Like a little giiirrrlll
Tuesday, in a rare fit of foresight, I decided to park the car at home and catch the Metro for my monthly (or so) trip to Prissy's on Connecticut Avenue for my stereotypically homo haircut.
The stereotypical stylist did a bang-up job, and I decided that I needed some reading material for the trip home. Newly and impeccably coiffed (eyebrows, too!), I stereotypically strutted into the stereotypically homo bookstore and picked up a stereotypically homo book: Latter Days. It was on sale.
My hair mojo had opened up all sorts of doors for me and the Metro was waiting for me right when I arrived at the platform, so I didn't get the chance to start reading my stereotypically homo book.
This evening I couldn't get to sleep, so I started reading in the hopes that it would put me out. It was apparently a quick read, because I read it cover to cover without realizing it. The story was stereotypical. The setting was stereotypical. One of the main characters was stereotypical. His little girlfriend was stereotypical. The plot was unoriginal. The dialogue was trite. The story was predictable. The ending was the big, fat, deus ex machina in the room.
And yet, the ending put me in tears. Stereotypical.
How 'bout them Eagles? Fuck!
The stereotypical stylist did a bang-up job, and I decided that I needed some reading material for the trip home. Newly and impeccably coiffed (eyebrows, too!), I stereotypically strutted into the stereotypically homo bookstore and picked up a stereotypically homo book: Latter Days. It was on sale.
My hair mojo had opened up all sorts of doors for me and the Metro was waiting for me right when I arrived at the platform, so I didn't get the chance to start reading my stereotypically homo book.
This evening I couldn't get to sleep, so I started reading in the hopes that it would put me out. It was apparently a quick read, because I read it cover to cover without realizing it. The story was stereotypical. The setting was stereotypical. One of the main characters was stereotypical. His little girlfriend was stereotypical. The plot was unoriginal. The dialogue was trite. The story was predictable. The ending was the big, fat, deus ex machina in the room.
And yet, the ending put me in tears. Stereotypical.
How 'bout them Eagles? Fuck!