Every so often some of my readers send me links to articles and Youtube videos, and I like to thank them for that. Today I received a link to a Youtube video entitled “10 Years of Gay “Marriages” in Holland?” and it is 7 minutes and 14 seconds of utter bullshit. Once again some sad homophobe, with nothing better to do, went and sought out “statistics” seemingly blaming Gay Marriage for destroying the sanctity of marriage and the family. Well HRCexposed you can go fuck yourself in the ass with some blunt object. The Gays are not destroying “Marriage” or the “Family” you are doing that all by yourself. Nice try though!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Monday, May 23, 2011
This past weekend was our 14 year anniversary. Quite a feat, in my opinion, seeing as these days it seems that relationships don’t last longer than 14 months. And for all those folk out there apposing gay marriage, we have been legally married for 6 years now and the world haven’t ended, society haven’t gone to shit and the only people destroying the sanctity of marriage are those folks who are getting divorced. Something that also is not the gays fault. But I digress... Like any proper gay couple hubby and I decided to celebrate our anniversary at a fancy French restaurant, have a ridiculously expensive meal and then go back home and have some romantic sexy time in front of the fireplace. But as fate would have it that is not what happened.
You see, in my life nothing ever works out as planned and like I have said so many times before - optimism has never served me well! Firstly, some freak show in the USA predicted that the rapture was scheduled on the same day as our anniversary, which I thought was quite inconsiderate as I always thought Jesus would return on a Sunday. Secondly, on Saturday we discovered with quite a shock that we had a termite/ant infestation and the fuckers had constructed elaborate villages around our swimming pool pump and various other places. To be honest, I didn’t pay much attention to the rapture but I did freak out about our bug invasion. So hubby and I promptly decided to go and get some toxic compound so that we could make like Saddam Hussein and start our own campaign of terror and release our weapon of mass destruction.
An hour later we returned home with our poison ready to commence with Operation Genocide. Hubby diluted to compound and off we went and sprayed the hell out of their nests; a procedure first done by hubby and then repeated by myself 30 minutes later. Having confirmed our status of being on top of the food chain and Queens of our own yard, we were satisfied that the little invaders were dying and our problem was solved. So we showered, made ourselves pretty and set off for a romantic night of good food and romance. For once the lady that lives in my GPS gave us proper direction and we arrived at the restaurant only 7 minutes late, not that the hostess noticed. And our romantic evening was off to a great start.
We opted for the restaurant’s 5 course tasting menu inclusive of wine and the first 3 courses were absolutely scrumptious. After our 3rd course we had to go and stand outside in the cold in order for me to have a cigarette (I hate South Africa’s stupid smoking laws and yes I am still smoking). Admiring the view and puffing away our romantic evening come to an abrupt halt with me suddenly falling ill. My stomach was turning and I needed to get to the loo as I was nanoseconds away from shitting my pants! The gentleman that my husband is he took my coat, and off I rushed to the toilet trying to get there in a dignified manner. Half way there I decided screw dignified and leaped into a sprint and almost didn’t make it in time! A good few minutes past before I managed to return to our table looking pale, feeling lightheaded and no longer feeling fabulous and sexy, but rather flat and almost soiled. Hubby looked concerned, but I was determined not to have our evening spoiled by whatever it was that I was afflicted with.
We finished the last two courses, paid the check and then drove home. At home my condition continued to deteriorate. I thought I had food poising and blamed the two minute noodles I had for lunch earlier that day. All astronomical food related illnesses I had suffered always, in one way or another, involved noodles. There were to be no sexy time for us and what followed was shit literally! This Queen spend the better part of Saturday evening and early hours of Sunday morning on my throne crapping. As my bowels were being ravished and my sphincter not getting the kind of attention it was anticipating my mind drifted to thoughts about the rapture that was scheduled for 2am in my time zone.
