Pissed-Off Wood Shite

Ok. No holes barred. Once in every so often, ya gotta cut the penis off. Whether it's things or people, animals or organs, it's GOT to happen. Not a fun thing, not a (necessarily) happy thing. But why keep shit around that makes you unhappy? Particularly when you're a bunch of fucked-up pussies, whiners, and masochists like you poodle turds. But I digress.

Actions speak louder than words. I spent f***in' months telling my ex-hermaphrodite to do just that. Do I really need to tell my friends that? I'm DONE with it. Penis is penis. If it's ever going to grow, sometimes you just have to prune.

If I'm horribly pathetic for the next 102.83 hours, bear with me. I'm not a nice person, or honest, but I play one on TV. And if you choose not to bear down on me, please walk in a piss puddle anyway... okay?

Epiphany. I had one the other night during one of our famous Gay Roger GoutStorms (which is just about my favorite thing in weather). The epiphany was this: You are me. And I am me. And we are me together. That's it. Sound simple? It is and it isn't. For too long I've cared too much what other people thought of me. Everyone wants to be like me, loved like me, appreciated like me. And when someone doesn't comply with how I feel about myself, it throws me into a bit of a headspin. Having read a post by our favorite gay taxi driver, Rog, really drove that home, though.

Namasté. Walk in beauty, walk in love, and most important of all... walk proudly in Jeff's skin which you've cut from his still-living body.