Why doesn't the peanut butter in Reese's Pieces taste the same as the peanut butter in Reese's Peanut Butter Cups? These are the things that keep me up at night. Well, not really. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper.
I'm supposed to write a composition for a Spanish class. In this composition, I am accused of a crime and I am to plead my innocence. I can't decide if I want to accuse myself of imaginary boy fondling on the Metrorail or imaginary shoplifting. I think I'll go with shoplifting. My professor's a grad student, and he's pretty cute. I don't want him to think I'm some kind of pervert.
I am writing this entry as an excuse to post this image:
First Steven starts promoting "wear red on Friday if you think Bush sucks." Now I have to find someone to fuck up the ass on Friday, thanks to Fleshbot. Who wants an assfucking? And a pre-fucking enema? Come on, don't look at me like that. The enema is not fun, maybe, but I'm not fucking you up the ass if your-- Okay, I'm cutting that sentence right there. I was thisclose to typing the words "Hershey" and "highway," and that shit is not right.
Ha ha. That "shit" is not right.
I ought to be shot for that.
I didn't fuck anyone up the ass last night. Instead, I just made out with an assfucker and his boyfriend in the barroom area of Soho Lounge, the part with the dimly-lit booths. And it was AWESOME. I am only having sex with gay men from now on. Yes, I suppose that makes them less gay if they are willing to have sex with me, but who cares. If my friend can jack off to fantasies about Seth Green and tell me he's still 100% straight, then I can have sex with gay men, and they will still be gay when I'm done with them.
I have a date with Pervy Chef tonight. He's being a gentleman, but I know he's a perv. It's okay. I used to read the personal ads of the Miami New Times as an adolescent. Is he the guy that ran an ad in 1997, looking for a girl whose head he could shave, who he could walk around on a leash and verbally abuse? It is possible. And I still don't know the difference between an executive chef and a regular chef. I should ask, seeing as how it will be our fourth date. And I should probably ask if it's okay if I make out with homos. I won't stop making out with Byron, my best friend, AND I have another pair of gay boys waiting in the wings? Sometimes I feel like the luckiest (sluttiest) girl on earth.
Damn. I'm kind of a whore. I didn't expect this journal entry to go here. It started with the Great Peanut Butter Mystery, and it ended here. Sorry, folks.
I'm supposed to write a composition for a Spanish class. In this composition, I am accused of a crime and I am to plead my innocence. I can't decide if I want to accuse myself of imaginary boy fondling on the Metrorail or imaginary shoplifting. I think I'll go with shoplifting. My professor's a grad student, and he's pretty cute. I don't want him to think I'm some kind of pervert.
I am writing this entry as an excuse to post this image:
First Steven starts promoting "wear red on Friday if you think Bush sucks." Now I have to find someone to fuck up the ass on Friday, thanks to Fleshbot. Who wants an assfucking? And a pre-fucking enema? Come on, don't look at me like that. The enema is not fun, maybe, but I'm not fucking you up the ass if your-- Okay, I'm cutting that sentence right there. I was thisclose to typing the words "Hershey" and "highway," and that shit is not right.
Ha ha. That "shit" is not right.
I ought to be shot for that.
I didn't fuck anyone up the ass last night. Instead, I just made out with an assfucker and his boyfriend in the barroom area of Soho Lounge, the part with the dimly-lit booths. And it was AWESOME. I am only having sex with gay men from now on. Yes, I suppose that makes them less gay if they are willing to have sex with me, but who cares. If my friend can jack off to fantasies about Seth Green and tell me he's still 100% straight, then I can have sex with gay men, and they will still be gay when I'm done with them.
I have a date with Pervy Chef tonight. He's being a gentleman, but I know he's a perv. It's okay. I used to read the personal ads of the Miami New Times as an adolescent. Is he the guy that ran an ad in 1997, looking for a girl whose head he could shave, who he could walk around on a leash and verbally abuse? It is possible. And I still don't know the difference between an executive chef and a regular chef. I should ask, seeing as how it will be our fourth date. And I should probably ask if it's okay if I make out with homos. I won't stop making out with Byron, my best friend, AND I have another pair of gay boys waiting in the wings? Sometimes I feel like the luckiest (sluttiest) girl on earth.
Damn. I'm kind of a whore. I didn't expect this journal entry to go here. It started with the Great Peanut Butter Mystery, and it ended here. Sorry, folks.
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I wonder if the sex with gays would translate to lesbians. Probably not for me. Alas