Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Time to Wean the Colts...

I know all of you peeps think all I do is play tennis, enter beauty contests and go on fabulous vacations. Well... welcome to my down home country life. Here I am giving a nervous colt a patting. So far, there are four colts being weaned off their mothers. Soon, there will be five others that will have to be separated from their mothers. Their poor mothers are running the fence line in the big pasture calling out for their babies. The young colts hear their calls and respond to it from the barn stalls. It is sad to watch, but it is part of the process when you breed horses.

Michael and I brushed off each colt. All of their coats were very fuzzy, and will slowly turn into a final beautiful natural color. Each Colt we handled was very nervous, so we had to be careful to avoid getting kicked. These colts are all less than a year old.

This colt is by himself. I get asked all the time, "why are all the horses brown?" Yes, it is the most common color. Hey, I get tired of all the reddish brown Dachshunds I see! Besides those "ugly" brown horses, we have a few paint horses, a white Mare, a black Mare and two black stud horses. These horses are all bred to produce cutting horses, so the point is not really to produce the prettiest colts you ever layed your eyes on. I do have a favorite paint horse on the farm that is gorgeous. She has a shiny dark brown and bright white coat, but it is her two beautiful blue eyes which take my breath away.

In the first few days, two were put in a stall together so the separation from the mother wouldn't be as traumatic. Eventually, each colt had his own stall.

This little devil was the jumpiest of them all. It took us quite a while to get him calmed down enough so we could handle him. This is the one that tried to kick me last week.

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Desperina Beauty Pageant!

Place: George's Place (Baton Rouge)

Time: July 18th, 11pm Saturday Night

Beauty Contestant You SHOULD Root For: "Desperina" the desperate gay man! For those of you who don't know, "Desperina" was the drag name my friend Steve (Wisconsin) gave me after I became single last year. Apparently, while on vacation in Las Vegas, I was desperately hugging up on anybody with a warm pulse. I also got accused of chasing the camera man around and mugging for every picture taken for the "Black Jack Bears" event. Hence, "Desperina" was born as my alter ego that is always a doozy to deal with. But being a doozy means being a FLOOZY... and personally I think that can be fun! I really think poor old Desperina is just often misunderstood. Yes, she is an ATTENTION WHORE... but she always gives back as much love as she desperately seeks.

The Story:

We plan to go to the neighborhood bar "Georges" for 30 minutes before heading to the big dance club "Splash". I usually get a couple drinks at this bar to get a quick buzz, before heading out to dance my ass off at the other club. As soon as we walk into Georges I knew something was amiss. The crowd was different! I told Michael, "This looks like a Lafittes (New Orleans) crowd!" Sure enough, the theme for tonight was "Bear Night". I didn't mind because I like hairy guys... especially Musclebears! :P

So, we are hanging out. I see some old friends. We are having a good time. We are about to leave when a Lesbian asks us if we would be willing to enter tonight's "Daddies Contest". Michael is very conservative and would never commit himself to anything without knowing every single detail beforehand. Tonight he was quick to say, "NO...I am not doing it!" The Desperina in me was jumping for joy. This was HER MOMENT TO SHINE! The Lesbian could sense she had a ringer! She immediately asked Michael if it was okay to let me go up there. He was like, "Sure... I don't mind." Then the Lesbian tells us that I would have to take off my shirt for the competition. I immediately start to fret, "But I am NOT a Daddy! I haven't worked out in a week! I have been eating Taco Bell all week! I am going to look fat up there!" But with the words of encouragement from the WOOFY male MC, "You'll be the hottest up there!", Desperina leaped out and said "SURE! I'LL DO IT!!!" And the rest is history.

I surveyed the judges: two Lesbians and three older bears. Hmmm... who can I blow to seal victory for Desperina? Darn it! Scratch the Lesbians... ewww. The other three judges were older men. Well, if I had to, I suppose I could. But with my boyfriend there, I would have to win this competition fair and square. I immediately pulled my dick out of my jock strap and let the material in the front cup under my balls. There! Instant cock ring!

