Accomplishing Things: Admirable Trait or Overrated Habit?

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Considering what a lazy slug I am, devoting my life to sleeping and eating cookies, the last three weeks have been a disturbing whirlwind of activity.  A bee, baby, a busy little bee, that’s me.  And I have hated most of it.  Never has my bedroom seemed so appealingly cozy yet so far away.

I managed to get all my rugs washed, host that adorable miscreant Diane von Austinburg, get the apartment painted, and take down and then put back up my massive aluminum plate collection.

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Before

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After.  And after crippling me putting them all back up.

A collection which my brother thinks resembles hubcaps on the wall.  I know this because we had dinner last night and he said so.   Yes, I am back in the old country, Houston, Texas.   As is my right as a native,  albeit misplaced,  Texan, I have spent my time here putting away large plates of the holy trinity of Texian foods: barbecue, fried seafood, and Mexican food.

I also have chatted at length with my dear brother about our odd family and he caught me up on the gossip which I would already know about, apparently, if I just would get sucked into the FaceBook vortex.   I refuse, I prefer to get my gossip as god planned it, second hand from a biased family member.

Naked guys for Mikey and the gang at Chaturbate:

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Special for Mikey

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Young, dumb and ful of cum.  At least, until I get through with him.

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And just because I’m in a Texas state of mind.

“we have been eating our little brains out,” said Diane von Austinburg

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A direct quote and quite a correct one. Diane von Austinburg visited us last week and we had a lovely time eating our way through San Francisco.  One of the great things about living in a really rich city is all the great restaurants here.  Rich guys just love to shovel in the fancy grub.  We even cooked one night, and by “cooked”  I mean we boiled water for ravioli and microwaved red sauce from the farmers’ market.

Also, most of the rug bonanza I had set off earlier came home to roost as they pretty much all got delivered right before Diane got here.  I had the brilliant idea of waiting until she was settled in before I unrolled them so she could thrill in the reveal.  Lots of ta-dahs going on, because they were gorgeous beyond my wildest fantasy.  Diane was quite taken by them and once again agreed that I was a genius.  So perceptive, don’t you think?

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Our new, formerly dusty, bedroom rug

And it was brilliant, right up to the point where I fucked up my back by moving furniture and carpets around.  Ouch.  So I spent most of the first few days of her visit crippled in bed.  Plus the fabulous fuschia rug in my room was so dusty, it choked me and I had to remove my bed to the living room where Diane tiptoed around me.  So very fabulous for your visiting guest.  Anyway, my insane rug cleaner brought back a bunch of rugs I had had washed before Diane got here and took off the new dirty ones and then gave me a fabulous great big one.  One of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen.  Obvisouly it pays to be a good customer.

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And our new living room rug, gifted to us by the insane rug guy.

Poor Diane, she loves the cool, foggy we are so famous for, but she so often winds up here during our rare hot spells.  Sure enough. the whole time she was with me, the weather looked like some kind of commercial for California tourism: brilliant, clear blue skies and hot, hot sun.  I tired hard to assume some kind of Zen lizard state of mind and bask in it, but it wasn’t working.  Diane, who had left Texas to get away from that very thing, was not happy.  Poor Diane.

Of course today, two days after she left, we are socked in with dense fog and the temperature has plummeted lower than the sturdiest Texas air conditioner could pump out.  Irony, it’s what’s for dinner.

Fat dicks for Mikey:

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And some butt chops

Mod Squad

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So our friend Mikey, the sweetest, I cutest naked guy in the world sends this to remind us all to come visit him soon over at Chaturbate

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Who could say no?

I’ve been meaning to discuss the evolution of the family I’ve become part of over on Mikey’s Chaturbate room.  In the four years I’ve been drooling around there, I wound up becoming friends with the other moderators (as the performer, Mikey gets to anoint various fans as mods.  I’m not sure what all we can do except that we have the power to eject other fans who are offensive or whom we just don’t like.  Do not cross a mod, bitch.) It is very much like the friendships I have with my blog buddies here.

