gushed out of the bed. Instead all it caused was a slight leak. So all these two guys saw was a crazed naked man, sporting a boner, holding a letter opener over his head. The guy my boyfriend was screwing let out an ear piecing scream, grabbed his clothes and ran down the stairs and out the door. He did this so quickly I can’t imagine how he had the time to get dressed.
My boyfriend however, did get dressed first. I couldn’t hear what he was saying because I just yelling “get the fuck out” over and over again. When he did start running down the stairs I shouted “WAIT!” Then with the eyes and delivery of Norma Desmond I said, “If you want a whore, I’ll give you a whore”. With that he shot out the door.
I called everyone I knew. The first one to pick up the phone was my friend Dawson. Dawson was the most fearless and clever whore that ever walked this earth. I need only give two examples to prove this, but first I must describe how he looked. He was about 5’-11” and weighed a solid 185 pounds. He had the body of a weightlifter, and his arms were covered with tattoos. If he didn’t walk, talk, or make any gesture whatsoever, he looked exactly like a dock worker. He was also tough as nails. I personally saw him beat the crap out of three straight guys. He was also very protective of his friends. I felt very safe around him no matter where we were.
We lived in a major city that had a huge Navy yard. From where we lived one could easily walk to it. One day Dawson wondered out loud, “I wonder if they would let me on one of the ships?” I told him that I doubted it. The very next day he told me not only did he get on one of the ships, but that he had also had sex with five of the sailors. If this came out of anyone’s mouth but his I wouldn’t have believed it. This trip to the Navy yard quickly became part of his daily routine. He even somehow managed to steal a complete uniform. For all you mothers and girlfriends of sailors out there don’t be too concerned. Most of the sailors refused Dawson’s gracious offer, but now I definitely know why The Village People recorded “In The Navy”.
Dawson would also go “shopping”. By shopping I mean he would go to department stores, buy a shopping bag, and then stand it while blowing guys in bathroom stalls. When I asked him how he managed to get a man into a stall in the first place, he replied, “You can just tell by the look in their eyes”. Unless they were mutants who had the power to change the shape of their pupils from round to penis shaped, I still don’t how this was done. I mean how do you communicate the message, “meet me in the third stall, I need a blow job”, with a simple glance?
So Dawson had a plan. We were to go to Atlantic City and screw as many men possible in one weekend. After this trip of revenge Dawson would hold my boyfriend down until I told him every single detail. It made sense at the time.
I met Dawson the same way I met every gay friend or boyfriend I had at the time. Once word got out that you were out of the closet it spread like wildfire. You were then quickly introduced to every other gay person within a five mile radius. These introductions were always initiated by an incredibly funny young hippie named Zena. Zena weighed about ninety pounds, fifty of which were her breasts. Children would actually stop and stare at them. She eventually moved to Alaska where, I kid you not, she was elected mayor of a small town. When I called her to see if this were true, she said yes, and she was just as amazed as I was. When I asked her what platform she ran on, without missing a beat, she answered, “My tits”. Only in America.
It is important that you know that at this time I knew absolutely nothing about gay culture. I never even stepped in a gay bar. I was never one to sleep around. I was the “marrying” type. At the time of this adventure I had slept with a grand total of two men. So I leaped into this totally blind. But I knew Dawson would protect me, at least I would be safe.
