Oddly, there seem to be a couple of evangelist pastors out there who allegedly are experts on gay male sex. I kid you not. Apparently they seem to know a great deal more about gay sex than what the average homosexual does. Especially surprising to me is the resilience the male sphincter muscle (aka your asshole muscle) has according to them. Apparently you can shove a whole baseball bat up there, your iPhone and a gerbil. No wonder so many people get rectal exams in prison: You never know what they could manage to smuggle in there; it could be anything from a nail file to a ladder. Reflecting on some past comments of a certain Pastor Patrick Wooden I could not help but wonder, have we gay guys even begin to explore the wonderland that are our rectums.
Pastor Wooden seems very preoccupied with gay male genitalia the and male anus. After all it is in that general area where we like to keep things neat, tidy and in some cases bleached and pierced. But, in Wooden’s defense, the anus is a wonderful organ. It is resilient and can stretch when needed. And the best of all you don’t even have to be gay to have experience this phenomena. Straight people can experience this too. I'm speaking to all those straight guys out there who like it when their girlfriends stick her fingers up their ass. You know who you are! And I know that you are worried and wondering about being fingered and if that makes you gay. The answer is no, it makes you ass bi-curious. But it's not just through sex and ass play when you can experience this. Normal bodily functions also helps you experience the elasticity of your sphincter muscle more frequently than what you may think.
If you have ever been constipated and finally had that bowel movement that sets you free, you probably have experienced that glorious sensation. You know that feeling when you push and push and you feel it is just too big to come out. Finally, as the monster turd crowns and you feel like your asshole just is not big enough and about to exploded, it makes it’s way through and takes its final plunge leaving you relieved, proud and semi euphoric. Well, gay anal sex is not completely unlike that. Apart from the turd being a cock and instead of it coming out it goes in. I apologize for this graphic image that will now be stuck in your head for weeks to come. In my defense I did not make you read this, so technically it is your own fault. But I digress, lets get back to your asshole.
Like any good homosexual I am also partial to some ass play. I, like some gay tops, can also be “ass curious” at times (If you don't know what that means Google will explain it to you). But I can honestly say I have never shoved a baseball bat up my rectum nor have I attempted to insert any live stock or rodents. Mostly, because I do not understand the logistics of it and I don’t condone animal abuse. I mean honestly, how exactly do you force a little gerbil into a dark crevice if it doesn’t want to go in. Doesn’t it have teeth and sharp little nails? Or is that part of the fun? I’m sure PETA would have a lot to say about this issue.
Inserting foreign objects into our rectums is something gay men do. As per definition a foreign object is anything “originating elsewhere” or simply put “outside of your body”. So it can be pretty much anything including someone else’s penis, which is predominantly what gay guys prefer. Some gay guys are also over achievers and sometimes like to have more than one penis up their man hole. It's true, I have seen it in gay porn. It doesn't look comfortable at all and not something I am inclined or interesting in doing. Ever. In my case we have a drawer in our bedroom with preferred foreign objects. Now don't pretend to gasp for air, you know you have a secret sex drawer too.
Our drawer contains nothing particularly out of the ordinary for a professional homosexual on the go. We have the usual socially accepted objects, you know what I mean. My father-in-law, a few years ago, accidentally opened this drawer thus destroying any illusions he may have had of his son and I being celibate and not engaging in anal sex. He emerged from the ordeal pale as a ghost and dramatically quiet for the rest of that day. He’s probably still traumatized and digesting what he had seen. I believe that mental pictures that were inadvertently burned into his mind still haunts his dream till this day.
Using foreign objects that you can buy from any sex shop or online to enhance your sexual experience is one thing, but what if you don’t have the time or money. Well, like any resourceful homosexual will tell you, there are a plethora of everyday household objects that you can safely use. Let’s turn our attention to your kitchen. Fruit and vegetables like bananas, cucumbers and carrots are perfectly safe. You won't get any nutritional value from them but you will have fun and in some cases vegetables can be orgasmic. Just don't use them in a salad later. That would just be gross. Butternuts on the other hand are not safe nor are any frozen items, fish or cutlery. The broom closet is pretty self explanatory as most closeted right wing evangelist pastors will tell you.
When it comes to the bathroom and the bedroom wardrobe it could get a little dicey. Firstly, it is not good hygiene to insert anything into your ass that you will not be able to get out again later, having to wash your face with or have to put in your mouth. Secondly, electrical items and anything bigger than your hand and arm could pose some serious medical repercussions and should always be used with extreme caution. I would advice you to first consult with your physician but I can see how that conversation could be awkward. It is also extremely important to remember that KY conducts electricity extremely well, as I can attest to from personal experience, and electrocution does not enhance an orgasm, it does quite the opposite and it's not fun nor is it sexy!
