Back in San Francisco, the first order of business was brunch, of course, cause I’m all gay and stuff.  We hooked up with our young friends, collectively known as The Children, at the ever fabulous Foreign Cinema.  Drinks and coffee flowed, bacon and omelets were downed, a good time was had by all.

Of course there was a price to pay, isn’t there always?  My stomach is reporting in with heartburn of a volcanic level and claims the bacon had uranium in it.  Please tell me it is not actually possible to die of indigestion.  I feel like if I breathed towards an open flame, we could all go up in a terrible blaze.  Dammit.

To take my mind off grease-based misery, some houseboy booty.

Obviously a young man who sensibly avoids brunch overload.  Dammit.

8 responses »

  1. As a fellow sufferer, darling, my sympathies are with you. When I was a child, I was always perplexed by the prospect of heartburn, which usually turned up as a comic element in things like The Honeymooners. How little did I realize that after a certain age, it more or less becomes a lifestyle. With, as Jon points out, Omeprazole and worse replacing other more amusing things one always checks to make sure is in a bag or pocket before leaving home…


  2. I've been struck down many times by this crippling illness, the cause of my near death experiences always nearly happens when I gulp down fruit juice first thing in the morning on an empty stomach, it's feels more like a dull ache down the side of my rib cage. Thank goodness for Rennies.


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