Thanks Guys

This video is a great example of happy and healthy sexual expression in the right way, to the right people.  As you can see, the still shot shows male nudity, so anyone who does not wish to view the video doesn’t have to.  But if you’re curious, you have the opportunity to view something constructive and affirming about male sexuality.  The hosts simply impart information about what they like and what they do, rather than telling the viewer what they should do, or any other kind of preachiness.  This approach is critically important; there are so many YouTube hosts out there who assume they are supposed to TELL people what to do, even when they are clearly operating from a point of profound ignorance.  It’s annoying.  These men, on the other hand, don’t have to announce their expertise, as it becomes self-evident the longer you watch.

This video is more powerful than that for which many of the commenters give it credit.  Some appeared to be shocked.  One even discounted it as an “excuse” to show his penis.  That’s too bad.  I say it’s about time!  Incorporating the genitals back into the male body as a whole is crucial to the healing of men everywhere.  Another commenter asked what cock rings are for.  People are ignorant about sex, but they are also curious.  Who isn’t?  Sex is wonderful.  And there are a surprising number of cool things you can do with your junk.  Good job guys!  {>^<V}

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Halloween Seventeen I

What a month.  October, that is.  All sorts of fascinating things have happened in my life, and I hope the same is true for you.  On Tuesday, the thirty-first, the supervisor where I volunteer took me out to lunch.  She wanted to do something to thank me for my efforts, and also to go over the schedule for an upcoming event.  Additionally, she surprised me with a part-time job offer!  It was very exciting.  I’m moving up and out into the world, as making connections and becoming part of a team is a bold new achievement for me.  After being disabled for so long, I am now experiencing some long overdue confidence building and life progress.

I dress up in business formal attire when I go in to the office.  After all, it’s at a pretty fancy place downtown.  It’s a big deal to me.  It’s an important part of my new morning routine.  I lay out my clothes every night so that they are ready when I get up at six on volunteer days.  My supervisor and her boss dress in business formal, so I decided why shouldn’t I?  But no one else there does.  So, as one can imagine, my appearance is a great way to stand out from the crowd without having to say a thing.  And, sure enough, people have started to notice and take me much more seriously, especially the men.  This is what I am discovering about working:  it has very little to do with work.  Sure, I get tasks done, but the actual working part is only about twenty percent of the deal for me right now.  The other eighty is getting up, grooming and taking care of this wacky body I have, dressing of course, gas for the car, getting myself there on time with a belly full of breakfast, and trying not to get some of the breakfast on my business formal clothes!  It just goes on and on.  It’s fascinating.  Including every related activity, I clearly spend far more time and calories on the stuff around the computer work I do for the organization.  The work is really just an afterthought.  But I understand that it could have something to do with the fact that I am still at the beginning of a business office career; perhaps it will feel different after I am endowed with greater levels of responsibility.

I have, however, decided that working has a LOT to do with sex; cologne mingling with crotch smell and ball sack pheromones, some tasteful jewelry mingling with body hair, a chunky new wristwatch, a gold-plated tie bar, the unavoidable bulge in the front of a man’s slacks, and his voluminous glutes in back….  It’s often wrapped up in a man’s self-concept and self-esteem.  I’m sure many men have already gone through this process years ago, but I’ve never lived like this before–I didn’t realize how much fun it was going to be!  It is an enhancement of the things on everyone’s mind, yet no one openly talks about:  what’s underneath the accoutrements of alpha manhood.  My wardrobe feels like a sex-drenched extension of my physical body and all the nifty decorations Mother Nature gave me to begin with.  A real gold chain around my neck brings the eye to my chest hair on days I don’t wear a tie.  Unpacking myself at the urinal reminds me of just how much bush is being covered up down there.  And, of course, there’s the bulge protruding from roughly the center of a man’s body.  However I sit, stand, walk, or talk, the outline of my good stuff is always there–and that’s how it should be.  The reminders of raw manhood, albeit obscured a bit for modesty and professionalism, subconsciously direct the right people to my root.

On a subtler note, there is the intrinsic sexiness of a “cocked” fedora framing my flourishing beard, which again refers to my thick, mature, bush underneath.  Currently though, I meticulously shave around my mouth in a veiled attempt to articulate that my other mouth down below is perfectly depilated, and open for business.  It ALSO refers to the fact that I won’t give razor burn to a guy’s face or asshole.  Clearly it’s an extremely sexual thing for me, but if it has no effect on someone, it’s okay because to them it’s just a facial hair style choice.

