Did I Get Hit On? Again…?

I mentioned before that I’m not too solid in the brain when it comes to getting hit on.  Well…I think it’s time to prove that point even further.  I once worked as a security guard at a Condo building.  The place was like 18 floors of condos, although the first two floors were a parking garage, office, and there was a small grocer’s shop attached to the front entrance.  They also had a fitness center and a open lounge (for tenants) on the 3rd floor.

It was actually a pretty nice place to live in, I think.  Of course I was getting paid $10 an hour to work there at the time and the cheapest Condo was $1100 a month.  They’d just decided to cut costs by firing the $30 an hour doorman and hiring an unarmed security guard to lock up the lounge, fitness center, and shop on the weekends.  This caused some confusion because something a lot of people don’t understand is that a doorman and a security guard are not the same thing.  They are actually the opposite of each other:

A Doorman opens doors for people, helps them carry their bags, and is generally supposed to be accommodating and helpful.

A Security Guard keeps doors closed, checks peoples’ bags for stolen merchandise, contraband, and bombs, and is generally supposed to be vigilant at their post.


Back on track, then!

Back on track, then!


But that’s a whole other story…one not nearly as interesting as the one I started telling.  You see during this time I had a couple of chances for some sweet lovin’ that I only realized several years later.  Several years and a wife who thinks everyone who waits on our table is out to sleep with me.  Well okay, there was that one waitress, but that’s a different story.

Anyway the first one was awkward on several levels.  You see this guy ordered some delivery food and when he came down I was at the front desk just wiling away the time (I generally polished my desk three times a night…because the job was reeeaaallly boring).  He introduced himself as ‘Mac’ and I haven’t changed the name because the fact that his name was actually Mac is pretty funny.  Especially when you consider that he was a 5’6” white guy named Mac.

Anyway Mac said that he made a mistake when ordering his sandwich, he got one that was way too big.  He told me that he only wanted a half sub, but he had to order the whole sub because of the delivery minimum.  He offered me half his sandwich, said he had a case of beer we could split, and was about to watch the game.

I told him I was on duty and couldn’t drink.  He then asked me when my shift was over, I told him 2:00am and he promised he’d still be up, and he had the game recorded so he could just rewind it if I wanted to come up then.  I’d be off duty, so the sandwich and beers would be totally cool, then.  I should like to point out that during this conversation it was only 8:00pm.

He wrote his apartment number down and handed it to me, so I’d remember which apartment was his.

Everybody tells me that I could have had my first gay experience if I’d just taken a little stroll up to the eighth floor that night.

Shame I had to wait until that night in Mexican Pris--I mean, never mind.

Shame I had to wait until that night in Mexican Pris–I mean, never mind.

So what do you think?  Are they right?  Was Mac hitting on me?  Do you think he was disappointed that I never came up to his place?  Let me know in the comments.



Did I Get Hit On?

As I’ve mentioned before I’m not real good at noticing when people are hitting on me.  Here’s a story that’s just more proof of that.

The wife and I had gone to dinner at a particular buffet that I have mentioned before.  I mentioned it because an 8-year-old tried to jack me off in the restroom of said establishment.  Said establishment is Golden Corral.  And yes, I went back after that.  Why?

I would murder a close family member for a lifetime supply of these things.

I would murder a close family member for a lifetime supply of these things.


Anyway, we’re not here to talk about Golden Corral’s delicious rolls.  Mostly because they aren’t paying me to mention them.  But no, instead we are here to talk about the buffet cashier.  So the wife and I are getting our drinks and paying, it’s mid-afternoon on a weekday because we were off work on that day.  At that time I had ruined my good cap from painting the new house, so I was wearing a cap that a friend had given me in exchange for helping him move.  It was a cap from Niagara Falls, the Canadian side; so it had a Canadian Flag on the front.

It looked like this.  But slightly less racist.

It looked like this. But slightly less racist.


The cashier was a young guy, he looked about sixteen but might have been as old as twenty, for all I know.  He was a little nerdy and seemed slightly awkward, but he did his job well.  I paid with a card and while we were waiting for the card authorization and receipt to print he noticed my hat.  He smiled at me and said, “I like your hat.  What part of Canada are you from?”

Now, even though the hat in question is comfortable, I wear it as little as possible because I get that question a lot.  I generally use the joke, “The Deep South of Canada.  A place called Pennsylvania.”  But then people just give me surprised looks and say, “Wow!  I never knew there was a Pennsylvania in Canada, too!  Is it a state or just a city?”  So now I don’t make that joke anymore…and I try to not wear the hat if at all possible.

But that day I had the hat on and I responded with a simple, “Canada?  Oh, the hat.  No, it was just a gift from a friend.  I’ve never actually even been to Canada…or Niagara Falls at all, as a matter of fact.”

