because he hadda come back for more, he hadda have it one more time

yeah, except that as soon as i leave the canyon, all my missing messages magically pop into place--but nice try, cupcake.

so i sit back and await an apology from this thoughtless little twit for wasting half my day driving halfway to hell and back for nothing, but a few days go by and then i get

as if nothing had happened.  nice try again, but i don't think so.  we'll wait him out, because--and i don't care how damn cute he and i both think he is--what he and i both know he needs doesn't exactly grow on trees in this city.

but instead, i get,

what the hell are they teaching these kids in twink school these days?  but wait, there's more:

jesus, he really is reaching now.  i'm thinking three or four more of these might earn him a provisional pass back into the Rotation, but it'll be damn sure be a grudgefuck, and he'd damn well better not blow it this time.

and that's what it's come down to, folks--playing power games with twinks.  oh well, everybody's gotta be good at something.




oh, and if you think for one goddam minute that tracking down this most obscure of tracks from the furthest reaches of the internet, creating a video of same and uploading it to youtube while drunk just for the sake of capping off this lousy post was a small feat, think again.  i'm nothing if not a slave to my goddam art, goddammit.

now get up and dance.

why? because this is what drink and boredom have reduced me to

presented for your delectation, much as i found it earlier this evening:

so why are we ragging on kewl, happy, dumb-as-a-rock chad tonight?  because it's been a bad day, i'm in a mood and chad's an easy target, that's why.

see, in stark contrast to chad with his naturally beach-blond hair, beach-blond body, beach-blond millions and apparent invulnerability to disease, mkf drags his fat, aging ass outta bed every morning and girds his ever-widening loins for yet one more struggle with demons and darkness and existential-angsty aloneness before finally collapsing, exhausted, into yet one more uneasy little slice of death, full of the awful, sisyphean knowledge that, at best, he's doomed to arise the next morning and do it all again.  no surf.  no jet-ski.  and god knows, no sailing yacht.

sure, i know there are multitudes of chads out there who live golden, effortlessly-blissful lives, but i don't particularly enjoy having my nose rubbed in that fact, especially when i think i'm safe among my own maladjusted, sex-twisted kind--i mean, hell, just the big dick without the correspondingly disfiguring big-dick features alone should be enough to have him killed in my book.*

so with all this in mind, i decided to drop chad a line, ask him to help me make some sense of the unfairness of the universe.

if i receive anything beyond a "duh?" in response, i'll be sure to let you know, but i don't have high hopes--i expect his little beach-blond pucker is every bit as flawless as his little beach-blond dreams.

_____________
*and yeah i know, noblesavage, but if chad is a figment of some old perv's imagination designed to lure hot, unwitting boys to send him revealing photos of themselves, i have no post, so we're not going with that one.