Sometimes I think working is really just an excuse to meet people.  When you get right down to it, most of working for a living seems kind of unnecessary; like it’s nice to do, but not critically necessary to the functioning of human civilization.  So, if that’s the case where you work, maybe it’s time to accept that God gave us school and work mostly for the purpose of getting together with guys for making love.  A man’s sexuality needs the proper and satisfying avenue of expression.  If you don’t have reasons to demonstrate your intelligence, physical strength and endurance, artistic genius, fashion sense, or problem-solving abilities, then how will all the other fuzzy little monkeys out there know you wanna get laid?  At work at least, show them with body language and other forms of nonverbal communication.

I have big plans.  And, as I have attempted to enucleate, they have almost nothing to do with my current job description, although completing clerical tasks at lightening speed with great accuracy is yet another way to show off my masculine prowess.  For example, getting noticed for working like a “mad skills machine” on Excel isn’t that far removed from fucking like one, right?  I am getting back into lifting now that my knee is better.  Therefore, next spring I can roll up the sleeves, of my short-sleeved dress shirts, to expose the fullness of my biceps.  I’ll still be in a tie of course, but in a physical state that necessitates the ends of my sleeves having to pick a notch either above or below the bulge.  I say the former rather than the latter is the way to go, don’t you?

Let’s see, what else could I get away with?  What ideas do you have?  What types of pleasing feats of manly expression in the office (or just strutting down the street  for that matter) do you practice?  Please share them with me and others.  Let’s get this party started!  {>^<V}

Whaaaaaaaah? II

That stupid guy, the one who wrote me that tirade about how fat, bald, and unattractive he thinks he is, still has not written me back, and I don’t think he ever will.  Even after I clearly bent over backwards to assure and reassure him that I wasn’t shallow like that.  It’s really sad.  He didn’t believe me and he is probably the one still stuck on those ghastly homo-normative body requirements.  It’s so hilarious to me how supposedly grown men stick to these requirements, even when they don’t exhibit them themselves, or someone puts it in writing that they don’t care about such things, like I did.  Most gay men either seem to have very low self-esteem combined with an inferiority complex, or very low self-esteem combined with a completely unreasonable superiority complex.  And the men with any shred of self-esteem comprise such a small minority that one could easily give up the search.  I’m so glad I did not!

It finally happened.  Within a few days of each other a couple weeks ago, I met Spencer and Todd (not their real names).  Spencer responded to one of my unusual Craig’s List ads in which I tried to articulate how I was truly looking for SINGLE friends (plural) to get to know for the long term, and also to have sex with.  We soon met for coffee and really hit it off.  Spencer is very interesting and positive-minded.  He works on his health and pushes himself to improve on a regular basis, such as his current project to learn a foreign language.

Meeting Todd wasn’t so cut and dried.  On a Friday afternoon, I looked through the personal ads myself and found one with a photo of a very nice looking erect penis.  In any other circumstance I would have passed up such an annoying hookup ad, but something guided my hands to read the ad and write him; there is no other explanation.  Fortunately, before realizing what I was doing, I was talking to him and trading pictures.  And he was CUTE!  And handsome, with a full manly face, substantive dimples, and just all-around charm.  Everything was against us getting together, yet we still did later that night.  He is a plump boy too, but he had taken responsibility (unlike the other guy) for his health and his future.  Only a man with some level of self-esteem is capable of doing something that brave.  He had already lost about 135 pounds!

There was something different and special about Todd.  He wasn’t an impatient, childish piece of crap.  He had manners, and he showed up at my house within like seconds of his promised arrival time of eleven p.m.  We talked at length with our clothes on, and learned a great deal about each other.  But when we did start getting friendlier, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.  We talked a LOT during the sex and learned even more about each other.  Todd was nervous about taking his clothes off because he was still self-conscious about his weight, but I can see through fat into the real man inside.  And my intuition was spot on.  He is a good person who has so much potential as a long-term friend.  We haven’t stopped texting and visiting each other since.  Sometimes I’m not sure if he believes me when I say I’m attracted to him, but I understand because he told me how he has been rejected so many times by the flakes.  I hope he is able to heal that aspect of his self-image soon.  But it takes time.  And he has been working out at the gym all by himself to boot.  That shows character.  I, in turn, was equally afraid that he would soon lose interest in me, per my experience with EVERY OTHER GAY MAN I HAVE EVER MET IN MY LIFE.  But that’s not what happened.

