J: E-bow the Letter
OK, so maybe I'm talking too much and no one cares,
but I'm going to keep on talking anyway.
"Yap, yap, yap. Bla, bla, bla."
*Last few desperate survivors of livejournal gasp, turn blue and die*
Took my Gaydar profile down today.
Was tremendously bored of looking at random mingers.
Even I, digitally challenged as I am, can count the amount of guys I've met off it on one hand. And of those, I only shagged the 6'4" former Australian lifeguard, who, of course, wasn't quite as cute as he sounded. Still, he was nice, he was reasonably cute, and more importantly, he was leaving the country the next day anyway, so, y'know, why not? But that was, what, two years ago? And since then, not an Extra Large sausage have I sampled. So I just got fed up of trawling it when bored, and ending up even more bored. I shall use saved Gaydar time productively, and, y'know, sit on my lazy ass watching TV or something.
Li'l Bro: "Hey, Armagh's having it's first gay night!"
Me: "Oh yeah, I heard that."
Li'l Bro: "Will we go?"
Me: "..." (looks suspiciously at Li'l Bro's highlights)
Li'l Bro: "It can't really be the first one, can it?"
Me: "Probably is. There's not much of a gay scene in the North, apart from Belfast."
Li'l Bro: "There is in Newry, my mates go all the time. Karaoke and stuff. They bring their girlfriends, it's packed, everyone goes!"
Me: "..." (perturbed in face of imperturbable metrosexuality in real-life situation)
I guess the times they are a-changing.
In my day, you know who was bent and they got beat up and maybe they killed themselves and everyone was happy, right, and then you got to write gloomy books about being oppressed. Man, this happy-go-lucky who-cares-if-you're-gay stuff is hard to deal with. Straight lads want to hang with their gay mates and it's all very confusing. Gay pride!
*Old homo shoves Rainbow Flag up his arse and runs off into sunset*
In real life, the Pride march was fun as always.
Davina Divine got hitched on the Wedding Bus - they had a gay Pope.
Panti, Ivana Bacik and Phyllis were my icons of the day. Panti yelled things like "Hello to The Boilerhouse!", Ivana danced like a mad yoke on the all-green float, and Phyllis strode around with a bottle of poppers up her nose (as usual), getting chatted up by bemused foreign knacker blokes.
The aul wans on O'Connell Street were miffed cos they had to wait an extra half hour for their bus to the flats / bingo hall / GP, and the gangs of tracksuit kids took heaps of photos on their brand-new-nicked camera phones (and one of the gang was always a hairdresser-haired babyfag). Southside, and there were crowds of happy-clappers and a few irate shoppers pushing rudely through the throng. Damien the Model and friends were having a party and waved from their apartment window (they had balloons), and one guest in Jury's hotel stood in his window, in his knickers, while the crowd chanted "Off, off, off!!!" Classy! Again as always, there were huge amounts of homos standing around pretending to be surprised the march was happening and they were there - "Oh, fancy meeting this conga-line of faggotry en route to my, er, popping across town for a Mega Jumbo Poobah Latte" - and they were all raised eyebrows and knowingly benevolent smiles, as if to say, "Well, fair play to them, now, I really must get back to the wife..." - yeah, see yis later in Yello, chickens!
Went to The George later on for the first time in yonks, there was one kinda cute Spanish guy, but when he told me he kept a vibrator in his handbag I sort of lost interest, even though I'm sure that was just a joke. Yup. Whatever. (I didn't really wanna find out.)
At least all the U2 fans have fucked off by now. Was wandering up by the Four Courts the other day and was asked directions to Croke Park. Eh, yeah, no probs... JUST GET A TAXI, you morons. In other news, have just listened to the album, and, um, it's alright actually...
*Jarlath commits an honourable suicide by disembowelling self with said CD)
Later dudes. I'm loving summer. All I need now is a new crush, a house in the country and the motivation to start my new book. Sweet.
but I'm going to keep on talking anyway.
"Yap, yap, yap. Bla, bla, bla."
*Last few desperate survivors of livejournal gasp, turn blue and die*
Took my Gaydar profile down today.
Was tremendously bored of looking at random mingers.
Even I, digitally challenged as I am, can count the amount of guys I've met off it on one hand. And of those, I only shagged the 6'4" former Australian lifeguard, who, of course, wasn't quite as cute as he sounded. Still, he was nice, he was reasonably cute, and more importantly, he was leaving the country the next day anyway, so, y'know, why not? But that was, what, two years ago? And since then, not an Extra Large sausage have I sampled. So I just got fed up of trawling it when bored, and ending up even more bored. I shall use saved Gaydar time productively, and, y'know, sit on my lazy ass watching TV or something.
Li'l Bro: "Hey, Armagh's having it's first gay night!"
Me: "Oh yeah, I heard that."
Li'l Bro: "Will we go?"
Me: "..." (looks suspiciously at Li'l Bro's highlights)
Li'l Bro: "It can't really be the first one, can it?"
Me: "Probably is. There's not much of a gay scene in the North, apart from Belfast."
Li'l Bro: "There is in Newry, my mates go all the time. Karaoke and stuff. They bring their girlfriends, it's packed, everyone goes!"
Me: "..." (perturbed in face of imperturbable metrosexuality in real-life situation)
I guess the times they are a-changing.
In my day, you know who was bent and they got beat up and maybe they killed themselves and everyone was happy, right, and then you got to write gloomy books about being oppressed. Man, this happy-go-lucky who-cares-if-you're-gay stuff is hard to deal with. Straight lads want to hang with their gay mates and it's all very confusing. Gay pride!
*Old homo shoves Rainbow Flag up his arse and runs off into sunset*
In real life, the Pride march was fun as always.
Davina Divine got hitched on the Wedding Bus - they had a gay Pope.
Panti, Ivana Bacik and Phyllis were my icons of the day. Panti yelled things like "Hello to The Boilerhouse!", Ivana danced like a mad yoke on the all-green float, and Phyllis strode around with a bottle of poppers up her nose (as usual), getting chatted up by bemused foreign knacker blokes.
The aul wans on O'Connell Street were miffed cos they had to wait an extra half hour for their bus to the flats / bingo hall / GP, and the gangs of tracksuit kids took heaps of photos on their brand-new-nicked camera phones (and one of the gang was always a hairdresser-haired babyfag). Southside, and there were crowds of happy-clappers and a few irate shoppers pushing rudely through the throng. Damien the Model and friends were having a party and waved from their apartment window (they had balloons), and one guest in Jury's hotel stood in his window, in his knickers, while the crowd chanted "Off, off, off!!!" Classy! Again as always, there were huge amounts of homos standing around pretending to be surprised the march was happening and they were there - "Oh, fancy meeting this conga-line of faggotry en route to my, er, popping across town for a Mega Jumbo Poobah Latte" - and they were all raised eyebrows and knowingly benevolent smiles, as if to say, "Well, fair play to them, now, I really must get back to the wife..." - yeah, see yis later in Yello, chickens!
Went to The George later on for the first time in yonks, there was one kinda cute Spanish guy, but when he told me he kept a vibrator in his handbag I sort of lost interest, even though I'm sure that was just a joke. Yup. Whatever. (I didn't really wanna find out.)
At least all the U2 fans have fucked off by now. Was wandering up by the Four Courts the other day and was asked directions to Croke Park. Eh, yeah, no probs... JUST GET A TAXI, you morons. In other news, have just listened to the album, and, um, it's alright actually...
*Jarlath commits an honourable suicide by disembowelling self with said CD)
Later dudes. I'm loving summer. All I need now is a new crush, a house in the country and the motivation to start my new book. Sweet.