FRUITY LOOPHOLES

i've been asked a merried of times since i was old enough to know which way i was gonna butter my bread…how do i know if i don't sexually like non-homosexual women if i haven't tried one...nothing against my lezbitronic sisters…but rarely am i asked if i might be one of their kind

the $64,000 question…that i've been asked just about…oh…i don’t know…64,000 TIMES!

let's join my life already in progress…shall we?

i touched lightly on this subject like a heavy flow day many a time before…

but recently i met someone who hadda deal with their own "come'n out" process from an almost completely sheltered society that deems it an act of an abomonation...so i figered i'd explore it one last time fer the cheap seaters in the back…just so there is NO confusion!

first off…it boggles my mind why anyone that has not give'n me…at the very least…a birthday prez (or a STD for that matter) would not be able to get their irritably-bitter-bible-thump'n-non-homosexual-baby-make'n machinery function'n properly if i'm not…how do you non homosexuals 

refer to it as again? "bang'n the beaver"

the climactic "butter'n the muffin"…

"poke'n the pie hole" or...

every non homosexual males favorite..."milk'n the melons"

don't worry…i'll get to "MY PEOPLES" poetic titles soon enough kittens

FYI…i don't believe in disclaimers…it cuts down on my traffic…so if yer old enough to open my world up with a simple click of a couple of buttons...yer old enough to know better…and if yer easily offended by offensive imagery...well...too bad ya ain't double jointed cuz ya can bend over and fuck yerself!

so where was i goin with this?…oh yea…how will it benefit or better yet

justify your existence and wash away yer delusionally warped thought process if you knew i actually committed unnatural acts on some cookie cutter cunt of your choice?

let's go back in time and see where it all went horrifically wrong...

i never got the "birds-n-the-bee's" story grow’n up in my household…

i just remember my dad as being this fun love'n…hard work'n grizzly bear tree trimmer fer the city…

provide'n for his cubs (at this point there was only 6 in the den…2 more would be crawl'n about the follow'n years to close out the 70's)

and mama bear...barely hold'n on to her own sanity...in the insane household of diaper rashes and dirty clothes

our understated moderately priced 19 inch zenith black and white tv...

was nothing to brag about..at least we weren't subjected or bothered with stand'n in sub zero weather fer hours at midnite to fulfill a fade'n fad...but it kept us entertained...when tv was actually tv...with shows like...

M*A*S*H

The SONNY and CHER SHOW

ALICE

The JEFFERSONS

and who could forget the girl who could turn the world on...with her smile

grow'n up on the chicken/crop farm that we did...there was plenty to do

from sew'n the seeds...while nature grew the seeds...then we ate the seeds…

feed'n the monstrous cluckers with my older brother Jim was it's own horror story in itself…

gett’n lobotomized by the apocolyptic off key karaoke band at the local comedy club on sundays...hypnotize’n you to throw away 10% of yer weekly earn'ns to fund the frocked up CASPER crusader’s lavish lifestyle was like a weekly trip to funny farm but a break from ours

i hadn't been touched inappropriately by a man of the cloth…or had any

"THORNBIRDS" thoughts (well...til i met my 7th grade principle at catholic school fer the 1st time move'n him into his new apt as an altered salty boy with my brothers)

i don't recall being strapped to my high chair and shown any of those

"boom chickie wow wow" movies involve'n steamy man-on-man action with my eyelids stapled to my forehead by one of the many cousins that used to babysit me...

nor was i subjected to endless hours of tap dance'n classes...though i would'a thoroughly enjoyed jump'n at the chance to be the break-out star in class and most assured that i'da excelled to the head of the troupe in no time at all

i pretty much knew what tripped my trigger at the tender and supple age 

of 5...i can actually pin point where it all began...when fingers found flesh and my palm pilot was ready to take off

i remember flipp'n thru the back of Joan Crawford's jc penny catalogs...

in the bedroom i shared with 3 of my brothers and completely ignored the cross my heart advertisements

and went straight (ironic huh?) for the Jim Palmer underwear ads 

(this was the actual ad)

i would get to relive my fascination with the full male formation when we moved into our new house on 4th st years later and i seen my first full man on woman porn at the still tender (but already impressed) age of 13 while visit'n my cousin's console tv with 2 of my sibs one summer afternoon...