I quickly surveyed the competition. There were 6 individual contestants. Of our group, there were only three bona fide "Daddies". These were the only men over 40 AND who exhibited any kind of "bear look". Contestant #1 was an old leather queen in his 50's, red hair, and with as much hair on his back as his belly (yuck!). I dismissed this one as NO THREAT. The second contestant was my friend Freddy. He has an wonderful body and he is actually a real life GrandDad. I was happy that he was in the pool of contestants. He was the only one I wouldn't mind losing to. The third contestant was the cub. I quickly discerned this cub as my ONLY competition, because he was the only one I would sleep with. He was YOUNGER than me, very cute, and fit the mold of tonight's crowd. Hmm... how can I trip him when he goes offstage?!The 4th contestant was a big old bear with noticeable surgery done on his stomach and had to be pushing 60. Poor dear.... doesn't stand a chance. The final contestant was a TRUE QUEEN. She wore sunshades, had lowcut jeans, and a smooth swimmers body. I knew MISS THANG wouldn't be well recieved with this crowd!

One by one, we went up on stage and let the audience of 200 bears and cubs meet us. I politely clapped as the others went up on stage. I was going to pretend to be a Sandra Dee, with kindness in my heart for others and adopt an attitude that I was happy to be here. (This was going to protect me later in the event of a humiliating loss.) Perhaps this would score Desperina some modesty points, which everyone knows I always seem to be short of. When it was my turn, I go up on stage and the audience gives me a loud applause. I politely wave to the crowd and give them a Miss USA worldclass smile. Coupled with my Caribbean Blue eyes... their big Bear hearts just melted. Excellent! Seduce them and victory is yours. Following me was my chief competition... the cute cub. Awww... I could just choke him there on the spot. I was VERY perturbed to hear that this little bastard had just as much (if not more!) applause than me! OH THIS IS WAR NOW!!!! The bear with surgery done on his belly was next. The crowd applauded politely, but noticeably quieter, than for anyone else. Awww.... bless his heart. I went ahead and gave him some applause because I figured it was safe to do so without hurting my 1st or 2nd clap-o-meter reading. The final contestant to prance around the stage was the TRUE QUEEN. She sashshayed all over the stage. I could have sworn I heard groans and boo's for this one. Ha ha.

Next came the interview phase. They pulled three questions out of a fish bowl and asked each contestant different ones. Most people up there were nervous and gave timid answers. My questions were: (1) If you were on a baseball team, which position would you play: Pitcher or Catcher. I answered, "I am the pitcher when I want to be... and the catcher... (pause for effect)... 90% of the other times." The Tops in the crowd roared with approval (2) Neverland or Disneyland? I answered, "Neither... I would rather be in "Any Man's Pantsland." The crowd loved the cleverness of my answer. Good so far. Unfortunately, the third question was the weirdest fucking question. It was... "Which one of these make a higher income and why: a bear, otter, wolf, or cub. " How in the fuck was I suppose to answer that one? For this question, I answered "An Otter is probably a younger person... and perhaps works in I.T.... so I think that perhaps he would make the highest income. " The crowd didn't understand the question and they certainly didn't understand my fucked up answer. There was a lack of applause and some confused chatter. I was not too happy with the judges for screwing up my chances and giving me such a dumbass question! Then the Cub goes up there. That bitch gets three straight GREAT questions. He cleverly answers them with all the sass and coyness in the world and the audience just eats it up. Oh good for HER. I put on my plastic smile and PRETEND to clap, being very careful not to register one more audible tick up on the imaginary clap-o-meter.

The next round involved calling each contestant one by one for a final strut-your-stuff appearance on stage (WHORE OFF). Well.... I was determined to win the WHORE OFF. This called for DESPERATE MEASURES!!!! (Think Paris Hilton putting a pineapple up her twat ala South Park) I get up on stage and start flexing my muscles. I am the most built. I show those hard to come by back muscles. I tug at my nipples. I even raised up my arm, and pretend to lick my bicep and armpit. PURE SLEAZE. The Bears LOVED IT! Then I used the MC as a prop, put my hands around his waist, and bent over to the crowd to show off my muscular butt and my thick hamstrings and calves. They ROARED! YES!!! IT'S WORKING. But I wasn't finished. I went a step further. I had secretly used my boyfriend as a "fluffer" when I was not on stage to show off "Slab". I grabbed my crotch through my jeans and showed the audience how thick he was. The MC asked me if it was 9". Of course I said "Hell yeah! It goes all the way to here!" (pointing down my pants legs) People were whistling and hooting and howling. I pensively looked out in the audience hoping my boyfriend or any tricks wouldn't shout out "ON WHAT FUCKING RULER?!?!" Since no one started singing like canaries, it worked!

