This picture of Oliver and Hugo
…shit bro it makes me wonder what other concrete beliefs of mine are way off.
You are only allowed to be tortured for your art if war or famine has killed all your family and the only girl you’ve ever loved, you’ve been maimed and persecuted, and maybe the Spanish Inquisition was involved somehow.
I asked Jack what he wanted for Father’s Day and he said, “A blow job,” and I said, well, these little sutures are kind of poky in there, and he said, “It doesn’t need to be from you.”
Wow. Leave your balls alone. Seriously, holy cow. Those are your balls. You guys are sitting, maybe, three feet apart. Jesus, man. There is not a dating guidebook in the world that would even conceive of writing a chapter called “Don’t Play With Your Balls (on the First Date)” because any mammal with the gift of literacy would not even consider this a “Do I or Don’t I?” kind of question. Wow. There you go again.
Exactly. Now here is a man, and I care about Christopher Reeve because I think he is an incredibly talented man. But look at him; where has his career gone?
But Ann Coulter is the only celebrity I’ve ever spotted at Farmer’s Market that I wound up fucking in the ass, hard.
That’s right: fifteen months old and my son has already McGuyvered up a rocket launcher.
Remember: the Scream is your friend. Caregivers live in fear of the Scream. If you add to the Scream “No hit! No hit!†they’re sure to back away for fear of the authorities coming after them.
…so it’s not just the gays to blame this time! He said that marriage is not just a “casual sociological construction†that could be changed at certain times, but that it’s an institution, like Disneyland, John Waters, and the fuck-me pump.
