Know How I Know You're Gay? Cuz Your Dick Tastes Like Shit!

I have a friend that I grew up with that is gay now. Or, probably more realistically, he's always been gay and is just letting everyone else in on his secret. Let's call him "Ken" because that's his real name.

So I run into "Ken" in Manhattan on Tuesday morning for the first time in around 6 years. It was around 10:30 or so so I already had a good buzz on, but it seemed very apparent to me that "Ken" was trying to outgay everyone else. With the eye rolling, the head movements, the hand gestures and pleated skirt it was just a little too much to take in all at once. When he tried to hug me I heard myself yell out "Back up, faggot!"

The fact that I haven't seen him in 6 years has nothing to do with the fact that he craves dick nowadays as much as the fact that he finds Alphonso Mourning attractive. How the fuck can you grow up a New York Knicks fan and find Alphonso Mourning attractive?

In my silent moments, when I'm being totally introspective, I wonder what it says about me that I grew up with him and didn't see the signs of his gayness? Should the Diana Ross listening parties have signaled a bell or two? Maybe the fact that he'd smear globs of vaseline on his face before a fight? Perhaps the shirtless pictures of me he'd have all around his bedroom? I find myself fearing silent, introspective moments.

So here I am, on a bustling midtown Manhattan street in the company of a 6 foot, gay, invisible rabbit. Only everyone can see him and he's only about 5'7". And here's a total misconception about gay people: they all don't dress well. I was so put off by his choice of hand bag with the shoes he was wearing I just wanted to scream!

"So where are you headed" he inquired in his butt-pirated, sing-songy tone.
"Somewhere else" I responded.

There was this comic in the late '80s that once said, when asked about homosexual vs. bisexual vs. transgender: Look, either you suck dick or you don't suck dick.

So, after a few drinks I look at my watch and it's almost 10 pm. My father once told me that God punishes homosexuals by killing them off in one generation because they don't have children. Perhaps, but they have money and I didn't spend a dime. I couldn't tell you what we spoke about for 8 hours but I do recall telling the bartender "yes, I'll have another one".

I do miss my friend's company. Playing ball in High School, bagging Catholic School girls together and confirming our alibi's before we faced our moms. And it's really too bad that time and prejudice have eroded our once strong as steel childhood bond. Maybe when I run into him again and I'm broke and thirsty we'll talk about it.

...And then there was light

Gobbledygook: unclear, wordy jargon. An attainable goal. Let's face it. It's not like a New Year's Resolution. I can be unclear every minute of every day. Easy. Just off the top, nonsensical babble. Whatever's on my mind. Done. I haven't stopped to think a second about anything written so far. And I'm like 54 words in, I'm sure. About me: I've read some books, done some things, bedded some bad-ass women and drank some beer in between. I'm your average 30-something black guy, working a job during the day attending illegal cock-fights till the rooster crows. Just like you. We're all one in the same. The only difference is that I'm much better than you in all ways except none. I can prove it. What number am I thinking of right now between 1 and 10? If you said 12,873 you'd be correct. Eleventeen should be a number. Ok, maybe you're better at me in math, but guess what? Unless you're an architect or your dealer is constantly ripping you off, what good does math do you anyway? No one's gonna grab you in a dark alley and tell you that your life depends on you giving them the correct answer to the square root of 11,118. Usually in those situations it's a geography question or they'll ask you for some chemical element or something. Just remember that the symbol for gold is AU. Trust me on that. I've read the bible cover to cover and the one thing I realized was that I was never so glad to be done with a book. Kobe Bryant scored like 144 points the other day. I thought it was a typo until I realized I was listening to the radio. He knows no one likes him so you'd think he'd just score 8 points a game and go home, like the rest of his teammates. Think about it: the next highest scorer on his team had like 13 points. What would happen if Lamar Odom forearmed Kobe in the throat while Kobe was going for a layup, got the ball and dunked it over Kobe and screamed "Yeeaahhhh!" in Kobe's face? It probably wouldn't be a good career move for Lamar, but I tell you I'd laugh and laugh. And really, that's what life is all about isn't it? I believe we make life much more complicated than it has to be. Life is nothing more than a good steak, a great friend, a compatible hot partner with a high libido and clear stilletos that knows how to whip up a batch of homemade grain alcohol. I mean, why do we make it so complicated? I have a couple of kids. Their names escape me right now...I think it's Mike and Tina. They're both boys around the same age. Possibly. Ok, I'm admittedly not the best parent. But kids are just so damn clingy. All they do is whine about "Daddy, I need some food." "Daddy, I need some clothing." "Daddy, I need some shelter." Get your naked ass back in the yard, and close the damn door it's raining! Kids, man. I'm writing a book. I've been writing this book for 24 years now. It's actually changed like 12 times. Totally changed. I now realized that I could have written like 5 different books on different subjects with all the changes I've made. They were small changes but they all add up. The characters names haven't been changed at all. It's just like their situations, genders and dialogue I keep messing with. And like the overall theme. If I was to sum up the theme right now, I'd say it was a cross between Octavia Butler's Parable of the Sower and the children's book "Good Night Moon." I have this chapter in my book where the main character, Karma, goes back home and unbeknownst to her guests she takes them to a little place she calls "The Forest of The Impaled." It's creepy and graphic. It's all in Pop Up. This is definitely a part of the book where parents would want to read to their children and let them know that impalements rarely happen today. One day I'll make this blog readable and presentable. Until then, goodnight moon.