The competition ended with us all having to go up on stage and watch a big black man sing a song. We were encouraged to dance with each other and strut ourselves some more. I flexed some more, and simulated oral sex on Freddy. He, in turn, got on his knees and pretended to blow me. I kept teasing the crowd by releasing three buttons from my button fly jeans. When the large black man stopped singing, they announced that they would give a $60 bar tab for 1st place, $40 for 2nd place and $20 for 3rd place. Freddy and I looked at each other and said together, "OH SHIT! THEY ARE GOING TO RANK US!!!!" How horrible if Desperina doesn't even finish 3 out of 6?!?!?! We knew that fucking Cub was going to win it all. We plotted to push her off the stage the moment her fat ass won.

Then the results came in. "Third Place goes to..." the man that was the LEAST attractive. He was the man with the belly surgery and pushing 60. We were stunned! I was like "WHAT THE FUCK!?" I felt a surge in satisfaction... "Surely I'll be second at least!" And sure enough... "Second Place goes to..." Brett! I WON!!!! I WON!!! DESPERINA FINALLY WON SOMETHING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HER POOR PITIFUL LIFE!!!! YES! YES! YOU REALLY DO LOVE ME! THANK YOU! THANK YOU! And then the moment had come... "First Place goes to..." Contestant #1!!! The 50 year old red head man wearing leather with a big gut, and as much hair on his back as he had on his front. OH MY GOD!!! NO WAY!!!! Freddy was PISSED! The Cub was stunned! The audience gasped.

As I left the stage, I had so many congratulate me and tell me that I should have won. I was playing the "glad to be runner up" routine and telling them I was happy to finish second. I reached my partner, Michael, and he was so happy for me. He had cheered me on the entire night and was beaming. He was so proud of my performance... he was proud of Desperina. He told me, "Now, if first place can't fulfill her obligations, that'll mean as first runner up... you'll win!" I smiled and crossed my fingers for that to come true!

Monday, June 20, 2005

Playing PorkerInLaw and PorkerBro

We played one set Friday afternoon before the heavens opened up sent a MONSOON rainstorm down upon us. We were tied 3-3, before it began to pour down for the last three games. My brother-in-law was skillfully spiking an tennis ball that came near him. Michael and I had no answer for him, and ended up losing the final three games. I was pissed. I wanted to finish the next two sets in the rainstorm. Regretfully, everyone else had to be pussies and call off the rest of the match because "it was not safe to play anymore. "

On Saturday, my dickhead brother wanted us to just to CONCEDE them the 2nd Tournament victory and for us to call Saturday our 3rd Tournament. I said, "
BULLSHIT! WE ARE NOT FINISHED THE SECOND ONE BITCH!" I was not going down 0-2 in all time games against my twin brother and my brother-in-law.

Michael and I drunk our redbull and ate granola bars to prepare for Saturday's game. We had to be steady and focused. They arrived cocky. My brother in law is short and bald, and had baby blue shorts and a matching shirt. I started laughing and asked him what smurf was he (baldy smurf?). He cringed at the sucker punch and said that his wife (my sister) bought him this heidous outfit and he had no choice but to wear it. HA HA! WUSS!!!!!

Our strategy for the second set was to pick on my brother (without doubt...the worst player out the bunch). It worked brilliantly! We ran his fat ass up and down the court chasing zingers. He was left huffing and puffing at our bullet speed zings. Anytime we had to hit the ball near the brother-in-law, we kept it low or lobbed it over his head so he wouldn't do those dreaded spikes that doomed us the previous day. It was masterful. They were on the ropes. We scored a relatively easy 6-4 triumph!

Our foes regrouped and fleshed out a new strategy for the third set. LITERALLY! They get back on the tennis court and each take off their shirts. Out pops two very large and white pork bellies. Both Michael and I let out a groan. I mutter to Michael, "I THINK I AM NOW OFFICIALLY BLIND!!!!" It was pretty gross: two middle aged white males, two pot bellies, and each with a big fat roll over what used to be a waisteline. Michael swiftly tells me that if I ever get as big as my twin brother (PorkerBro) ... it is D.I.V.O.R.C.E. He is such a Tammy Wynette! After recovering from the Weapons of Fat Destruction, we struggled to position ourselves to be ready for the action. It was all part of their devious plan to win the final battle.

Then comes the second part of their strategy. My brother positions himself right in front of the net (within inches). The brother-in-law (PorkerInLaw) was going to play the entire court. Oh shit! He is a Class A great tennis player. We were in trouble. Michael and I wouldn't have an answer to their sinister Pot Belly and PorkerBro-Hog-the-Net strategies.