Anyway, back to Spencer.  He and I couldn’t stop kissing the other night when we met after his foreign language lesson.  It was so freeing and healing.  He kept embracing me right there in the parking lot.  My fearful heart frequently made me look around to make sure no one was walking or driving up to us to engage in harassment or violence.  But no one did, and if Spencer noticed I was doing that, he didn’t say anything.  Healing itself is more than violent enough, I soon found out.

With Todd, the connection was on a deeper, more soul-based level, but Spencer is a little bit more mysterious.  The two times we have gotten together we took a long time to warm up to each other.  Then at some point the ice broke and everything changed.  It happened the same way, twice, from my perspective.  But it happened, that’s all that I care about.  Perhaps the warm-up time will shorten as we progress, but I don’t care.  It’s working.

I pushed myself out of my shell and comfort zone.  I pushed and pushed.  And pushed some more.  For several months now.  Then, the moment I found two awesome guys who care about me, my soul was profoundly moved in a deep, metaphysical manner.  It’s happened many times before, but not to this extent.  I’ve never really been cared about until now.  So my body went berserk.  Not because something is wrong or sick, but because the body only has so many ways to effect permanent change.  It’s also known as a healing crisis.

I met Spencer.  I met Todd.  Then the following Thursday I woke up with a scratchy throat.  And within thirty-six hours I was flat on my back with a temperature of 103.3.  I’m sure it was also due to letting the stress catch up with me without realizing it.  But I knew what was going on.  I worried it might be a doozy this time.  But it really wasn’t so bad, relatively speaking.  There was minimal nasal congestion so that made breathing while sleeping significantly easier than times past.  Also, the high temperatures weren’t as miserable as they usually were.  I came to the one most logical conclusion I could think of:  ultimately, the only avenue out of a lifetime of debilitating mental and physical illness was via the swift elimination of some pesky, depressed brain cells.  I figure my body realized it needed to kill off many of my original, injured, and depressed neurons to get past this point into a new life following a “miraculous” cure.  Well, it’s not as miraculous as it seems; after all, the mammalian body has been evolving all sorts of intricate ways to solve problems for millions of years.  Why should this be any different?  There were certainly more than enough freshly-born, exercise-induced neurons just waiting to come online.

I didn’t know how high to let the fever get so, naturally, I let my body lead the way.  At 103.3, I had the feeling to stop, and that the cooking of neurons to death was progressing swimmingly.  But after this point, the cooking of many other, healthy, body tissues including brain tissue would begin and I would risk more global injury.  So, I took two giant painkillers and made my way to the clinic at my grocery store.  It was a Saturday morning and I was the first in line.  I started antibiotics right away because it was strep on my tonsil and my right ear canal was rife with fluid.  It had only been forty-eight hours since my first symptoms.

The process was speedy and efficient.  With laser precision, something was getting in and getting out while effecting minimal discomfort, picking and choosing which neurons to destroy in a way no current medical technology could possibly hope to achieve.  Strep are ubiquitous, according to the nurse practitioner I saw, so that was the best and simplest method of getting the job done.  The mission accomplished, it was okay to knock it all out with the miracle of antibiotics, another efficacious agent my body would have been aware of.  My pee was almost brownish later that day, but I wasn’t worried.  Somehow I just KNEW that it represented the removal of the remains of the dead–the obliterated bodies of the neurons and other cells that had plagued me my entire life, and that I no longer need.  I was free.  FREE AT LAST.  And I look forward to the “miracles” that are in-store for me.  {>^<V}

Having Problems Really SUCKS

I got probs.  And the more men I meet, the more problems I uncover.  We learn who we are by our interactions with others–this is the normal way of life, and it’s long overdue for me.  Fortunately I already knew this, so it’s not as shocking and disorienting as it might have been otherwise.  But it still sucks greatly to discover that you have psychological issues with sex.

I have never had normal, functional sexual relationships before.  So, now that I am forming them, I experience so much stress in the bedroom that I shock my body into getting sick with a cold or a sinus infection.  I thought I was past all that because I started supplementing with some vitamins my pharmacist recommended, and had ceased getting sick all the time.  But now it’s happening again.  Ugh!

