"The hustle of the streets was hard, but I took them away from all that;
they call me Harley, and I call them HARLEY'S ANGELS."

directed by: Arch Brown (1980)
Jayson MacBride, Justin Thyme, and Ken Darrell; plus Harry Hover, Jesse St James, Jonathon West, and Webb Steel.

Three weeks ago I last saw the mourning dove chicks in their nest. It was a Monday, beautiful day, and I managed to take a bunch of photos of the pair, and even some with one of the parents in the nest with them. But the next morning, I awoke around 8 a.m., and they were gone. No sign of them, neither parent in the nest, either. I crawled back into bed, rather sad. They were probably ok, and I figured I was just sad cuz I'd miss my routine of checking up on them, watching them, seeing them either stay perfectly still hoping I wouldn't bother them, or spread their wings and try to look threatening. But then one of the parents returned to the nest, fussy-ing around, and making noises. The other parent returned, and they both stayed for a while. Then the winds picked up, and soon the predicted snow began to fall. Both parents left, but throughout the day, each returned and sat in the nest for a while, as if they were taking turns looking out for the kids.

I had been emailing daily pics to a pal of mine who took great interest in the doves. This is the third year they've nested here, and the previous two ended in tragedy - the chicks, definitely too young for flight, were simply missing early one morning, either from falling out of the nest, or from that crow that lurked in the garden below. He half-jokingly threatened to stake out in my apartment this year to protect them from the crow. But meanwhile, he had been in contact with some "urban bird" website folks, who told him there really wasn't much he could do about the predators, and should just let nature take its course. He also forwarded them the pics I sent. So the day after the birds disappearance, he emailed asking how they were, and I had to confess I didn't know, and that they were gone. The "urban bird" folks assured us that they seemed ready for "fledging" but I just wasn't content with that info - I still worried that these two chicks hadn't made it.

But the bird folks told us that often the parents will return to the nest, and sometimes even the chicks would for roosting. I watched each day, and almost everyday would see one or both parents. I would even hear what sounded like the chirpings of the younger ones, without seeing them (a sort of weak, shorter version of the mourning dove's typical cry). One morning, eight days later, hearing noises, I carefully peaked out the window. I saw two doves in the nest, one clearly younger - who, seeing me, flew off to the fire escape above to join the other parent. Too fast for picture-taking, but at least I could finally relax.

I wonder if I'm the only guy who was disappointed to learn this was a kayaking event?

It was several hours after arriving that I finally opened one of the boxes. The aroma of old pencils filled the air as the last bit of packing tape was removed. I knew I would be transported back in time, but I was unprepared for this. My Mom had sent me two boxes of miscellaneous stuff - old things of mine from when I was still living with them (20+ years ago) and stuff from my Dad, who died 10 years ago. This box was mostly his stuff, stuff I had asked for in case she ever wanted/needed the room. His tools from his years as an architect - which of course meant lots of old pencils. And that's what hit me, suddenly I was maybe 10 years old, Dad in the den drawing, and me just standing behind watching. The den filled with cigarette smoke, canisters full of pencils, brushes he had to wipe away eraser dust.

I put the box aside for more than a week, but began digging thru the other one last night. This one had more of my stuff, which included a bag of old letters from my college years. Re-reading some of this was fun, and yet much more heart-wrenching than I had imagined. I'm in touch with none of these folks, despite those strong emotions we expressed so freely by mail. A huge surprise was the handful of what can only be viewed as my first love letters. It's not that I had forgotten the furry young man (his friends called us the "two monkeys"), it's just that I hadn't remembered that after I left school for the summer, he sent love notes! I've put them back away, so no quotes for the time being, but his mispellings, and the hetero Hallmark cards that he sent (there weren't exactly any boy-boy cards available in Mobile, Alabama) were quite sweet, and I feel bad that their existance had completed escaped me.

Anyway, as you can see above, my taste in music was still, um, "forming" - first concert, 1976 at the age of 15, Elton John. Egad!

need2bnailed

did I mention that even though I shipped off about 10 free pornotapes this week, I found some more? Scroll down to find whatever-the-hell instructions I gave to get some free porno for yourself.

