MY UNDYING LUST IS A CURSE...

Have you ever felt the true essence of LUST? I have. Let me explain...

There's this maintenance worker at my job who until this day, has me seriously perplexed and flummoxed as to what his sexuality may be. I don't find this guessing game very amusing as I'm an impatient person by nature, so frankly, I'm running out of patience with my sneaking suspicion...

Although I consider myself the object of someone else's affection, I find myself glaring at this dude with lustful abandon. Call it primal nature, call it just plain horny, call it what you will. I just can't deny the fact that I'm feeling an alarm call directly in my groin. Sure, I walk the streets of NY with my eyes open (just like everyone else) so it's inevitable that I'm going to come across another who's as attractive and personable as I, but there's just this special something about... um... let's call him Jose.

After the children in my class leave for the day, I descend to the lobby of my school and sit at the reception desk to catch up on unfinished paperwork from earlier in the day. I occasionally answer the phone and find myself lingering around with the psychotic notion that I'll catch a glimpse of this hot, latin mother effer as he walks passed me (in slow motion no less) with mop in hand, and a full side-view of his upper thighs and ass. Yes. It's theatrical for me. Don't hate.

Needless to say, lust is something that is completely and utterly uncontrollable in the life of a gay man. Sure, many gays marry and manage to maintain monogamous throughout their relationships, but I on the other hand like to explore the plantation. The plantation of men.

As I press on and try to find solice in my semi-relationship with another (I love you pa), the testing of my will is straining and earth-shattering. Help me Lord...

AREN'T YOU THIRSTY MY BITCHES?

REPULSIVE ASS MYSTERIES...

Tara Reid's saggy crapper terrorizes nearby folk as botched up lipo and countless rendezvous with good 'ole Johnny Walker has left poor Tara resembling a jar of Playdoe. I can finger her thighs and mold her into a wombat you know. You're too young to look this battered Tara. Let us pray.

Uma's tail begins to fail as she obviously gained nothing in the ass area from Kill Bill. Black Mambas inherently lack in the ass department anyway (they're snakes dammit) so it's only fitting that she represents to the fullest. One question: what exactly is that little red strip covering?

Kimberly Stewart's ass is aghast as she tightens her cheek-less wonder for all to see (and throw up a little in their mouth) as she coyly turns towards the paparazzi for some camera fun. Listen bitch, that doesn't look cute in the least, so give it up and keep spending your daddy's money.

Looking like she was just released from intensive care, an opaque Kirsten Dunst shows the world what it's like to be the reigning queen of NO ASS AND ALL BONES. JLo's got nothing on this bish.

Nicole Richie's wiggle seems to have lost its jiggle ever since she's joined the "I REFUSE TO EAT ANYTHING WITH CALORIES" club. While I respect the bitch and try not to point an accusatory finger at her obvious fasting, I can't help but mention that she is the type of woman who looks skinny even when she's bent over in front of you. Now how about that double cheeseburger Ms. Richie? Leave them celery sticks alone yo...

Rose McGowan seriously needs to conjure up an ass spell. I said GOD DAMN. I'm sure everyone has seen McGowan's pale lack of ass when she strutted her non-stuff at the MTV Video Music Awards some years ago. Damn Paige, with orbing powers and all, you've managed to steer clear of orbing your ass into something plump and purty. Damn.

Ozzy Osbourne's arse ostracizes the unsuspecting crowd at a Black Sabbath concert in Europe. When everyone began to stare in horror, a hairy BLACK BAT shot out of his poop chute and flew circles around everyone's stunned face. Watch yo ass... I mean back.

TEQUILLA AND GAY DO NOT MIX...

Last night was one of those nights where everything came together. It was one of those nights where you drink your ass off, and you miraculously dodge the usual hugging of the bowl with a clean getaway. Last night was one of those nights that tested everything I've come to know about my homosexuality... and I rode the wave towards heterosexual shores. My haggy Denise invited some friends over to celebrate... well... just to celebrate. As the night unfolded, all I can remember throughout my Tequilla-induced haze was that I had a smashing time (with heterosexual tendencies galore). I had a fucking ball. The night began when I arrived at Dee's with two bottles of Merlot...