Sure enough... their strategy worked flawlessly. Every time we hit the ball, we squinted at the sight of PorkerBro and that huge wall of flabby white flesh bouncing before us. We were down 2-0. We called a time out and huddled.
WE HAVE TO IGNORE THE BELLIES! FOCUS! Sadly for us, PorkerBro got very confident in his role as "Belly Destractor". He confidently spiked every single fucking ball that came near him. He hit it so hard, we couldn't run fast enough to catch the ball after it bounced 50 feet away. We were doomed.

The final death nail was when PorkerInLaw started serving nothing but Aces. We were more than doomed. We were in deep doo doo. Before we could shake a stick, we lost the third and final set 6:1. I was humiliated. The final results of the two day rain postponed tournament was: 3-6, 6-4, 1-6. How could we play so pitifully?! Michael, who is unaccustomed to losing was some pissed! We are strong, athletic, and in-shape gay men! What are we doing losing to fatfuck PorkerBro and smurfy looking PorkerInLaw!?!? MOTHERFUCK!!! To top it off, PorkerInLaw announces that he gives tennis lessons for $25 an hour. Then PorkerBro says, "
We already schooled them. Bye losers". Grrr!!!

Friday, June 17, 2005

Whoop Ass Grudge Match Time!

I am ready to WHOOP ASS!!!! This is the second time that Michael and I will be playing our arch-enemies (my twin brother and our brother-in-law). During the first time, we won the first set, but lost the next two. We were not focused. We started losing when we started bitching at each other's poor play.

Anyone that knows me, has seen that I am one competitive bitch. I LOATHE losing. I go psycho mad when I on the tennis courts and losing. (think John McEnroe) Why can't I stand losing? Losing is for pussies!!!! Whoops... did I say that outloud?

Pardon me. I think my competitiveness actually comes from being a twin. You learn very early on that there are two of you and you have to compete for attention, praise, etc. Plus, my asshole brother loves to announce that he's the "Dominant Twin" each and every time he beats me at anything. Don't hate my brother. When I beat him at anything physical, I loudly proclaim that I was swifter because I carry about 15 pounds less than the FATTER TWIN. I know... we are BOTH horrible!

I have a brand new shiny blue tennis racquet, a COOL Addidas Tennis outfit and brand new Tennis shoes. I AM READY TO RUMBLE!!!! Poor Michael... all the pressure is on him to perform now! (God forbid if we shall go down in flames again.) The only thing left to do is to recount over and over again my Evil Twin's last words as we left the court dejected last time out... "BYE LOSERS". Grrrr....!!!!! PAYBACK TIME BITCH!!!!

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Last Night's Poker Tournament

On a whim, I decided to skip the gym last night and play poker. My twin brother and sister-in-law play poker every Wednesday night with about 30 other people. It costs $20 to buy in for $10,000 worth of poker chips. You can spend an additional $20 to buy another $10,000 worth of poker chips if you go bust before 8:30pm.

This was only my second time playing in this tournament. The last time out, I left with my tail tucked between my legs. I was the FIRST ONE OUT!!!! That is because I was betting with every hand hoping to catch a straight or a flush "on the river". Well, every experienced poker play knows that you have to fold most of your hands. You bet big when you have a great hand like three of a kind, a straight or a flush.

Since there were so many people, they determine seating my picking cards. Everyone that chooses hearts, had to go to the hearts table. Then you were seated at each table based on the value of your card. This is to ensure fairness. I was disappointed that my sister-in-law and my brother were both seated at the Clubs Table, but I had to go to the Hearts Table. Little did I know that I would meet up eventually with my brother in the Champions Table.

Well, I played conservative. If I got a King, 5 or a Queen, 4 even in the same suite I didn't play them. I would throw back that hand. When I had to bet the big blind or the small blind, I would often put enough chips in to at least see the flop (first three cards). Playing conservative helped me. I got aggressive when I got a great hand. That style of play allowed me to muscle EIGHT opponents out the game. They would call "ALL IN". I looked at that paltry chip pile, and like a shark I smelled blood. I called and one-by-one bullied them out the game. I was brilliant!