He laughed, a little awkwardly, and said, “Oh, I was just trying to find something to keep talking to you about.”

We laughed, I signed the receipt, and we went to our table.  When we got there the wife grabbed me by the hand and looked me in the eyes, “You know the cashier was flirting with you, right?”



“What?  That’s ridiculous.  He wasn’t flirting with me.  He was just making small talk.”



“Seriously?  Did you not notice his body language?  The fact that, yes sure he smiled at me, but every time you two made eye contact he lit up like a light bulb and giggled like a schoolgirl.”




“What?  He did not…he was just friendly.  Cashiers are supposed to be friendly.  He just…y’know…held on to the receipt and smiled at me.  Fluttering his eyelids while we stared longingly at…each…other…”





“Oh god!  The poor kid was hitting on me wasn’t he?”




“You are such an idiot.  Of course he was…and you were blind to his affectionate advances.”




So, yeah…like I said.  Not really all that good at noticing when people hit on me.  This story device may become a theme on the site as my wife keeps reminding me of other times I’ve done it.


The worst thing was…the kid was kind of a cute.  If I were a little less hungry and a little more gay, I might have taken him home.

Pissing the Night Away

I was at the mall with my fiancé recently and while there I had to urinate. I went into the restroom and there were two open urinals so I picked one on the closer side of a young man in a blue shirt and jeans. He was standing there at the urinal when I came in and I just did my business, shook it vigorously, and put it away with a little bit of pep and the perfunctory zip.
The restroom emptied out as I walked over to the sink, so it was just myself and the blue-shirted lad who was still standing at the urinal. As I started washing my hands he cleared his throat and I instinctively looked up into the mirror overlooking the sink, which reflected the backs of the gentlemen at the urinals.
I watched as the young man reached into the back of his pants, moved his boxers aside, and dug his fingers into his anus.

Yeah, that's about my facial expression, too.

Yeah, that’s about my facial expression, too.

He played with his ass for a couple seconds then removed his hand and shook it out. Then he reached up and licked his hand, from the top of the palm to the tip of the fingers.

Again, about my expression.

Again, about my expression.

He then cleared his throat again and hocked a loogie into his palm, the same one that had been spelunking in his rectum a few moments earlier. He proceeded to use said hand-loogie to massage his penis.
After a moment of rubbing the spit into his dick he shook it off and zipped it up, then walked over to the sink beside me. He turned the sink on, wafted the tips of his fingers under the water for a short moment, then turned the sink off.
He then walked toward the exit and stopped off at the handicap sink and did another hydro-dusting of his fingertips before activating the blow-dryers and waving his hands under them for almost a full second.
And then he was gone.

Aaah, sweet relief.  Now if only I could scrub my brain to un-see what I just saw.

Aaah, sweet relief. Now if only I could scrub my brain to un-see what I just saw.

I told you that story because I seem to have a habit of strange incidents in public restrooms.
Last year I was at a buffet-style restaurant and I hopped into the restroom to partake in the ceremonial usage of a urinal. As I was taking a piss, or leaving one as the case may have been, a pair of very young, and un-chaperoned, males walked into the restroom. There were only two urinals and I had one occupied so one boy went into the stall and the other walked up beside me and whipped out his junk.
Before he could do anything of worth he turned his head and looked at me, and everything in his brain clearly stopped functioning.

This expression...but thirty years younger.

This expression…but thirty years younger.

His mouth was agape and his eyes were about to fall out of their sockets they were so wide open. His hand rose and he held it in the air, almost as if he wanted to be called on to ask a question. His fingers extended and he just stood there, one hand on his junk and one hand in the air, open-palmed, ever-so-slowly inching toward my own penis.
All I could do was stare at the kid, myself. Keep in mind he was probably around eight, maybe nine years old. He stood at a height of about my waist, so my adult man-cock was eye level to him, and he was absolutely amazed, if not totally entranced, by it.
And I began to pray for the first time in my life…pray that I could piss just a little faster; before this little eight-year-old tried to give me the creepiest handjob in the history of Golden Corral.
I just barely finished as the kid got his hand into what I would call my ‘personal space’ area. I shook the fluid from the tip of my cock, as we men are prone to do if you ladies reading weren’t aware, and his fingers flinched and his eyes flared.
I decided not to risk it and just shoved my still-damp dick back in my pants. I felt a few drops trickle upon my thigh, but it was better than the alternative, I figured. I quickly washed my hands, the boy couldn’t take his eyes off my crotch the whole time, and I got the hell out of there.
So, whoever is raising that boy…my apologies that my penis is so awesome that the mere sight of it is enough to turn young boys gay.
Oh damn; that last line will be read in court some day, I just know.