My iPhone is the one item I have never considered inserting into my rectum and people who do clearly have no respect for their phones, themselves or other people and they should be ashamed of themselves! Honestly, what if you get a very important call, a Facebook message or a tweet? Are you going to phone, message and tweet that person back apologizing by saying “I was busy stimulating my prostate, and thank you for calling me at exactly the right time – you really hit the spot for me! It was the best orgasm EVER! Thank you for making me cum!” I didn't think so people.
Contemplating the good Pastor’s recent comments and especially the part about gay men’s rectums being mutilated resulting in some gay men having to walk around with butt plugs and diapers, I consulted with a medical professional. My pharmacist told me it was bullshit! Sure with regular abuse and inserting very large objects the sphincter muscle can get damaged and deformed over time; but for that to happen the person must have been doing some seriously fucked up shit to themselves and their assholes. And surely this is not the norm. To conclude, any person who walks around with a butt plug up his ass for a whole day has some serious skills and I am sure that would be dreadfully uncomfortable. As for wearing diapers, I don't think I am into that baby fetish shit. I mean who would want to shit their pants on purpose?
Whether Pastor Patrick Wooden spoke from personal experience or secret desires, I guess we will never really know for certain. His fascination with gay anal sex and brevity of knowledge on the subject does however slightly impress. But, I am sad to say Pastor Patrick Wooden, there are some things gay men will not put up our asses and your dick ranks number one on that list. Even though I do admire the fact that you are so very adventurous with your own anus, I will never be as able a power bottom as you do. Your accomplishments are awe inspiring!
As any self respecting homosexual I fart glitter and rainbows. Well, not really. However, if I did I would totally write about it in great explicit detail. Possibly also with pictures. But I don't so let me get to the real point of this post.
I am whoring myself again for votes in the South African Blog Awards for best LGBT Blog. If you have been enjoying reading my blog or are a fan on my Facebook Page I ask that you please vote for me.
Voting is easy all you have to do is CLICK ON THIS LINK, submit your email address to cast your vote. The final step is to confirm your vote with the email the awards will send you. It is that easy.
If I win I will definitely fart glitter and rainbows. Promise.
I jumped out of a plane once. At night! I cannot say that I enjoyed it or did it out of my own free will. I was pushed and being deathly afraid of heights I almost shit myself. This happened a few years ago and is not something I like to talk about seeing as I am still traumatized by the whole experience. It wasn't my finest hour and I lost all composure which is not something that happens often. But let me start at the beginning...
My career has been quite interesting thus far. It is by no means a career one would associate with a homosexual like me. I mean I am not butch, don't play sports (because running after balls are stupid if not attached to a man) and generally I don't like doing things that will mess up my hair. Therefore, very few people would imagine that I am good with guns and knives, got training from the military and did some work that is considered to be "dangerous". I have always come across as unassuming which has made me very successful in what I do for a living.
That being said, it doesn't mean that I have not been terrified or considered the work that I do as the result of bad life choices. The one time I really knew that I may have made some bad career decisions was when I received training from the military. At the time it was compulsory that I spend three months at the army. In other words I was forced into it kicking and screaming when I heard about it. I had so many questions and the same amount of serious concerns about the whole thing.
My first day there I felt completely out of place. I was surrounded by very butch guys and the women were no different. The one guy even looked like he had killed some people and liked it. I knew if the shit was to hit the fan that he would be my best option to stay alive so I immediately made friends with him. I also made friends with a few women in my group because I also knew that if the shit hits the fan that I would be able to out run them and they would serve as my human shields behind me. I know it sounds horrible but it is a survival thing.
The first two months went by without much drama. I scored at the top of my group and I was quite proud of myself. I did good academically and especially with the practical work which surprised everybody including myself. At that stage I thought it was quite easy and fell into a comfort zone. I felt like I would be able to cruise through the last month and afterwards would be able to boast about my achievements at the army. But that comfort zone was not to last and shit got real really soon after that.
During the last month we traveled to another military base and spent the week there. The base sounded interesting as they had a small air force base and we would get to blow shit up. The fact that they had a small air force base in that small town meant nothing to me until we were told that we had to do a tandem night skydive. At first I thought heard wrong and muttered "Say what now?! You mean I have to jump out of a plane at night being bound to a person who I don't know and I am not sure I can trust?!" To which the general looked at me disapprovingly and said in a annoyed voice "Affirmative."
