Jason Rimbaud

Even though I'm from the "ME GENERATION" and not accustomed to sharing, I'd let you touch as much as you want. Though I am a bit disturbed that I'm making such personal requests in such a public forum. It seems that I helped reduce your blog to a place where sleazy boys can feel comfortable propositioning you for sexual favors. Tell the BF that I'm sorry and will try to curb my behavior in the future. That is unless he's cool with the idea..... Jason R. (sleazy boy in training)

I'm usually one that disregards any form of Politically Correctness. But with warm regards for those of you that are older in years that read this blog, I shall give a definition of what I consider Old People.I believe that age is a frame of mind. And those of you that might be old in years but have kept the joys of youth, then I don't consider you old people. It's only those silver haired complainers that refuse to acknowledge that the current year is 2007 and not 1954 that usually get on my nerves. You know the type of blue hairs I mean, the ones that refuse to get a cell phone because 'in my day we didn't need a portable phone, if we wanted to talk to someone, we had to wait until after dinner to try and reach them on the puke green phone attached to the kitchen wall'. And don't even get me started on the INTERNET, if I hear one more wrinkled lady complaining about the magical INTERNET and how if it wasn't needed back in the good ole days then why should we need it today, I might just punch her in the face. By the way, I heard two ladies discussing these things a few days ago and I wanted to scream. I've watched the movies in the fifties and sixties, believe me, they weren't the good ole days. Any generation that embraced McCarthyism should never offer advice about anything nor should be allowed to have any say in the current decade.All that being said, dearest Des, you will never make the list. Sometimes I think you are younger than me. Jason R.

Why is it I get a VERY uncomfortable image of Desilu dancing around his BF's video store singing at the top of his lungs? Not that theres anything wrong with dancing around. I just think there should be video footage at least. Can you imagine the response we'd get if we posted that on youtube. And if there is going to be any touching, I want to be first and the last. Jason R.

Umm, Des, would your BF mind if I was one of those "gays" that you felt today? Jason R.