So a pharmacy full of Quaaludes and “black beauties” (diet pills) were bought, suitcases packed, tickets purchased and before I knew it we were standing outside of at the “Chester Inn”. If Bette Davis were there she would of skipped the, “What a dump line” line and went immediately into projectile vomiting. “Don’t worry, it’s nicer inside” Dawson tried to assure me. In reality it was worse. The guy who took us to our room was stoned on something I’d never seen before. I tried every drug in the book, except any thing involving needles. And that is only because the very site of a needle would make me faint. So I immediately decided this guy must be on heroin. Every door to every room was wide open with a naked man lying clearly on the bed. When there were two men in one bed, they didn’t even bother shutting the door. This is when the “tour” began. “This is the orgy room”, (could be interesting), “this is the S&M room, (no way in hell) “and this is the scat room” (duh?). In a whisper I asked Dawson what the hell a scat room was. His answer made me literally turn around and make a run for it. He quickly grabbed me by the belt, “We don’t have to go in there. Relax, you’re embarrassing me”. Our tour guide looked me up and down and said, “So you’re not into scat huh? Well to each his own”. He said it as if I were being the strange one. As if being crapped on happens to people everyday. Despite the countess drugs now flowing thru my veins, I was beginning to get very, very nervous.
Once we got to our room Dawson became as exited as a kid on Christmas.
“OK let’s get you to your first gay bar. Now get dressed”.
“I am dressed”
“Your pants are way to loose. Where’s your dick”. Where’s you ass?”
“Hopefully in the last place I saw them”.
“I thought this might happen. Lucky for you I packed some extra clothes.”
So off we went. My pants were so tight I was walking like a cross between a mummy and a prostitute. The T-shirt he forced me to wear was cut so low you see could my nipples. I felt like a complete and total idiot. When we opened the door to the gay bar, the sheer volume of the music blew my hair back. Everything that was said between people in there had to be screamed. Dawson walked me to the bar and shouted in my ear, “I’ll be right back”. Before I could protest he was lost in the sea of wall to wall men. So I tried to order my soda as best as I could and waited for him. And no, I didn’t drink at that point; it’s a very long story.
When he finally came back he asked, “Are you having a good time?” I answered no and that everybody was laughing at me. He looked around and said, “You idiot, they’re not laughing they’re smiling “. “Then why are they staring at me? “I asked. He took a deep breathe and explained, “It’s called cruising. You look at someone till you get an answer. If you’re interested you smile back, if your not you look away or shake your head no.” “Well that’s kind of rude” I said. He answered back with, “Believe me, they’re used to it.” And with that he was gone again.
At the opposite of the bar this was this adorable young man. I started to cruise him and sure enough he smiled and then looked back down. So I took two more Quaaludes and a black beauty for nerve and waddled my self over to him. The conversation was short and sweet. “Hi”, “hi” “you want to?”, “OK”.
By the time we got to my room it became quit obvious that he was even more nervous than I was. He was also very tall, well built and very handsome. After a few minutes of awkward small talk he looked at me and said, “There’s something I should tell you”. He said this in such a tone that I half expected him to tell me he had five balls or something.
“This is my first time I’d ever come to a place like this” he confessed. With absolute relief I said, “Oh my god, me too. Can you believe how fucking loud it is in that bar?”
“No you don’t understand. This is my first time that I’m going to have sex with another man. This is my first time I’m going to have sex at all”. I looked up and down his gorgeous body and face and blurted out, “how the hell does that happen?” As he was telling me his story I was only half listening. I was busy wondering how I could make this experience as pleasurable as possible for him. But one line did get my attention.” This is your birthday!?” I gasped. Good lord talk about pressure. I gave him a Quaalude. He asked me what it was. I told him to trust me; we both need for him to take it. So he did.
After a bit of making out he started to go down on me. He must have forgotten he had teeth because it felt like a rattlesnake just bit me down there. I said, “No, no, let me show you how it’s done”. So I did and all was going well until he suddenly pulled me up and said, “I once saw a porno were a guy sat on another guys face. It looked really hot. I want to sit on your face.” This transformation from Dr. Shy Guy to Mr. Porn Star took about ten minutes. So I said sure, why not? Obviously he didn’t pay close enough attention to that porno, because instead of gently resting himself on me, he sat his entire weight of his six foot frame directly on my face. His ass began to smother me immediately.