At that point I was done with the army because they were all a bunch of reckless assholes with a death wish. I was not about to die in a skydiving accident and I tried my hardest to get out of it. I even faked having diarrhea. Well I wasn't faking it so much as I wishing that my nervous bowels will get me out of the whole thing. An hour before we had to jump I prayed for it to all just be a bad dream but it wasn't. I had to do the jump in order to successfully complete my training.
As I was handed my jumpsuit and other things that I needed all I could think about was how I hated my life. I stood there looked at myself and my trembling hands and thought that if I died my family would not even be able to have a open casket at my funeral. Open caskets at funerals are important to me because how else can you verify that the person is actually dead. But I digress...
I got into the plane, well more I was pushed into it. As they closed the door and we were taking off I was about to become unhinged. I was about to loose my shit and was looking for anything I could grab onto when it was my turn to plummet to my death. The guy I was to jump with saw I was nervous and then decided to make things worse by saying "Relax. Nothing bad will happen and if it does you will die quickly and not feel a thing". He then laughed and tied me to his sarcastic body. I was starting to feel violated.
When the plane door opened and the wind came rushing in I knew that I was about to die. I was third in line to be pushed out of the plane and at that point I no longer minded what people thought of me. I resorted to begging and trying to negotiate my way out of it. As the two guys in front of me plummeted from the plane I knew it was my turn. My turn to die!
I was told to cross my arms until we had cleared the plane and only then I was allowed to extend them. At that point I was already in the fetal position with my eyes closed. Much like a cat I thought that if my eyes were closed nothing will happen and what I was to experience was just a bad joke. I was wrong. The countdown started and the bastard pushed me out of the place at the count of 2 and not 1. As I was plummeting to earth my screams were dulled by the cold air that rushed passed me. I looked like a dog sticking its head out of a car window while it speeds down the freeway. It was very unflattering and really fucked with my botox.
As the parachute opened and I was jilted upwards I panicked again as I was worried that I might be ripped from the guy I jumped with. There were more screams and I could hear the guy laughing. We floated down to the ground and when the guy said I must lift my legs up as we landed I felt the kind of relieve that I never experienced before. I got unlatched from the guy and had to sit for a few minutes as my legs were not working. The guy, whose name I never asked, said "Let's do it again" to which I responded "Go fuck yourself! I never want to see you again!"
After the skydiving experience, that almost saw me shit my pants, we were trucked back to the base. At that point I was pretty pissed off and hated the army and everyone in it. The only redeeming quality of that night was when we got to blow shit up. We had two hours of bombing stuff and being on the sharp end watching how different types of weapons and missiles do different types of damage. It was nice but did not really make up for the abuse I suffered earlier that night. As I finished my training at the military I vowed to never return. And I didn't nor do I ever plan to.
It's time to sell your soul. Don't worry, it won't hurt. Much. Also, no puppies or kittens will be harmed during this treacherous process. You know, because I sometimes love animals more than I do people because sometimes people can be assholes. And even though I am gay and am very familiar with assholes, this is not the kind I wish to explore. But I digress.
It is Blog Award Season again and my blog has again been entered for best LGBT blog. Yes, this is the same category in which I won last year and I thank you for all the votes you cast for me. This year I am asking you to vote for my blog again and let's see if we can make it a two-for-two.
So if you like my blog, or love it, or hate it, please consider voting for me.
To vote all you have to do is CLICK THIS LINK.Add your email and vote. The last step is to confirm your vote with the email that will be sent to you. The whole process takes less than a minute.
So please vote. Don't be shy. I won't judge you if you don't but my cat will because she is very judgmental and sometimes an asshole. Just saying.
Gaytanks is a Boston based tongue-in-cheek brand that gives you all the attention a t-shirt can. For the boys who want to turn heads, the fun and patterned design evoke a cute gay passion into pop culture and the human body.
Made from luxurious tri-blend, Gaytanks have a wonderfully soft touch against one's skin. The fit is sexy, yet comfortable making this the perfect accessory to any pride, beach or club event.
Their latest style include the delectable "Bananas and Cherries" tank as well as the splashing "Water Me" tank.
Who can't Emojin themselves in one of these?
Gaytanks is your right to bare arms!
To buy one of these head turning tanks CLICK HERE.
