Sunday, January 08, 2006


The poor thing... I start these contrived arguments with him all the time and he always falls for it. JR's comment to the previous post, however, refers to an incident that was quite real. I was trying to send a text message to Sausage who speaks Fraunch and I couldn't remember the correct way of using the word 'tordu' (twisted) in a certain sentence. For the next half-hour, the ExBoyf was bombarded with me screaming "Get on the interweb and pull up a translation matrix, now! I need to know how to use tordu!" He had no idea what I was on about, which I clearly was aware of but I gave no clarification. All I could see were his chunky man-hands typing away frantically, trying to decode what I was saying. He had the most adorable, confused, trying to please look on his face... I totally didn't have the heart to tell him that the text message was to say: "I'm with the ExBoyf and right now I feel that his twisted penis is too much work for me".

I'm not always like this. Trust me, that little fucker has his moments, too. Like the time he was getting all melodramatic and pensive for no reason. When asked what was wrong with him, he practically burst into (fake) tears and said that he really wished that he was a VCR so that he could rewind and re-record his life. This was quickly followed by a demand that I create an ice-sculpture float at Gay Pride that would faithfully recreate his life as it would have been if he lived in Atlantis.


At 11:59 AM, Blogger PDD said...

Oh my god. All I have to say to that is I have tears and piss.


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