While many are called but few are chosen, there is a core group of us who can be depended upon to show up pretty regularly.  They include:

Annita, the Instigator

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Whenever we get too chatty ( and that happens A LOT.  Somebody the other night asked what we were doing talking about recipes while Mikey was choking his big ol chicken.  Point taken.) Annita steps in to remind us that we need to zap his hot pussy.  Chastened, we all turn to.  Annita is the boss and we all recognize that.   When she says to tip, we have no choice but to turn Mikey’s pussy hole into smoking ruins.

Brain, the Comic Relief

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Brain and I share a sense of humor (or “humor”) that lurks around the edges of the comment section with both of us making jokes only the other one seems to understand.  We had a long back-and-forth about Irene Cara just the other night.  It’s come to the point where we comment identically and then yell JINX pretty much every time we’re there at the same time.  Brain resides in a very white trash part of Florida (which implies there are parts that aren’t, but never mind) so he and I also get to chat about the South.   My, the laffs, the tears.

Chris, the Sneaky One

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While the rest of us noodle along sending tips of various sizes to Mikey and making his dildo zap his pussy with electricity, Chris specializes in waiting until after the money shot, when Mikey is lying there with jizz splattered about, trying to catch his breath and then BAMMO, he lets fly with a flurry of zaps, usually including one great big one, that has Mikey squealing and bouncing and the rest of us laughing and clapping our hands like gay little girls.

Lifty, the Trouble Maker

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I wouldn’t have classed Lifty as slinging mischief until earlier this week when he showed his true colors.  He ever so casually mentioned he was involved in a tournament in a game app called WordScapes.  Somehow, I had previously missed the addictive past time of the Word, but now I have been sucked into the vortex and I am stuck on it.  I play it at the cafe, riding in Uber, in bed when I should be sleeping; there is no escape.  My other mods have also been exposed, but are resisting, so thanks Lifty.  Thanks a fat lot.

Lifty:

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All renderings are the editor’s conceptions (and wishful thinking) and are not intended to be a depiction of any actual troublemaker.

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Artist’s impression of Mikey’s Chaturbate room, mods included.

I have to admit the nattering nabob I mentioned earlier who took exception to our chatting in the comments had a valid point, even if he was an annoying little shit.  Mikey is a sweet, sweet boy and also a hot, cute, muscley piece of heaven that we should be glad to simply stare at.  Instead, we wander off into various discussion on our own all the while Mikey is there like sex on legs.

Frequent topics include

  • How’s your mother?
  • How’s your liver?
  • How’d your potsickers turn out?

Annita is the primary caregiver to her mother with Alzheimer’s, Chris’s liver is severely problematic and sent him to the hospital this summer, Brain fights the good fight of home maintenance on the Gulf Coast and has wood rot to prove it, and I live with a psychotic cat.  We all have our burdens and Mikey’s Whack Off Chamber is a good place to help us deal with them.  Sort of group therapy without the annoying therapy part.

Plus we regularly provide the Mikey Chaturbate Action News Weather Center with live reports from San Francisco, Hawaii, Phoenix and Florida!  You don’t get that anywhere else, bitches.

Actually, some visitors have mentioned they enjoy the ambiance our chatter provides, that it makes the place much friendlier than most of the rooms where all the discussion centers around something along the lines of “You are a god, cum on my face”.  I think that’s charming.  Other viewers who are not so entranced can simply suck it.

Visitors to the room get to pick screen names by which they are identified in the comment section.  For reasons unclear to me, many of them pick celebrity names, including Julia Roberts.  I was struck by the ludicrous image of the real Ms Roberts sitting in front of her computer, watching Mikey have at it so I started carrying on as if I believed it really was the genuine article, aways referring to her as MISS JULIA ROBERTS, Famous Movie Star Person.  I appreciate the patience my fellow moderators have shown with this fantasy.

Ruggedly Handsome

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I know, he is, isn’t he?

And while we’re discussing rugs (yes we are.  Aren’t you paying attention?) I’m so glad to announce I have bought 2 more of the Chinese Art Deco rugs I’m so fond of and which I now find myself slightly over supplied with.

Did I need 2 more rugs?  “Need” is such a slippery term, don’t you think?  In the sense that every floor of every room in this apartment is already covered with them, no I probably didn’t need any more, but in the sense of an aching, unfulfilled longing for the sassy beauty of them, then, yes, yes I definitely needed them.

