Sunday, January 27, 2008


I never appreciate how much I value my adult choices to live in urban strife and splendor until I travel to remote cloistered suburbs of American states.

Readers who are privy to my neurotic West Coast blogs from the brink will know that the feeble attempts I made last Wednesday to process my personal mind fuck may have missed the mark.

I am speaking of the immense distinction I brought up between the paupers and pill poppers of my reality and the spoiled prince-in-the-pea bitch I become in my mother's self-made not so nouveau riche maison. When I visit her, I channel Veruca Salt and demand that my world be the center of the universe for all to bear.

To illustrate, I made some stuttering awkward descriptions of fancy detail that adorned to my mother's guest towels.
It may have sounded like faggy braggadocio. The catty nature of two resulting comments made in response appeared to represent a couple of queens who were pissed off.

I was made to appear shallow and vacuous and reading the ire irked my neuralgia.

So-- I am throwing back the perfect bon mot as explained by Jayzen with a Z and a Y like Liza when he was a cheerleader and head campus queer at USC when Jesse the Blogmaster and I were still navigating our fledgling faggotry.

I am experiencing a major Clarice cum in the hair moment on your behalf.!

I hope Jodie Foster's star turn as Clarice Starling is "poignant" enough to satisfy the intellectual super%$#% who shared his sarcasitc comments.

Love your hair-- hope you win!

I'll be

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I think you'll get a whole lot more bitter responses if you attempt to come across as anything but shallow and vacuous.

Either way, you're bound to get cum in the hair. Well done!