7 Things I Hate Today! I know hate is a strong word and should never be used lightly. But if there is anything that would justify a universal feeling of hate, I think the following list will suffice. So without further digressions, rants, or any other silly hijacking comments, I give you the seven things I hate for today. Number 7: Every few days I receive an Email from ATT INTERNET service. They give me a list of reasons why I should switch my INTERNET service and they also offer discount prices. Today I read an email where, if I sign up for a year of service, I could get DSL access for $14.00 a month. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention this part. I already have ATT Internet access, they sent me the fucking email at my ATT Email address that they fucking gave me when I signed my contract locking me in at a set price for a fucking year. Oh yeah, I fucking hate that. Number 6: Old people coming to restaurants. I don't want to hear about the good old days when coffee was a nickel and you had unlimited refills. At my fucking restaurant, coffee is $4.00 a cup. And if you want another one, that will be another fucking $4.00 dollars. That's what by the cup means. Oh, and one more thing, it's never a good idea to order only one entr?e with the intention of "sharing because you don't really eat that much anymore". We all know it's bullshit, you're just cheap. And if you weren't cheap, then you would leave more than a ten percent tip. Remember, a server lives on tips, and if you stay sitting at that table for three hours because you and the old lady have no where else to go, then don't be surprised if you find something floating in your $4.00 cup of coffee. Number 5: Anyone, and I mean any-fucking-one, who believes that a one-year-old is a welcomed addition to a night out at a restaurant who charges sixty-dollars a plate. And don't even think about asking why we don't serve a children's menu. If you have to bring your smelly offspring with you everywhere you go because you don't want to pay for a babysitter, then take your fucking family to Denny's. Don't bring your ill behaved monsters to a hip upscale restaurant, the servers don't want you there, and I can bet the couple sitting next to you trying to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary don't want you there either. So fucking stop it. If your kid doesn't have hair on it's "no-no-parts", then stay the fuck at home. Number 4: People who arrive 5 minutes before a restaurant closes for the night, wearing smiles and exclaiming loudly that you're just so damn happy that you made it before we close. Why? Because you are the type of person that will order two waters, and share a single entr?e, that you will not eat for two hours because you're busy making-out in the booth in the corner. Not only are you keeping the server from going home, but you're making them wait for ten-percent of a thirty dollar check. And even if you add in an extra ten percent and give them six whole dollars, don't be surprised if they leave the money on the table. Because the idea of having to stay at work two hours after the restaurant is closed because you want to make out in the corner booth is not worth the six dollars. If you are the type of person that does this, then you are a bastard and I hate you. I fucking hate you. Number 3: Commercials spouting anti-smoking propaganda. Let's face it, there is not a single person living on the planet in the year 2007 that doesn't know that smoking isn't the best idea. And I get it, you hate smoking. Get over it. Do we really need to spend hundreds of millions of dollars on really stupid commercials trying to stop people from smoking? Why don't we take that money and spend it on more important things, I don't know, how about universal health-care? How about offering classes on the long lost art of minding your own fucking business? I want to take that guy from that commercial and lock him in a room where hundreds of people blow cigarette smoke in his face for three days. Then, and only then, can he have a reason for making those stupid fucking Truth ads. Number 2: Commercials heralding the latest advancement in prescription drugs. It started out harmless enough, remember Antonio Banderas as the cute little bee flying lazily about telling us too take this new pill for our nasal allergies. And I could even understand the ads dealing with sleeping disorders. But now every few minutes I see commercials advocating erectile dysfunction pills and anti-depression tablets with side affects that are decidedly worse then the aliment they claim to cure. Think about it, I've got this granite hard cock but I can't seem to stop my ass from leaking. Hmm, flaccid cock or shit spewing from my ass, I wonder what I would choose? And doctors need to stop inventing diseases to justify their new miracle pill. Who the fuck ever heard of restless leg syndrome? I didn't, I didn't know it was a syndrome. When my legs hurt when I was in bed, I got up and drank a glass of water. Problem fixed. But that's not good enough anymore, now we need a fucking pill. What the fuck, it seems like they have a pill for everything now-a-days. Which leads me right into Number 1: Commercials telling us NOT to do drugs. Well, it should be, commercials telling us not to do drugs that aren't controlled by the Federal Government. Have you seen these anti-pot ads? In one, a girl is sitting in the kitchen, go figure, eating, and the family dog comes in and sits on a kitchen stool and asks her to stop smoking pot. I wasn't even smoking pot when I saw that commercial and all it did was make me wonder if my dog would start talking to me if I smoked up. How fucking cool would that be? Can you imagine what the family pet would have to say? I don't want to start bitching about those of you that are currently taking pills that are saving or prolonging your life, but I'm not sure if I want to take a handful of pills that actually have a higher risk of hurting me than helping. And what about those pills that after you take them, you fucking die. Is that side effect warning on the bottle? Shouldn't we be wary of any drug that is invented for the sole purpose of generating money? If we are so advanced that we now have to start inventing diseases to cure, why are people still dying from cancer? Why can't we cure AIDS? And don't get me started why we have dozens of pills to get a boner but still can't come up with a better solution to fight the flu then by injecting flu in the form of shots. Hmm, I get a shot to ward off the flu, and the shot gives me the flu. That is a brilliant scheme if I ever heard of one. For a society that spends so much money on anti-drug campaigns, we are quickly becoming perpetually medicated and all with the Federal Governments approval. And I don't care what anyone says, having a full-on-robot-chubby due to severe rigor mortis stemming from complications caused by my erectile dysfunction medication isn't really a miracle cure by any means. You have to be at least breathing to enjoy fucking. Though being dead is a viable alternative when faced with anal leakage. But of course, that's just me. Jason R.

Well, it's about time you admit this. Congrats Desilu!Jason R.

Yeah!!!!!!!!!! Trab's back in town. Now I'm happy again.Jason R.(Sorry Desilu, but now Trab is my favorite.)

Can one be addicted to sex?YESOf course, I could be biased, after all, I'm an addictive personality. Anyone care to try an experiment regarding on whether or not sex is addictive? We could have lots and lots of sex, just to see if we truly become addictive of course. Jason R.

My father died about a year after he threw me from his house. My mother and I haven't spoken in quite some time and the relationship I have with my brother isn't even a relationship. It's more like two warriors facing one another over a battlefield. And you're right, I'm better off without them. I do want to say thanks to all those that have shown me such great support over the last year. I believe this blog has been directly responsible for my awakening. I'd like to say that I would have continued blogging even if no one took the time to read my entries, but I'm not so sure. So for those of you that have taken interest in my life, I believe you might be responsible for my continued recovery. Much love to all of you.Jason R.

Thanks Desilu, I've never been good at breaking down sentences. You rock. Jason R. (Wow, I just realized I didn't even make fun of you once in this entire post. I must be getting sick.)

Thumbs up because I loved this poem. Thumbs down because I can't pronounce the title. So all around I'll give it three Jason R.