Killing Me Softly

"a powerful story of love and destruction"

directed by: Francis Ellie (1978?)
Starring: Jack Wrangler, Stan Richards, David King, Guiseppe Welsh, and John Kovacs. With Kurt Mann, Adam Dehaven, Lance Prentis, Snapper Foster and Derek Thurston.

Jack Wrangler discovers that his new lover, Stan Richards, is a serial killer! Apparently he has an "uncontrollable need to kill in order to have an orgasm". Of course, Jack is torn between continuing the relationship and risking death (it's just so friggin' hard to find a top in NYC) or turning in his new lover. Highlights include sex (and murder) on the West Side Piers and the Brooklyn Bridge. Over the top generic musical soundtrack is a hallmark of Francis Ellie's films.

OK. bits of details are coming back to me. The oddest part is realizing, after being awake for several hours, that the pajama bottoms I'm wearing have a big hole - a split at the butt-seam. I mean, it's perfect for... well, anyway, I haven't a clue how it happened. I know I came home alone. I know I woke up alone, and I know this rip wasn't there the day before when I wore them. Back to my night out. I mentioned to the delivery guy at work, the one who works with me til the end of the shift, that I had wanted to go out for a couple beers, but the rain was discouraging me. But, at midnight, as I am counting out, his says it stopped raining, and asked if I was still going. He wound up coming with me, and although I didn't say explicitly it was a gay bar, he must've known that. (He's married, a couple of kids) So I basically hung out with him for the first 3 beers, talked about work, his kids, he liked the music, the cheap beer, and we both admired a few tattoos. He left, I stayed in the same spot, the crowd was thinning. Finished up the 3rd beer, and it was either grab another, or go home. So I go the bar, grab a stool, order my 4th. I happen to be next to the DJ, and his computer. A different guy comes up, seems to take control, and the music improves. Couldn't tell you who the music was by, it was just good, late night, real instruments with good rhythms, making me tap my feet, etc. I got up to go the bathroom, its a teeny tiny space with two urinals, and the tiny stall just past the urinals. Do my business, make sure both balls are still there, then turn to leave. But there's a guy at the urinal, who smiles and says "hey man" and I return the greeting as I pass by, wash up, and leave. Turns out to be one of the DJ's, the handsomer one. I kinda regret not saying more than "hey man" back, and I can't go talk to him now, cuz DJ's, bartenders, etc., are supposed to be nice to you, so if he's nice, I wont know if its professional nice, or nice guy nice, or interested nice. So I stay in my seat, continue enjoying the music, the vibe, the crowd getting thinner. I hear the bartender/manager say to the DJ's something about they can wrap it up, and some god-awful song, CONVOY, is played. I cant help laughing, but not in that "isn't this kitschy" laugh, but more in the "isn't this awful" laugh, then head back to the bathroom (I'm on beer #5 at this point.) When I come back, I see someone I know talking to the DJ's, so I say to him, but loud enough for them to hear "I guess they want us to leave, this is awful" and he smiles. A few minutes later, after they've packed, the guy I know asks them if they are boyfriends. The handsomer one (Urinal Guy) says nothing, and the other says, "Well, we are boys, and we are friends, but..." Again I think maybe I shoulda been friendlier in the bathroom. But a few seconds later, they are saying their goodbyes, and Urinal Guy says to me, as he reaches to shake my hand, "Hey we haven't met, thanks for coming, maybe you'll come back" I stammer something about "you said hello in the bathroom" he looks puzzled, smiles, and they both get going. Nice smile. Big Boy. Maybe I'll go back.

hungover.

5 pints of beer is a lot for 140-lb me. 3 aspirin, one orange juice, and on my second cup of coffee, the temptation to crawl back into bed is great. but I had fun; music was sometimes awful, but mostly decent, and sometimes amazing - and it was good to see a crowd of scruffy friendly guys. I've always enjoyed weeknight going out, so I must do it again soon.

• Currently listening to: Ali Farka Toure
  
• Currently hating: Gov. Mitt Romney (btw - who the hell voted for this guy? his name is Mitt? MITT?)
  