My theory is that you bring together an old gay man, the internet, and a credit card and one of two things will magically happen: porn or shopping for decorating items.  I had already watched all the porn so that only left decorating.  Obviously, it’s not my fault.

Last week, during a lull in porn, I remembered my love of Art Deco carpets, as I so often do, and I went noodling around on Google to see what they had to say about them.  I do this everyso often, not really shopping so much as allowing myself to feel horrified and superior about how much the cost of these beauties has skyrocketed of late.  I look at rugs that are smaller and uglier than any of mine and that are fetching thousands of dollars and I think “I am walking on a motherfucking goldmine.  Hoo hoo.”  And then I brood about how it’s a good thing I don’t have room for any more because I certainly couldn’t afford them.

But then this sweet little rug that had been flirting with me for a while popped up in an ad that the evil algorithms that haunt my every waking moment aimed in my direction.  Hot pink and orange with a frilly little design of pagodas and grapes, its ridiculous vulgarity is irresistible.

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Oh.  Baby.

My past refusal to play along did not deter the algorithms, they knew I wanted this rug bad; my occasional clicking on the link “just to look” only confirmed my vulnerability.

Once again I had a voyeuristic thrill of visiting her and then went wandering off (which is code for “more porn”) but when I went back a while later, the rug had disappeared from the site.  Oh, the wailing, the gnashing of teeth.  I had lost this week’s only love of my life.

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This is also one of the Only Loves of My Life.

Anyone who has spent any time hacking away at thrift stores knows this pain.  When you find something in one of these joints, you know full well the only chance is right then.  If you ponder on it for a while and come back, you will be guaranteed to lose out.

Some days later, I was on the hunt (this time on purpose) for a rug to replace the runner in my hall.  The rug there had seem insouciant and amusing when we first met, but the charm has worn off and I wanted to dump the bitch and bring in one of those Art Deco lovelies.  EBay had a perfectly nice one for a not too ridiculous price, so I bid on it.  And then I looked down at the bottom of the page, and there was the hot pink carpet taunting me.  Obviously, this was a sign.  I had to have it.  So gritting my teeth against the hideous price (oh, don’t ask) I plunged in and snagged it.

Yay.

In the thrill of victory, I sort of forgot about the bid I had put in until I got a cheery email from EBay gaily announcing I had won.  Again, yay.  And so I bought 2 rugs.  Still, I actually needed that one (or at least had a viable excuse for it) and I wanted the other one so now I am all set.

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The only picture I could find of the rug I won.

Except in the time I have been hacking away at this post, I wound up buying 3 more little rugs.  The Ebay page with my winning bid on it just happened to have pictures of a few others “that I might be interested in.”  What a sucker I am.  But, but, but they’re delightful, and they really were affordable and I have places for them.  Plus, as I mentioned, I had watched all the porn.

So NOW I’m through.  Absolutely.  Never gonna go down that bad path again, nosiree.  Except the place in front of the dor now is bare and there’s this gold one with dahlias on it.

Oh god.

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We now resume porn.

The Dick, as They Are Sucked

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I know many gay men have gone through their life without embracing the slutty thrills of excessive sex, much sex with many mens in any setting that was at hand in the way that I so enthusiastically did.  I don’t know why, but I accept it.  Because of that, I now find myself an expert in the field of cocks and the sucking thereof.  And so today, I will be considering the way different cock structures lend themselves to different sucking methods.  Herewith, the Six Main Dicks and Their Utilization in Prick Licking:

 

1 The Straight Down the Middle Cock

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These are the least demanding, most versatile of dicks.  Fortunately they’re also the most common.  They pull it out of their jeans, you get down and get down, it pretty much takes care of itself.  A side note, which applies to all penises: bigger is not only better, it’s easier.  A dick that is not big enough to cross the gag reflex line and stay there is just trouble.  Once a dick has gotten across your reflex and you’ve settled all that choking down, you can concentrate on swallowing the Man Bologna, but if it’s so small that it keeps slipping back and forth across the reflex line, there is no end to the semi-retching you get to enjoy.  Also, what is the plural of penis?  Penii?

