Clearly, he did it all for the nookie.

I thought it was about impressionable, lame-bearded hipsters falling in love with the smooth combination of bourbon, sweet vermouth, and maraschino cherries.

First we cancel Manhattan Love Story.

Old Yeller

They don't call him Texass for nothin'.

This one time, at band camp, I sucked dick for a Klondike bar.

…Laggies?

I'm kinda surprised that no one has made a Weekend At Bernie's television series yet.

Perhaps.
But I have some ground rules if that were to happen.
1. No needles
2. BYODs
3. No meth

Of The Stories You Create, The Places You'll Go
An intrepid explorer scaling an undiscovered mountain.
Through omniscience, I control his every movement.
His shallow breathing, the struggle to remain warm.
The arctic wind is a sharp dagger, a struggle unfolds.
When you think you've reached the top of the summit,
Is the…

The Beautiful Foe
The salient foe.
Dead as a martyr.
The frozen foe.
Blood on the snow.

Here's another poem I wrote a few months back. Enjoy.
Neo-Metamorphosis
Black leather jacket, party for one.
Instead of the motorcycles I am thought to ride,
I haunt run-down cinemas.
A stone-face assassin, devoid of intent.
Such blank disposition was soon ameliorated through the smell of warm popcorn.

"So Hot (Wash Away All of My Tears)" - Spacemen 3
"The Night and The Liquor" - Elvis Perkins
"A Question for Emily Foreman" - Of Montreal
"Ships and Clouds" - Jim Noir
"Now That I'm Older" - Sufjan Stevens
"Behind The Church" - Spindrift
"A Brief Moment of Clarity" - Oppressed By The Line
"Lazy Greys" - The Morning After…

God, I hate disqus.

Here's another poem that I wrote about a year ago. The title of the poem should make it quite clear as to whom I'm alluding to.
Sylvia
A red tiger had his paws stitched into a beautiful quilt.
I didn't realize it at the time, I couldn't rationalize my guilt.

POEM THREAD
I've always considered myself a bit of a poet. My style of poetry tends to run the gamut from free-form, to rhyme scheme, to nonsensical, and finally to prose poetry. This poem, in particular, I wrote just last night. I hope ya'll enjoy it.
..
Sage Sloths in Primordial Camelot
Before the first ice age, there…

I'm afraid and embarrassed to say that I've only been embraced by one penis. It seems that I've failed as a proper gay man. I'm not even worthy of Japanese anime or even a hedonistic, snuff film in IdiotKing's 50 Shades of Boudoir.

Is it wrong of me to find greater love, compassion, understanding, and sexual gratification in drugs rather than actual human beings? And yet as a gay man, why do I still yearn for the warm tender embraces of the penis?

Oh, I would never fantacize about hateful trolls, my dear.
It's like attempting to have angry pity sex with Donald Sterling, but with none of the painfully endearing senility as one grasps the wrinkled folds of entropy.
Plus there's this small thing about me being gay and me finding distaste in the charming way that you…

My, aren't we being a tad bit hypocritical?