Numbers

Holy shit it's nearly April. Anyway.

This is the longest fucking take-off in the history of take-offs but remember Liam (does anyone still care?)

So, Liam for beginners...

June
Bobby sees Liam at gym, wants him

October
After four months of casual chatting and some working out together Bobby asks Liam out for drink.
Liam says yes but only when Trolley-dolly boyf is away. Whatever.

January
Trolley-dolly boyf dumps Liam.

February
Liam asks Bobby out, Bobby says 'too busy' thinks 'whatever'.

March
Bobby suggests drinks, they agree and him and Liam swap full names and numbers.

I suspect we'll probably get around to sitting down together with a vodka and Coke sometime after the next bloody passing of Haley's comet.

And you deserve a medal for having to read this self-serving drivel too.

It's more dull than the first time you listened to the Hard Candy all the way to the end in the hope that at some point it would get good.

(I don't think there's a single person in the whole world who's able to tell the difference between "She's Not Me" and "Give It 2 Me". Okay one's a little faster - 10 points if you can tell me which one. No cheating.)

I'm going to see if I can stick my iPod up my nose.

Cure your gayness

I've been giving very serious thought to boys.

In particular these thoughts have concerned whether I actually enjoying putting myself very close to another boy who, like me, doesn't have any clothes on.

These thoughts have come after a few stories started to appear in the media last week, you may have spotted them.

Apparently there's a "healing" society in America who've made it their job to cure people of being dirty, thrusting homos.

The work that this organisation does, called Men Who Once Loved Knobbing Other Blokes But Now Choose To Eat Minge (MWOLKOBBNCTEM) looks really interesting.

Their name might be a mouthful but that was once the point! Just kidding.

Seriously, I have been asking myself some deep and probing questions.

I've been looking at their site, where ex-bum bandits tell heart-rending stories of guilt, betrayal and depression. But enough of their new life as a straight.

One such person on this site is Todd who was an ex-Marine, he's now cured of being a total flamer. I wanted to share his story of hope.

"Hi, my name's Todd and I was once 110% gay but desperately unhappy about who I was.

After four years of therapy I felt I really understood my feelings and what I was attracted to. It gave me the confidence to find a wife and have children, who now mean everything to me.

Just think what my life would be like had I stayed gay and not decided to seek treatment? I really believe people can change and I am not the only one.

Here in the small town where I live there are other guys too who've gone through just what we have.

Every first Saturday of the month we meet to discuss our feelings and emotions. It usually happens at Kurt's house when his wife's away.

Kurt, Harvey, Oscar, Quentin, Freddie and I have such a great time.

Just last week Quentin wanted to show us his new mail-order underwear.

Standing up, he slowly slid his trousers down to show us his designer briefs, his hot body glistening in the afternoon sun.

Harvey, now unable to control himself reached out and gently grabbed Quentin's now ample bulge.

On the couch nearby Freddie and Kurt moved into each other, Kurt's hand gently sliding down Freddie's washboard-hot abs as their steaming tongues interlocked in a wet, passionate kiss; both men rubbing [I think that's enough stories of "cured" gays.]

Fifty

I was bored so I made a pretty picture using the covers of 50 albums.
(It goes big if you click on it...)

I could write you at least a thousand words on each of the albums and how much they mean to me but by album 11 you'd be stabbing yourself in the eye with a pencil.

So instead I'm going to choose ten. I can't decide which the ten are but I know that OK Computer may be in there. I think.

Bjork's Post is definitely one of them.

Can you name them all? One particular one is a bit tricky. Right-hand-side, second from the top.

Grated cheese

To celebrate the start of summer or spring or maybe it was because there was a birthday, I don't know... anyway, we decided to fill our house up with friends on Friday night.

And in completely unrelated news, here's a picture of me drinking beer off the kitchen floor...

Moving on.

As some of us were a little peckish, I decided to stick a pizza in the oven. Of course as it happened, I forgot about it until the pizza began to start smelling.