Off topic, but I disagree with your sig. I laugh at myself all the time and everyone says I'm definately NOT funny. Jason R. By the way, I agree with everything you said in the above post.

All right Awesome Dudes, you heard it straight from the rodents mouth. Everyone send Wibby an email at least once a day until the next chapter is posted. Jason R. PS: Hey Wibby, what's your email address again?

And it's such a pretty head too Des.Jason R. (in love with Des again)

Congrats Emu-boy,I think the world needs more info on you strange birds.Jason R.

My Resurrection A few weeks ago I headed off to the beach for a few days, probably the best idea I?ve had in recent memory. Anyone reading my blog has seen witness of my bouts of depression, my slow recovery from addiction, and the added stress of continuing my therapy with Susan. To say I needed some time away from the chaos of my life to clear the darkness from my soul would be a severe understatement. Basically I?ve been feeling like a caged animal, trapped inside myself and slowly going insane in plain view of those that really didn?t give a shit on ?whether I lived or died?. For a time, it seemed to me that as long as I showed up for work and did my job; the people around me were satisfied. It didn?t really matter that I was depressed and anti-social. I smiled at the appropriate time and made the restaurant guests feel welcomed. All other behavior was overlooked. I couldn?t then, nor could I now, put the proper descriptive definition on the feelings roaming around my head. And yet, maybe instinctively, I knew if I couldn?t tame the animal that was lurking under the surface of my sobriety, then I would lose the better parts of myself to addiction and sink back into depression. And this scared the shit out of me. Because maybe this time, I wouldn?t be able to escape. And the fucked up thing about this is it wasn?t until I got away from the noise of my job, the voices of my co-workers, and the deadening silence of my apartment, that I realized just how close I was to the edge. And how drained I truly became by the events of the last few months. I found it to be rather easy to ignore the shambles of my life when I was busy dealing with the hundreds of problems that crop up on a day to day basis of working in a hip, up-scale restaurant. I could either focus all my energy on the problems of the restaurant, problems I knew could be solved rather quickly, OR, I could waste what little energy I had left and spend hours self analyzing and attempting to tackle the large problems that persisted in my life. What would you do? Yeah, that?s right my friends. I?d thought you say that. BEWARE DIGRESSION ALERT I think this is probably the deciding factor on why there are just so many workaholics in the world. Maybe I?m not the only one that has discovered this coping mechanism that seems hardwired into our primitive minds. Survival at any cost. And while this is something we should all think about, this is not the where nor is this the when to chew the fat and make left-handed supposes on the growing trend of workaholics the world over. So I?ll return you to your regularly scheduled rant. END DIGRESSION I didn?t do much that Friday I arrived at the beach; I was so mentally and emotionally frazzled I spent most of the whole afternoon on the front porch watching the rain fall into the ocean and losing myself in my I-Pod. And as I sat there, the music playing randomly in my ears, my mind started drifting around to long forgotten memories. Poking around into places that I thought we had previously agreed, my mind and I, to leave forgotten and buried forever. And as I sifted through the past, I slowly began to realize that I hadn?t been happy in a very long time. This is not to say that I didn?t experience happy moments, let?s face it, over the years I?ve had lots and lots of happy moments. You can?t be a drug addict with a constant hard-on and not have some happy moments. But I recognized and more importantly, understood the difference between ?happy moments? and a genuine feeling of happiness. The longer I pondered this, the further back in time I delved. I knew, sometime when, there had to be a period in my life where I was truly happy. I wasn?t always an addict; I had lived for sixteen years before finding solace in the numbness of drugs. And I was determined to find that source of that happiness again. But the further back I went, the more I remembered, and the angrier I became. Before the age of sixteen I was pretty happy. I had loving parents, and even though they were religious bigots who brainwashed me into a life of fear and self-loathing, they were quite affectionate towards me and I loved them very much despite their beliefs. No matter what anyone might say, the ties between families are extremely powerful. Especially between a child and its mother. Think about it, for nine months, you are an extension of your mother. You experience all her emotions, happiness, sadness, the uncertainty of the future, and I bet in some respects you feel the pain and the ecstasy of birth itself. That kind of closeness creates a bond that nothing else you ever experience could ever compare. This bond begins as an unconditional love. It?s engrained into the human DNA; a mother?s instinct to protect its offspring. And even though my parents were strict and sometimes quite harsh, I knew/know that they loved me and only wanted the best for me. And as long as I followed the path they laid out for me, their love was unconditional. But much to my chagrin, one night I found out that their love had more than a few conditions attached too it. It seemed that the love they gave me hinged on the belief that I was a heterosexual. Because the night my father caught me in the living room giving an older boy a blowjob was the night I lost my home and my world. After that night, unconditional love took on a whole new meaning. Matter of fact, to be completely honest, from that moment on I have always put conditions on love. So you have to excuse me if the notion of unconditional love is a bit tough to swallow. Is it any wonder why I turned out the way I did? What was I supposed to do? I was sixteen, I had no money, no place to go, and my only possessions were the clothes on my back. I ended up sleeping in a bus station that first night, scared out of my mind and filled with an unholy rage. I was tossed aside for some obscure religious belief, and for a god that I had began to doubt even