Years ago, I got into a very bad habit of feeling such incredible fear and pressure when I was with a guy, that I never calmed down from it.  So now it sneaks up inside of me and I don’t realize it until it’s too late.  It’s so ingrained I can’t just choose to relax easily.  It’s going to take some practice with a great new friend I made in Todd (pseudonym).  How did this happen?  How did I get into such a panic about sex?

It’s because I didn’t start soon enough, or on the right foot.  The first sexual encounter I had, I was so petrified with fear I gave myself diarrhea the next day.  I was twenty-one I think.  I had had relatively good experiences with masturbation since the age of thirteen so, naturally, I get hard pretty easily when I’m by myself still to this day.

But with other guys…such a problem for me.  My friend Todd is so wonderful.  He is patient and kind and understanding, just the sort of chap I need.  All things can be healed with enough love and patience.  And I might need a lot.  The topping of Arnold was an excellent example of this.  I somehow got myself to relax and respond naturally.  I didn’t have performance anxiety because he was new to it as well.  Somehow I must have decided on a deeper level that I was going to be calm and relaxed.  Perhaps I didn’t care how my dick performed with Arnold because we were just experimenting.  But with Todd, I think I got back into my old habits because I wanted to impress him and make him feel good and show him how horny I was for him.  The more I want my dick to get hard, the softer it gets!  It must be a form of distraction; the mental wanting of my cerebrum takes the energy away from my brain stem.

It’s also the ambivalence my subconscious still has toward being male and topping.  I understand why guys are total bottoms.  If they had a similar problem growing up, then it makes sense that they might just give up on penetrating altogether.  But, of course, there are many all-bottom guys in the world, with innumerable reasons for how they got that way as adults.  Gay lovemaking with my beautiful new beaux (Arnold, Todd, and Spencer) is supposed to be fun!  But I must be patient with myself.  Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is the pillar of sexual healing.  {>^<V}

With all the focus on gay men’s bodily appearance, I think that the health factor gets lost in the shuffle.  I’m trying to get “hot” in the gym and kitchen because of all the diseases I’m trying to combat, for example.  If becoming super hot, ripped, and energized with self-esteem and love for the world and other people happens to coincide with that, well so be it.  Men are designed to be lean, muscly to some extent, active, and energized with legitimate confidence (i.e. not being a pompous ass).  If you haven’t found your version of this lifestyle yet, then that simply means you can start right now, today.  It is never too late to put your temple in order.

Chances are you’ve been distracted by a job or some kind of career.  But it’s still no excuse.  It has been incontrovertibly proven that a sedentary lifestyle kills subtly yet efficiently behind the scenes, slowly destroying your body’s abilities until one day you wake up overweight and miserable.  But it is never too late to intervene upon this destructive path.

I used to be fifty pounds overweight, and now I’m not, because I took the necessary time to find exercise modalities I truly enjoy.  There is something for everyone.  And I was wise enough to ask for help from professional trainers when I knew I needed it.  Fitness is complicated; it takes time, effort, and money just like anything else, especially good relationships.  Don’t give up on yourself and your birthright:  to be healthy, lean, strong, and happy.

Nobody said it would be easy.  Guys who look amazing work out a LOT.  They have chosen on some level to make it a permanent part of their lifestyle.  And it’s not going to be perfect.  Since I started a new medication a couple month ago, I have become a little lethargic.  But once I start the workout, my energy usually snaps back into place.  And, fortunately, I am making some new friends who are already in the same mode of life, so the possibility of getting a workout buddy is very motivating as well.  I also find motivation in my hot guy art.

Have a nice day.  {>^<V}

Rosy the Wiener

White guys can be so hot.  I’ve noticed that if a white guy has a rosy face, then his dick and scrotum are usually rosy as well.  But if he has very dark features, such as one of those five o’clock shadows that makes his face look gray from a distance, then his dick and balls can be gray or even olive.  I’m one of the rosy ones.  So is my friend Todd.  His entire cock is pinky, not just the head.  So are his lusciously full lips.  I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful in the universe than a ruggedly handsome guy–you know, muscles, beard, chiseled brow and jaw–who has the lips of an angel, or the eyelashes of a doe.  Once I met a guy at the gym who looked like he was wearing rouge, that’s how naturally pink his cheeks were (face cheeks, that is).  I have ridiculously rosy cheeks.  It’s probably due to my Swiss-German ancestry.  I wish I got a thicker/blacker beard and bush, but oh well, you can’t have everything.  I’m sure there are darky guys out there who wish they had my eyes or something.