Camping is a queer concept to me. I mean really, who in their right mind would
willingly submit themselves to the elements if they are not homeless, raised by wolves or competing for a million
dollars? If humans were intended to live
in the bush or mountains we would not have evolved to be able to build houses,
nice hotels or invented electricity and room service. Don’t get me wrong. I do love to do quad biking, horse riding and I do appreciate nature’s absolute splendor. But this doesn’t mean I want to spend a night
in nature, sleep in a sleeping bag in a tent with God knows what crawling over
me. I have been camping twice in my life
and this was enough times for me to realize two things: One,
I don’t like “roughing it” and two, I do NOT do camping.
About ten years ago hubby and I decided to go hiking with
my sister, brother-in-law and some friends.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
We would spend two days hiking up a mountain, walking about 10 kilometers a day (that is like 6.2). The selling point for
me was that we would not need tents as we would be sleeping in what they called
“chalets” and they said there was
electricity at both “camping sites”. The only down side, I thought, was that we
would need to carry everything we needed in backpacks with us. Optimism never served well, and in this case
optimism would once again dismally fail me.
Arriving on the Friday, the first “camping site” was basically a room with a questionable roof,
holes in the walls that you could literally see through and stretchers to sleep
on. No electricity. No indoor toilet. That was the very first time I in my life
that I saw an outhouse or as they called it - a “long drop”. I was
mortified! It was nothing more than a
hole in the ground with a toilet seat on top of it, smelled like shit and there
were steam billowing out of it the following morning. All I could do, when I eventually had to
take a shit, was to go in there, hold my breath and pray that the whole thing
didn’t cave in on me. In
retrospect, I think that’s where my fear of public toilets comes from.
The following day we started with the hike. Ten kilometers is fucking far, especially if
you are carrying 5kg on your back.
Needless to say I cursed a lot that first day. My sister, the drama queen that she is, also
had a complete dramatic melt down three quarters through when she had a cramp
in her leg. She was a whimpering
mess and wanted to be medically evacuated off the mountain. Needless to say that didn’t happen. The rest of the hike she was whimpering out
loud and I was crying and cursing on the inside. Eventually, what felt like an eternity, we
made it to the second camp and things only got worse from there.
Again the “camp site”
was no Hilton Hotel and by all means worse than the first one, again with the
outhouse, cracked walls and stretchers.
With blusters the size of plums on my feet and smelling like a funky
monkey, I realized hiking was probably the worst idea I ever had. All I wanted was to take a long hot relaxing shower. Then came another shock.
The “camp site”
had a shower but it was outside in the bush and if I wanted a hot shower I had
to heat the water in a thing they called a donkey on the fire. Like primitive prehistoric men. I remember screaming “No hot
water, no indoor toilet, no indoor shower, no electricity. Why the fuck did I do this to myself?” I wanted to get
clean so I heated the water, carried the donkey to the outside shower and hubby
and I got in and opened the release valve.
First came the searing hot water then in came a snake. I literally peed myself and that was the
shortest and most traumatizing shower I ever had. They said it was a harmless snake, but at
almost a meter long it didn’t look harmless at all. Besides nobody in our hiking party was a reptile expert. We could have all died.
On day two we hiked back to the first “camp site”, completely paranoid about snakes,
time I was motivated by one thing and one thing only - I wanted to get the hell
out of there! It took us about six hours
to reach the “camp site” and we left
immediately. I have never gone hiking
again since but I did end up going camping a couple of years later.
My parents’-in-law are avid campers. They own a caravan and all the camping
equipment one would need to survive in the event that the apocalypse should
destroy all man-made structures. They go
camping often and they invite us along just as often.
I have always found creative ways to avoid camping and declining their
invitations. That was until the one day
about 5 years ago when I couldn’t get out of it.
My in-laws got me to agree to go camping and until this day
I can’t remember how they did it. They
promised me that we will have our own fully equipped bathroom and that we would
not have to share it with other people.
They also said there would be electricity. The only down side was that hubby and I would
have to sleep in a tent. How bad could it
be, I thought? What is the worst that
can happen, I thought?
On arriving at the camping spot I was delighted to find that
my in-laws didn’t lie. We did
indeed have our own bathroom, kitchen and there was electricity. I needed electricity for my portable
air-conditioned, inflating our double bed, electric mosquito repellent, ice
machine and emergency light. Once again I have to stress that I don't do the roughing it thing. We helped
the in-laws unpack and then set about pitching our tent. Pitching a tent in your pants is one thing
but pitching an actual tent is a whole different story.
Tents are complicated assholes and the instruction manuals
that come with them, I firmly believe, are written by people who are high on
drugs or drunk. They make no sense. After a struggle, some sweat and an averted
mental breakdown the tent was semi decently erected. Our bed was inflated, the air-conditioner was
running and mosquitoes were fleeing. The
whole camping spot was set up and I must admit I was rather proud of
myself. Everything was done and as I was
standing there admiring our handy work, I thought to myself “So now what.
