Category Archives: Uncategorized

In Which We Decorate Then Undecorate


In less than 2 weeks I will have lived in this apartment 5 years. In that time, the furniture in my living room has sat in the exact same place I put it the day I moved in. I’m one of those homosexuals who regard decorating as a participatory sport and so of course this sorry state of affairs could be tolerated no longer.

The problem is that I am just one old man, and a feeble old man at that so hauling a couch and a sizable credenza around by myself was a laughable idea. Hahaha. I laughed and then I hired a couple of movers to come in and help me move stuff. They were a nice couple of guys, amenable even if they seemed baffled by my idea of just shuffling the pieces around.

Let me introduce the players here, a large curved couch, a sleek credenza, and a stylish pair of low chairs. The room is in the point of the flat iron building I live in, which makes for an interesting but difficult triangular room to work with. Plus the great big windows help hide the fact that it’s a tiny space.

There is a large dead space between the couch and the chairs and I thought if I could just rotate the pieces so that the dead space fell in the entrance, the whole room would work better. I don’t know why that idea didn’t work out, probably something to do with geometry or physics or another one of those stupid subjects I never paid attention to.

Anyway, the boys and I wrestled all the furniture around and around and none of it was successful. One of the drawbacks was the lead mover overcame his initial skepticism to join in enthusiastically with suggestions. They were all idiotic, but they were suggestions. He seemed particularly struck by the apex of the triangle and kept struggling to shove something up in there.

Eventually I just threw in the towel and had them put all the furniture right back where it started and then paid them $200 for having helped me, as the b-52s put it, “dance this mess around.”

boys I wish I had had move me:

Look, he comes with his own scrim.

The luscious Marbys Negretti

Our old friend Mikey!

I only recently discovered this is the large and in charge blonde beauty, David Cihacek

Beefy redhead Ryan Hayward from Colt Studios.

All that and he can read, too.

What a sweet looking guy.

You know getting sloppy wet at the car wash is a long time smut classic.

His dick almost leaks out of the frame.

Fancy don’t let me down./

Get your feet off the ceiling./

What’s with the ceiling lately?

In Which We Are Medicated


Lalala, another day, another medical crisis. I mentioned a while ago that I had started a daily regimen of a pain medicine called Opana. That was about 5 years ago and things have gone along just fine since then. Of course this is America and pain management, especially with an opioid, is tricky business. The government has forced doctors to treat pain control like a luxury that you have to prove you are worthy of.

anyway. This month my pharmacy broke the bad news to me that they had stopped making Opana. Oops. I scrambled back to my doctor in a panic because running out of pain medicine is not a good idea. The doctor said “oh. okay. Here try this new stuff. It sounds pretty okay.” I’m paraphrasing but that’s pretty close to the sense of the conversation.

The new drug instead of a pill is a film you stick on the inside of your cheek and it dissolves. I am thrilled with it, it has whipped my fucked up back into submission and it seems much less sedating than the old stuff. Yay. Since it was only one film every 12 hours, it’s also convenient.

The problem initially was that one every 12 hours fell a little short and meant that I actually was starting to go into withdrawal towards the end of the dose. I called the doctor back after a very uncomfortable night and he said “oh just double the dose. What the hell?” Again paraphrasing.

So now I’m back to dosed up, pain-free and sassy. It’s a wonderful life if you don’t weaken.

naked men I’d like to hang with.

Just a giy. Just a guy with a great big whacker. Whack it baby.

I know his ass isn’t particularly shapely, but he seems so darn cheery.

A friend used to call these guys “thug lite.”

Crimes of Photoshop.

Our old friend Gian Luigi Volti. Now available for rent at reasonable rates. Apply within.

Barrett Long (I love that stupid name) who has been around since long before photoshop and has always had that generous amount of man sausage so, happily, we can rest assured that it is real.

Isn’t it romantical?

Truth in advertising. Not much butt action this week, sorry.

In Which We Are Glad All That Is Over


Diane von Austinburg was supposed to come out to visit this week and at literally the very last minute, just before she was calling Uber to go to the airport, I had to back out because I was still sick. Dammit. She was very understanding and supportive; once again it’s obvious I don’t deserve such good friends.