2 The Banana

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God’s gift to cocksuckers.  the curve downwards of this bad boy follows the natural line of your throat and thus snugly fits in your gullet.  Plus side: in a speedo, it looks like porn come to life.

3 The Rhino

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The exact opposite of The Banana, the Rhino is the hardest to handle in a “get down on your knees and swallow it” kind of setting since it refuses to fit in a mouth past the incisors, despite the Rhino man’s screams of “Watch your fucking teeth!”  While it lends itself to those backroom situations where the sucker is standing next to the sucked and just leaning over, it really is at its best in a good, old fashioned 69.  By crawling over the Rhino’s belly and coming at it upside down, the sucker is able to turn the curve of it into the same throat compatible arc of the Banana.  No other dick gets so stiff or looks so rigid as a Rhino.

 

4 The Slice (curves to the right) and 5 The Hook (to the left)

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Both the Slice and the Hook are simply deviations from the Straight Down the Middle, in that they just snake to one side, sometimes a little, sometimes a lot.  Usually the divergence isn’t enough to bother a serious sword swallower, I only include it here because there are times when it definitely matters and that would be the Drive By Blow Job.  No one enjoys more than me the spontaneous thrill of some lip service in the front seat of a car, whether the car is moving or not (but watch those speed bumps.)  It’s in those rather constricted spaces that the bend has got to work with you or it’s all teeth marks and tears.  Simply put, you have to point towards the gear shift.  The Slice (curving to the right) is perfect for drivers getting swallowed while the Hook can only help out a passenger.  A note: this is all dependent on left hand drive.   Obvs.

Finally, 6 The Maypole

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Another variation on the Straight Down the Middle, this is that all too rare prize: too much of a good thing.  While the Straight Down the Middle will be nice and hard, the Maypole borrows its rigidity from the Rhino resulting in a jabber pointing straight at the back of your head, through the front.  Overly enthusiastic possessors of this (and they’re always overly enthusiastic) will shove you away even as they’re pull you in.   Should you try to ease up for, I don’t know, OXYGEN, the Maypole will just follow through by stepping further up to the plate.  As you retreat, he pursues and eventually you wind up doing a kind of backwards conga line across the backroom floor.  Amusing to bystanders, it’s hell on your throat and knees.

While these are the basics, I’m sure there are others out there, near and dear to our readers’ perverted little hearts.  Tell us all about them, darling.  Spare no lurid details, even if you need to make them up.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Cornucopia of Not Much

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Please join me in wishing our dear Diane vonAustinburg congratulations.  The old thing is slipping the leash of employment and retiring, I think on Friday.  I am not sure about the specific date because whenever I would ask her for it, she would airily reply “Just 17 more days” as if I was going to get out my fucking calculator and calendar and astrolabe and figure that out.  Obviously, Diane has not caught on to the “not working” part of not working.  Instead, I’m just going with wildly guessing, a technique which led to my flunking algebra in the 9th grade.

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I couldn’t decide what to get her as a gift, so I fell back on the tried and true method of just springing for something that I would want myself

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Congrats, sqweetie!

On a recent morning, I was lying in the dark, about three quarters asleep and looking forward ot closing in on the last quarter, when some damn Evil and Adorable cat busted into the room and commenced squalling in a really unnecessarily strident manner.  Ugh. I got up, berating him the whole time, which always helps so very much, only to find his food bowl full and no ravening jackals at the door, as his manner seemed to imply.

He and I stared at each other across the living room with him maintaining his air of demanding to see the manager.  It dawned on me we had gone through this same not very amusing show a few times earlier this summer and it was always on a foggy morning.  That’s when I realized the little shit was incensed that his sunshine was missing and insisting that I replace at once.

He wanted me to fix the fog.  Dick.

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Why can’t something like this ever wake me up and demand attention?

Also, a pat on my own back.  Completely undeserved of course.  I have been honing my skills at procrastinating (which were already very impressive.)  by ignoring a small spate of tasks and paperwork that had been pitifully calling out for my attention for the last 3 months.  I would occasionally look at them and then go have a cookie.  But this afternoon, I suddenly turned my laserlike focus on those bad boys and dealt with a tax bill, an insurance question, and a scheduling conflict.  Woo hoo!  To reward myself:

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The world’s most beautiful man.  Hair like that needs to be properly admired.  Sir, I salute your coif.

