I hate gays.
I’ve been called homophobic once. In the presence of a boyfriend.
I don’t have any gay friends because once I do give some a chance, I find their vapidity to be nauseating.
I hate gay bars, I hate gay clubs, I hate the entire gay culture.
I choose to ignore these places in my life because I’ve been to those places in an attempt to find solace when I felt alone at a young age.
I still feel alone most of the time anywhere I go.
Even on the internet, which is strange, considering its a clusterfuck of personalities. You’d think I’d be capable of finding one person who’d understand my sense of humor and my obscure pop references.
Like when people ask what I’m doing outside, I tell them I’m waiting for Tino. No one ever laughs at that.
It’s weird feeling alone.
Maybe I should start a group Social Retards Anonymous.
Maybe they would like to join my band called The The’s.
Maybe they’d care to join me at a restaurant and people watch.
Maybe they’d like to go moustache shopping while some upbeat Grizzly bear song plays in the background.
Maybe they’d care to watch a terrible grindhouse movie called I eat your flesh or I drink your blood.
Maybe they’d care to make a make shift laser field out of red yarn and sticks, then get drunk and go through it.
Maybe they’d care to buy top hats and monocles and go to a fancy restaurant.
Or maybe they’d care to watch Reality TV with me and comment on how shameless everyone is and why Fantasia For Reals isn’t a documentary on the the animated film.
I’m sad now.
I’m also drunk.
Coherently drunk.
I’m one of the few who can take shots every time Tyra says something crazy on ANTM, play another drinking game during the Jersey Shore for when the situation is mentioned, and still be capable of driving and parallel parking.
I meant to go somewhere with that.
Someone take my macbook away.
She’s going very slow and I’m about to go Chris Brown on it.
I’ll probably write a song about it later.
I’ll take some pointers from Ke$ha and be a Lady gaga ripoff.
I’m done.
Lemon out.
