Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Fuck Mardi Gras, That's My D.C. Weekend

I just got some blackmail pics sent to me tonight via the internet. Now, I've read a lot of gay erotica over the years and I know how it's supposed to work: first you get the blackmail pics of you whipping out your johnson at 4 AM; then pretty soon you're being dressed up in women's lingerie and photographed some more. From there, it's a short road till you're being urinated on by policemen while their K-9 "officer" is making you his bitch and someone's got it on video.

...er, or don't y'all read the same "literature" I do? Um, that was awkward...

At any rate, that won't be happening with me: you can't blackmail shameless exhibitionistic pervs. And the one picture - the only one that actually shows genitalia - is blurry enough in the right regions (i.e. both upstairs and downstairs) such that it's arguably some other random hipster whipping it out. Besides, it's blurry enough that you can't pinpoint my exact age. "I was young and I needed the money... sob sob" - you know how it works, you've seen Dr. Laura's nudie shots too.

I guess the advent of camera phones has created a world in which you just can't whip it out in public whenever you feel like it, because your so-called friends might take pictures of your cock. What has life in America come to? As for the rest of the "art collection," I'd say I can't believe such things occur on the street in the wee hours of the morning in the capital city of this fine nation, except that I was involved in them and it's captured in full color. And actually, I like some of the horrendously lascivious things I've done in public.

Mmmm, more stories to tell the grandkids.


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