who lived on the other side of our back yard and know'n the only thing i wanted to do to the nekid baby maker in the movie was back comb her hair a bit more (let me clarify...it was above her shoulders...and NOT below her boulders)

all my sibs decided to take that arduous road & go the Bundy route in life

live'n their naturally born lives...and are as happy as married couples can get i suppose...though you and i are well aware there have always been sexually suppressed married couples

live'n in denial due to societies standards and ignorance as a whole (thankfully times are a change'n though) but that ain't my prob kittens…i never ordered those "issues" and have cancelled my subscription to others who've tried to sign me up to their blister'n yet bountiful membership...i just realized after 50...i don't particularly like stretch marks that much

basically...in the end...let me end it with these thoughtful words of wisdom

if i ain't fuck'n you...or you ain't fuck'n me...then WHY OH WHY...do you care who i fuck? cuz i certainly don't give 2 fucks who yer fuck'n!

so there ya have it kittens…looks like society or the entertainment industry as a whole had nutt'n to do with my sexually flavored behavior…but if 

yer STILL not convinced i'm happy just the way i am…then FINE! how do YOU know you don't like a meaty tooth chipper?

or give’n it a go at bein’ the best sword swallower?

perhaps a thick piece of meat (cut or uncut) choke'n the back of yer throat…or better yet...

remove'n yer lungs?

perhps tea bagg'n is more yer taste?

punch'n into Charlie and the Chocolate factory can be entertain'n…

provided the factory is cleaned out thuroughly of course...no one loves a burrito pinata!

in conclusion…i was born a happy non heterosexual child...

(for the most part) who just happens to enjoy cock-a-doodle-do

BUTT this alone...

 does not define me as a person just wait'n for someone to chant my name...while jump'n off a cliff!

stop with try'n to convert…indoctrinate…pass judgment or strip us of our

dignity...without slipp'n a dollar in the ol' g-string first of course...whom you think are live'n in sin...since me and a large population of non-heterosexuals are not doin it to you

i can admit though...i've been around those from my side of the fence who think they can and make it their mission in life to try to convert defectors 

from the other side...but really...if they have any indication of interest...it's probably a good guess that they haven't cancelled their subscription just yet...so...game over! well...unless you got a rag and a bottle of chloroform handy (although i'm pretty sure that's considered part of the rape category at that point)

so if yer a non homosexual male who's doesn't like COCK…

or yer a non homosexual female who doesn't like PUSSY…

then eat what's on yer own damn plate...happy holiglaze kittens...now GET OFF MY DRESS!

BRING'N HOME THE BACON

this is a real addiction...confusion and cheap tattoos

a princess...a car thief and a lost shoe

loneliness...laughter...lust...the promise of pain

judas in blue jeans...tell me your name

~ Boy George

there has never been a person that has resonated with me more...thru melodramatic melodies...about the hopeless art of the instant oatmeal hook-up....betta than the BOY has himself 

we...and i'm speak'n only to the non heterosexual has-beens and has-been-nots out there...all desperately yearn'n to be temporarily tingled at some point thru-out their journey on this planet...just like all those other

"unnatural types" that choose to be non homosexual...not to be confused with the "wasbians" = used to be carpet cleaners but could never fully commit to shop classes

or the "unfageluffigus's" = used to have style and savoir flair but ended up with a prolapsed ass due to one too many "mission impossibles" in their unmentionables durin' the 80's

i can recall back in my days...before that dreaded trilogy of terror...simply known as my smart phone...that my dumb ass is STILL try'na figer out

after 4 1/2 years of marriage...that the only means of communicado with someone to help scratch that friday nite "itch" (that you hoped didn't need a spermicidal application and a razor)...was accomplished by 3 huge ways

1. BARE ASS BEACH....

located just a handful of very large red rover red rover steps away from the U of M...along the mighty Mississip...where my most preciously precocious Petrinella (and her minions) would indoctrinate me to the ways of the instantaneous gratifications under the pale moon light...(that is...if you fergot to bring yer chloroform spray with you to the bar)

this was accomplished by walk'n down a long stairway to a sandy hell in the middle of the nite...to the desolate open beach down below...like we were castaways that just got off the SS Minnow on a 30 minute tour to titillation town...

eventually we would be greeted by a plethora of unimpose'n figures emerge'n from the behind the bushes along the shore line in the still of some random hot summer nite...sadly though...it felt more like a scene that was straight outta the night of the living dead

and thanx to Peetrinella's infectious cackle echo'n amongst the seediness of the even'n...this avenue was unfortunately no longer a viable option for me to participate in future out'ins

2. BLOW JOB VALLEY...

you heard me right kittens....what is now a sprawl'n 4 story high subsidized house'n complex...that is home to many air bnb affiliates on the edge of the downtown Minne-Apple area in Loring park...was once a spacious and vacant park'n lot...

much like Miss Kellyanne Koo Koo fer "alternative facts" Kunt-away...