• Currently enjoying: cool postcard from PermaBulge in Rome; porno request emails from Idaho, France, Iowa, and other exotic places; internet service that hasn't died in the past 40 minutes
• Currently considering: breaking my fast and going out after work and drinking - where's the cheap beer (and men) in the East Village on tuesdays?

OK, due to my "connectivity issues" (no, that's not a euphemism for my inability to attract the interest of a single member of the gay male population of Lower Manhattan - I'm talking about my interent connection coming and going for a full week now), and what appears to be problems with my web hosting service (I love DREAMHOST, I hope this morning's problems were just temporary), I need to make this a quick one. Who wants free porno? Well, yeah, everyone does. Here's the deal: I'm trying to clear out more room once again, and have some duped gay porno tapes of varying quality that I just can't bare (bear?) to toss in the garbage. But they gotta go. So email if interested in grabbing a tape or two. So what's the catch? Besides expressing your undying love, desire, and admiration for my wit and intellect (can you tell I've only had coffee all day long?), you'll have to be an adult (21+) resident of the good ol' U S of A, send me your mailing address, and be patient with me using the cheaper Media Mail. Oh yeah, I also have some unsellable porno magazines, too. You know, torn or missing pages, or yucky twink-type hairless skinny types from Unzipped magazine or the like. I kept promising myself to learn decoupage and use the pics for cool art objects that I'd create, but hell, who am I kidding? I'm lazy and only interested in sticking things in my mouth, not in getting my hands full of paste and scissors.

As the words I need sex got typed here yesterday morning, of course that put the whammy on it. Oh well.

i need to get sex this weekend

call me Mr. Chairface

gulp. If he's face sitting, I don't need a silly test to tell me what I'm doing!

home movies are hard

I found this sorting thru some old videotapes - from back when I wanted to be a film maker (stop laughing)

I can' t imagine why you'd want to, but just in case - download and save for later here)

Name: Erik
Location: Minneapolis, MN
Gender: Male
Marital Status: Not married. 47 6'4.5" 205 musc
Hobbies & Interests: Getting and giving good old fashioned over the knee bare bottom spankings. Making young guys kick and cry as I spank their cute bottoms. No face pic - if u ask for one before reading this profile, you're lazy and deserve a spanking.

You'd think the problem I have with this profile is either the spanking thing, or the no face pic thing. Nope. I just wanna know why if you are over 6 feet tall, you gotta include that extra 1/2 inch? I mean, to those of us (nearly) 5'8", there is no difference between 6'4" and 6'5". You're really really tall, and I doubt I'd have to bend or kneel to lick your balls.

Bill Ward

Do not adjust your TV set. Still gay; still porno-crazed; still rambling; definately not straight - not even curious. BUT - I am selling these two Command Books which have some cool - if hard to look at cuz it's got all this nakedy woman-y stuff - Bill Ward illustrations. I was only familiar with his name cuz he did a comic for Drummer magazine - entitled DRUM. But apparently the guy's been doing his thing for decades! Seeing these, I never would have imagined he'd done "pin-up" style illustrations in the 50's - but here ya go - The Glamour Girls of Bill Ward. Funny, I was searching GOOGLE for the name "Bill Ward" but then narrowed my search to find the gay stuff - so I used "BILL WARD + DRUMMER" - not realizing there's some Black Sabbath guy with the same name. Scarier than the str8-sex-pics! Anyhoo --- here's more samples, and a pic of the artist himself.

Now that Andy lives under the Queensboro Bridge, I wonder if he'd like to borrow my troll cap?

grrrrrrrr! Ever have an internet/computer problem, call for help, wait on hold forever, you're on your 2nd technician and you hear the dreaded "I'm sorry there's nothing more I can do for you, you'll have to call Microsoft or Gateway," then the 15-year-old girl at Gateway informs you that you'll need your System Restoration CD so you can reinstall Wndows 98, but you'll lose everything on your computer?