We are here; we are set up, so what exactly does one do when you are
camping?” As it turns out – not much! You drink.
The only things we had to do were to go down a waterslide
and drink. I broke my rib on the
waterslide that day and later that evening I got drunk on vodka jelly
shots. I would have broken my nose too
had it not been for the emergency light outside our tent. You see, vodka jelly shot, darkness and tent
ropes don’t mix. Much later that
evening, I sobered up a little and we went to bed and that’s when it happened. Back then my father-in-law use to snore, the
sound of which could scare away wildlife in a five kilometer radius. His snoring sounded a lot like a mixture
between a diesel engine coming apart and a pig choking on its own
esophagus. It kept me awake for a long
After eventually falling asleep I was roused from my not so
peaceful slumber by something tickling my face.
I brushed it away and dosed off again.
Then it happened again. “Stop it” I mumbled to which hubby
mumbled back “Stop what?”
Just then the tickling went down my chin, down my neck and
into my t-shirt. I woke up, reached for my
flash light lifted up the collar of my t-shirt and let out a petrified scream as only a twelve
year old school girl can do. I too am like Oscar Pistorius and scream like a woman when I am petrified. There was a
big hairy spider on my chest! As I
stared down at it in utter terror, its beady eight eyes stared back at me while
its front feet were touching my nipple. I
felt sexually violated and petrified that it would bite off my nipple after it
had finished molesting it. Pandemonium
broke out. I survived. The spider did not. I lost three years of my life that morning
and inhaled a whole can of Raid in the scuffle.
I still get nightmares. We never
went camping again after this.
Until such time as North Korea starts nuking the
shit out of the world or when the Zombie Apocalypse happens and we are all forced to flee the city and find refuge in
the mountains, I do not see any good reason why I should ever voluntarily go
camping or hiking again. No amount of
bug repellent, vodka or inflatable and portable luxuries will see me leave the
comfort of my home, or that of a hotel, to go and spent a night under the stars
with the wild life, spiders, snakes and other hideous and possibly dangerous
insect and animals. Sure Broke Back Mountain made it look sexy,
but in reality I would have had no problem quitting Ennis Del Mar as no high altitude fuck can be worth being dragged
up a mountain to sleep in a tent and being crawled over and molested by spiders and snakes. I find no shame in admitting that camping is not for me. I am a civilized human being. I am not meant to play survivor and submit myself to the elements ever again.
Your Daily Mail 2016, is the first full color male-art tear-off daily calendar in the world. It consists out of art, photography and tastefully done male nudes. 49 artist from across the world contributed to this 366 pages of male-artwork.
Your Daily Male 2016 is published by the MooiMan Male Art Gallery in the Netherlands in collaboration with 49 local and international artists.
After many years of having made Homogenda and Flikkergenda (totaling 30 years) MooiMan art gallery decided to produce the first international male-art tear-off daily calendar. The result is a colorful, well balanced design in full color with a wide and varied range of international male art.
Your Daily Male is an additional stage of the gallery in addition to many exhibitions and art fares. It thus also shows how gay rights go hand-in-hand with international male art, including gay Russian Artists. Their versatility and passion of the artists are included in this calendar as an example.
Your Daily Male can be purchased at the gallery in the Netherlands as well as many bookstores in Europe but also at the Shwules Museum in Berlin, Germany.
You can also order the Daily Male 2016 calendar online by CLICKING HERE.
The Bible has been a best seller of all time and obviously the authors of the book did not make money from it whatsoever. So who profits from the sale of the book and who agreed to that contract?
Well, actually the Bible is copyrighted and each company who owns that copyright makes money off it. In order to create a new copyright there must be substantial changes to the Bible which means the Bible most Christians read today is not a true reflection of the original version. Which led me to wonder, which parts of the Bible have been changed and how did this impact on the first love story of all time in Genesis which is the one between Adam and Steve.
I have frequently heard that it was just Adam and Eve and not Adam and Steve in the Gardner of Eden when religious freaks try to condemn homosexuals to hell. Well, how the fuck would they know? Were they there? Also, which printed re-written copy of the Bible are they reading?
I believe Adam and Eve were not alone in the Garden of Eden and that Steve was also there (you are welcome to prove me wrong). You know, to give Eve options. We all know how women are. The one thing that could not be foreseen was the fact that Adam and Steve would fall in love and that Eve would become their much begrudged beard. Was Steve God's back up plan for Eve? Who knows. Was it planned that Adam and Steve would be gay, I think not.
