I babysat a lot while I was away, and I’ve learned that there is one reason I fucking resent infants. When a baby eats, we’re so happy for it when it really chows down; "oooh, good boy!" we coo "eat some more!! Oooh, MORE? I’m so proud!!" I’m elated when little man chows down what I made him and cries for more. But today I started thinking you know what, fuck you. Everybody’s doing cartwheels when you shovel it in, but I eyeball the last slice of pizza and it’s like"Oh, great, fucking take it Xmastime. You fat fucking pig." You know? No one coos and smiles when I go up for a second round of 20-piece McNuggets. No one applauds when I go up for 4ths on the buffet. Though what a world that would be, right? Course, I might was well hope for an actual pussy to be sewn onto my hand, so I guess dreaming is dreaming.
I also finally saw "Brokeback Mountain." Must say. Very disappointing. I was expecting to be overwhelmed by this flick; expected it to be amazing like everyone said. Even throughout the looooooooong first100 minutes I kept thinking well, okay, there’s gonna be an amazing ending that is going to completely bowl me over, I’ll be a weeping mess and will thank God for such a great movie. A veritable climax, one might say. But much like sex with a fat chick after staying up for three days drinking whiskey, after two hours of flaccid pumping there was no orgasm, no great ending. Very disappointing.The first thing threw me off was immediately upon meeting they start spilling their guts to each other. Hmm. Hard-scrabble, weathered sheepherders and they turn into Ricki fucking Lake. "Ooooh, my daddy’s mean! No one gets me! I’m writing a screenplay called ‘Star Wars’!!! wwaaaaaahhh my daddy’s mean!!" what??!?! Dudes don’t talk like that. I’ve spent countless late night hours with my boy Op, and after about a million scotch and sodas I still have no idea if he even HAS a father, where he’s from or if his name is in fact Op. We drink, stare at the tv and pretend to get into fights, like men. Not for a second could I believe that these two were in fact some sort of grizzled manly men. So then it becomes just another movie about namby-pambys hugging and kissing and I’m sorry, but in "Stand by Me" there were twice as many dudes, a dead body and one of the Coreys, so thanks but no thanks.
And I mean, I don’t know…if it’s the 1960’s, in the midwest, I’m a "cowboy" and I’m so horny that I’m willing to go against THE greatest taboo in society….instead of ass-raping another dude and risk ruining my life forever, maybe I get a bottle of wine and start sweet-talking one of THE 200 SHEEP THAT ARE SURROUNDING ME. Hmm. The odds of you getting caught are almost 0%. Sheep don’t talk. And I gotta figure that you’re better off being known as "the guy that fucked a sheep" instead of "the guy that slowly inserted his turgid, erect member into another man’squaking, expectant tunnel of love while laying soft feather kisses on his neck and touching his shivering, ecstatic nipples, a perfect union of milky flesh becoming one as their hearts beat to the same song of love and lust - eager in their lovemaking, eager in their willingness to please, yet patient in their want", no? But what the hell do I know? Up until now, the only sheepherders I’ve ever known was these guys:
"Don't quit me, Ralph!!"
"Nice handbag, faggot" *smoooooooch!
Plus, enough with the goddam beans. Every meal, beans. Haven’t the gays been through enough already? We're 20 miles from a toilet or shower, you want me to stick it in your ass and you're pounding beans? HELL no.
Very disappointing, all I’m saying.
2 comments:
matt. the names matt.
Very convincing, homo.
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