december 1999

Wintertime Ruminations

Now that summer is over I tend to get kind of cranky. I don't like the cold weather. I don't like snow. I don't like anything about it, except maybe dressing in layers. I like to stay warm. I like the sun beating down on my face. I'm hoping that when I go to San Diego in December, I really like it there.

My best mate was out of town for a week, and I thought I was starting to go crazy. I caught myself making strange noises and singing really loud to amuse myself. Now I think I'll think twice about laughing at old people who do that. They aren't crazy, just lonely. I guess I got used to him being around to make noise, so I felt as though something was missing when the house was quiet.

I got email from some idiot last week asking me if I had any nude pictures of Ed Norton from American History X. I skimmed through that piece of Hollywood trash to satisfy my curiosity and have to say I hate it even more now than I did before I watched it. Eddie boy's tattoos looked like they were drawn on with a black sharpie marker. I guess if people out there are turned on by Abercrombie and Fitch ads, why not an hour and a half Nike commercial! I should have done something more productive with my time, like clip my toenails. I'm so sick of Hollywood equating skinheads with white supremacists.

I wonder what my ex-boyfriend would say about the movie. See, he's been in prison for the past 7 years and should be getting out soon. Last time I talked to him was a few years ago. He painted a picture that was scary and not at all pleasant. I'm sure none of his memory sequences are sepia toned and shot beautifully on a camera.

I should have stayed home last weekend, but I ventured out to a fag bar to hopefully get laid. Instead, I nearly got into a fistfight with some drunk sissy. He tried to grab my face to get a better look at my septum ring, and I coiled back, ready to knock him on his ass. Maybe he would have been able to see if he hadn't consumed a six-pack of Zima.

"Did that hurt?" the faggot asked.

"What? Being born? Ask my mother," I quipped.

"NO, silly - your nose ring!"

"No. Get out of my face."

"It must have hurt."

"Not as much as it would if I clocked you one."

"Mmmmm-girl! I don't think so! I like pain."

I left soon after that. I knew it would come to his face and my fist if I didn't. Maybe it's because I stand 5 foot 5 inches that people think they can treat me that way. It's enough to make me want to put a baseball bat in the back seat of my car and go fag bashing. I guess that'll teach me to go out looking for an easy lay.

Speaking of fag bashing - how 'bout that Matthew Shepard verdict? Now, I dislike "gay" culture. I dislike it enough to sometimes want to beat the crap out of the nearest sweater queen, case closed. I'd get into a fight with anyone in the right situation, but I'd never bring myself to kill. Instead, I'd let the guy who started it live with the humiliation of getting his ass kicked by a dick-smoker.

The thought of Aaron McKinney behind bars is sweet irony, don't you think? He's going to have plenty of "gay panic" attacks while he's in the clink. Aaron McKinney deserves whatever it takes to wipe that smug, made-for-the-camera grin off his fucking face. I just wish I were the guy giving him the hot beef injection.

"This one's for Matthew," I'd say right as I was cumming up his ass. "See you tomorrow, dipshit."

I'll leave you with a little something to think about. Do you think if Matthew Shepard wasn't a clean-cut, young, gay man but was instead a frumpy, 55 year old man that this whole issue wouldn't be getting the attention it has? Something tells me the nation would have passed over it like the cold wind on a Wyoming field.



illustration © 1999 by shane tanner