Representing the Yankees to their fullest, I sported my AROD jersey with wild abandon. I entered the house and strutted my manly self (with jersey in full cascade) towards the nearest chair to have my long awaited cigarette. Fully prepared to tune into the already in progress Bombers game, my inner hetero was in overdrive... and the guys arrived at Dee's just in time. The Yankees and their performance (especially Arod's hot azz) became the topic of our discussion, which in turn led to a collective deep-dive into a recap of the players' stats. No less than three minutes into our ball-scratching conversation, the girls cleared the room like prostitutes stay clear of church. Three minutes after that... I followed the ladies... with drink in hand...

As my wine-chugging ceased to commence, I found myself in Denise's backyard canoodling with the ladies... and with a potential, spanking new nominee in hagdom. Giorgianna had full hag aura since my initial encounter with her, so it would be inevitable that I would gravitate towards such a luscious piece of woman. Her low-rise jeans and panties that peeked out as if to say hi, were just enough sugar for my hetero coffee. On my left, I had my primary haggy (Dee), directly in front of me was Aury (another gorgeous Latin bombshell of a hag) and on my right was the new applicant... Giorgianna. I mean, with a name like that, how could I go wrong?

Sure, I don't understand my odd behavior of late, but who the fuck cares. I love being in the company of women (preferably hot ones) and enjoy every quirk and blip of confused arousal that I may experience. Last night was banging and it wouldn't have been the same without Denise's usual verbal raping of me; Aury piercing her ocular gaze into my eyes as if she loves me and only me, and last but not least, the full induction of Giorgianna into the Family Flock of Freaks. Much love to all my hags... and here's to fantasizing about sharing a glass of Merlot with each and every one of you. Love it.

YAWN YAWN YAWN...

Busy busy busy. I have absolutely no FUCKING time to even jot one single thought down these days. Ok, let's be honest here... I just lost fucking interest somewhat. I search the blogosphere now and then for some divine inspiration (even though I'm gifted with the written word and really don't find it necessary to seek for stimulation or illumination), but end up walking head first into a bouquet of drones and that constant regurgitation of unvaried blog entries...

By all means, I don't claim to be the King of Blogonia... let's get that straight. Those who boast have an inherent insecurity somewhere beneath their sorry skin. Despite that little known fact, I do have to admit that I know I'm the fucking bomb. Dancing in the blogger field of flowers with my little sewing-circle of luscious miscreants (you know who you are my lovely bishes...) are an honor to be amongst. Who would've thought that I would have coined the term BLOGGER HAGS? (and yes... I have a patent)

You might say that I'm spitting piles of caca when I get all aggressive and shizz, but I call it staking your ground. Let's get crazy people. Sure, I may have been missing in action for the past month or so, but it's high time that we shake shizz up a bit... don't you think? Feel free to curse, talk explicitly about your sexual encounters (for those who get laid that is) and most of all, don't try to hard to please. My blogger buddies already know this (and so does my haggy Denise, and she doesn't even blog) so check out my comments and link directly to my bitches of mayhem and see for yourself why I have such bad-ass cyber-comrades. By the way, the hot sexy duo in the pic above obviously has nothing to do with the subject of my post. It's just there to shake shizz up a bit... remember?

THINKING OF YOU MIKEY MIKE...

Love isn't when you can't sleep... it's when you want to keep your eyes open. Love isn't when you keep holding on... it's when you learn to let go. Love isn't when you kill yourself with jealousy... it's when you understand. Love isn't when you fall for someone... it's when you catch that person when he falls. Love isn't when you see him everywhere... it's when you close your eyes and he's still there. Love isn't when you tell him what you feel... it's when you give everything for his sake. And love isn't that you think you're blind... it's when you know it's wrong but didn't mind.

Someone whom I've come to love has suffered a great loss in his life and I feel a bit helpless with the thought that there is nothing I can do to alleviate his suffering and overwhelming pain. The above words are dedicated to you pa, for I dug deep inside my heart to find what I thought I had misplaced over time. Besos.

LAUREN BABY... WHERE ARE YOU?

