Mannerisms and Aphorisms.

Homosexual males acting in a very certain type of way make me laugh every single time. A high pitched whiny voice, gesticulating wildly with the hands, getting worked up into a frenzy over a broadway musical or fabric or something. Hilariously absurd in a large variety of ways. But mostly because of the very shallowness they purvey with their nonsensical bullshit. Inane drivel without any value is still drivel even if you put a fabulous dress on it. These are the things that make my brain hurt as it desperately tries to escape from my skull. Who gives two shits about show tunes and fashion trends? Seriously? And why do they all of a sudden have to don this persona just because they happen to occupy a narrow sub-culture? Are their identities totally dictated by their sexual preference? Why do they have to act in such a "faggy" way just because they like having sex with other men? Don't get me wrong: Most homosexual men are not at all like this. But these mincing, frilly, walking jokes exist by the thousands. The reason for this is very likely due to the fact that a majority of men in general are complete idiots without any real personality to speak of. No amount of sex is going to make club music in any way bearable for me. Unless I'm getting blown during I'm not interested. Camp as an end in itself is an end most gay men should stay out of.

The Man, part 5.

- "The sex was freakin' amazing. Fucking awesome!"

She all but threw it out there. Without any hint or warning leading up to it. She had a habit of doing that. No hint. Nothing to brace you or get you into the mood of the topic of this little spiel. Plop;  and there it was on the floor.

- "Uhuh."

He muttered back and tried to sound uninterested. Taking a swill from his beer while fumbling to get the cellphone out of his pocket with the other hand. Thinking of ways to get out of this situation and into a bar. A sensible plan for getting slaughtered was needed.

- "I must have cum like a dozen times last night." She continued.

Details. Details flying at him like sand into his eyes. Unasked for and annoying when you can't help yourself from looking and just have to keep staring into the spray.

- "Alrighty then. Stupendous. Good for you and hooray."

It's not really a conversation when one of the parties is constantly trying to shut it down. He realized this of course and hoped she would too. Although that would assume she had any real intention of this being an actual conversation and not just another one-sided monologue piece about her amazing lovelife, sexlife and fucking-ignoring-him-life. Alas, it was so.

She swiveled around on the chair and gazed up into the ceiling, leaning back so far that her hair almost touched the floor behind her. Occasionally swirling and sipping her drink as she twirled. The liquid inside the glass, some sort of pink mojito-half breed, sloshed dangerously close to the edge of its container as she picked up speed. It looked like the stuff coming off of that pink puck in the urinal, flushing down into the drain.

He was at this point furiously pushing the buttons of the phone with his thumb in an attempt to construct a text message that could save him from this predicament. Accidentally mashing several letters at once in his haste, misspelling as he went. Growing more annoyed with each mistake.

- "Why the hell are the buttons so God damn small? It's like this thing was designed to be operated with a midget's toes." He muttered to himself as he finally got the last digit right and pressed 'send'.

He was going to need a much stronger drink than this if he was to survive the wait. Something that could dull his mind sufficiently. In order to desensitize him from the apparent set topic of the evening. He strode over to the little bar area in the corner of the living room and plonked down his bottle on the wooden counter. The force was enough to stir up the carbonation in the beer and cause it to fizz slightly. Rum would do the job. After all: 'Time flies when you're having rum.'.

Downing the first round in one go he hardly had time to taste it. Pity, it was a good brand. Once it hit his stomach it gave him that old familiar feeling. A warm almost burning sensation started to emanate from his gut. Spreading into his chest, arms and legs. When it finally hit his head it was like superglue spreading, drying and hardening inside of his brain. An epoxy cauterizing every neural cluster and the thoughts that went with them. Back to being an idiot, a safe feeling.

A beep and a rattle in his pocket. Paige had responded to his text.

"im working tonight, sorry baby :("

- "His cock was huge!" she slurred as she leaned back just far enough on the chair to tip backwards and do an unwilling and flailing somersault.

He was going to need a bigger bottle.

The Man, part 3.

Shitty coffee, at a shitty café. He couldn't quite figure out why she insisted on coming here. There were plenty of good, or at least half-way decent, places in the same neighborhood. Ones that didn't smell like day-old coffee and mold and grime. Sure she had a thing for the guy who worked here, but was that really an excuse? The stuff they served was just rancid. Brown weird tasting liquid. Coffee in name only. As he stared down into his cup at the old curdled cream that had gathered up like an alien cocoon at the bottom he caught himself day dreaming. Mostly of nonsense. Bunnies fighting each other with Uzis, women he knew and fantasized about regularly, having an apartment that wasn't a joke. The regular stuff. But somewhere in there, at the back of his head and mind he also held a thought of her. An idea. In an idealized form. The one he remembered from when they were kids. The one he had modeled every other encounter and impression of women after. The archetype that was faulty, wrong and nonsense. Other people had their mother to blame, he had her. None the less she had at least thought of him and taken the time to call. Things were going better. As they sat there the same old conversation they had had a thousand times by now unfolded with tedious inevitability. She lamented some man. He supported and complimented her. Listening to the details and making suggestions along the way. Then it was his turn to discuss some part of his private life, at this point she usually switched off and started drifting in and out of the conversation. Commenting instead on how unfulfilled she felt, her needs and ultimately her desires. - I'd just like a really good fuck right now. She blurted out. - Well that's not exactly hard to find...when you're a reasonably attractive woman... He shot back as soon as he heard it, with an annoyed urgency creeping in to back it up. - Whad'ya mean? Like I can go out and have sex at any time? As she finished the sentence she uttered a loud "Pfft" so hard she almost shot saliva all away across the table. - Of course you could. Walk into any bar, club or grocery store and you can find a dozen non-deformed young fellows, primed and ready to go. Minimum effort required. I however have to scope the situation, put in a lot of effort and at best have a slim chance at the end of the night. He punctuated his phrases with intense hand movements, it seemed as if he was doing a performance. In a way he was, he had mulled over this idea in his head many a time. Considered the exact wording and intonation. This was The Idea's grand gala opening into the real world. And it was going great. - I guess you're right... I'm gonna go ask him. She pushed her chair back with a loud scraping sound. The worst kind. The sound of dry wood against a stone floor. All he could do was sit there and watch her walk over and talk to this guy, another anonymous guy. Had he been anywhere with her where she had not met some guy? The sounds from the street outside and the few other customers drowned out what they were saying. Things were not going well.