At 1:30am I was asking myself many important life changing questions. Was this my apocalypse? Am I being ruptured through my anus? Or is the rapture going to occur through my anus and was I busy making room? Is this how I would like to meet Jesus, with my pants down sitting on the toilet with my BlackBerry Tweeting? If so God really had a strange sense of humour and I knew that he has a plan for my life but I couldn’t figure out how this fits into it. I am sure that at that point I was dehydrated and therefore also a tad irrational. At around 2am I was all crapped out and fell into bed wondering whether I should be wearing adult diapers. With that my last thought I fell asleep with hubby’s comforting arms tightly wrapped around me.
Waking up Sunday morning, the world was still there and the rapture did not occur sucking worthy Christians into my ass on route to heaven. I was still feeling weak but the diarrhea had stopped. It was a bit later during the day that we figured out what had happened that made me sick. I was poisoned but it wasn’t food poisoning – it was fucking ant poison!!! It seems that when I went in for phase two of Operation Genocide I accidentally poisoned myself. Either by breathing in the vapour or by getting some of liquid on my hands because I was smoking and so inevitably I ingested it. So what’s the moral of the story – don’t smoke and kill, always wear latex gloves when dealing with poison and don’t attempt pest control yourself rather hire a professional!
Yes, our anniversary didn’t quite go as planned and our 14th anniversary is now known as the year I accidentally poisoned myself. I am sure in 10 years time I will be able to laugh about it, but for now it still isn’t very funny. More upsetting is the fact that the fuckers for who the poison was intended are still alive, they are still building their little taunting towers and diligently digging up our paving. But they will die this week, I promise you that much! I’m getting out a professional ant/termite Terminator. For them the apocalypse is nigh and their rapture will not be through my asshole.
Till next time.
Friday, May 20, 2011
Today I received an e-mail from a concerned mother. She wrote to me asking to refrain from cursing on my blog seeing as her child reads it and she didn’t want him exposed to bad language. Appreciative that she took the time to write to me, I must admit my first thought after reading her rather rude request was Sweet Baby Cheeses! She doesn’t want me to curse but it is OK for me to write about gay sex, porn, sometimes post questionable YouTube videos and write about my bowl movements but the odd F bomb is upsetting to her? Sitting back reflecting on my body of work (my blog in its entirety) I couldn’t help but wonder how many other things I have written about which she could have complained about.
I must admit that I have a bit of a potty mouth, but in my defence not even 1% of the profanities that leave my mouth on a daily basis make it onto my blog. Furthermore, my mind often goes to strange places and I have to edit certain topics to make them consumable for my readers and prevent them from having to endure endless hours of therapy and/or to suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So, when the odd F bomb, sheit, bieach, bulltwang, son-of-a gun, mother folker and ahole are used they are carefully selected and used in moderation. After all I am no angel and this is a personal blog, which some may say is for a niche market, and I don’t write about puppies, butterflies and/or freaking garden gnomes. I write about Fairies and as my favourite haters, the Phelps family, so eloquently and frequently Tweet me – my ”depraved” lifestyle!
So when the mother wrote to me about the seven curse words I used (and I checked, there are only seven to date), I was puzzled. Firstly, I wondered whether her child is gay. If so, I have to commend her on good parenting and for allowing her child to read my blog. Secondly, I wondered how old her child is as I am thoroughly aware that some of my blog’s content is not appropriate for children under the age of 13. But I neglected to write her back to ask, so it will remain a mystery. Furthermore, I wondered whether she had a progressive parenting style and only drew the limit of her leniency at cursing, which I would find odd. After all I have written many things that have seriously pissed people off and shocked others in the past and found it queer that she did not complain about that?