My biggest pot was getting a Flush (with the Nut) against an opponents hand of Three Jacks. He plopped down $10,000. I'd give him a penetrating gaze and would raise it $10,000 more. He was stunned. He asked if I had been drinking before I came to the poker tournament. I thought about it and said "no... do I look like I had been drinking?" He was sure of a victory. He had no clue what I had. I put another $10,000 in poker chips on the table. He was flinching. He had to play them! He threw in another $10,000 and gave me a menancing look of "What in the hell do you have?" Well, he flipped over his cards and announced he had a set of Jacks. He had three Jacks. His buddies were congratulating him and patting him on the back at the table. He had just took down a newbie! (or so he thought) Not so fast! I HAD HIS ASS NAILED. On the River, I caught the final hearts I needed. I had an Ace of Hearts, King of Hearts, and three other small Hearts. I flipped them over. Everyone stared down at my cards and gasped! My opponent turned red in the face and glared at me from across the table. I had just taken a $60,000 pot! I was the new chip leader. YES!!! I let out a "yelp". My brother glared over from the other table to give me a very clear twin telepathic "DO NOT OUT YOURSELF AND EMBARRASS ME!" I made a mental note of NO MORE YELPS!

As time passed by, more and more people were going "ALL IN" and getting the hell out. My brother even knocked his own wife out the Tournament. BOY WAS SHE PISSED! Ha ha... all is fair in love and war honey! I knocked a few more people out until it was time to seat everyone left at the "Champions Table". This is when I was reunited with my brother. It was a good feeling. I could tell my sister-in-law was so proud of us for going this far. Usually, she is the lucky bitch. She has probably won the whole tournament 6 times to ZERO for us.

At the Champions Table, they announced that the pot was over $700. We all agreed that everyone now sitting at the table should get $50 from the pot. Whew! That meant that no matter what, I was leaving with my $20 buy-in back and a profit of $30. WOOHOO!

My brother was sitting across the table from me The other two opponents were also brothers. So, it was 2 brothers versus 2 brothers. Strangely, my brother and I never raised or went against each other. When I would fold, he would play and vice versa. The table action was intense. Since it was already late at night, they raised the blinds to $20,000 and $10,000. When it was your turn to bet the blind, you had to almost go ahead and play any hand. Talk about terrifying!

I ended my miraculous run by knocking out two very good players. They each held an Ace and a King, but that proved to be the kiss of death. I would have a measly pair, but each one was sufficient enough to knock each of them out. They would run the cards and nothing but trash was flopped. Their Ace and King was useless! Ha! They were stunned. This newbie bitch is formidably taking everyone down! My sister-in-law smiled at me. She was so proud of her gay brother-in-law for locking horns with these card sharks and coming this far.

In the end, I came in 4th and my brother dropped out shortly after for 3rd. I got to take home $50 for 4th place, and he took home $150 for 3rd place. Woohoo! What a way to end my birthday!

Wednesday, June 15, 2005


Where have all the years gone?! I am losing MY BEAUTY!

Take Me Out to the Pasture and Shoot Me...

Today is my 35th birthday. I have been cringing every single fucking day that has been leading up to this most dark and depressing of days. I am now at the halfway point to 40! Take my tired old ass out in the pasture and just shoot me!

In the last two weeks, I have gone through a mid-life crises routine. I have hemmed and hawed about whether I should trim or shave my chest hair for the first time in my life. I have bought plenty Aveda products to exfoliate and infuse radiance into my skin, spent a pretty penny on a shiny new tennis racquet, bought two fab Addidas tennis shirts and shorts, bought two pairs of sporty shoes, bought some new shades and bought four pairs of fancy boxer underwear. Isn't this what men do when they suddenly start to feel that creeping feeling of time passing them by?

Now, this morning has been a complete 360 degrees turn. I get into work crabby. I am the only one here at 7am. (as usual) I am milling about in a bad attitude. I don't want to be 35 dammit! Yesterday, I tried to get sympathy from an AOL friend and he turned a deaf ear to me! He told me to look at it this way: the alternative to not having another birthday is to be dead. I should have known not to complain to an old queen! Excuse me... a mature gay male. I was like "hmmm... you are probably right". But that wasn't what I was hoping to hear.

Then I get a late night call from Steve from Wisconsin. That bitch is older than me and was laughing his ass off about my negative attitude about being midway to 40! Of course, this is the friend that gave me a drag name of "Despirina" one year while we were in Las Vegas. He claimed there was a photographer there for the "Blackjack Bears Weekend" and that I was trying to get into every shot. His proof was that there was three full pictures of me on their website and only one half of him. Isn't it plausable that the reason I was in three full pictures because I was one of the prettier YOUNG ones? And not because I was Despirina the DESPERATE gay man? Damn you Steve from Wisconsin. You just made me go off on a tangent.