That was Tuesday and absolutely one of the low points my voyage through COVID-land, but then the next day I was fine, annoyed, but fine. And today’s the first day I’ve tested negative and don’t have a fever, so hooray. I remade my bed and took a shower and now actually feel so much better.

So I wrote that last paragraph on Thursday and I have had so many ups and downs since then (today is Saturday.) Mostly, I feel very much that I am still recuperating and frequently have felt every minute of my age. I’ve made myself go down to the cafe and back each day and each time I am pretty wrecked by it. I know this is just recovery and it’s normal, but I also feel like I wouldn’t have been so puny even just a few years ago. Secret Agent Fred got COVID the same time as I did and has bounced back much more quickly and he has cancer.

I know I just need to be patient and that I am recuperating, it’s just that I want to get back to being lazy instead of laid up.

naked men:



Everybody’s up on the roof these days.

Except for the ones brooding in the toilet.

This guys and his sweet, sweet ass again.

Yet another example of our “big, dumb lug” fave.


So sweet.

In Which We Succumb


Well, fuckety fuck. I had managed to sneak through our national nightmare of the pandemic without catching COVID until today. I had had dinner with some friends and Secret Agent Fred on Saturday and then today he texted me to tell me he had tested positive. He encouraged me to test myself and so I did, foolishly confident that I would, once again, turn out to be negative. HAH.

In my defense, I don’t have any particular COVID symptoms, no fever, no aches, and nothing wrong with my senses of taste or smell. All I do have is a scratchy throat and a dry cough; I’ve had worse after a night at the sex club. If Fred hadn’t told me I’ve been exposed, I would have just thought this was a mild cold. As Diane von Austinburg pointed out, “We cough all the time, who notices?”

I haven’t been out or interacted with anyone since we had dinner Saturday, so just providentially, and because I lead a life of quiet self-isolation, I’ve been admirable about keeping my virus to myself. I’m going to continue to just stay home, fortunately I’ve just stumbled on a book I like so I’m all set.

UPDATE: so I put this post aside yesterday and in the 24 hours since then, I have gotten sicker: aches fever, chills. It’s still not bad but man the chills shake me up like a tiny little earthquake that is focused solely on me myself. Oh boy. The sole bright spot is that my throat isn’t all scratchy and itchy.

I’m supposed to score some Paxlovid tomorrow morning, which is a good thing because I’m starting to get that confusion that fever brings on for me.

so since I can’t think straight enough to write anymore I’m going to log off and turn the blog over to everybody’s favorite, nekkid guys.

Yummy is right.

In Which We Swear


When I was hired by the federal government, many many years ago, after the personnel lady had finished walking me through the mountain of paperwork involved in processing me in, she announced I needed to swear my oath. I thought she was joking, but no, all federal employees have to take an oath in order to work for the government. In fact it is the same oath the president takes when he is inaugurated.

And so I had to stand up, face the flag, put my hand over my heart (“it’s on your left side,” she corrected me) and faithfully promise the following

I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office on which I am about to enter: So help me God.

Over the years, I frequently quoted the bit about “…help me god….” Apparently my receptionist duties would include answering the phone, handling visitors, and taking to the trenches if the commie bastards ever got this far. I have no idea how most of my colleagues would fare if, say, Canada got tired of putting up with our bullshit and invaded, but some of them I’m sure would have gone full-on Rambo on those maple syrup swilling bitches. I suppose I’m just glad it never came to that.

guys I’d like to share a foxhole with:

Again, when face with hot porn action, mrpeenee focuses on the nice tile work.

But not even the finest tile could distract me from that manmeat.

Cowboy butt.

Red hair, perky nipples, fat cock, and clean sheets. Sign me up.

Ooh. Shapely.

It’s cold and rainy here today, a sunny patio accented with a massive willy seems like such a good idea.

As does lounging poolside in the company of a beautifully round rump.

He looks concerned. What’s wrong sweetie, tell daddy all about it.

And lastly, this guy. I recognize the angel wing tattoo as well as those meaty buttchops, I just wish I knew his name.

In Which the World Gets a Little Darker


I’ve struggled with this post all week. Last week my dear old friend John was killed while riding his bicycle when a car hit him. It’s a brutal and harsh story and that is all the details that I have about it.

