Friday, February 27, 2004


I bet you are thinking to yourself, "Self, Preston sure does work long hours. He was supposed to be writing more after work and that was like three or four days ago." Well, you can tell yourself that I have been working nonstop for the past several days. It will be a lie, but tell yourself that anyway. Self is so naive.

Where to begin? Sweet Boy is "getting married" to his abusive ex-boyfriend, Rush. I have given up on any sanity lately, especially when it comes to Sweet Boy. He asked me what I think he should do about the whole Rush situation. I told him that I have an opinion about Rush and about what he should do, but he probably did not want to hear it. He told me that he did. Basically, I told him that Rush is a saddistic, egotistical horse's ass. He is thoroughly abusive and were it not for Sweet Boy's tendency to play the role of the masochistic lapdog, he could probably see and be bothered by that. The guy with whom Rush cheated on Sweet Boy was recently in a car accident. Poor guy has burns all over his face now. Rush broke up with him as a result. He then came running back to Sweet Boy, knowing that Sweet Boy would take him back. I told Sweet Boy that if he had been the one who had become a burn victim, Rush would leave his ass too. He says that he loves him, but he loves having the seen and not heard trophy wife. It disgusts me quite frankly. I have recently started looking at Sweet Boy as a little brother of sorts. He is fresh out of the closet and I do not want him to get hurt. I told him that and that he could do and deserves a helluva lot better than the great white "Rush." I told him I am not referring to myself, but he could do alot better and does deserve it. I told him that I just didn't want him to get hurt again and that he should be careful.

I was right, he did not want to hear what I had to say. Rush screens his calls now. Not because Sweet Boy asked him to, but because it is another minor way to keep himself in some sort of control. Sweet Boy text messages me after Rush is asleep.

As long as he thinks he is happy I suppose.

Okay so last weekend my car was broken into. The person stole my leather Banana Republican messenger bag which had alot of random necessities in it. You know suchas my toothbrush, CK pj's, CK undies, padded handcuffs, Hershey's chocolate syrup, GNC multivitamins, and a box of Trojan Magnum XL's. You know, just common overnight bag materials. Well, he also stole all the change from the console of my car and my Banana Republican, cashmere lined leather gloves. I did not discover that the gloves were stolen until I returned home and thoroughly inspected my car. Upon discovering the abduction of my Banana Republican, cashmere lined gloves, I freaked out and called Father O'Flannigan and Little Gay. As they were not answering the phone, as usual, I had to leave a message on the answering machine. Apparently I was screaming irratically in the message.

So the night of the baby buffet discussion, Father O'Flannigan and I had this conversation.

Father O: Preston, when is your birthday?

Me: It is September 5. Why do you ask?

Father O: Oh, a VIRGO. Well, that explains a lot.

Me: What is THAT supposed to mean?

Father O: Nothing. It is just that now I understand why you are so pretentious and ego driven.

Me: I am soo NOT pretentious. Nor do I have an ego. I am an ass, yes. I'll give you that, but I'm not pretentious or egotistical!

Father O: Preston, you cannot tell me you are not pretentious after hearing that message about your beloved Banana Republic, cashmere gloves. Did you ever think that that poor homeless person may need those gloves more than you.

Me: Cashmere lined.

Father O: What?

Me: They were Italian deer leather gloves. The lining was cashmere.

Father O: Oh my god! You are SO pretentious. That poor homeless guy was probably freezing to death. I am sure that he needed them more than you.

Me: Well, he should get a job in that case and buy a pair for himself.

Father O: Why should he when your dumbass left your car there and those beloved cashmere gloves--

---Me: Cashmere lined---

Father O: FINE cashmere LINED gloves in your car in a parking lot in Crackville overnight. Ya know he is probably diggin through the trash right now wearing your goddamned Banana Republic cashmere lined gloves. Digging thru grease. Old used diapers. Bloody tampons. Just digging in YOUR gloves looking for a sandwich.

Me: HERESY! Do not even speak of such things. I had not even thought about that. We do not wear Banana Republic when we are digging thru the trash! We especially do not wear cashmere and Italian deer leather to dig thru the trash. That is IT! Jackson's homeless population must be destroyed! I probably wouldn't be so pissed, but I gave a homeless dude a dollar Saturday night. He gave me some long ass sob story. I looked at him and asked what he expected me to do about it. He told his story again. I looked at him and asked what exactly it was that he wanted from me. He told me he wanted two dollars or a sandwich. I gave him a dollar. He knew I had just gotten money out of the ATM (I like to call it the Aunty Em). When I tried to hand him a dollar, he said, "You mean you can't give me two?" The nerve! I told him that that was all he was getting from me and if he didn't want it, I'll just go. I got back in my car. "FINE FINE! One dollar is fine. Wish it were two, but whatever you can give me." I threw the dollar at him and drove away. So you see, I did my part to help out the homeless bastards. Then Sunday morning I go to find my car has been vanderized and burgled! AND they took my Banana Republican cashmere lined gloves on top of that! Just makes me sick! I think that God was sending me a message. That message being that I am not supposed to help the homeless. If I do, I will be punished.

Father O: Should have given him two dollars.

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Father O'Flannigan for President

So many things have happened in so few days. Where to begin...hmmmm. I will start at the very ending. That's a very good place to start.

Last night, I came to work and...worked. Okay so that was kind of boring. Anyway, AFTER work I went over to pick up Sweet Boy as we were going to be hanging out and whatnot and everything and all. Well I picked him up at his apartment, made it halfway down Old Canton, and then the phone rang. Not my phone, his phone. So blah blah blah boo boo bee dee dah biddy doo. I don't realy feel like talking about all that. Kind of bores me. I'll jump ahead. So 45 minutes later he comes running back to the car yelling, "Go! Go! Get in the car!" So I did. And he did. And we did. Well, we made it to Little Gay and Father O'Flannigan's apartment. We sat there for a few minutes. Sweet Boy's phone rang again. Rush was waiting to pick him up downstairs. Rush called, he jumped. Good boy, Sweet Boy! So he left.

(Not adding any detail because I was there and that was not the freaky fun part that I wanted to talk about.)

So it was Father O'Flannigan, Bi Sagittarian, Cleptopatra, Little Gay, and yours truly. We sat around talking about random ass shite for awhile. Okay the random ass shite is what I want to talk about. Mainly, I have to write it down, because I never EVER want to forget some of it. I am paraphrasing most of this. General gist is still there.

Father O: Cleptopatra, why do you have to steal shit all the time?

Cleptopatra: I only steal things that I need.

Father O: That reminds me of the question, "Is it okay to steal a loaf of bread if your family is starving?" No, it is not. You should just all die together.

Me: Well, you really shouldn't steal the bread. I mean if you would just wait like a week, the babies will start dying off. Just eat your babies.

Appalled. Laughter. Appalled. Laughter. Appalled. Laughter.

Father O: Oh my God! I am going to run for president. That is going to be my campaign slogan...EAT YOUR BABIES! I am going to reinvent the welfare system. If you have more than two babies, you have to eat your babies back down to two before you are eligible for welfare. Vote Father O'Flannigan. Better economy. Better Welfare System. Eat Your Babies!

Cleptopatra: That is horrible. