Tuesday, January 13, 2004

Three Minutes of Wonderful

Last night I did something that no gay man should do past two a.m.

I ate pasta and then watched Steal Magnolias.

I was so depressed and sopping with grief this morning that I could barely see straight. Luckily, I remembered that I would be picking out a new color for the bathroom today and somehow managed to raise myself from among the bedsheets, take a long hard look in the mirror, and even though my colors would not be plum and bashful, there'd definitely be something in the Home Depot paint selection that would make my gay face smile nonetheless. . .

Tuesday, January 06, 2004

I'm a fat beast that deserves to die.

Is what I thought to myself as I shoved the remaining pieces of an entire loaf of bread I managed to consume a few minutes ago in the kitchen.

Mouthful after greedy mouthful, I saw myself consume enough carbohydrates to sustain an entire village in Bosnia, but I was incapable of intervening, as if my mouth had somehow become an erupting volcano and each crumb a sacrificed virgin hurled into its terrible red fury.

I contemplated purging, of course, but I hear that bulimia, unless coupled with anorexia, is as efficient for weight loss as Kirstie Allen's Pier 1 commercials were for her career.

I guess this recent binge has something to do with the fact that I've been feeling as unattractive and asexual as a yeast infection, as if my penis were a Christmas ornament I'd forgotten to unhinge from the tree. Being single for a prolonged period can do this to a person, you know. There's only so many nights of Faulkner, cheap Chardonnay, and a death wish that any faggot can bear before sprinting to the refrigerator for some sort of acceptance.

Hopefully chubby will be the new black in 2004, otherwise this new year seems as optimistic and pleasant as stage four colon cancer.