5 People.

This is a list of five types of people I wouldn't mind seeing dead. 5. Condescending Bisexuals Have you ever run into these people? Bisexuals who seem to think that because they find both men and women sexually attractive they somehow, in some mysterious way, are more enlightened then the rest of us. You know, us common folk that only want to fuck one or the other. Truly they are the chosen people! Why? Well because they've seen past gender and appearance and found that you fall in love, not with the gender but with the person. Wow, isn't that inspiring? Granted of course that this non-gender-specific person still conforms to our culture's perception of beauty. I'm sorry but penises, to me, look horrendous. I wouldn't want one anywhere near either my face or ass. In fact, the first time I saw my own I attacked it with a shoe. Sexual preference does not equal moral superiority you smug bastards. Another thing; you don't get more options because you're "playing both sides", so to speak. What it comes down to, in the end, is how attractive the other person finds you. Not just appearance wise although that is unfortunately the most important factor. 4. Young folk who act older than their age This is especially prevalent among university students. People approaching their mid 20s that act as if they were in their late 40s. Wearing boring "adult" clothing, sipping lattes, conversing about what table napkins would be the best for their next couples get-together/dinner party. You'd think they'd be talking about something like "the Geo-political situation in eastern Africa" but no. They have so perfected this act since high school that they've realized that older people don't actually talk about that stuff. More on shallow and stupid people in their 40s later on. What happened to the energy of these people? All I wanted to do when I was in high school was to fuck on the floor and break shit. Thinking about it, that's still all I want to do now. Alright, that may not be entirely true. I do like having a good deep, fervent and energetic conversation about an interesting subject-matter from time to time. But if you actually try this on these yuppie offspring you quickly notice they're incapable of such thought. I suspect they've developed this intricate and boring lifestyle full of little fetishes like napkins, home decorating, couples dinners and other mind numbingly boring activities as a subterfuge for their lack of depth and intelligence. Crafty scoundrels! 3. People who grew up in the 60s and 70s getting tough on kids This is as much an objection to the reasoning as it is to the rhetoric that these people use. I will grant them that kids are insufferable bastards and need to learn some discipline. Hasn't that been true in every generation since the dawn of man though? And shouldn't that be something for the parents to sort out? The schools can only do so much. The main problem with slipping grades in schools all over the western world lies not with the children but with the poor quality of the grownups, the teachers. How to improve that is a different rant entirely but suffice to say that improving the status of the teaching profession and holding them accountable for results may help. What really makes me want to go into a self-induced coma is when these people who grew up in the 60s and 70s use harsh rhetoric and language. Words like grades, expectations, discipline, control and uniforms get thrown around. While they were handed everything in their youth. EVERYTHING! So when these pampered to middle aged, fat, comparatively rich, white motherfuckers come along and say kids these days lack discipline I just want someone to invent cyborg warrior bodies. So that their 80 year old parents can rip their damn heads off! Call it a really really really late term retroactive abortion. 2. Subcultures Stop letting your entire identity be dictated by things other people have created. Be it music, clothing, books, movies or video games. You're being a shallow cunt, stop it. 1. Bloggers and the people who read them Most blogs are about absolutely nothing of worth. They're just some ramblings from some teenage girl (either physically or mentally) about what they did today. And I'm not even talking about exciting stuff like teenage sex and drugs. No, negative, denied. It's always some meandering post about what they ate or what clothes they wore. I have friends who do this, if you're one of them consider this my way of saying; I like you, but for fuck sake! I know these pointless blogs have been an annoyance to many people over the years. I'm certainly not the first to bring this up. I did it however to set up a point. Could we please, please agree to stop reading these "celebrity" bloggers? These wannabe socialite journalists who live these fabulous lives revolving around gossip, fashion, parties and one has to assume rather boring sex. Mostly implied, naturally. They just seem too neat and well scrubbed to be having anything other than dull repetitive sex. In their luxurious penthouse apartments smelling equally as sterile and unnatural as their genitals. It's bad enough that they can't quite seem to string together a complete sentence, they make money doing so. These blogs are essentially the same thing as other personal blogs, only infinitely more sad. For all of us. What sort of vapid, soulless, asinine existence is that? If you're asking yourself how I can rail against this sort of thing and then myself slip in bits and pieces of my own life in this blog, well...you're just going to have to figure that out on your own.