Lastly, one last cute guy.  Cause you can never have too much.

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Another shout out to our Chaturbate Romanian friend Mikey who is very particular to men in, or even better, largely out of , blue

In Which We Examine the Internet

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Because I am terribly au courant, and not because I am a lazy slug, I spend a great deal of time staring vacantly at pictures brought to me by the magic of the internet.  Of course, most of these images are nothing but smut.  Isn’t that basically what the world’s greatest advance in knowledge sharing is used for?  Still, in amongst the endless torrent of filthy photos I stumble across some that engage me for reasons other than engorging my bits.  Without further dithering, let me share some of my favorite recent examples.

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Isn’t this adorable?  When I said they interest me for reasons other than smut, I didn’t mean to imply these pictures are totally without smut content.  But what struck me with this one was the boys’ cheery wholesomeness, emphasized by the fact they let the little one stand on a box so he could pretend to be the same height as a real person.  And then they all took turns buttfucking him happily ever after.

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I know it can be hard to tell, but the shorter one has several big booby girls buried in among his tatts.  I suppose they may imply “straight boy” to some more naive than I, but I know the big one climbs up on him like a ride at Disneyland whenever he wants to

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I’ve always been sort of puzzled by gay men who only want to fuck other queers that look just like them. My own Rman and I couldn’t have appeared less similar and still been from the same species, but that’s just how we rolled. These boys have taken that whole clone/mirror image thing to a new level by not only having matching muscles, but identical haircuts.  That takes preplanning for sex that I was never capable of.

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Some of these guys are attractive to me even as they exhibit some peculiarity that just makes me wonder.  This one, for instance, has those beautiful eyes, those massive biceps, and that hoodie his granny knitted him.  Hmmmm….

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I know, I know, abs sculpted like an ice swan at a fancy buffet, but what struck me was the English as a Second Language tile work in the background.  Did they misspell “Welcome” or “Well, Cum?”   These are the kinds of things that keep me up at night.

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You can’t really expect pornography to come up with the greatest of graphics, so I’m willing to let this artist’s shaky grasp of proportion and perspective slide, but the content still could be a little clearer.  What is he threatening the strapped down guy with?  Is it a… thermos?  Is he menacing his victim with promises of tea?

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This charms me so much, and speaks so strongly to my own white trash heritage.  How can one boy be so appealing and ludicrous at the same time?  This has the whole “Hitchhiker Porn” niche tied up in one picture.

mrpeenee Turns Twelve

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“Turns twelve” as in this is my blog’s twelfth anniversary, not as in “mrpeenee has sexual relations with twelve mens.”  Although that would be ok too.

When I started, I had no idea I would reach such a lofty milestone.  I’m pretty sure if I thought about it at all, I would have assumed I’d be dead by 2019.  So far, I am not.  I have no opinion on the whole sorry affair.  Apparently, if you keep going you reach birthday number 12.  So happy birthday to my little blog.

My best birthday present has been the return of the Mistress, Infomaniac.  It’s very exciting, but you still have time to get in a better present and then YOU  would be the star.  Mistress’s return is especially thrilling since she was AWOL for so long, I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who thought she had hung up her blogging pen.

God knows the path to hell is littered with plenty of other erstwhile blogs we were friends with.  A long gone commenter once mentioned “I decided long ago not to comment on the wayward and vanished, fearing that uttering their names would bring certain demise.”  That was Kevin, from The Lisp, a blog that now consists of a single heading that reads “Well, that Was Fun.”  So I guess since his theory seems all too fallible, I can safely salute some of my fallen faves.

Oh Thombeau, of Fabulon and other kicky sites.  Adieu Cafe Muscato.  Wither Night is HalfGone?  So long, The Other Andrew.  Avast Mean Dirty Pirate.  Long gone, the glamour of Felix in Hollywood.  Lost, lost, Designing Wally and his A Queens’ Queen – Stranded in the Forest….   Norma (who still trolls about in the comments, thank god) and her Mitten Drinnen.  And who could forget TJB from Stirred, Straight Up, with a Twist?

