Big Fat Hairy Living

Dear Santa,

I promise to be a very good boy if for my Christmas present you turn me into a 65 kilogram Ukrainian woman.

Love,
Dave

Martha Stewart really knows how to make great desserts but what the fuck is the deal with the shit-ass measurements she uses? How the fuck am I supposed to know what a “pint” is? What is this, the middle ages or something? Use millilitres, bitch!

The Toronto Star: “Pope John Paul II said today that a ‘misunderstood’ sense of civil rights was altering the true sense of marriage and family … ‘In our times, a misunderstood sense of rights has sometimes disturbed the nature of the family institution and conjugal bond itself,’ he said.”

Every time I read something the pope says, I want to vomit.

I’m really glad that the pope has Parkinson’s disease. I hope he lives a very long time, suffering incredibly and being slowly robbed of what pathetic shred of dignity he has as he loses complete control over his body. Death is too good for him, because it would end his suffering. He deserves to live every last remaining moment of his life in excruciating pain.

One of the people in my department is getting married, and he’s informed me that I’m invited to the wedding. It’s lame enough that he’s getting married even though he still lives at home with his parents, but even lamer is the fact that his fiancée is one of the virginal Asian former internship students. How pathetic do your social skills have to be if the only place you can pick up a girlfriend is at work?

The groom-to-be is so weird about me being gay that, when I asked him years ago whether me being gay made him uncomfortable, he said “No, I’m fine with it! But what will other people think?” I find it hard to believe that a 29-year old virgin who lives with his parents is more concerned about what other people will think of me being gay than what other people will think of him being a 29-year old virgin who lives with his parents.

At first I thought I didn’t want to go to the wedding, but the more I think about it, the more I can’t wait to go. The people at my office are so uptight about me being gay that the squirming and the pained looks on their faces will provide me with hours of entertainment.

I want to slow dance with Mark.

I hate Christmas. All my friends are in far away godforsaken stupid places, and I’m left all alone. My mother and sister are in town, so it’s not like it’s any special seeing them.

What a stupid holiday.

Mark and I have decided to have an ass baby, but we can’t agree on a name. Here are the names we are considering:

• Anala
• Fecette
• Coliforma
• Sphinctra
• Rectalina

I hope we can pick a name in time for her birth!

Claude writes in response to my recent postings about the uncut bear director at my work:

One day he’ll notice that you pee next to him a lot.

Him: What are you looking at?
You: Nothing.
Him: (holding out his cock) You like this, huh?
You: I was just looking at the wall.
Him: (grabs your arm) Come here. (takes you into a stall, locks it) You like looking at my dick, I’ll give you a real close look. (puts his hands on your shoulders and roughly pushes you down til you’re on your knees in front of him. puts his right hand behind your head. shoves his cock in your mouth.) Haaaaaaaaaah. (uses his right hand to push your head foward again and again.)
You: grmphpmmphhfffmmmmmph
With his left hand, he unbuttons his shirt and strokes his big, hairy chest. His fingers find his right nipple and he squeezes it. His eyes are closed in pleasure as he unmindfully continues to shove his big hard cock down your throat, fucking your face and grunting.

In case it hasn’t been immediately apparent, I’ve been really horny lately. Claude just makes it worse!

I feel guilty for writing so much sexual material lately. I feel as though I should go back to writing boring, lengthy posts on urban design and transit that nobody reads anyway, but my cock is winning over my brain and I find myself compelled to write comment-whoring sex posts.

1. I live alone. I have my own one-bedroom apartment in the heart of the gaybourhood.
2. I am uncut, or as Mark puts it, I have “a hoodie.” Surprisingly, none of my snarky friends picked “I am really a woman” as the answer.
3. I have a bad relationship with my father. Documented extensively.
4. In the latest Toronto election, it’s a fair bet that I voted for David Miller. I never explicitly stated it in my blog, but it’s not hard to figure out, and my friends knew who I liked.
5. In university, my program of study was Electrical Engineering. Everyone who’s met me in person has probably seen my engineering jacket with “ELEC ENG” on the arm. Usually Brodie is the one wearing it, though.
6. In high school, I was an offensive tackle on the football team. Believe it or not, in grade eleven I actually tried out for the football team. That year there were so few people that tried out that they accepted anyone who showed up. I sucked, but I got to see John Marinis in the locker room, and discovered why the girls liked Ross Patterson despite his questionable face. I also got to spend time touching fat guys in spandex.
7. The kinkiest thing I’ve ever done is drink piss directly from a big German bear’s uncut cock in front of a room full of people. No points for guessing where that orgy took place. I dropped to my knees when I saw his big dick swinging around, and when I started sucking, he started pissing. I started drinking. He kept coming back the rest of the night whenever he had to piss. That’s definitely the kinkiest thing I’ve ever done, although making Martha Stewart’s cranberry chicken comes a close second.
8. I have a pierced ear. I also have a pierced nipple, but that wasn’t one of the options. And despite my promise to get my dick pierced with Greg, I chickened out and never did it.
9. I met my current boyfriend at a party. Thank goodness my friends dragged me to that party that I didn’t want to go to!
10. I was brought up as a Jehovah’s Witness. Some of you probably thought I was brought up Catholic just because I hate the pope. But even though I’m not Catholic, I hate him anyway.

One of the students who used to work in my department was in town, so we all met her for lunch. On the way back to my desk, I stopped in the washroom to take a piss. HE was there, and only the middle urinal was free. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have been able to see him at the urinal twice in the past week. His cock is a darkish-coloured rocket cock, which is my favourite kind of dick. Unfortunately, rocket cocks are fairly rare.

I bet his wife has no appreciation for how hot he really is.