Lauren baby... you're sorely missed. There are no words to describe the torment and utter confusion I've been feeling ever since you've disappeared off the face of this Earth. I miss your voice, your soul and that endless conviction you so easily ooze from every poor. This industry is infested and congested with countless uninspiring sheep who saturate the airwaves with their tired saccharine-like tunes and talentless drivel. Doo Wop is luscious and this video mirrors the vibe Lauren Hill was born to encompass. With a split-screen visual that is the perfect meld of the 1960's Motown era coupled with today's hip hop generation, this video is magnificently splendid. Sing it Lauren baby... for you are missed dearly.

YOU CAN DO IT MARIO...

Mario, Mario, Mario. When are you going to admit it? When are you going to come to terms and embrace your love for cock? You know you want to spoon that hot Latino mutha effa who keeps calling your cell. Why don't you pick up your Goddam phone yo? It's ME calling you... bitch.

As a Puerto Rican homo, I feel that you are seriously wasting valuable time denying your sexuality when you can set yourself free and enjoy the "fruits" of gay life. Imagine the endless nights lying by my side in mid-June, lightly glistening in the warm summer heat. Imagine how I can lay you on your stomach and run a cube of ice down the small of your back as you gaze deep into your fellow Latin lover's eyes. We're a match made in heaven you know... just as long as This Boy Here allows my one night of meaningless lust with Mario...

MY UNWAVERING LUST FOR MOVIES...

Have you ever felt a certain lust for a particular movie? Have you ever been enveloped by such a gem that you don't mind psychotically and obsessively watching a film repeatedly... because in doing so, you notice little obscure nuances that you hadn't noticed during the first 20 times you've seen it? The following movies have slithered their way into my psyche and have remained some of the most memorable movies in my crazy-ass film vault. Here they are:

I first watched this movie back in '95 when I was no less than certain that I was a fucked up closeted mess. One foot in the closet and one foot out, this movie came into my life when I needed something, anything, to remind me that what I was feeling deep down inside was not so horrific after all. Beautiful Thing captured my attention and helped me realize that if two young, teenage boys can find true love being themselves, then surely I too can find that special love. British accents and all, this film was the perfect package for my otherwise tormented soul... and you can't go wrong with the exquisite Mama Cass (of The Mommas and the Pappas fame) blaring in the background throughout most of the movie. I loved Mama Cass and found her to be the perfect marriage between music and film.

Kill Bill changed my life. Watching this movie was an event that will be etched in my memory for all time. Uma Thurman has always been at the top of my coveted actress list so it's not shocking to me that I would gravitate towards this wicked gem. The premise behind the movie was heart wrenching and gripping, keeping me immersed from beginning to end. I can flick and pound at my keyboard all night if I had the space and time to display my affection for this movie, but I'll end it with this: Gogo and Black Mamba fuck each other up lusciously. 'Nuff said.

I recall when I began paying attention to a little known director way back when Quentin Tarantino was not yet a water cooler conversation. Reservoir Dogs officially jump started my interest in Tarantino which made me pause and pay close attention to his work. Pulp Fiction was the icing on the cake. Samuel L. Jackson and John Travolta (what a Queen) fit one another like gloves and in turn, struck the last nail in my coffin of love for Crazy Quentin. Uma of course, was flawless. No surprise there.

Have you ever seen this movie? Well, this movie sorta changed my life. I'm not exactly quite sure as to HOW this movie altered my life, but I do know that it jolted my inner-homo in ways that seemed overwhelming at the time. For those who don't know, I was an extreme closet-case for quite some time -- tortured and filled with demons that gripped the back of my neck like an evil monkey. I guess I can say that I identified with Eddie in the film (fitting ain't it?).

Last but definitely not least, I end my list of marvelous movies with a classic curtain call. When I think of classic Hollywood beauty, I think Bette Davis. When I ponder at what it is I find mesmerizing and enthralling in an actress, I think Bette Davis. Miss Davis had the rare ability to tell a story with a simple silent pause, all while emitting emotions that only she can deliver with such ease. It's all in her eyes folks. From What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? to All About Eve, my list... nay, her list, is endless. Bette Davis... we love you.

TAKE CARE OF THOSE FEET BITCHES...