I ran into the kitchen and opened the oven door to find our cheese and tomato snack looking like burnt toast and about as stiff as chipboard.

Since we'd all had a few lemonades, I thought it would be a hilarious sketch. I played the waiter and Chris played the customer.

"Exscuza me sir - heeere is your pizza...."

"What?! This is burnt, it's shit!"

At which point Chris (playing The Customer brilliantly) grabs the hardened, burnt pizza and flings it out the window as one would throw a frisbee.

Everyone laughs as the pizza goes rotating out of the kitchen window and into the night. We think nothing more of it.

The next morning there's a note at our door attached to something burnt and stiff.

It obviously landed up in the neighbour's back yard which is a bit crap because earlier in the evening they'd asked us to turn the music down.

Last weekend it was spending hundreds on alcohol with the boy on the right, this weekend it's drinking beer off the floor and homing magarita pizzas.

Next weekend, I swear, I'm going to spend the weekend in a monastery.

At least there I won't wake up to find Chris's underwear in my bed.

Two little boys

(Or actually, they're not that little.)

Here's a picture for your pleasure...

This picture features two boys, the one on the left and the one on the right.

The one on the left phones the one on the right and asks "what are you doing?"

The one on the right says "nothing much." Since it's a Saturday lunchtime they both decide that perhaps the best thing to do is to drink.

And here's what they drank at the restaurant they were at for the afternoon:

The one on the left: 4 Castle lager bottled beers
The one on the right: Double brandy and ginger ale, 3 Windhoek Lager bottled beers.

They also both enjoyed two complimentary beers bought for them by some gentleman named Eugene who was sat two tables down.

Eugene had offered the boy on the right an afternoon of no-strings-attached casual sex. The boy on the right declined. You would have too.

Finally, to round off the session at that particular restaurant they decided on a Springbok shot which consists of half Creme De Menthe and Amarula.

Now they had moved to the local lesbian bar, the same bar frequented by the mum of the boy on the left.

Being the first ones at the club they chatted to the owner. She gave them a complimentary shot of chocolate tequila.

Then to make things simple the one on the left said "lets open a tab instead of us both fishing out money."

They both agreed this was an excellent idea because as it subsequently appeared, they could keep track of just how much they'd drunk that night.

And before you ask, here is the inventory:

The boy on the left:

1 vodka & Coke
2 black Sambuca shots
4 Springbok shots (recipe as above)
2 chocolate tequilas
9 Windhoek bottled beers.

The boy on the right (closely matched):

1 brandy & Coke
2 black Sambuca shots
4 Springbok shots
2 chocolate tequilas
9 Windhoek bottled beers.

On Sunday afternoon when the boy on the left woke up he said to the boy on right "I'm still drunk."

The boy on the right admitted that he too was feeling pretty rough.

So they met on Monday for the cure, four cigarettes and two double vodka and Cokes each.

Going again

Fuck.

I loved my second boyfriend more than the first. They were both Jewish and the second boyfriend even served in the IDF, I think. But that's not the reason I loved him more.

Our relationship ended because he wanted to do things like go out for dinner and see movies. All I wanted to do is shag.

Of course he wanted to shag too but that's not the only thing he wanted to do. I think I was a bit of a shit.

On Friday night I was out in Cape Town and I ran into him. He works really hard and it shows but underneath he's still as hot and beautiful as he always was.

It was weird hugging him and as is always the case, you swap pleasantries but there is a whole lot more that you want to say but don't.

I was a little drunk. Or rather, I was very drunk and I really shouldn't have said it but the words just tumbled out my mouth.

I held his hand, looked him in the eye and said "boy, it was a long time ago and things are different now. But can we just fuck for old time's sake?"

I don't think it's what he wanted to hear.

It's really shit when you behave like the person you think you're not.

Super Bobby

It's a website so cool that when you open it up, Bonnie Tyler starts playing...

The idea is that you design your own superhero and that's the idea. Please meet Super Bobby "Double Bullet"...