Back to my favorite subject -- ME. Here I was this morning feeling sorry for my old tired ass, when I opened my AOL mailbox. Wow, a few emails from buddies wishing me a happy birthday. I actually had a smile on my face when I saw the emails resting there in my inbox. Wow... what is coming over me? The clouds of doom and gloom lifted over my head and vanished as my spirit suddenly got joyful. My friend Toby sent me this hilarious E-Card that had me rolling with laughter. It brought tears to my eyes and actually lifted my spirits. Then I got emails from long lost (but never forgotten) friends that I haven't heard from in some time. Awww.... you guys are the greatest! As I was writing this blogpost, I got a call from Tim in Houston (Tennis Coach) wishing me a Happy Birthday.

On what has been billed as the World's Most Depressing Day, you guys have sure turned it around for me. I understand now. Especially as a gay man, every year is special, and every friend you have that remembers your birthday is something to be very thankful of. THANK YOU GUYS!

Tuesday, June 14, 2005


Where's Charlie?

Where's Charlie?

I wrote a blog post in April 2005 titled "What is a friend?" about a guy from Atlanta that goes by "Charlie". It was the third time he was in the same town I was in, we were going to meet, but ultimately he wouldn't show up. I have a forgiving nature, because I was raised Catholic, but SON OF A BITCH! I was ready to rip his head off after being duped the third time! I left him a GO-TO-HELL email and a I-AM-SO-DISAPPOINTED-IN-YOU phone message after the weekend came and gone and there was no Charlie.

Today is June 14th. Do you know I still have not heard from the guy? Wouldn't a guy with some kind of conscious want to right a wrong at some point? I have heard zip, nadda, nothing from Charlie. And this guy would call me out the blue just about every couple weeks to say "hi" and tell me how much he looked forward to finally meeting me when he gets to town. We used to exchange long emails to each other writing about what was going on in our professional and personal lives. I felt like I really had a true friendship with this guy. When we would finally meet, our friendship would get even stronger. Ha!

My hunch is that Charlie is a much older man than he portrayed. In fact, I don't even think any of the pictures he ever sent me were REALLY him. Why do I think this? Well, I remember seeing a much older man at the Pub in New Orleans the last day I was going to meet Charlie. Old men do NOT go to the Bourbon Pub. That bar is known for the young and most beautiful. The old people tend to hang out at Lafittes or the Phoenix. The "average joes" tend to go to "Goodfriends" on St. Ann.

I had just left Charlie a message that I was very disappointed that I have not met him yet and that I was strongly suspicious that I will now not meet him. As we crossed paths at the Bourbon Pub, the man seemed to have tears in his eyes and looked at me with an intense gaze. I remember a weird tingling sensation when I caught his gaze. Like some event had just happened! I can still remember that man. I really do think that was Charlie. Why didn't he come up to me? I could have excused him sending someone else's pictures. It is shitty to misrepresent yourself, but the bigger picture was unforgivable. He made plans to meet up three times, and failed on those promises each and every time.

So, where's Charlie? Should I just forget about him and chalk him up as another undependable gay man? Or should I put together all the clues I know about him and track him down? Hmm... what should I do?


My favorite bumper sticker...considering all the Christian radio stations we have in S. Louisiana and the mentality of "If you are not a Dubya supporter, you are not Christian".

Who I am voting for!

A timeless classic.

Pissing off the Dubya Faithful with Bumper Stickers!

I went ahead and ordered my latest form of political protest for my Nissan Pathfinder. The bumper stickers above this article will adorn my Nissan Pathfinder. I ordered it from cafepress.com, which has some really cool and funny bumperstickers. I encourage you all to look at that site. I am from politically corrupt Louisiana, but I do not get any kickbacks from it. I just want to give them credit. I plan on putting "No W" on my left rear windshield, "Hillary 2008" right beneath it, and the "Pray For Impeachment" by itself all the way on the right hand side of my rear windshield.

I just love driving past those "W" toting dumbasses in Louisiana. They speed up and look to see what kind of person would DARE defy their God that is Dubya the Moron. It is so funny, they give me the finger or have some twisted evil look on their faces. And it is always the same demographic: Dumb White Male. He is typically not college educated and has a big truck (to compensate for his small dick size) adorned with a "W" sticker, Ducks Unlimited logo or a fishing bumper sticker. All the chemical plants are closing down and laying off massively because of the high cost of natural gas these plants need to run. Now, everyone knows Dubya is the cause of the high gas prices because of the military operations against Iraq. Yet, they still worship their Moronic Leader... the great almighty "W".