I started to frantically kick my legs and wave my arms around. He mistook this for pleasure and started to press down even harder.” He started to say things like” You like that, huh? My mouth was screaming, “You are smothering me!!!” But apparently between two butt checks no one can here you scream. It wasn’t until I stated beating and scratching his back that he finally got up. Completely oblivious he asked, “What’s the matter?” “What’s the matter!? You almost killed me you idiot.” “I’m sorry” was all he could say. After catching my breathe he asked me if I wanted him to leave. I answered no; it was the guy’s birthday for heavens sake. Plus he didn’t mean any harm. So I carried on as best as I could. As he was leaving, he looked me in the eyes, kissed me on the check and said,”Thanks”. That kiss is the only pleasant memory I have from that entire weekend.
After a few more degrading sexual encounters not worth mentioning, I found myself in yet another gay bar. I haven’t slept or eaten in almost two days. I was nearing delirium. Suddenly Dawson ran up to me and yelled, “Oh my god, Freddie Mercury is here and he’s staring right at you!” I looked over and sure enough a dead ringer for Freddie was staring right at me. Now I didn’t find Freddie Mercury attractive at all, but Dawson really thought this was the real deal. So the thought of rubbing the fact that I slept with a celebrity in my boyfriends face was too hard to resist. And I knew Dawson could convince him that this was actually Freddie Mercury. So I went over to him and said,” I just want you to know I’m a big fan of yours”. He laughed and said he gets that all the time. As we were leaving together Dawson was actually jumping up and down with delight.
When we entered my room, he walked into the middle of the room and very dramatically said,
“I’m about to show you something you will never forget”
“Oh really”
“Really”
He then dropped his pants. Sure enough it was pretty big, but not yet hard.
“OK, I admit, it’s pretty big”
“Just wait a second”
Then with exactly three stokes it began to grow, and grow and grow. The final result was I dick so big I couldn’t possibly find the words to give it justice. It was both frightening and fascinating. I just couldn’t take my eyes off it. He then announced “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you with this big cock”. “Oh no your not”, I replied.
I should explain now that when it comes to anal sex, I am never on the receiving end. It isn’t because of any macho posturing, it’s because I have an absolute zero tolerance for pain and especially in that area. Once someone surprised me my shoving a finger up there, my sphincter clamped up so tight I almost broke his finger. But this guy was very persistent. I finally had to say, “There is no way in hell that, that, whatever it is, is going up my ass”. At this point he handed me two Quaaludes and said “we’ll see how it goes “.I cautiously forged ahead. I went down on him, or rather tried to go down on him. He was so thick I couldn’t even fit my mouth around the head. So I mostly played with it and looked at it as if I just discovered a rare fossil in ancient Egypt.
“Listen”, he said,” I know I have a big dick and I fucked a lot of guys. I know how to be gentle. I know how to do this.” “I’ve heard that before”, I replied. “Do you mind if I massage you?” “Only if you let me open the door and if you try to stick that creature in me I swear I will kill you.” He giggled and said “Go right ahead tough guy”.
So he began to massage me. At this point I was feeling very high and his massage was incredible. Suddenly I felt a very hard smack on my ass. I thought he somehow lost balance and that slap was a mistake. Then he slapped my ass again. This time I turned around and barked at him,” Is slapping people in the ass your idea of relaxing someone?” He apologized and said that some people like it and swore it wouldn’t happen again. Then he did something no one else had every done to me. He began to rim me. If you don’t know what “rimming” is there is no way I can politely describe it. Straight people call it “tossing the salad”. If you really need to know what it is, ask someone else. I can’t bring myself to tell you.
Anyway it felt incredibly good. “You like that?” he asked. “Oh yeah” So he continued to do it till I thought I thought I might explode with pleasure. He then whispered in my ear, “Now that you’re relaxed, can I try it now. I swear to god I’ll stop the second you tell me too” It was a cheap and blatant trick, but being awake and stoned for three days straight tends to alter your judgment. So I said “Ok, but only if you stop when I tell you to.” “I swear to god” he promised.