Does the fact that I have regularly trashed the Catholic Church, the Pope and even went as far as to attack certain Christians not bother her? I have also written many articles about pornography, sex and, what disturbs me to this day, fetish porn such as Clown Porn. But no, according to her, my cursing is far more offensive. With this in mind I was now thoroughly perplexed. I found myself asking whether being reprimanded by a total stranger about my bad language should encourage me to stop cursing? On the one hand I do care what my readers think and I don’t want to corrupt an innocent child’s vocabulary and worse corrupt his mind. But on the other hand I want to stay true to myself and not have to excessively edit myself and/or my thoughts. So after much introspection, verbal diarrhea and deliberation with all my different personalities I came to a considered and profound decision.
NO, I will not stop fucking cursing!!! I have far more important things to worry about and areas that I can work on other than the use of the odd damn curse word. Things like my atrocious grammar, obsession with commas and semi colons and spelling mistakes. My bloody grammar should be a far greater concern than my cursing don’t you think? I’m also convinced that having children exposed to bad grammar will have far greater and longer lasting negative effect than learning a few colourful words; the latter of which, I may add, are very useful in a great many circumstances!
So this is how it’s going to be concerned mother. I will continue cursing, in moderation, and promise not let my whole repertoire of swear words rip in one blog post – I will evenly spread them across future blog posts. Concerned mother, I apologize in advance, graciously decline your request and thank you for your e-mail. My advice to you would be to buy a swearing bin and not a tin for your kid. That way you can punish him for cursing, charge him $1 for every word and make some cash out of it in the process too! This way everyone wins! I just hope your son is not a 40 year old looser and that you guys don’t have a Psycho Norman Bates situation going on over there. In which case it was nice knowing you and in the bigger scheme of things you have allot more to trouble your pretty little head about than my fucking blog!
Till next time.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Today is International Day against Homophobia and Transphobia. To all those people out there thinking you're alone & made to feel ostracized, not worthy and not deserving of respect. Today I want to tell you that you're not alone and you are special. You were born this way!
Friday, May 13, 2011
As most of my loyal readers know (all 8 of you) I am no stranger to hate mail. My blog is a magnet for radical religious loonies and other vengeful under medicated homophobic assholes. But this post for once is not about hate mail. No it is far more hilarious it’s about a Death Threat. You see a while back there was a spam e-mail doing the rounds and curiously enough it was very vague Death Threat. So when one of my colleagues forwarded it to me today I was in stitches. Imagine someone who is slightly paranoid receiving this in his/her inbox, add to that a few perceived enemies and this Death Threat could cause some serious mental discomfort. Note the "Good Luck" right at the end!
Till next time LMAO....
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Contrary to popular believe not all queer folk love musicals. I for one can only tolerate musicals in moderation and only if and when the setting and my mood deems it appropriate. People breaking into song for no apparent reason other than being in the throes of a Prozac overdose, creating a gay old distraction and/or when feeling particularly fabulous, usually catches me off guard and leaves me confused and reaching for my remote control. So you can imagine my surprise the other night when one of my favourite series on television (Grey’s Anatomy) decided to air their “musical” episode. Reflecting back on the trauma of having to sit through 42 minutes of musical medical melodrama, I could not help but wonder, am I a bad queer for not particularly liking their episode entitled “Song Beneath the Song”.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate all musicals or musical episodes of established television shows. My queerness is alive and well with my fondness of the gayest series on television that is Glee. Glee is, in my opinion, the only show on television where it is OK for its characters to sing and dance and the only musical series that does not make me want to vomit, pull my hair out and shatter my eardrums in utter frustration. Glee does not proclaim to be anything that it is not. You know it’s going to be corny, camp and the story line is going to be funny with a subtle positive message carried forth with song and dance. There’s no thinking involved on the part of the audience and Glee is like a nice power nap for your brain. But when a television show throws you a curve ball like Grey’s Anatomy did, it’s like a mental musical rape.