Anderson Cooper Is…Fabulous! (Photopost)

In honor of Anderson Cooper coming out, which I’m sure wasn’t as big of a surprise as this article makes it out to be, I’ve created some meme-style photos of the Silver Fox.

I might make up some more of these, they’re kind of in the style of the Condescending Wonka meme, but with Anderson Cooper, instead.

A Silver Fox!

Here’s my original that I use to make them, in case anyone would like to share their own attempts with us.

And finally, going along with Anderson’s infamous giggles…

Yes…go on…

And this just goes to show that Kate Gosselin would have been very embarrassed if Anderson Cooper had taken up her challenge to compete on Dancing With the Stars.


BTW, I hope you all enjoy your Independance Day celebrations.  July 5th’s my favorite holiday…because I get to read the police blotters about all the July 4th accidents and maimings.

Put These Idiots In ‘Death Fences’

Some of you may have heard of the Southern Baptist (what is it with these people?  They’re like the Taliban of Christianity!) preacher from North Carolina (I’ll bet he voted in favor of the recent amendment in NC) who spoke of putting all the homosexuals in the country into death camps created by building hundreds of miles of electrified fencing.  Admittely he was godfully compassionate, talking about dropping food into the area so they didn’t starve.  And we could just let homosexuality die out ‘naturally’.  His name is Charles Worley and here’s his rant, err, I mean…Sermon:

Well here’s some physics for you first…150 miles of fencing would create 1,406 square miles for each respective gay gender.  So that’s 1400 sq miles for lesbians and 1400 sq miles for, as Pastor Worly puts it, queers.  There are roughly 9 million Americans who consider themself homosexual or bisexual.  If we assume it’s a 50/50 split between men and women, then that gives us 4.5 million people per fenced-in area.  That’s a population density of 3,200 people per square mile.  That’s not too bad…a small city, at least.

But if you account for the 19 million Americans who have engaged in same-sex sexual acts, that brings it up to 9.5 million per fence or a density of 6,759 people per square mile.  And if you figure for the fact that he only said that length of fence one, and could therefore imply that he meant it would contain the entire 19 million queery people in there.  That brings us up to 13,513 people per square mile.

To put that in context…that would be the equivalent of Boston, which has a population density of 13,321 people per square mile.  It would also be more dense than Chicago, Philadelphia, or Miami.  It would be about 60% more dense than Staten Island, New York.

Given that I highly doubt he intends to convince congress to give up Staten Island for the new Queersville, I imagine he’d like to do this out in some prairie; and since he said we’d have to air-drop food in, I’m guessing there’ll be no agricultural capabilities of the land.  No medical care or police services, either, by the sounds of it.  So I think that disease and panic will kill them off long before ‘natural causes’ come into play.

Well, you know what’s even worse than all his idiocy?  The fact that people support that kind of idea.  Look at this Rhodes Scholar from his church:

At what point do you not just begin to feel ashamed?


North Carolina Has Failed Humanity.

As you may or may not know, North Carolina has recently passed an amendment to their state constitution that bans gay marraige.  It also bans civil unions for homosexuals and domestic partnerships (i.e. engagements) for straight folks and gay, alike.

This bill passed even though a poll suggested that 55% of the populace of NC actually supported civil unions.  The PACs supporting each side were, the last I heard, split up like this…

Pro-Gays: 95% personal donations

Anti-Gays: 95% corporate donations

So if you want to fight corporate corruption, vote in favor of gay marriage.

Rather than get off into a rant about how stupid the general voting populace of North Carolina apparently are, and quite frankly if you vote for any bill that supports straight-only marriage, you don’t deserve the right to vote.  It’s not a matter of opinion, it’s a matter of idiocy.  If you think your religion is better than love, then you probably just misunderstood your own frickin’ religion.

So rather than rant…I’ll just put up some pictures…

Incest should be legal; gay marriage should be illegal. That’s the Christian way of thinking?

And you won’t let gay folks adopt, either. Maybe if you’d let gay folks adopt, you’d start getting some straight kids once in a while.

Welcome to Straight Parenting.

Not a hard high-water mark to hit.

Why can’t straight people make decent signs?

And finally, I’ll leave you all with this one last one to consider.


Photopost: Superman-Batman, uhh, Yaoi? Maybe?

I never really commented on DC comics doing a total retcon of their entire history and universe.  Well…I still won’t.  Instead I’ve got a two-parter Photopost for you!  Superman enters the Batcave and innocently offers Batman some help with a clothing malfunction.  Here’s the first part…


And stay tuned to the next blog…to see the exciting conclusion to Batman vs. Superman.  The nippley battle of the…aw hell, never mind here’s part two…




P.S. The artist is Adriana Ferguson.

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