Somehow I managed to find a phone number for a guy I knew a couple of years ago who helped me thru a similar crisis. He answered on the 2nd ring, and is such a tech-geek that he immediately was asking all the right questions with only a couple of seconds on the "how've you beens" But, alas, after 6 hours with no internet connection, and 2 hours of him toiling away at my P.C. yesterday afternoon, and what seemed like a big fix without the dreaded hours and hours of saving files - this morning I'm starting to see similar intermittant connectivity with my Road Runner internet connection. Rats! Something about my tcp IP stack being corrupt - and then I coudn't find this file - "secur32.dll" - this is the part that doesn't make sense. Ok, a file is corrupt, another one isn't found - why can't I just lift/copy the two from my Windows disc, and not have to erase my whole hard drive and start all over from scratch?

you can prick your finger, but don't finger your prick

This post from bentkid reminded me of my favorite George Carlin routine. I was a kid (11) when the album came out, and remember my parents buying the album, but only letting us listen to part of it. My older brother (15 or 16 at the time) begged and begged to hear the whole thing, and was allowed to take it into his room later that night only after swearing he wouldn't let the rest of us hear it. I was too good of a kid - it never occured to me to even try to get a hold of it until years later when I was in college. Here's the clip of Seven Words You Can Never Say on Television.

unpleasant, uncouth, and tawdry

"Many of the photographs were of nude male models, usually posed with some object in front of their genitals . . .; a number were of nude or partially nude males with emphasis on their bare buttocks . . . . Although none of the pictures directly exposed the model's genitals, some showed his pubic hair and others suggested what appeared to be a semi-erect penis . . .; others showed male models reclining with their legs (and sometimes their arms as well) spread wide apart . . . . Many of the pictures showed models wearing only loin cloths, `V gowns,' or posing straps . . .; some showed the model apparently removing his clothing . . . . Two of the magazines had pictures of pairs of models posed together suggestively . . .

Each of the magazines contained photographs of models with swords or other long pointed objects . . . . The magazines also contained photographs of virtually nude models wearing only shoes, boots, helmets or leather jackets . . . . There were also pictures of models posed with chains or of one model beating another while a third held his face in his hands as if weeping....

Our own independent examination of the magazines leads us to conclude that the most that can be said of them is that they are dismally unpleasant, uncouth, and tawdry. But this is not enough to make them 'obscene.'"

What a job! Yup, another Friday night reading old Supreme Court cases on line. (Uncouth?? - wtf?) It's fun to sift thru these things, and then wonder about the stuff that's not in there. This one had a favorable decision, allowing the bare buttocks and barely covered genitals that were "deliberately planned .. (to) appeal to the male homosexual audience" to continue to be sent thru the U.S. mail, but most puzzling to me is that it's a 6-1 decision (remember, there are 9 seats on the Court). So what reason did Frankfurter and White have for not participating in this case? And what happened to the copies of MANual that were at issue here? (My money's on Byron "Whizzer" White)

BAT DUDE AND THROBBIN

"Cum Crazed Criminals!"

directed by: Ansel Rainier and Vincent DePaul (1989)
Starring: Beau Beaumont (Batdude), Kevin Young (Throbbin), Danny Bliss (bar pickup), Ken Bower (The Poker), Mitchell Cook (Alley Hangout), Eric Degiorgio (chained slave), Marc Peugeot (Sugar Kane), Robert Reyn (The Peeper), Frank Strong (The French Tickler) , Manuel Javier Gomez (Mountain Captive).

Oh gosh, what to say? It's hard to tell if Beau Beaumont is doing a great job being bad, or just plain bad. And then there's the age-old porn problem - letting the actors speak. The "Peeper" has such a thick accent, it definately adds to the fun.

Who wants to see a clip from Beau Beaumont's best movie - the 1989 "classic" BAT DUDE AND THROBIN?

(Yeah, I know I already did that in 2002, but most of you weren't reading this page back then; besides, it's an auction tie-in.)