existed. Because if god did exist, and he really hated me because I liked other boys, than my unholy attraction to other boys was a gift I received from him. Read the fucking book, we were created in his image. And if you believe what my parents believe, then it is impossible for god to make mistakes. So?what the fuck was up with me? If it was truly wrong for me to be attracted to other boys, then god must?ve somehow fucked up when he made me in his image. BEWARE WORLD?S LONGEST SENTENCE BELOW Because, even before I became aware that there was a difference between girls and boys, and that other boys should only like girls, and that girls should only like boys, I was full-on, no denial, looking away wouldn?t change the fact no matter how often you arranged some ?alone time so the two can get to know each other? with the local girl, and forbid me to spend ?alone time? with my best friend, Sean, would I ever choose to hang out with a girl over the sheer pleasure of spending ?alone time? with a him. And it didn?t have to be my best friend, Sean, either, who at the time I was completely in love with but that?s definitely another story for another time. I have been that way since before I can remember. I would rather hang out with a boy than spend a moment with a girl. It was simple, plain and true; I was/am attracted to boys. I like the way they look, I love the way they feel, I go absolutely crazy by the way they smell. I was/is completely obsessed by just the physical sight of them. Clothed or not, the figure of a boy/man?s body drives me wild to this day. This is the only reality I ever knew, from my earliest memories all the way to the present day, it?s as natural as taking a breath. Did I make a choice? There has never been a choice for me to make. I?ve always liked boys, its simple genetics. ANTI-RELIGION RANT So when my parents, to be honest it was more my father than my mother at this time, threw me out of the house because I was gay, I immediately placed the blame on the god of my parents religion. After all, it was god?s bible after all, it was his words, and it was his hatred I felt. He was the root of my problem. He made all of humanity, and apparently he didn?t figure into account that some percentage of his creation might be attracted to a member of the same sex. And if he did take into account this ?phenomenon?, and still decreed that such love was an abomination, then I was the lowest form of scum on the planet. It didn?t matter to my parents that I was the scum that god created, because upon finding out I was gay, they had an instant hatred for me. And since god teaches that he destroys those he despised, my parents opted to destroy me. At that time, it didn?t matter if god created fags or not, because I was fucked. And by a god, that at that time, I loved almost whole heartedly. And people wonder why I?m an agnostic. END RANT In the morning, after I spend the night in a bas station, some guy told me about this shelter that allowed young runaways to stay there on the condition that they help out around the place and attend chapel services at the church that sponsored the shelter. Not having any other option available to me, I embraced this opportunity. Though I must admit it was rather difficult to go to the shelter. I had just been tossed out on my ass by my parents and their religion, the last thing I wanted to happen was to give someone else an excuse to exclude me based on something I couldn?t help or control. So upon arriving at the shelter, I kept my sexuality a secret and told several vague lies to disguise the real reason my parents gave me the boot. Though looking back now, I don?t think for a minute I fooled either the volunteers at the shelter or the minister about the real reason I ended up on their doorstep. I can also say, looking back, that they were a group of people who truly tried to help those that they came in contact with at the shelter. But at the time, I treated them like they were the enemy. Like they were a part of some grand conspiracy, plotting to destroy me and take advantage of na?ve fags the world over. I was/am forever bitter about religion and the people that believed in religion. There was another boy, around my age, who had been living at the shelter for a few months before I arrived. Though he never told me outright, I ?m pretty sure we had more in common than just needing a place to stay. It?s always been easy to spot the gay kids. They have an attitude, the way they carry themselves in a crowd that reminds you of a wounded animal quietly freaking out in a life and death kind of way that makes them easy to identify. And for whatever reason, most gay kids on the streets become predators as they get older. They find the weakest species on the block, some kid who might be new to the whole I don?t have a family so I now have to live on the street but I still don?t have a clue what the fuck life is about but I?ll trust you because I think you?re cute boy kind of kid, and take advantage of that innocent frame of mind and completely fuck them up. I think it might be Mother Nature?s way of coping with these situations that humans aren?t prepared to deal with. Of course it could be just a product of surroundings and circumstances that most youths find themselves facing after expulsion from their home. Much like the only way they know how to control a situation that is completely out of control. Or it could be a way to gain revenge, to make sure someone else?s life is as fucked up as their own. Anyway, most runaways/get the fuck out of my house, type kids becomes predators in one form or another. It?s like they become the embodiment of those that first drove them into exile in the first place. Food for thought, but still not the main reason I?m writing this tonight. If you?re still with me, I move on. Back to this other kid I met at the shelter, I?m sorry I don?t remember his name. On the second night after my arrival, after we washed and dried the dishes, and right before we were loaded on the bus to attend chapel services, shown me a little plastic baggie filled with white powder asked me if I wanted some insulation to get me through the mandatory chapel attendance. I didn?t know what he was referring too, because at this time, I really was, for all purposes, a complete innocent. Drugs were something that my father had warned me about since I was a young child. And looking back on all the things he filled my head with, the only good advice that mother fucker