that housed many suburbian commuters by day...but turned into a circus arena of salacious sidewinders by sunset...where you would learn yer ABC's of the STD's that were readily available on any given nite...that me and many of my inept bar "friends" would participate in back in the early 90's...

corralled to the center of the park'n lot like a no-gag-reflexed cattle of cock...while the outside perimeter of perverseness would unilaterally and literally drive around us in a complete circle...single file...no more than 2-5 mph...as not to avoid any missed "purchases"...since they had no luck at the side walk sale outside the saloon...cuz this would be their last chance to get down anyone's pants...

 before they would have to head back home to their pabst blue ribbon past out on their unpaid ashley furniture...while we [the inept] waited anxiously fer the high beams to hit us from behind from some hot high roller that would flag us down and open us up like a lotus flower...though i would never be so lucky

after months of study'n the "art of the sale"...i would finally get a high beam i could call my very own...that would sadly only lead to the 1st...

10 minute feature film as a solo performer i would ever perform in...but incidentally...would be where i also successfully negotiated my 1st apartment deal on my very own in the uptown area 10 years later...

and sometimes...fer a lil extra street cred (*wink*wink*)...you (insert ME here) would be summoned by a "famous" heavy hitter on some seedy saturday nite in '94 that wanted you to "hit them" into next week...before they would have to take that long uncomfortable unconscious walk down that forced aisle of misery (VERY true story)

3. PHONE LINES...

i've always had an over active imagination when it came to plausible pleasures...but i always kept my expectations exceptionally low...so they'd be alot easier to attain that way...cuz i knew i would end up in pictures...

i just wasn't expect'n this was how it would all come to be...but i learned how to turn a tragic embarrassment into an animalistic ambush...the mo's went ape shit when i used my mug shot on gofuckyerself.com or somethin' like that...fer a short period of time

of course...i blame it on all those Jeff Stryker flicks that got plenty of miles from Rosy Palmer in the late 80's and early 90's and shows like OZ that made all those horny toads think'n they've hit the jack-off jackpot with a real life felon...and who was i to disappoint their twisted fantasy...but before the world of visual stimulation's were at my finger tips...

i would spend endless hours fall'n asleep on the free side of the phone lines with my over active imagination work'n into over drive...just to find that perfect mistake that i would eventually regret 10 minutes later (Peetrinella tried to curb my "addicktion" once...too many times...to no avail of course)

 cuz i was hooked on em like Steve Erwin to a stingray
(hey...hush the fuck up...more than enough time has passed!)

on any given day or nite...the typical gentleman caller genital wart...who was between the ages of 25 and dirt...6ft tall or above...with bushels of brunette follicles as thick as the amazon forest strategically placed thru-out their sculpted body...that consisted of 180 pds of pure 100% grade A chemically enhanced beef...encased in a 48 inch chest and a 32 inch waist...with enough italian sausage to wreck yer windpipe...

regrettably...reality would eventually set in when we met up...and just my luck...it rarely ever panned out the way i was expect'n it to...99 times outta 100 it was usually somethin' i personally would'a never ordered off the menu (if we had had today's technological advances back then)...only cuz they always ended up invert'n the numbers...and use'n the metric system where it mattered the most

so one particular restless early morn'n nite that i can recall...i met some casual caller (who i hoped was accurately describe'n themselves from the pre-approved menu fer a change) that was just a stones throw away from my back yard (that is....if i was a hungarian shot putter)...so i decided to meet him half way...why not!

and once again...my over active imagination waves were way outta sync...but instead of ridicule'n his very existence and turn'n back home alone...which was a perfectly shallow yet viable option i...like many others in my position...have used many a times before...

i just didn't wanna end up as some damn moo juice model in yer kids cafeteria

so i decided to look fer an easy exit stragedy...but most regrettably & very tragically (FER ME) when i invited him into my shitbox...ummm...i mean my quaint lil shitbox...i heard a sudden thud on my entrance floor as he...

turned to shut my front door...i couldn't believe it...his left sleeve went limp on me as he turned back around...well that's cuz HIS FUCK'N LEFT ARM FELL OFF...SERIOUSLY!...and this was not just any old hand...like i know yer think'n lincoln...NO...this was a hook hand!...A HOOK HAND!...i nervously waited fer his response before i would give my constrained retort..."oh...did i ferget to tell you that i had a prosthetic arm?"...hmmmm?...i hesitated fer just a mere moment before i could come up with the only non judgmental serial killer response..."yea...sorry sailor...but i've already done my charitable act fer the year...plus...i don't want you to be late to yer peter pan rehearsal" 

see you in salutations...now GET OFF MY DRESS!