I don't think I'd ever fall for a straight guy, but everytime I listen to one of the two Yo La Tengo CD's I have, I am so impressed by the guy's sweet, vulnerable singing, that I realize that it's possible. Of course, to keep the fantasy going, to allow me to have these thoughts each time I listen to their music, I have to make sure never to look for specific pictures, or even to find out the band member's name who whispers Tears Are In Your Eyes and Don't Have To Be So Sad. But some of the music is so intimate, so beautiful, that I can imagine this guy waking up beside me in bed, in the early morning hours before the sun comes up, seeing me awake, worried, insecure, and whispering sweet little reassurances.

scroll over my body

I should be doing other things, but a link from an AOL chat profile brought me to this guy's site with a cheesy mouseover thingee (sorry for being so technical). I suppose I am only making fun of him because he is self-described as "naturally masculine and sexy", - and it took years of post-graduate work for me to get my maculinity. Jealousy isn't pretty, is it?

I'm sure I'm not the first person who's been mindlessly trolling the AOL chatrooms with the TV on in the background, then turned abruptly to the TV when I thought I heard a M4M-sounding theme, to see it's only a slogan for a fast-food chain.

I've been trying to spare y'all the dozens of snapshots I've taken each day of the mourning doves nesting on my window sill - but this one is my current favorite - I took it yesterday morning before work. I can hear them flapping their wings, and I know they'll be gone soon. But I have to say it's one of the best ways to begin the spring, these two new cute little bits of life right outside my bedroom (not to mention the dedicated parents, who take turns chick-sitting, and who've returned to my window sill for the third year in a row so far.).

love at the post office

As I am putting the kickstand down on my bike in the little lobby of the 3rd st. post office, I see a guy with a big box behind me. I start to open the door for him, but he insists he has it. When I try to let him go ahead of me thru the 2nd door, he gestures for me to go first. Tall, bearded, handsome. I love him. I get in postition in line, and turn sideways, nonchalantly looking back towards him. His profile as beautiful as his , uh, frontview(?), I try not to stare. I notice another man come in, stand right behind him, and ask the guy "want me to wait with you?" Not quite as handsome, but still a good-looking man; he glances in my direction as his pal says "Naw, I'm fine by myself, catch up with you later." A slight frown as he leaves his box on the ground, and walks out. Meanwhile, my guy is so purposefully not looking in my direction, his love for me becomes obvious. It's my turn at the window, as I walk up to the window I try to make eyecontact but as he stares intently down at his package, I realize I should let him be. I finish up my business at the window - meanwhile he's advanced to the other window - I turn to get one more look at his fuzzy face, denim-covered lower half, purposefully expressionless expression that screams "I Want You" - and grab my bike to leave. It hits me then. The other guy must've been his boyfreind; perhaps they had just returned from a New Paltz wedding, and now, seeing me, he has regrets. Sees me, sees the other possibilities out there, and his insides are in turmoil. Wondering what it would be like with me, in bed, in our upstate house, sleeping late on Sundays, having coffee while reading the New York Times, making love again....

I love my post office.

REUNION

directed by: Taylor Hudson - aka ChiChi LaRue (1992)

Probably my two favorite early 90's porn actors, Cliff Parker and Aiden Shaw were in perhaps 6 or 7 videos together (Command Performance , Grand Prize, Dirty Dreaming, Summer Buddies, etc) - but I believe this is the only scene they did together. It's one of the better examples of the dreaded "cum on my cheek" scenarios. While I understand the rationale for doing it on the cheek - it's safe, you still get the cum shot and the bottom's face - it's just that it so rarely looks good. Usually the actor is suddenly tossing his face into the action sideways, grimacing with his eyes sealed shut, waiting for the gooey onslaught. It just looks articifial and unappealing. But here, while the side-of-the-face bit still looks artificial, Cliffy genuinely looks quite interested in getting Aiden's load on his face, and those extra few licks just before Aiden shoots, plus Aiden pulling Cliffy up for the kiss afterwards, make it a much better than average scene.

too funny

BJ DOES IT AGAIN

BJ GETS WET

hehe - someone's auctioning my old videos on eBay!

Yup, I do occasionally sell stuff that isn't porno. But I do think all the above titles, with the exception of John Rechy's The Vampires, is gay-themed (his might be bi-ish, I think). Help me clear off these overloaded bookshelves, please?