Eve felt cheated out of her deal in the Garden of Eden and obviously developed resentment. I mean who wouldn't. She did not have a guy or even the option of becoming a lesbian? Was this because she was not skinny enough, her boobs were too small or maybe she had the personality of a hedgehog. Who knows. But the fact that she was lonely, did not have a lover and possibly developed some body image issues is very plausible. For most people that would be depressing but not for Eve, she was a woman on a mission so she got her shit together and made a plan. She would tempt Adam to commit the primordial sin: Eating the forbidden fruit. Apparently she got this tip from a snake which is highly unlikely because you know, snakes can't talk. Her plan was all her own and kinda genius when you think about it.
As most of you know in the Garden of Eden there was an apple tree which God told them they may not eat from. Which is stupid because it's like putting a treat in front of a puppy and telling him he cannot eat it. They were kinda set up to fail if you ask me. Adam had great will power and listened to Steve who was the responsible one in their relationship. There were a lot of fruit in the garden, including them, and there were no reason to develop an appetite for apples, even if one apple a day keeps the doctor away. Not that there was a doctor with them but you get what I am saying. But Eve was a temptress and knew exactly what she was doing. You see she had a short term and long term plan for Adam who was the butcher one and Steve more on the fem side.
Her short term plan was to roofie Adam and make him eat the apple so that they can be thrown out of the garden, hence getting him away from Steve. The long term plan was to get Adam to fall in love with her. So that is exactly what she did. Adam ate the apple and fucked up his relationship with Steve. He got thrown out of the Garden of Eden leaving Steve all alone with his spring collection made of flowers and leafs who he now had nobody to model it for. Eve was cruel but her plan succeeded and she soon found herself in a brokeback marriage. It was not ideal but it was what it was. What happened to Steve nobody knows. You see the authors could only focus on one narrative because the people back then didn't like to read and papyrus leafs were very expensive.
In the later printed copy of the Bible the publishing companies decided to remove Steve and the dinosaurs from the narrative entirely and tweaked the original version. Poor Steve was written out of the Bible and hence he never got the credit for decorating the Garden of Eden or for styling Adam with the newest fashion and Haute Couture. Basically he got screwed and dissipated into obscurity.
Then we get to Leviticus in which everything is a sin. According to this chapter everyone is going to hell and their puppies and kittens to. And I mean everybody. In the chapter you are also allowed to stone your neighbors to death which I think many of us secretly wish we could do today. But that's against the law. Everything sex related is a sin and pigs are evil, shell fish is from the devil and masturbation is a death sentence. Do you even know how many men and women are going to hell because of masturbation. That's like 99% of the population with the 1% being people in comas!
When Leviticus was re-written the author(s) was in all likelihood in a bad mood and probably terribly hung over. Frankly that is the only reason why he would condemn 99% of the population to hell, including himself. Hangovers will do that to you and are major assholes. There are too many sins in Leviticus to deal with as it seems to be the most hateful chapter in the Bible. So if you haven't read it yet skip it - it will ruin your day and you will go to hell. Ignorance of the scripture is no excuse but hey, when you have to start making lists of sins it becomes very annoying.
I wonder what the original version of the Bible was like. I also wonder when people thought it was ok to go and make substantial changes to it. Fiction novels are not suppose to be re-written just because you don't like sections of it. You don't see people going and re-writing the classics in our literary history. So why would the oldest fiction novel in the world be changed and copyrighted? The only reason I can think of is that is that it is meant to be used for sinister purpose.
Too often people use the Bible to condemn people, to justify discrimination and in the past even rationalize racism. The Bible has been changed to fit certain people and organizations agendas. The book people are reading today is the byproduct of bigotry, politics, religious oppression and the justification of hate. The people in a 100 years from now will read a completely different Bible than the one we have today. Who knows, there might even be transgender aliens in it. Unfortunately we will not be around to see it. For now we are stuck with the most judgmental book known to mankind. It is a poorly written fiction novel the original of which is nowhere to be found. Not even on the internet. I am probably going to hell for having written this, that is if hell really exists.
Growing older sucks. And not
in a good way. Throw in early onset male
menopause and you have the odds stacked so against you that I now totally get
why Meryl Streep drank that potion in Death Becomes Her. Only in real life there are no magic potions
only hormones, exercise and diets. All
of which I loathe because hormones require needles, exercise make you sweat and
diets are just a “socially acceptable”
way of starving yourself. You know,
because anorexia and bulimia are “mental disorders”.