But I digest (just kidding, I know the word is digress).  Anyway, one of the darky kind of guys was fucking me one recent Saturday night.  A darky fucking a pinky!  He had the very full, dense five o’clock shadow I mentioned, complete with dimples just like Tom Selleck.  But somehow this guy was even hotter.  He shaved his body hair except for his bush, so that only made it stand out even more!  I complimented him on it, and he laughed awkwardly like he was embarrassed.  I pulled his gorgeous muscular hindquarters in close and asked him to go as deeply as he could so I could feel that beautiful black bush tickle my scrote.  I don’t think he was prepared for my exuberance.  What a waste of sumptuous bush and elephant-gray dick though.  He seems to be another clueless guy when it comes to conversation and making time for his sex life.  To make a long story short, he might be one of these turds who believes that his time and schedule are the only ones that matter.  I feel disappointed.  I wanted to get to know him.  He seemed nice underneath his stuck-uppery.  He had a really neat house too.

Oh well, once God closes a door, something better comes through the window.  I shall assume that I will meet a wonderfully kind, warm, and communicative guy very soon–a guy who is both a darky and a pinky at the SAME TIME!  Thick black stubble, dimples, eye lashes like a Mediterranean waiter, and the bright, blushing face and ass lips of the newest member of the Swiss Guard…

A guy like this for example:

Andre van Vliet

André van Vliet, world-renowned organist.

{>^<V}

Whaaaaaaaah?

Apparently I’m doing better than I thought.  Making the transition from an insecure young person devastated by mental illness, who was brainwashed into taking on a woman’s persona, into a happy, hot, sexy muscle guy who truly feels like a real man on the inside too, is possible.  I almost gave up several times, but I’m glad I didn’t.  I must have had subconscious faith in myself and my dreams.  I always felt so bad that I took it for granted that guys would look down on me, especially hot guys.  And the possibility of them feeling jealous or intimidated?  Wow, that didn’t cross my mind until today.  I keep forgetting that American men are masters of hiding their true feelings.  I know I did it for decades.  Why do I keep getting fooled?

My erect dick started out at 5.75 inches long.  But through a lot of perseverance with my penile enlargement exercises, I have made it to 7.00 inches on the dot.  It sticks out far now.  Guys seem to notice.  And the more fat I lose down there, the bigger it appears.  I definitely would like to make it even bigger.  It takes a long time and you have to be careful not to overdo the exercises.  But it does work, obviously.  I can’t help it.  I gotta either have a huge cock and/or get my hands on one, one way or another.  A good friend of mine has a boyfriend with an eleven inch dick.  When he told me I started to cry, no joke.  Right there in the coffee bar.  The barista gave me a free drink.  He probably thought we were talking about someone who died.  I felt sad that the guy met my friend before me.  My rectum felt sad too.  Using dildos, I calculated that I can fit 9.5 inches of whatever into my boy pussy.  That would leave about an inch and a half of wiggle room…

I got to know the eleven inch guy.  And you know what?  He’s a bit precious.  He clearly enjoys spending time with me; when he does grace me with a get-together, he opens up and we talk and have lots of fun.  But he still hasn’t returned several important text messages I sent him days ago.  Once I texted him when my car broke down.  Everyone else I knew was busy or out of town, and I was trapped in the Whole Foods parking lot–a fate worse than death.  I was surrounded by pretentious douchewads as far as the eye could see but, in their defense, two of them did help me bump start my car.  Anyway, the guy totally blew me off.  Apparently he’s moody and goes home and plays his guitar by himself for hours on end, due to him being so deep I guess.  These are classic symptoms of low self-esteem, and I fear he is depressed.  Fortunately he has my good friend as a boyfriend.  Anyway, I wonder why he doesn’t have some sort of penis-related self-esteem.  But if self-esteem were physiologically connected to one’s penis, then we both should have superhero confidence, right?  I’ve had a rather hefty seven-incher for a couple years now, but I have developed self-confidence by many other means that I do not wish to gloss over in this post.  But I shall save them for another time.