ever gave me was, don?t do drugs. But again, I digress. When he realized I didn?t understand, he started laughing at me. Now, I?ve been laughed with a lot over the years and I?ve been laughed at as well. This laughter was definitely one of those times when I was being ridiculed because of my naivet?. This was a feeling that I quickly found out I absolutely despised. And even to this day, I refuse to accept anyone laughing at me. I?ve gone to ridiculous lengths and have done some pretty dumb ass stupid shit to make sure that no one laughs at my expense ever again. Once regained control of his laughter, he pulled me into the shelter?s bathroom. This was a space that was accessible to anyone who wished to use it, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. So I?m sure you can imagine the smell of stale piss, fresh vomit, and un-flushed shit that permeated the small enclosure. This was the kind of place that even drug addicts would warn others about avoiding. Once inside the cesspool of a bathroom, he dragged me into one of the filthy stalls and locked the door behind us. He then pulled a plastic baggy from his pocket and held it up triumphantly, like I was suppose to know what was inside. To the white kid from suburbia, it looked like he crushed up a stick of white chalk. I know, I was pretty stupid back then. So I asked how a piece of chalk would insulate me from the attempted brainwashing we soon would be subjected too. And can you believe it, that bastard laughed at me again. Once he informed me of the true nature of the white substance nestled so innocently in that plastic bag, he laid out a choice for me. HIJIKED THREAD To be honest, the best way to get me to do anything; is to make it appear that I have the final say in the outcome of my actions, that I made the choice. It doesn?t really matter what the two choices are, if you pretend to give me an option of deciding my fate, then I will usually do what you wanted me to do in the first place. Just don?t ever tell me what to do, that?s a sure fire way to get me to dig my heels in and let my stubborn streak rear it?s ugly head. Just something for those to think about that might have ambitions of controlling my actions. I know I should delve deeper into this weakness but this is not the entry for discussing the inner workings of my mind and I?ve rambled on long enough already and still haven?t gotten around to explaining the reason I began writing this blog entry in the first place. RETURNING TO NORMAL BLOG ENTRY Okay, what was this choice he laid out in front of me? I could attend the chapel service and buy into the concept of an all-knowing, all-seeing, judgmental god that will hold me accountable for my every action with an unwavering solidarity to the rules as laid out in the Biblical text, OR, I could snort a few lines of cocaine and put my trust into the hands of fate and let chance decide the cards that would be dealt for me to play in this game called life. Fuck it, what can I say? He was cute. He was a dangerous boy that lived by a philosophy that went against every single thing I was ever taught by my parents. And for a moment, as brief as that moment was, I was scared that this cute boy would lead me directly to hell. But then I remembered my father, and the way he threw me aside for a god he?s never seen all because a man stood in front of a church and told him to hate people like me. At that moment, joining in something that might send me to hell was pretty damn tempting. If god hated me simply because I was gay, then I didn?t want to go to heaven anyway. That was the day, the very moment, I walked away from the religion I was raised to believe. And the more I thought about that first time doing drugs, the more bitterness I began to feel. The more anger that slowly started consuming me. I was a product of my past, I had lived a life that I never choose. It all began when my father turned his back on me. And there, sitting on the front porch of that beach house, I felt like no matter what I did, I could never escape the demons that haunted me. I?ve tried again and again to remain sober. I?ve spent countless hours and countless dollars trying to erase the depression that stalks me. And I?ve failed each and every time. There was no way a faggot like me could ever have a chance at living a normal life. I was filled with rage, bitterness, and an overwhelming desire to get as high as I could possibly get. I almost ran into the house, with the full intention of grabbing my shit and driving back to Redwood City where I knew I could score some pure coke. If I was going to be trapped in this shit, then I was going to be as numb as possible. But something happened as I stalked into the house. Up to that point, the music blasting in my ears was background noise. I had been sitting on that porch for three hours and I couldn?t tell you a single song that had played. Until that moment, then my mind focused on the song and I understood the words I heard. I had listened to that particular song probably fifty times over the course of this year. I liked the song, but I don?t think I really heard what the lyrics were really saying until that moment. The clarity that washed over me was staggering. And all the anger and bitterness that was so consuming a moment before melted away, slipping from me like a bad dream, fading into that part of my mind where all nightmares are banished. I spent the next hour walking along the beach, the rain pouring down on me, just letting the cleansing flood wash me clean. And as the sun set, as I peered into the fading light, I couldn?t help but think I was watching my past slip into oblivion. Because that?s all the past is, a string of events that happened. My past certainly shaped the man I am today, but it doesn?t dictate my future. The future is wide open, a new page that only I could write, but still a fresh parchment. I couldn?t control my past but I can control my future by changing my present. For the first time in my life, my past is just that, the past. To have a future I can?t dwell on those memories anymore. And so my present is looking pretty fucking bright. The last time I thought about using cocaine was that time at the beach. It?s almost like I put my addictions to rest that night. This might change in the future, but somehow I think my present doesn?t allow for those feelings to exist here. Either way, I feel like I have a real chance to become the man I see in my dreams. Cheers. Jason R.