Any of you want a good laugh? I nearly fell out of my chair reading this board: GOPUSA. Who in the hell are these people? Every post on that message board is a fucking riot! These white people are so clueless and so brainwashed. Scarey!. Do these people have a mind of their own? I had an eery feeling they act and talk like the same very people from the movie "The Truman Show".TRUMAN SHOW .That is the GOP folks. They are scarey white Christians. I totally commend Howard Dean for having the balls to call out what is so obvious.
I'll let you know how much it infuriates these dumbass rednecks in Louisiana in the coming weeks. ;)

Monday, June 13, 2005

Wisdom gained...

I haven't been feeling #1 or even like I was cracking the Top 10. But after this weekend, I had a totally new awareness about myself. Thanks guys in Houston for the warm reception your town gave me.

Friday, June 10, 2005


I have those pre-flight J I T T E R S!

Thursday, June 09, 2005

Farewell Post (I am flying on a plane tomorrow)

Many of you have had to endure a personalized email from me prior to any flight on that scary mechanical beast they call a plane. Yes, I am scared of flying. Some of you poor blokes have received as many as 20 Farewell Emails through the years from me! You think I am kidding??? Ask them!

I have a total love and adoration for all of my dear friends. Through thick and thin, you have shared my ups and downs. You have supported that thing that is "BRETT"... as messy as that may be sometimes. You have embraced my motto of "I just want to be ME". I put all of you through the ringer at some point or another. The strong ones survive. You tolerate my uncanny ability to wear ALL of my feelings on my sleeves. If I am pissed off with you, you know it on the spot. If I love you to death, you know that too! I am not one of those passive aggressive bitches. I give my love or take it away in REAL TIME. I just want to let you know one thing: I am very thankful for each and everyone of my friendships.

So before I perish in a fiery plane crash, I would like to go over a few things with you guys:

My Will:

Before you run over each other looking for the will, I am afraid to say that this is one broke-ass coonass! I regret to inform you all that I probably will not have any money to leave my dearest of friends. I have just enough to get buried and have a nice funeral. Yes, all of you bastards best be at my funeral! I want something akin to Eva Peron's funeral. A song like "Don't Cry for me Argentina" would be very appropriate. Please show up in your finest clothes, dust off your minks and be newly coifed. If there are any additional funds left over... please use them to take care of Daddy's cherished children... Boudreaux and Pierre. Please see to it that they are not separated. This is very important. They are brothers and have always been together. Please make sure they recieve plenty of loving, go on adventurous walks, and get plenty attention. For my funeral, I would request that they be groom at Petsmart in Baton Rouge. They have done the best job grooming my little angels. That white trailer trash outfit in my hometown always nicks my babies up and puts this scarf around them that is DOWNRIGHT TACKY!

If they can recover my dead body from the wreckage, and I don't look like dog chow, please let my babies see my dead body and observe a moment of silence. If Boudreaux and Pierre want to get their last licks in... please allow it. Bringing them to the funeral would be very important to me, as I would hate for them to think I ran off like a deadbeat Daddy. If the church's graveyard policy would allow my dogs to be buried next to me in the future...please see that it is done. In the meantime, please make sure those rugrats are taken care of. I have truly appreciated the unconditional love they have given me all these years. I love them with all my heart!

THINGS FOR FRIENDS TO DO:

Have a get-together to reminisce about old Brett. At this get-together, may I suggest the following:

1. Play all 12 music videos I have personally recorded at the Luxor in Las Vegas. Pick out the best ones. Play them at the Bourbon Pub (New Orleans) for good laughs. Now for those of you who haven't had the pleasure of seeing or hearing my music videos, you are in for gut busting riotous laughter. I must say that I do look HOT, but I am the most TONE DEAF motherfucker on the planet!

2. Share you favorite Brett moment. Topics may include: the most outrageous thing Brett has ever done, the worst thing Brett ever done, the moment each and every one of you could have just slugged him one, the moment Brett did something really nice for you, or what you'll miss about old Brett.

3. Collect all the very adult rated webcam pics you have of Brett. Pick out the trashiest one, the best ones, the worst ones. Talk about how many of those damn pics I pushed on all of you poor souls through the years.

4. Contact my family. Share the stories of Brett they have probably never heard. I am the black sheep of my family. I know I have done a lot they have no clue about. Share with them the Brett you guys know.

5. Make sure Boudreaux and Pierre go to a good home. I would prefer my dogs to go to a close friend of mine that will take care of them. For those who are not going to keep them, please visit them from time to time as I am sure they would love to see old friends of mine.