Bullets I read several months ago, and thoroughly enjoyed (I have a copy to keep), Consenting Adults - I just watched the made-for-TV movie with Marlo Thomas and Martin Sheen late the other night - you know the author is the same one who wrote Gentleman's Agreement. I remember watching the film years ago and having that "why is it always from their perspective" feeling - but the other night was actually the first time I started to think about how my queerness might've affected my folks. Oddly, I don't really know; I told my Dad by letter - he responded quickly by phone in an amazingly positve way, and I assume he broke the news, officially, to Mom. But I was 22 then, already moved here to NYC, but they must've thought about it for years before then, there were plenty of signs.

........well, after 10 weeks of no one but me doing it - I finally had a man's hands on my balls today.

Unfortunately, it was a professional. (No, I wasn't paying him to touch my balls, specifically) A visit to the doctor's office, and he pulled on his rubber gloves and tried to explain how to check my balls for any unusual signs. Of course, standing there completely naked with a guy holding my nuts, looking down at myself all I can think about is how tiny my dick looked - it was so friggin' shrivled up - the ol' 'frightened turtle' look. Pre-occupied with that, I was completely not paying attention to his instructions. I didn't even have it in me to joke that checking my balls once a month wouldn't be a problem, as I already do it every twelve minutes.

I am working extra shifts this weekend, and am taking tonight off in exchange for that. My ideal plans are.... hot man in my bed with me watching West Wing and Law and Order; then 30 minutes of hot sweaty sex from 11-11:30; then, still cum-encrusted, we have ice cream and snuggle while watching a rerun of the Simpsons from 11:30 -12; more sex after midnight, falling asleep sometime after 1 a.m.; he leaves sometime after dawn, but not before a few minutes of teasing my morning hard-on.

Reality: staying online with my "lets have sex" AOL screename all night with no takers all the while eating everthing in the refrigerator and cupboards while watching hours and hours of reruns on TV.

twins!

Found myself awake early this morning. Out the window, the sky is getting lighter, and I hear this sound. For the third year in a row, a pair of mourning doves have been nesting beside my air conditioner, outside my bedroom window. They've been poking around out there for 2 months, but the past week or two it seemed like one of them was always there in the nest, and I knew from past experience they're ready to lay an egg. Unlike past years, I've disciplined myself not to keep peering thru the manilla envelope I have set up blocking the view thru the window beside the air conditioner. But after hearing all this chirping yesterday, I had to look, and caught a brief glimpse of one of the parents feeding a chick.

So this morning, I quickly realized what had awoken me, stood up on my bed to peer thru the tiny opening and could see bits of a wing moving, and a parent bird pointing it's beak downwards towards a pile of feathers. Feeding time. I got back down, pulled up the covers, as the sun began to appear from behind some clouds. Smiling, I fell back asleep.

As you can see from this pic, I couldn't help myself later, and just had to pull the barrier away long enough to take a pic or two. I was shocked and delighted to see an actual pair of chicks, and the 3 faces facing me nervously, as I quickly snapped a couple and moved the barrier back in place. Blurry, I know, but certainly cute.

Would it be wrong to get involved with this group if my primary motivation is husband-hunting?

Gee, if only the battle for same-sex marriage depended on who made better signs....... (OK, I'm not the best speller either, but, um, why does str8 bride have teeny tiny arms, and str8 groom have no arms at all?)

I hope the posting of these pics from mags I'm selling isn't too boring for folks. Sure, I'd love y'all to go to the auctions and BID! BID! BID!; but I also think some of these pics are amazing - the men so handsome, or the photographer capturing something that just sticks with you. So for the above pics, if you click, you'll get the larger image version, rather than a link to the auction. Both are from the same magazine - CIAO, October 1974. While both are different sorts of men and poses, both say the same thing to me: balls.