Manicures and Pedicures are necessary in the life of those who give two fucks about their hygiene. Walking the streets with open-toe shoes should be an event that attracts one's eyes to your delicious digits, not one that sends the average civilian scattering for the nearest shelter. Sandals are no exception guys, for not one soul should be exposed to your careless toe filing and Dipsey Doodle nail beds...

Now that Spring has arrived, I can't help but cringe at the thought of all the misguided folk who will be walking the streets in total oblivion, unaware of the mass hysteria that will ensue. Listen creeps, if your toes are dragging on the concrete, then you're not wearing the right sized shoe. As the above pic illustrates, being a hot ghetto mess is not cute...

Ladies: Polishing your talon-like nails in the effort to make them look appealing is not the way to go. Sure, you can attempt to distract us with your Manolo Blahnik fire engine red pumps, but all I see (and hundreds of others) are your monstrous claws...


You see, there's a simple solution to this horrid, stomach wrenching sight. A bit of pruning and a healthy amount of foot moisturizer can do wonders. All that is needed in the world of self-awareness and social betterment are the right tools. Before you know it, those grimaces and furled eyebrows will dissipate and soon be replaced with winks and encouraging smiles...

After all your hard work, the end result should look a little something like this. Men and women alike should take note and practice these simple steps to a better you. Riding on the nearest Subway (I'm from NY) shouldn't be a ride into the depths of crusty hell, but should be a foot-fetish's dream come true. Love it. Besos.

WHERE THE HELL HAVE I BEEN YO?

Sorry I've been away my loyal and attractive readers. I've been extremely busy of late and am here to state that although there has been a bit of a gap since my last post, I haven't gone far. It tickles me to think that I've been missed and it especially spins my spurs to realize that my blogger buddies are inquiring as to why I haven't been around. I thank you all for the warm comments and am grateful for each and every response. My absence was only the result of me taking care of some personal business... but I'm back, and I have a slew of shiny new ideas in my blogger bank that I'm sure will make some heads spin. Protect yo neck bitches... for I'm ready to stimulate your senses and jolt your jewels. Love it.

THE FAG HAG BILL OF RIGHTS...

Let it be known that Denise and I abide by a set of rules; an unwritten Bill of Rights that we hold dear to our hearts. These rights are the foundation of what keeps our relationship bound and secure in the land of hagdom and fagdom. These unwritten set of rules have been picked, prodded, refined and shaped throughout the two decades of our relationship and is finally ready to be etched into stone. Sure, I don't have a set of majestic tablets to engrave such sacred law, so this post shall serve as a respectable substitute...

DENISE'S BILL OF RIGHTS:

• Said homo must be available at all times when needed. This enables said homo to carry the official title of LADY SITTER.
• Said homo must be proficient at assisting said hag with household duties, i.e. utensil washing, cat litter removal, disposal of heavy garbage bags and recyclables, cleaning the mysterious layer of dust on the living room television set, and must be able to perform a strenuous back rub session that'll leave said hag in a giddy, plasma-like state.
• Said homo shall never show an equal amount of love towards any other female in our sewing circle. Such display of careless affection can render said hag into a furious bout of jealousy.
• Said homo is allowed to make disparaging comments to said hag on a regular basis to ensure that said hag is kept in proper place. A lady sitter who is a doormat serves no purpose in my world.
• Said homo shall be responsible for the elimination of all insects small or large. These insects include silverfish, gnats, bulbous horse flies, unusually large mosquitoes and random spiders.

EDDIE'S BILL OF RIGHTS:

• Said hag must be proficient in gay lingo. She must understand exactly what is meant when said homo refers to bottom and top, tea-bagging, assplay and bareback.
• Said hag must be ready, willing and able to spew numerous compliments at said homo to ensure loyalty and unwavering friendship.
• Said hag shall understand that said homo must be fed in order to function properly.
  
• Said hag shall have an assertive personality otherwise said homo will do the gay dance of domination all over her shambled body.
• Said hag shall not turn against said homo in the company of others. Unless it is done with zero malice, said homo is not to be toiled with. Loyalty comes before beauty in the world of homo.

And so it is written. The above Bill of Rights should be held with the utmost respect and shall never be tarnished by outside distraction or influence. These words are binding and can never be broken. Love it. Besos.