Tonight, however, this is what happened.  I met a guy on Craig’s List and we seemed to hit it off.  He said he was interested and sent me his picture.  He was a bit plump, but I didn’t mind.  I liked his crotch.  And his face was so cute!  I just wanted to meet new guys and socialize anyway.  Rejecting him for his weight was the furthest thing from my mind.  But the whole time it turned out that he was super insecure about it.  Finally, we got into an email argument over nothing, and he wrote, “And we’re finished.”  I was like, wow, so dramatic.  I wrote him back to explain that if he couldn’t handle the simplest of conflicts, then how exactly did he function at work, for example?  And that I genuinely liked him and gave him a chance.  I assumed that I would not hear from him, and I wasted my valuable time and energy on yet another ridiculously immature flake.

Then something interesting happened.  He wrote back with a lengthy tirade about how guys always find something to reject him over, and all the pain he was in over being overweight and out of shape.  I could hardly believe my eyes:

  • I know I’m not fit and handsome like you, and obviously you have your shit together and I don’t, you’re witty and intelligent, and you have a big dick–many good attributes.  I liked you too, and I was flattered that you even talked to me.  Fat, ugly, out of shape, bald me.  But there always seems to be something where when guys see me they find something to nitpick just to get out of being with a fat ugly guy.  I’m sorry, maybe that’s just my wall that I’ve built, but that’s how I feel.  I’m always on guard and probably overreact.  Okay so this is a rant–I’m sorry.

I really didn’t mind the weight.  He didn’t appear to be morbidly obese or anything like that.  I bent over backwards in previous emails to assure him that I was not concerned about his appearance.  But obviously he did not hear me.  I decided to try a different approach with my response:

  • You may be surprised to learn that I used to be overweight and very out of shape.  But I decided to change and was a personal training client for four and a half years nonstop.  I’ve been relatively hot for enough years now that I forgot what you might be going through.  But I am still over twenty percent body fat.  Guess what!  I have really thinning hair and thick red psoriasis on my scalp.  I took it for granted that fatter guys would NOT feel intimidated by me, but I was wrong of course.  I understand what you say in your email.  All guys want to be hot.  I’m sorry guys were mean to you.  Like I said, the guys who were born hot are all but worthless.  They are really horrible.  I have stories of them.  They don’t even know how to speak like a man.  I’ve met some who literally seemed retarded.  It’s crazy.  If I meet a kind hot guy I will let you know, in the mean time it’s up to the rest of us to find a way to meet and be friends and fuck I guess.  🙂

Here’s the deal.  The difference between being born hot and becoming hot later in life cannot be overemphasized.  It’s like the difference between being a native speaker of French and learning it from scratch as an adult with flash cards.  And I’m not even extremely ripped or anything yet!  But apparently, this guy assumed I have my “shit together”?  Good God, if only he knew.  I’ve been trying so hard for so many years to make up for the depth of my insecurity and perceived lacks, that I forgot to notice how far I’d come.  Native French speakers are notorious cunts, just like the hot fags who treat everyone they meet like shit, especially if you dare to have more than an ounce of fat.

Once, at college, our native French teacher’s parent’s showed up during class; they were visiting from the homeland.  The previous day this instructor, who was actually pretty nice, told us they were coming, and encouraged us to practice speaking French with them.  So, naturally, when there was a lull in the conversation, I gathered my nerve and bravely asked if they had been to any shows on Broadway.  New York is known for the theater, of course.  I thought this would be an excellent way to start.  I don’t even remember how I said it because it involved one of the past tenses–you know, Have you been to the theater, that sort of thing.  Well, the dad totally yelled at me!  He was like, NO.  We HAVEN’T BEEN to the THEATER.  One could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the classroom.  I looked at my teacher.  She looked embarrassed, which helped a little.  No wonder everybody hates these goddamn fucks.  Years later, an American French professor, who went to boarding school in France as a child, explained it to us:  they are taught by the school system from an early age to have a cultural superiority complex.  That, combined with a hefty national chip on their shoulder, makes for a pretty unpleasant group of people.  Just like the hot fags who roll out of bed every morning looking like a Greek god.

So it finally happened.  Someone out there is jealous of the forty-one-year-old guy who can’t work, pulls in a cool ten thousand dollars a year from Disability, has to live in a bad part of town, and has a hard time brushing his teeth regularly.  And all because I’ve managed to counteract my dumpy genes with several years of nonstop ass kicking in the gym to put on a few pounds of muscle.

Please continue reading at Whaaaaaaaah? II.

{>^<V}