deliver me from evil

"have you seen my female magistrate?"

i've been fervidly penetrating the world of sex blogging these past few weeks. i reckon i have the debutante to thank for this. over the summer the debutante introduced me to a sex blog she knew... i found it the perfect way to kill a dull afternoon minding the phones at work over the summer. and from there i found countless others. today, i encountered the most titillating sex blog yet. it's written by this hetero couple from the u.k. who vividly describe their sexual encounters, and have even gone so far as taking photographs of cumshots... (isn't digital photography and online publishing a miracle?) i've been enthralled with it all afternoon. i gawked at the pictures they take of themselves, fascinated, jealous, aroused. while faces are obscured to ensure anonymity, there's an element of sheer voyeurism that i find infinitely compelling. shortly after this discovery, i founding myself contemplating my reflection in one of the twenty mirrors in my house...

i asked the reflection: "reflection, why are you always thinking about sex blogging?"

the reflection replied: "it's cos you have sex on the brain, young man. go and fine yourself some ass, and you'll get over it..."

the reflection has spoken.

i can't bring myself to smear: ashley macissac

ashely macissac poses in front of his artwork in toronto

okay, i was fully prepared to smear the fuck out of poor ol' ashley macissac but realized that i couldn't bring myself to do it. evil! you ask. why not? indulge me. blessed by some kick-ass fiddle skills, his parents shopped this poor kid out to the folk-obsessed atlantic canadian news media, who threw him on the five o-clock news when he was ten years old. from that point he launched into this ridiculous music career as a teenager touring through the atlantic provinces and eventually across canada and around the world. he tried for a short time to make fiddle music cool and actually pulled it off for an album or so. i hated him, but whatever. too bad for him he was actually a big homo, and had to undergo what could only have been a extremely rough coming out process in the public eye, resulting in a crack addiction and some ill-advised public declarations of using his 16 year old concubine's mouth as a urinal. all this could only have been his way of telling the media to fuck off and leave him be. the rest of us get to fuck up in private. i have great empathy to those who cannot.

i'm pleased to see that his latest musical offering is titled 'pride'. a bit cheesy, but probably an healthy move in the right direction for ol' ashley.

smear campaign 11: default-theory-of-a-nickel-creed's chad kroeger

"look at this photograph, yeah..."

for being so mediocre and creating an army of mediocre impersonators, chad kroeger deserves "smear of the year"... this guy is a fucking douche! a hero cookie to whomever can write the most shocking and offensive anti-kroegs haiku...

the oracle

i am the cattle queen... now shutthefuckup and bend me over.

class yesterday at b-list university was interesting. my professor, who i will now refer to only as the oracle, proceeded to crash and burn before my very eyes. whilst rambling off about the miracles of gay representation on television he suddenly turned the coversation toward himself getting bullied by the local hockey team when in high school and how, by featuring gay characters on programmes like coronation street, this will help kids like him not get bullied so much in high school. obviously, this raised a few eyebrows. then, the oracle looks at me and says: "evil (not my real name), you must be able to relate to this as well?"

i stared at him blankly. the awkward silence in the room suddenly became deafening. the oracle then turned eight shades of purple in front of everyone in the class, put his head down, took a breath, then picked up the conversation on another topic.

bold moves

another jem from tyler landry at dugost.com

i'm a bit conflicted as i write this. i'm feeling pressure to update you all on what went down in o-town last night between myself and a.b. yet, i'll admit that i do find this element of blogging to be somewhat invasive and created this blog with the intent of avoiding this kind of writing -- the boring, navel gazing, this-is-what-i-did-today sort of thing... over the summer i have shifted in this direction more. i like having a forum to toss out my ideas and have them trashed or rubber stamped by you, some of my closest friends. and it's anonymous, so i reckon there's no great harm, but i sometimes wonder...

clearly, if this is the shit i'm talking about, ol' evil did not get ass last night. i pounced him after the honky tonk concert. at this place in his bedroom. it was a bold move. i forced him against the wall and laid a big wet one right on his lips. but the fucker wouldn't kiss me back. flattered, he said, but straight as an arrow. (we were both quite drunk, and i secretly admit that i was almost too drunk to even have sex by this point, but nonetheless...)

liar! i screamed. why don't you date girls then? why would you corner a homo one night when you were tanked and confess to me that you're bisexual? i asked. you're a closet case! i roared. no replies, just a stready "you're fantatsic, if i were gay i'd pick you but i prefer women." by this point the two of us were on his bed and were rolling around. i kept kissing him but he wouldn't kiss me back.

agony!

then i got aggro (mostly with myself) and announced i was leaving. suddenly he seemed to take care at how drunk i was and offered me his couch (also located in his bedroom). he seemed concerned that i was a bit frustrated and tried to calm me down, told me that he still wants to be great friends and besides, who else can he fence with? but i would have none of it and stormed out.

and that's how it all went down. did i mention it was his birthday too?

today i found myself on a long walk... from time to time i go on walks in search of something beautiful. a person, human behaviour, a vista, a tree... i walked for hours and found nothing. i concluded from this that i couldn't find anything because i was looking too hard for it. (i also concluded that o-hole's urban planners are a bunch of fucking terrorists. but that's another entry.) and i guess that's the point.

but this is all too personal isn't it? no one wants to read this, and i barely want to even admit any of this happened. i also barely want to admit that i bumped into a.b. a few hours ago on bank street and ignored him and in turn he ignored me back.

poetry

courtesy of tyler landry at dugost.com

a joint, three manhattans, an episode of six feet under, and a letter to the rock journalist.

talked to grandma tonight. she's doing well as are the cats. she reckons autumn's upon us though, so brace yourselfs... we might be in for a long winter.

spent.