The problem I’ve been having with the post is trying to describe him, which is odd since John was vividly impressive. He was charming and sweet and funny and irrepressible. He had some form of ADHD and lived life with the wacky energy of a terrier. Conversations with him frequently were less about an exchange of ideas and more like surviving an avalanche. He was interested in everything and those wide-ranging passions came out of him in a percolating fountain of ideas.

We were friends for more than 30 years and during that time I got into a habit of occasionally interrupting his stream of consciousness by simply saying “Squirrel!” He never caught on and always looked around just like this:

Ah me, life continues to chip away at all the people I love. John never shared my whole hearted affection for the slutty life, but he also never disapproved of it. Here’s to you sweetie, I will miss you.

in memoriam

Sweet dreams baby.

Sometimes guys look like trouble and sometimes, you just don’t care.

Your hat’s crooked.

I have no become convinced there is more than one guy who has a pair of large bugs tattooed on his chest. How odd.

What the hell is going on in that room behind him?

In Which We Go for a Walk and Regret It


My very, very dear niece Amber came out for a visit with her husband Spanky. Amber has, more than once, told me Spanky’s real name, but I am unable to overcome the charm of the nickname and so I have no way to remember whatever moniker he might have been stuck with at birth.

Amber reigns over a sizable ranch in far North Texas, pretty much actually Oklahoma, but there was a time as a tween when she lived here in San Francisco for a while. She has not been back since that magical spell and so had a number of places she remembered that she wanted to revisit, chief among them the beautiful cliffs and beaches of Lands End.

Coincidentally, Lands End is very special to me as well. When we first moved out here and were poor as poor rats, R Man and I would go for hikes out there pretty much every weekend. Even if I hadn’t been an escapee from the swamps of the Gulf Coast, it’s impossible not to be swept up by the gorgeous vistas Lands End serves up.

And so I was able to show off as an informed tour guide. The main path is at the top of a steep bluff; the trail down to the beach includes eleventy bazillion steps and somehow twice as many coming back up. Don’t ask me how, it’s the fucking Twilight Zone out there.

It was a beautiful visit and I’m glad we did it, but oh my god, it was tough. All that time R Man and I had spent scrambling up and down those cliffs was 20 years ago or more. One of the problems with being a creaky old man is that I keep forgetting that I am a creaky old man until I do something like reliving a hike I had enjoyed as a much younger and more limber homo and wind up blowing out my back.

We got (finally) to the last six or seven steps and I thought, “You know what? I am never going to make that, I’ll just die here, it’s okay.” By the time we made it back home my back and legs were so sore I had to bow out of the trip they made down to Big Sur the next day.

I know I complain about my bad back a lot here, but the couple of days right after our hike was an extra special kind of ouchy. I would apologize to my back the few times I dragged myself out of bed, but it didn’t help, oddly enough. Eventually things got better and I was even able to join Amber and Spanky when they got back for an evening of prowling around Chinatown. It was very amusing.

I’m glad I got to spend time with her, she’s very sweet and charming, and I’m also very glad I didn’t die on those FUCKING steps. I swear it was a close call.

anyway, naked men:

Where was he when I needed motivation up those last goddam steps?

You know what I needed? Somebody, perhaps this young man, to carry me up the stairs.

Snow White’s missing dwarf, Doofus.

Oh, this guy again.

It’s impressive to see someone who can stand at one urinal and piss in the one next to him.


Such a sweet, sweet face, full of boyish charm and then, holy hot damn, that bazooka.

Sort of the opposite of boyish charm, but very appealing.

In Which We Withdraw. And Cookies


I take the pain medicine Opana every day for my fucked up back. Last week, after a farcical chain of events, I was unable to fill my prescription and wound up going into withdrawal, which made me become really uncomfortable and increasingly erratic and irascible beyond belief and really really irritable and I may have killed a hitchhiker in Reno.

Okay so I did not kill a hitchhiker, or anybody else to the best of my recollection, nor did I tell the pissy little queen seated next to me at Peets to fuck off, although, man, did I want to. Anyway it was a miserably difficult week, but I finally straightened out my pharmaceutical nightmare and it’s over. Also part of my efforts at distracting myself included baking some seriously delicious peanut butter cookies flavored with almond syrup, so, you know, silver linings.