Final Words:

Goodbye my friends. If I have perished, please know that I love each and every one of you. All of you have brought me such happiness and joy. I went through most of my childhood with no friends. The fact that I have so many friends now, brings me nothing but happiness. That is why I hold onto you guys so tightly. You mean the world to me. Take care. Be good. And please... look after my Dachshunds. ;)

Tuesday, June 07, 2005

God has a wonderful sense of humor...

Looking back at what I have gone through in life and the decisions I have made, I can only conclude that God has a wonderful sense of humor. I had a five year relationship with a guy that adored me. Everyday of that five year relationship, I felt showered with love and adoration. I would walk in the door, and my partner would tell me how special I was to him and how lucky he was to have me. I always felt loved. This was my letter to Dan Savage (on gay.com) three years ago. It perfectly gives you a peak into what I was thinking at the time in that relationship. Dan Savage Letter

As you can see from that letter to Dan Savage, I didn't want to have any regrets when I was 60 years old. I wanted to live life to the fullest. I wanted more out of life. God gave me this wonderful miracle of life. One sperm raced against the billions of others and was the first to fertilize an egg. That single fertilized egg split into two genetically identical parts. I was born an identical twin. Against so many odds... the Brett that so many of you know so well... was born! Now mind you, some of you equate this to being a terrible thing. It really depends on your moral code I suppose. Anyway, I ended up ultimately stepping out of the relationship out of sheer boredom.

Well, this is where God's humor comes into play. I ended up getting another "Brett" x 5 and he ended up getting another "Tommy" x 5. So, now I know what it is like to deal with another me, and similiarly he is dealing with another Tommy. What a wonderful lesson God is teaching us right now!

Thursday, June 02, 2005

W.M.D.D.

Where: New Orleans. May 29th. Upstairs at Lafittes in Exile.

Scenario: Five fun loving guys get buzzed and start being cavaliar in our drunken state.

What Happened: An ATTENTION WHORE (hmmm.... who could that be?) takes off shirt. Unbuttons a few buttons. Poses for the cameras. Gets plenty attention. A bodybuilder couple (WOOF!) comes up and congratulates the Attention Whore for the fun photo op and the zaniness of it all. Ex gets tired of it and explodes. Runs downstairs and finds the new boyfriend. Confronts new boyfriend. Ex ressurects Scarlet O'Hara's spirit and shrieks in her most southern accent... "I am so glad he is YOUR Whore-a (spelled exactly as said) now!" Storms out.

Get to a restaurant in the French Quarter known for it's fried chicken. We have to wait outside for a table. The Brother of my boyfriend insists on having the premier table next to the window. He ignores the waiters plea to please wait outside, and stares at the table that he so covets. Waiter pleads for us to go get our friend because he was scaring the customers. He doesn't listen to us. My boyfriend is useless in reigning in brother because he is very subdued by his drunken state. The patrons at the table finally leave.

Waiter doesn't like us by now. He gives shitty service. Mark asks three times for an ice tea refill, but he never gets it. So, he takes it upon himself to get up and carry his own glass for someone... anyone... to refill his tea. Waiter is embarassed by Mark's assertiveness. He rushes to the table and brings Mark's "Damned Ice Tea". Oh... did he bring it! He slams down an ice tea and the brown colored drink shoots up from the glass onto the table, on Mark and on Steve. Oh shit! The SHIT HITS THE FAN!

Mark immediately asks for the waiter's name and his managers name. He demands to see the manager right away. Every table near us is watching the drama unfold! Steve and I are ready to crawl under the table. My boyfriend is still useless. His brother is egging on the angry mob at the table to hate the waiter. Mark's boyfriend is upset that his honey is mad as hell. The manager is useless and thinks it is all just a slight misunderstanding.

From that point on, we get our food delivered and no other service. The waiter is avoiding us like the plague. He must surely hear that the angry table mob is plotting to not tip him. Mark's boyfriend treats us all to our delicious meal and DARES any of us to leave a tip. I am cringing! I always leave SOMETHING even if the food was bad or if the service is shotty. Mark's boyfriend is a big musclebear. I dare not anger the mighty musclebear! We leave the restaurant and I announce that I am too embarrassed to ever set foot in that restaurant EVER AGAIN!

Conclusion: My friend Steve and I declare the day "W.M.D.D." The Worlds Most Dramatic Day!

Gang of Drunkards!

Me hugging yet another victim.

Poor Mark