one of my darling friends sent me an e card last night that said i hope you wake up on top of man not a pile of woman's fashion magazines this new year's eve day. EXACTLY. that is the celery root of all my problems. i am sick of jerking off to british vogue every night.
is it a problem that i am buying my own xmas presents and writing love and best wishes from someone else? do i need a christmas time out because i sent out 75 xmas cards and i probably only really like 12 of those people? so, as i sit on my love seat on christmas eve with my plate full of homemade toasted coconut marshmallows and hot cocoa. i will pray that santa will bring me something that doesn't require two AA batteries and comes wraps in shiny paper. I want peace in the middle east, I want a black president in the white house, and I want a quaker dyke on my box of my oatmeal.
P.S. and i want gay guys to get their heads out of their asses and throw their baggage and steam trunks out in the fucking trash. pat, i would like to buy a vowel. A, please. I would like to solve the puzzle.
ASSHOLE.
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