Having gained 7kg (15.4 pounds) in just over three months I
can honestly say being fat isn’t fun. I
know that I have been joking that our pregnancy is the reason I have put on a
few, as I am "with child" so to speak, but in all honesty most women I know do
not gain that much weight during
pregnancy. So why did I gain all this
weight in such a short period of time? Well,
according to my doctor (not the one that lives in the Internet who communicates
with me through WebMD) it is male menopause and being in my thirties. I almost killed him, but I didn’t because
even though I am chubby I’m still too pretty for jail. Do you even know what they will do to a
pretty boy like me in there?
The final straw that broke the camel’s back happened last
week Thursday. Picture it. It’s 6:30am at our gay petting zoo, the
animals have been fed, I have brushed my teeth, shaved, applied my plethora of
age defying creams, done my hair and got ready to get dressed. I took out an outfit that I wanted to wear,
put on my shirt and then tried to put on the pair of pants. But it didn’t fit. Then I pick another pair of pants. That one was also too small. I made a third attempt, this time I tried to
suck everything in and almost popped a vein in my head in the process, but to
no avail. Then I started to panic.
You see, the larger size pants that I recently bought was in
the washing and I only had two more pairs of pants left as options for
work. If these two didn’t fit I would be
totally screwed! I have never prayed
when I was dressing myself but this day I did.
But my prayers went unanswered.
After I tried on all five pairs of pants I found myself sitting in the
middle of a pile of rejection, in the form of pants, sobbing like an
emotionally disturbed child. I looked at
my fat and screamed “Why do you hate me?”
as if my fat would be able to answer me back.
Anyone who has ever been in that kind of situation will tell you that at
that moment you cannot think rationally.
I also almost called in fat for work that day. But I don’t think that is actually a thing, but it totally should be. Needless to say I didn’t
Luckily hubby saved the day.
I had forgotten that I bought another pair of pants that I have never
worn because hubby hadn’t gotten around to hemming it yet. So he promptly did and I was able to go to
work, albeit it emotionally bruised and feeling rather defeated. Later that day I spoke to hubby on the phone
and he suggested that I go and see my doctor.
Which I did. While in his
consulting room I told him about my unexplained weight gain, that I did not eat
more than usual and that he needed to help me.
Then he asked me when last I got a testosterone shot and I then
remembered that it was more than seven months ago. And apparently that was the problem.
Also, apparently those little tropical holidays I have been
experiencing again the last three months were hot flashes. The injection I had seven months ago only
works for four months and the last three months my hormone levels took a nose
dive again. Now I am on a testosterone injection
once every two weeks until my levels stabilize.
The doctor said that due to the lower testosterone levels I was gaining
weight and once the levels are back to normal I will find it easy to lose the extra weight. But being thirty something I
should also remember that my body’s metabolism slows down and that is part of
ageing and there is no pill or injection OR magic potion for that.
Look, I do know that we all are going to grow older and that
our bodies will change as we do but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. The fact that I have also noticed that
certain parts of my body are on the verge of sagging freaks me out and I will definitely
have a few things lifted, nipped and tucked down the line. I started with Botox when I turned 30 and
luckily due to this I have no frown lines, wrinkles or crow’s feet. However, from the neck down that is a totally
different story that I like to refer to as “Ground
Zero”. It’s like a natural disaster
but only it involves fat and cellulite; the kind of fat and cellulite that you
will eventually have to get sucked out of your body because they are stubborn
Growing older isn’t any fun.
There comes I time that you have to accept that the twenty something
body you once had is gone forever. The
days that you could do fifty sit-ups and have a six pack has passed. The days that you could lose weight just by fucking
breathing is now a distant memory. Many
people I know embrace the process of ageing; they don’t mind gravity sucking
their boobs and asses to the ground, the odd wrinkles, grey hair and the
cellulite. They accept it as the natural
order of things. But I don’t. If we were meant to age gracefully there
wouldn’t be things like facelifts, body lifts, tummy tucks, liposuction and
Botox to mention but a few. I’m not
saying that I will do all these things or advocating that you do. All I am saying is that I will try and defy
the process of ageing for as long as I can afford it. And as for my early onset male menopause, I
have only one thing to say about and to it is and that is fuck you!
It's Friday the 13th and for all those superstitious folk out there, take a Xanax and stay in bed.