Of course he is designed in my exact likeness. Can't you tell?

More than that though, I have been considering what powers Super Bobby should have.

First he should have the ability to fly - not by himself but in a super-cool Flying Bentley.

Secondly Super Bobby should have the ability to print money. You can't have poor heroes.

It would look ridiculous if he's trying to rid the world of evil-doers the one minute and then having to deal with the whingeing cow in HR who's demanding to know why he's constantly on leave.

That's the one thing that never quite added up when it came to Superman.

Surely someone in the office would have complained that Clark Kent was constantly running out and not doing much work? It's not like he was going for a sneaky fag at the goods entrance.

Can you imagine? "Jeez, who's that with the slicked-back hair and silly glasses and why the fuck does he keep running for the bloody lift every few hours? Tosser..."

Anyway.

Super Bobby would also have the world's most advanced gaydar. You can't have no superhero coming onto the wrong guys in the bar.

Super Bobby would also have the ability to convince others to give him oral sex without ever having to reciprocate.

Super Bobby would also have a big house on the hill and every weekend his Superhero buddies would come around and they would spend Saturday afternoons around the pool in their Superhero Speedos, their muscular bodies glistening the hot sun and they would oil each other up and slowly
[I think that's enough extraordinary superpowers for the moment...]

Make your own superhero here.

Rocky

In Cape Town there are lots of mountains and if you want to climb them, you can.

Okay, climb is perhaps a little too strong a word; if you want to walk up them, you can.

At some point you do have to step over some large rocks but I managed Lion's Head in a pair of beige Benetton trousers so the south face of Mont Blanc it ain't.

Of course clambering high above the city and breathing in the fresh sea air blowing off the Atlantic is a wonderful and serene experience. It's fantastic to be at one with breathtaking beauty and nature itself.

Speaking of nature, the wildlife up the mountain is pretty impressive too...

Ring ring

Spotted in Cape Town, a drive-thru public telephone.

I cannot work out if it’s convenience at its most brilliant or the most preposterous utility ever provided. It’s certainly not both.

Ace

Of course we all remember my triumph at the fancy dress party of last year?

I dunno / maybe / I think I told you about it but in December. I went to a party where the theme was "Beautiful and the Damned". Or something like that.

Usually I hate fancy dress bla bla... I made an effort etc. You can either attempt to swallow an entire camera tripod or you could do worse and read about it here.

If you can't be bothered to look, here's a picture of me as Marilyn Manson...

Anyway. So another fancy dress party invitation arrives on my doorstep.

The theme is "1979" so immediately I think that I have to go in full drag as Margaret Thatcher (she became PM in '79) but then I think that if there are any hotties for potential manoeuvres, I will look like a turd dressed in a blue skirt with a black handbag.

So after 2 minutes and 37 seconds of considering that idea, I drop it after a friend says "ohmygod - who won Wimbledon, it was either John McEnroe or Bjorn Borg?"

It's therefore decided that I am going as the Bjorn Borg. Who knew he played tennis, I thought it was just dodgy underwear?!

Anyway... what do you think?

If there are any guys worth speaking to at least I'm in the tiniest shorts possible.

I could tell the woman in the sports shop was a little perturbed.

"What the hell is a grown man doing asking to try on boys' shorts to find the tightest pair possible?"

Fashion dress demands no shame and a steely determination. It's goddam tough.

Preying

So we went to Cape Town pride yesterday and this guy was selling shots of alcohol.

And I said there's absolutely no way we are going to be typical gays and buy alcohol just so that we could be patronised by the guy selling it.

My principle crumbled very quickly...

That guy could burn down my house and crash my car and rip up all my clothes and smash my computer and beat up all my friends and throw shit at my employer and spread lies about me and infect me with a fatal disease and chop all my limbs off and punch me in the face and I would still forgive him unequivocally.

There's not much else to say other than that he was at least a head taller than me and I am 6'1.

What. A. God.

He was so exceptional it was actually psychologically painful to have to see. I kept having to look away.