I could go on, but ugh, who wants to hang around a graveyard?  They were all fun, but it was just one, etc., etc….  I really miss them, crawling through all their snarkery was the highlight of my days.  And yes, I know some of them simply migrated to Facebook or Twitter or jail, but this is as social as my media gets.  I suppose I will simply remain a lonely beacon, glad of the few other hardy souls still hanging on, and see if I make it to Number 13.

Lucky us.

Birthday Boys:

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I was looking for a naked guy with a 12 (cause it’s the blog’s 12th anniversary.  Get it?  Oh, never mind.) and I got this far and decided 86 was close enough.

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Cause I’m a sucker for pretty boys with luscious lips and big tits.

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In memory of Jason, over at Night is Half Gone, who was very squeamish about combining sex and priests.  But then, he was very close to being a nun himself, so, youknow.

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For our Romanian friend Mikey, who’s very fond of this sort of thing.

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Cause he’s just so darn pretty.

Scene on the Street

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As I’ve mentioned, living the life of a shut-in is perfectly fine with me, but even so, occasionally I must brave the outside world, cause them eclairs are not going to walk over here from the bakery.   That’s when the charm of San Francisco’s vibrant street life once again smacks me in the face.

Herewith, my life outside:

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On Gay Pride day, the Gay Marching Band of San Francisco dropped by outside my window to serenade the cat.  He was unimpressed. Hard to blame him, it was difficult to make out what exactly they were playing, but whatever it was, they were playing it with plenty of verve.

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Also celebrating Pride was this guy, who runs likes this ALL THE TIME, but who had dyed his hair pink for the occasion.  How he is not dragged off and accosted on a daily basis is beyond me.  Probably a lack of local initiative.  Although, maybe he IS dragged off and accosted daily and that’s what keeps him running through the hood.

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The view out of the stairwell exit for my building, with all the churches here about.  In fact, the street at the end of the block is named Church Street.  This photo includes the Greek Orthodox, the Basilica of Mission San Francisco de Asís (which is the original mission that established San Francisco,) part of the roof of the Mission, and St Matthews Lutheran Church.  This place is just crowded with houses for various and sundry lords.

 

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Even as San Francisco’s gay neighborhood, the Castro, is sanitized and memorialized as a kind of diorama of its sexual outlaw history, occasionally the old spirit will rear its defiant head, such as in this charming graffiti of Divine.

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Imagine my annoyance when, a few weeks later, I saw the image had been defaced.  And by whom?  Ranting homophobes?  Nope.  Drag queens posting bills advertising their upcoming shows, that’s who.  How could a self respecting drag queen fuck up such a charming picture of the legend herself?  Have they no sense of their own fucking history?   No wonder I brood too much.

Also, some cute street side mens discovered here and there on the great internet.

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All those muscles and not enough brains to figure out the reason his bike won’t go is the two flat tires it’s equipped with.  Sweetie, there is no app that will help you with that.

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Nothing flat with this boy, except, I’m sure, his abs.

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The astonishing and enthusiastic David Zongoli.

 

The Eternal, Adorable, and Evil Saki

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I am determined to knock out something resembling a blog post before midnight so that I can count it as being timely for Saki’s birthday.  Yes, the evil little bitch is 12 years old today.  Sort of.  When we rescued him from Cat Jail (aka Animal Care and Control,) our vet estimated he was 9 months old.  Since that was April 2008, we decided his birthday must be in July and the best birthday in July would be the 7th.   Thus we declared his birthday was 7/7/07.  So Bon anniversaire to my pal, Sakihito, Emperor of Market Street.

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Birthday nap.

We celebrated by playing a rousing round of Chase the Intruder Tennis Ball, which is me rolling an old tennis ball through the apartment while he watches and occasionally runs in a totally ineffective manner.  I must sign off now, as the birthday boy himself is annoyed at me paying attention to the computer and has commandeered the keyboard to make me stop.

Also, more naked guys, cause that’s all you pervs really want.

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I know I don’t usually post headless guys, but gracious, do I really need to justify this?