What came next was the most excruciating and sudden pain I have ever felt in my life. It felt like he shot his dick out of a cannon right up my ass. I screamed so loudly that I could feel the earth shake from the crowd running to my room. Someone must of thought somebody was be murdered because I heard somebody shout “Call 911”. The guy pulled out immediately, of course, so when the crowd reached the room all they saw was me crying and him saying “I’m so sorry” over and over again. They assumed it was a lover’s quarrel and left. I ask the guy to please just leave. He got dressed, said he was sorry once again, and then closed the door.
Finally the weekend was about to end. We had checked out and were waiting for our bus to leave in the hotel bar. The trip home was a little over hour way. It was also the last bus home that night. Dawson casually said to be “I’ll be back in a minute”. I said OK. Fifteen minutes passed, still no Dawson. Half hour, still no Dawson. I was beginning to panic. So I grabbed both our suitcases and ran up and down New York Ave. like a madman looking for him. At this point I had fifteen minutes to find, then it hit me, the orgy room! I ran back to the hotel flew down the stairs of the room only to find complete and total darkness. You could hear people, but you couldn’t see anything. I pulled out a lighter as if it would fill the room with light. No such luck. So I stage whispered, “Dawson, Dawson are you in here?” ”Yeah, I’m busy what do you want?” he whispered back. “Our bus leaves in ten minutes”. “Oh my god” he shouted, “where the fuck are my clothes?” He was dressed in an instant and then ran over the mass of bodies at lightening speed. You could hear ouches from everywhere, one guy even screamed, “My face!”
Somehow we made the bus. It wasn’t until we were halfway home before we noticed Dawson was wearing two different sneakers, neither of which belonged to him. We giggled like idiots for the rest of the ride.
I didn’t tell my boyfriend, and I didn’t leave him. How could I judge him after the weekend I just had? Dawson, however, did tell him. He took the news with a combination of shock and amusement. So I guess we forgave each other. Freddie Mercury passed away years ago, of course. Still to this day, whenever I bump into my old boyfriend the first words that come out of his mouth are, “So how’s Freddie Mercury?”

We Can Be Heroes

This Tuesday we all have a unique opportunity.
Each and everyone can become heroes.
Just for one day.
It may indeed be the most important day in this country’s history. I’m sure you are all aware what is at stake this November 7th. If you’re political aware that is. The sad fact is that most of America is not. Most Americans aren’t even aware that habeas corpus was suspended. Most don’t even know what it means. This scares the hell out of me. Most Americans don’t realize the damage this administration has done, the full extent. This scares the hell out of me. These people are often referred to as “sheeple”. Some are so caught up in day to day survival; they don’t have the time or will to learn. Some bought the fear card hook, line and sinker. Some just don’t have the mental capacity to grasp it.
So what do we, the informed ones, do? Knowledge is power, and with power comes responsibility. It is our duty to take this country back from this nightmarish scenario. We must help the blind cross the street. We must teach the uninformed and the ill-informed.
We must take this country back. We must vote. We must encourage others to vote. Almost half this country does not vote. This is inexcusable.
So don’t let Diebold scare you. Don’t let inclement weather deter you. Don’t let shills at your voting spot confuse you. And believe me they will try.
And if they dare steal this one, we must all scream so loudly that if deafens the entire country. I won’t take it this time. You won’t take it this time.
We will be heroes, damn it. Just for one day.

We Will Survive
Ok, it’s November. The elections are one week away. You can feel the tension in the air. Will we win, or will they steal it? It’s driving me insane. But you know what? We will survive this. We will survive the damage of this administration. We will survive whatever they throw at us. We are Americans, real Americans. We will take this great country back to where she belongs, a beacon of hope, truth and honor. We will survive and we will thrive!!
A very wise man told me so….


This video is an oldie but a goodie. I don’t know why I think it’s so hilarious. I have no problem with Jesus. Most of his followers, however, have no idea what his message really was.