I try not to think how long it's been since my face has been buried in a nice set of balls (9 weeks, 2 days), but I have to say that it is an act I enjoy even more than cocksucking. Perhaps its the aroma - balls are more likely to have a nice bit of sweat that teases the nose while enticing the tongue. Maybe it's the teasing of the cock - dangling just above, waiting for attention but still enjoying the activities just below. And size isn't such a big deal here - while "low-hangers" are often spoken of, what really matters is the effect of your mouth, your tongue, your facial hair pushing into the set of nuts that drives your partner crazy. Small or large, low and loose or close and tight - it's the sensation you give your partner that makes ball-licking so f*ckin' enjoyable - making hiim squirm, moan, yelp, beg you to stop, plead with you to continue.....

BRUNO

Gosh, when I see ads like this, and others in the back of some of the vintage porno books I collect and sell, it makes me wonder just how much porn (I realize this is just an ad for leather belts.....) went through that Post Office on Canal Street in the 70's and 80's. My ideal job: being a postal worker, working the P O Box window at the Canal Street Station in the 70's, cruising the pornographers as they came to pick up their orders, and sending out their packages to sweaty, nervous men all over America. Mmmmmmmmm..........

CLOSED SET

"While you were gone I did some shooting."

directed by: Joe Gage (1980)
Basically, Gage wanted to experiment a bit, get a gathering of select men together for a one-night stand-up sex session, like a backroom, and see if he could get enough material to make it into a commercial film. Using an unprecidented four cameras (the standard was, and is, two - but sometimes only one!), and filmed in 4 hours, (the first hour wasn't even sex, just intros, "sniffing each other out" - clothes on!). Anyone who enjoys copious amounts of cum will f*ckin' love this film!

voted

it wasn't so horrible - I suppose nothing can top crying in the voting booth while pulling the handle for Walter Mondale in 1984. Dean and most of the other former contenders were still on the ballot, as was MR SCAREY HIMSELF - Lyndon LaRouche.

Meanwhile, in other news, I've recently discovered my AOL SPAM folder. While most of its contents are indeed SPAM, unfortunately a few inquiries, and even - egads! - fanmail, were in there. One young man from the West Coast turns out to be rather handsome (I know, I know, 3000 miles is a kinda far to even consider someone that way, but hell, look what happened to local Burrito Man - nothing!) OOOPS! time to get to work!

Dated Dean, Married Kerry?

Remember that catchy slogan from the early days of the Democratic Presidential primaries? I can admit now that way back when, I was actually flirting with the idea of voting for Dean. Despite differences on important issues like capital punishment, after listening to him speak many times, and seeing him interact with voters on those C-Span shows, I thought I might just get over my he-must-be-perfect idealism. Fine, we'll go for another Clinton, someone who's smart, has demonstrated fiscal responsiblity, seems open to discussing the problems with such things as the death penalty, etc., etc. But he's gone, and now we're all supposed to jump on this he-can-beat-Bush bandwagon. Marry Kerry? Need I remind people that not only is that illegal in most parts of this country, but the groom himself is against same-sex marriage. I just don't see why, so early in the process, we're so eager to give this man a free pass. He is unable to come up with anything on same-sex marriage except "I feel it's just between a man and a woman" and "this is just what the Republicans want - wasting our time discussing issues that divide us." I am just so tired of hearing these guys address the nation, and speak as if I, and other gay people, aren't part of the crowd that they are trying to woo, and lead. Screw you!

So tomorrow is the next round of primaries, finally one I can vote in, and we've got the usual dreadful choices. The two top contenders arent even being contemplated by me - so my choice really is between Mr Kucinich and a write-in. Last time I did a write-in for a democratic party primary, the 149-year-old lady at the voting place was quite irritated, and demanded to know if my candidate is a member of the Democratic Party. When I simply said, "Yes, I am" she foisted the big precious piece of paper in front of me, wouldn't let me borrow her pen to fill it out, and walked away. I'm such an evil voter, not playing by the rules. I gotta tell you, Kucinich only looks good on paper. He seems to believe in all the same big issues as me, and there is no hesitancy in his arguments. But he is a scarey man in person (or at least on TV.) The other night, when he stopped mid-answer during a debate to try to get Larry King's attention, and King was like "Dennis, I don't have to make eye contact with you to hear your answer" - Kucinich didn't even get it - that he wasn't addressing King, but us, the voters, watching on TV.

So, I suppose tomorrow I should arm myself with my own pen.