I’m really glad I didn’t kill any hitchhiker.

herewith, some naked guys who could have been very helpful in the whole distracting-me-from-my-misery thing:

Really odd PhotoShopping, but charming nevertheless.

My goodness, what a fabulous view.

The charm of well-aged beef.

For all my Chaturbate chums.

Like every cat ever known, in or out, buddy, in or out.

Whatever he wants, I’m pretty sure he gets.

Isn’t it romantical?

Seems like that would really increase wind resistance.

The always charming Garic Soldatov.

In Which the Supply Chain Breaks


I have become very fond of a marijuana infused gummy that I eat a little before bedtime to help me sleep. In the world of edible pot, these gummies are pretty weak players, feeble in fact, which is perfectly fine with me. I don’t particularly want to be fucked up, I just want some help falling asleep.

I’ve bought them from the fancy pot shop a couple of times and so I was feeling pretty pleased with myself as I pulled up to the counter and ordered my Valhalla blueberry acai gummies just like I knew what I was doing. How crushing then to find out they were all out, and were also out of lots of their other stock. Apparently that’s just the world in 2023.

Being an absolute amateur around this brave new world of marijuana edibles, I had no backup plan. I had no idea what might be an acceptable alternative; I had my one little memorized order and that was it.

I mentioned ( before how the sales people there are absolute weed sommeliers. They actually seem to enjoy spending time discussing the various aspects of their wares. When I was a pothead in college, shortly after dinosaurs went extinct, I would go dope shopping and the insight into the product consisted of “yeah it’s pot.” These guys though are committed to making sure you get as loaded as you want to be, to that end they throw around terms like THC and CBD and compare one strain’s ability to help create to another’s relaxation index. I finally went with one because a) it’s blackberry flavored and that sounded tasty and b) it’s all they had.

I got home and was reading the label and discovered the THC level (which is what gets you loaded ) in these gummies is four times as high as in the ones I’m used to. I want to try them anyway, duh, but if y’all don’t hear from me over the next month or so, don’t worry. Eventually, I will remember how to speak and the munchies will drive me to resurface. Til then, naked guys:


Well. This cutie goes by both Jeff Hallum as well as Jeff Wayne. In case you need to do some research.

Well, OK. If you insist.

Diego Barros, who always hides under his hat. Dude, what’s with your hat?

I love big nuts, and I cannot lie. Ball sacs that hang down past one’s dick are so sexy.

Red silk and big muscley ass, a match made in heaven.


And I like the dresser, too.

Young, dumb, and ready to rock.

Considering I never go to the beach, it’s amazing how much I miss it in the winter.

Do you think he rents that by the inch?

I recently used another picture of this same youth in the bed flashing his ass, but really, can you have too much?

Ruggery Valdivia, now with glasses!

Scorpios. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.

In Which We Get Jolly


So it turns out it’s Christmas. Maybe you heard? Traditionally at this time of year, I take to the blog-waves to complain and whine about Christmas music. Yuck. Last year, for the first time ever, I was unable to do so because I had had no Yuletide tunes inflicted on me. This year again, carol-free. I suppose the fact that I have whittled my contact with the rest of civilization down to an absolute minimum is probably a big part of the reason for this absence of seasonal mewling. COVID was an important part of that, showing me that being unsociable is just part of my fabulous nature, so hooray for lockdown.

Breaking news:

I got that far Wednesday night and gave up because my attention got up and wandered off. That’s all moot anyway because yesterday I decided to get a manicure and as I settled in at the nail salon I realized I had waded into the depths of a Christmas carol hell. Dammit.

False pride, that’s what it was. Smugly bragging about dodging the Xmas song bullet. Of course I would be struck down, in this case by some algorithmic driven tunes from the Uncanny Valley holiday album. They were performed by a pair of AI’s that I’m sure someone at some time referred to as human-like. The rhythm section was absolutely relentless with the same beats for every single song, Oh Holy Night to I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, the identical upbeat, toe tappin’ rhythm line. That’s just what I get, hubris brought low.

Christmas boxes needing opening:

Merry xmas everbody