I like the sound of that, Hugs for Thugs who are giving up Drugs. Now that the flatteries are over. . . I hate you Desiloo. I try and try and try some more to be just a bit more witty than you and you constantly out-witty me. It's like you have a book on being witty that you keep locked away in your desk. I say its not fair. NO, I scream its not fair.*pouts*I'll have to talk a bit with your BF to try and find your weakness. Every superhero has one, and I swear by the Thor's Hammer that I'll find yours if its the last thing I do.*cuts wrist and signs pledge in blood*Jason R. (out to prove he's more witty than you)

Hey Lugs, As long as you're okay with going second, you may dust off your lap. Or better yet, I could help clear away the cobwebs. You know, as sort of a "Welcome to the green room and author statis type gesture". The dude did ask us all to be friendly to those new comers after all. Jason R.

And if you won't tell Rad, how about telling me instead? I agree with Rad's agree. Jason R.

Okay, here's my problem. On one hand, I hope that Pecman isn't laid off his job. But on the other hand, I'm so hoping that Pecman is laid off his job. Seriously love this story by the way. And since I've found out a few things about Pecman recently, I might have a small cyber-crush on the man as well. Jason R. BTW Pecman, if you need a place to stay..........

I voted "NO". Never really been interested in chat rooms. Like Des, I think it would be a diversion from the main reason we all hang out at AD. And that is to write stories/read stories. But whatever is decided, I would support it as best as I can. Jason R.

Dessie-loo,Believe me when I say I am not lessening this horrific event in any way. BUT....Could it be you mis-interrupted the true intentions of said attackers? You are advancing in years, and perhaps your hearing failed you. Maybe instead of yelling out "give us your drugs", could it be they yelled out "give us hugs"? I would be willing to fly down under and spend a few sessions with you and the BF on the couch. Maybe between the three of us we can "straighten" out the true events. Something to think about. Jason R.

Dearest Emu-Boy,You know how foolish us Colonials are. We have to make ridiculous rules and follow bizarre rituals to do almost anything. And since country music was invented here in the colonies, I must explain just how embarrassing it is for a mature, intelligent, gay man to admit to, publicly, his liking country music. It's tragic. Almost along the same lines as a grown man telling his unsuspecting wife that he really prefers fucking boys than her. Problems tend to arise after such a declaration. Basically the answer to your question is, YES. Jason R.

Des, you are so bad. Jason R.

To Rad, thanks. I was busy typing an email and my friend took the picture. I thought it looked cool so I posted it. That's my lucky hat by the way, I always wear it when I'm writing. Kind of like my security blanket.Jason R.As for Wibby's comment. I understand, and believe me when I say I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I like this new Garth song, but damnit, I do. It's not my fault, look at my hat for god's sake.Jason R.