I have never believed that there is anything sinister about these "unlucky" Fridays. How can I? I have three black cats who continuously cross my path on a daily basis. Sure my cats are assholes but they have never caused a ladder to fall on me, break a mirror, spill salt or made me forget to touch wood to avoid bad luck. Sure they have tripped me, scratched me (for no reason) and sometimes sit and stare at the wall making weird noises but all of this is just to enforce their authority in the house. They also do this to make us aware that we are the inferior species. Cats like to remind us that they were once worshiped as Gods until some son of a bitch ruined everything for them. So they are just resentful and not evil. Mostly.
Furthermore, touching wood has never helped me to get a parking bay closer to the shop, made me win the lottery or caused me to get a 90% discount on my Botox. In other words - I do not believe in any of this shit. And we should stop being assholes to these Fridays. We will give them an inferiority complex or worse - make them resentful towards us. We don't want them to be pissed off because they are being teased by the other Fridays and make them send Jason after us, now do we. So don't be a dick and enjoy your weekend.
Apparently having a urinary track infection (UTI) is quite normal especially if you are a women. Or so I have been told. I have no way of verifying this with clinical research. Also, if you are gay and have a UTI it is perfectly normal for a nurse to make the assumption that you have slept around while drinking excessively and that your UTI is in all probability is a STD. This is what happened to me this week.
On Tuesday I woke up blissfully unaware that I had a UTI. That was until I had to pee. When I did I was in considerable pain causing me to negotiate with myself for how long I could hold my pee in before I would die. Apparently not long (holding it in, not the dying part). What made it worse was that I was also passing a kidney stone which is right up there on the "I want to die" pain scale.
As the day progressed and I noticed that there was blood in my urine and I grew increasingly concerned. I did not want to die of blood loss through my penis because that would not make for a good story at my funeral. "How did he die? Well, uhm he bled to death? How? Through his penis?"
Naturally when you suspect that you have a UTI you see your doctor. Unfortunately mine was indisposed and could only see me in two days time. Which, when you have a UTI and about to pass a rock through your penis, is a fucking long time to wait.
I did not want to go to the emergency room for my UTI and kidney stone. You see, the problem was that the last time I was there I thought I was having a heart attack which turned out to only be severe heartburn. As such I can never show my face there again. So I opted to go to there pharmacy. It seemed like the lesser of two evils. Also, they did not know about my heartburn incident and would not judge me me.
When I got to the pharmacy and explained my symptoms they seemed quite accommodating at giving me something to make everything better. Well, that was until they heard that there was blood in my urine and then they treated me like a zombie asking for drugs. Feeling less confident to assist me (because they did not want to kill me) I was referred to the nurse. And this is where things went south rather quickly.
I got into the nurse's consulting room and explained what was going on. I just wanted to pass my kidney stone in peace and have my UTI sorted out. So she made me pee in a cup. This would have been fine had I not been experiencing pain at the time. Knowing that I really did not have a choice I reluctantly I complied.
She took the cup with my penis blood and urine and stuck a stick into it and looked at it and then looked at me and said "Hmm there seems to be a lot going on here" To which I thought "No shit lady. Why do you think I am here?" But I didn't say that because I am a gentleman. She said that I definitely had a UTI and then proceeded to ask me if I had been drinking over the weekend to which I responded in the affirmative. This however pissed me off as she made it sound as if I had gone on a drinking binge which was so not the case. And then the part came which really offended me.
"Is your partner also experiencing the same kind of symptoms?" she asked. "Because if he is he would also need to come see me". This made it sound as if my UTI was a STD and that I got it from my husband. I rather rudely responded to her that he wasn't having similar symptoms and that we are not sleeping around. Why I felt the need to explain that to a total stranger holding me pee in her hand is beyond me. But I did it anyway.
Apparently, in her experience, people only come to see her with such symptoms when they are too ashamed to go to their regular doctor because they do have a STD and know it. I found the stereotype I was being boxed into offensive and I was even more upset because it was painful when I peed. It seems that if I am in pain and I don't get drugs to make it go away that I too become rather judgmental: I thought that she was being a bitch which in all probability was not really the case.
After being treated like an alcoholic serial orgy inclined homosexual I got my antibiotics and left. It still hurts when I pee but at least it is not as bad as it was. But at least it no longer feels like I am giving birth to satan through my dick.
I have never used the word penis this often in any of the blog posts I have ever written. So if you are offended by penises I am sorry. It is just that gay guys know a lot about penises and for that I apologize too. Well, not really. But it is what it is. My UTI is being treated and is healing and I passed the kidney stone with great effort. I am still alive and not peeing blood anymore which is a win in my books. I am still offended by the nurse's assumption about me and gay guys in general but I will get over it. However, I will never see her again because I do not plan on getting a STD and if I had one I'd rather see my regular doctor. I prefer being judged by people I know.