You see, I knew that Grey’s shot a musical episode but was secretly hoping I’d miss it. But being the loyal viewer that I am in this instance unfortunately I didn’t. I just wished I had some prior warning and could have been mentally prepared for it! It’s not that the episode totally sucked ass, but it was totally ridiculous. Whilst hubby was on the couch next to me sobbing through the majority of the 42 minutes of lyrical melodrama bullshit, I found myself giggling at the ludicrousness of the way it was done. I mean honestly! One of the main characters is on death’s door after flying through the windshield of her car and about to lose her baby. And whilst gravely injured I found it oddly inappropriate that in almost every scene people were breaking into song. The lyrics of their vocal gymnastics I also I felt was rather inappropriate for some of the context and at times also poorly executed. In the scene where the doctors were wheeling Torres to the operating theatre I could not help but wonder whether Torres was crying from the pain or the sound of her fellow actors’ voices as that was equally as painful.
I decided to force myself to finish watching the episode; after all I did want to know how things would pan out. As most of you know Carrie Torres and her baby survived. The final scene was the only scene in the whole episode that gave me goosebumps as Sara Ramirez (Callie Torres) gave a spectacular performance and has one hell of a good voice! I was a nanosecond away from squeezing out a tear of relieve, both at the happy ending and the fact that the episode was finally over. Please Grey’s Anatomy never ever do this to us again. It is very tricky for an established show, especially a drama to pull off a musical episode, and unfortunately, like so many others before, you failed!
Grey’s Anatomy definitely should not be submitting this episode “Song Beneath the Song” for an Emmy nomination as the episode was, in my opinion, a bust. Which is sad really. If you take away the singing and primarily look at the story line and performances of the actors in this episode, it was actually one of the strongest episodes of this season. This episode also saw the best performance I have seen in a while on Grey’s from Eric Dane who portrays Mark the anxious father-to-be. There also was some great dialog and a poignant scene between Meredith (Ellen Pompeo) and Derek (Patrick Dempsey) in the elevator questioning the cruelty of the universe. Something we all at one point or another in our lives have done, but probably less dramatically and without song. All things considered one musical disaster will not put me off Grey’s Anatomy. I’m not sure what the producers of the show was drinking, snuffing or smoking when they concocted up this musical catastrophe playing off in Seattle Grace Hospital, but let’s hope it never happens again!
Till next time.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Osama Bin Laden the most prolific terrorist of our time is dead. The face of Al Qaeda was shot in the chest and in the head just above his left eye blowing away part of his skull and partially exposing his brain. It surely must have been a gruesome sight, but also an eerily appropriate departure for the man responsible for the torture, maiming and deaths of thousands of innocent people. As parts of the world rejoice with a sense of relief that Bin Laden, who have evaded capture for so long, finally got what he deserved, I couldn’t help but ponder – is the world really safer now that Osama Bin Laden is dead?
I vividly remember the day of September 11. I remember where I were, the shock and disbelieve I felt and waking up the next morning knowing that the world have irrevocably changed. But 9/11 wasn’t the only horrific act of terror by Al Qaeda. I also recall with sadness the embassy bombing in Nairobi, bombings in London, Madrid, Bali and the ghastly beheading of Nick Berg; All unspeakable acts of terror by a group of people with no conscious, no sense of humanity and people of indescribable cruelty. All people who swore their allegiance to a man who was once praised by the United States as a good Muslim. You see, Bin Laden wasn’t always a monster and an enemy. Bin Laden played a pivotal role in defeating the Russians during the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, a war that would last ten years. It’s almost unimaginable to think that Osama Bin Laden was once a friend of the West, and spoken off in high esteem.
The death of Bin Laden, in my opinion, is a symbolic victory in the war against terror. His death will not cripple Al Qaeda and they will not cease to exist. They have lost their leader, the man to which they swore their allegiance - a leader that has died for his cause. He is a martyr to them and a hero. There is no doubt that there will be retaliation, and we should all be vigilant. The world is most definitely not a safer place now that Bin Laden is dead. A new evil will rise and the war will go on, but I trust that in the end we will be the ones that prevail.
Till next time.