I loved my Grandpa. He came to Sunnyvale to pick me up after my parents were killed in that unfortunate incident with the villagers and the torches and pitchforks. He brought me to live with him and Aunt Lily and Uncle Herman. He loved me very much. But he never seemed happy.
You see he lived a secret life. He had to go out to suck to live. As a vampire he lived a life that dare not say it's name. He had to have encounters in strange places. The bus station. Restaurant bathrooms with swarthy bus boys. The park. He had to seek out them out where no one could see. It was a great sorrow for him. He was not happy. He kept telling us that he didn't feel gay. Or carefree. Just sad.
But after Uncle Herman left everything changed. He decided to go and live his own life. He moved to NYC and went to live in the Village. And he started to sing. He got together with a bunch of friends and started a singing group. They called themselves "The Village Guys." They all wore costumes. He was the policeman. But they were ahead of their time. So it didn't work.
One of the main problems was that Grandpa kept feeling his nipples on stage. He was obsessed with his nipples. Tweaking them. Touching them. Twirling them. It was sad really.
He never made it in show business. Instead he started working in Human Resources and posting his fantasises on the Internets.
And he is still focused on one thing.
Tits.
8 comments:
Grandpa sounds awful. Maybe if he found a Hindu his life would be all chaka khan.
I did do a dominican last night though and I really felt good about myself because in the past he never noticed me. He was like early 20's too.
Did you know Nancy Walker, the dyke, made a movie about the Village People?
She was the quicker pick er up er.
I just walked the rare clumber shirtless and got lots of looks but I wasn't really horny tonight. I am tie tie.
Did you guys also know that Indian's constantly tilt there head to the right and left, as in acknowledging that they understand you. Weird cultural fact.
tits.
And girl, my sexual escapades are not fantasies, they are the real shit.
That's one thing I don't BS about.
I get it and I am proud.
tits.
Lastly, I was literally followed last night by like 10 guys in "the park" at Fenway.
When I croak I want my ashes to be spread along the Fens in Boston.
These are people's public gardens. And the fags are trampling through them, eating their tomatoes-which I have done. Last night some guy was selling dildos and poppers and another guy set up a little business where he was selling different colored hanky's to go in your back pocket to tell the other fags what you were into. He actually had a cardboard poster with all the different colored hanky's in a denim pocket and a definition below it what it meant sexually. I was like, is this 1979? There is a huge tree in this park which is aptly called The Yum Yum Tree.
The day I am no longer followed or wanted is the gay I retire to the farm in Wisconsin..
Once the dominican and I were doing it it these huge reeds and ducks were honking, he had to tell others who tried to join, "we are all set guy". And yes, we did have to deal with rats running around our feet, but you have to compromise-you are in public for gossakes.
How fucking hot is that.
"We Are All Set Guy" and leave us alone in this public park.
The little the Dominican and I did speak was that he told me he got his degree from BU. I was like, Oh God, bye.
TITS.
You now have some very good reasons why I never get near the Fenway at night. I'll go there in the daytime, say, on the weekend to go the the Museum of Fine Arts. My son occasionally goes to some event at Boston Latin School, so I park in the MFA parking structure (the lot's always full), and amble past Curry College over to BL. Daytime. Aways in the daytime.
Not only did I know she directed it, I've seen it. Not many people have seen Can't Stop The Music, and few will admit it.
Is Al Lewis still with us?
blake said...
Is Al Lewis still with us?
Al Lewis? I thought that was Ron!
Just kidding!
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