Due to the fact that half of Westport now knows about this blog (as a result of a certain two or three people), the administrators have decided to make it private for the time being, at least until those responsible are detained, converted into gimps, and kept in cages for an indefinite period of time.
For now, have a little nibble of this text-message exchange between Blanus and yours truly:
Blanus (8:14 pm): What you doing?
Malonedies: Just eating pork, drinking a pork-shake and thinking about porking. You up to anything?
Blanus: Oh hot, I’m doing the same thing but with venison.
Take it in your hand
Feel its meandering shaft
Firm but gentle grip
Starry night above
Tree branches frame the pale moon
I tug my penis
Every once in awhile, the road of life requires us to negotiate particularly tricky twists and turns, forks, and so many branchings. Today, I came to a crossroads.
It was around 2 o’clock on a blustery December afternoon. My friend – I’ll use the generic name ‘Tim’ – asked if he could borrow my glass pipe, which I occasionally use as a device for smoking marijuana. Apparently Tim had acquired some marijuana, yet lacked a means to ingest it. Since I knew I probably wouldn’t be using the pipe for the next week or two, I said “sure.” At this point all that was left to do was arrange the logistics of the pick up.
Tim said he’d be over in a few hours to pick up the pipe. I told him that if I had to run out for any reason, I would put the pipe inside a small wooden box and then place that box in my mailbox (since today is Sunday, the mailman wouldn’t be coming by, and assuredly would not be receiving an early Christmas bonus in the form of a dainty glass pipe). Anyway, as soon as I told Tim the bowl would be waiting in a small wooden box in my mailbox, an absolutely genius idea flashed before my mind’s eye, like a streak of lightening illuminating a jet-black summer sky.
About two months ago, my younger sister was given a hamster by one of her friends. It lived for a few weeks but died suddenly, so I agreed to help her bury it in a small wooden box in our back yard. As soon as the words ‘small wooden box’ rolled off my tongue during my conversation with Tim, I glimpsed a major opportunity. I could go out back, dig up the hamster’s coffin, dust the dirt and soil off of it, and place it gently in my mailbox. Tim would arrive and see the small box in my mailbox just like he had expected to, and then swiftly take the box back to his house, where Samsonite and some other friends were waiting and itching to get high. Assuming the smell wouldn’t tip him off before he got back home, Tim would likely ascend his stairs, greet his young friends, and proceed to open the box in order to pack the pipe he was expecting to find. Instead, Tim would be greeted with the small, rotting skeleton-corpse of a decaying hamster. He would likely recoil in disgust and drop the box on the ground, which would cause the hamster-corpse to roll out onto the floor. Equally shocked and disgusted, his friends would likely jump to the conclusion that Tim had finally gone totally insane.
So, the choice was ready to be made. Should I give Tim the pipe, or should I give him the hamster?
I decided on the hamster.
My 7 year old cousin – let’s call him ‘Johnny’ – is visiting for the weekend, and as I was driving him to see Twilight XIV at the movie theater, we both noticed a (barely visible) sign that said “Petting Zoo” set slightly off the road.
Johnny insisted that we stop, and I figured I’d rather see a few animals than watch some lame vampire movie. Anyway, we were both in for quite a surprise…..
First off, there were strangely a lot of canines, which surprised me because I expected to see the usual llamas, goats, pigs, or whatever.
Here’s another one in a kennel. I think they might be related.
Next, there were men riding what seemed to be peacocks, but I was told they were ‘ponies.’
Here’s the type of pony I recognize:
Next, we moved on to the feline area, where we got to play with this very friendly sphinx cat:
However, it was only when we got to the ‘reptile house’ that I got a little creeped out. Here’s a scary snake – I think it’s a rattlesnake:
Once we left the reptile house, we made our way to the marine tank, and to my surprise, this petting zoo had two killer whales!!!!
Finally, on our way out, there was a nice man bidding us farewell:
I’ll never forget our day at the petting zoo!
Thought of the Day
For two years now, our beloved blog contributor, Scrambles, has been a member of an international social network known as ‘Chubs and Chasers’ – a social network dedicated to matching normal-sized men who fetishize extremely and horrendously fat and flabby gay men, with the Chub of their dreams. Similar to a Bear, a Chub has his own niche marked out in gay culture, and it is Chubs and Chasers’ job to get him out into the open where he can be actively ‘chased’ by a chaser like Scrambles. Here’s an example of a typical chub:
Many people mock Scrambles for his fetish; they call him a “sick, twisted pervert” and a “faggot.” We here at FoldedBrilliance, however, commend Scrambles for following – or should we say ‘chasing’? – his dream. In fact, we’re all chasing dreams of our own.
Blanus, for instance, is chasing fast cars, cocaine, and above all, his dream of achieving success in the fast-paced corporate world of New York City.
Minty Timmons (RIP), before his death, was also chasing life in the fast lane, albeit in his own way. This mainly meant doing large amounts of cocaine and flirting with young children – usually both activities simultaneously – at his place of work and in his leisure time.
Samsonite, as one might infer from his profile picture, is chasing his dream of becoming a famous athlete. He was born an athlete and hopes to die an athlete.
As for me, well, I chase the dragon to ward off my chronic case of Bieber-Fever…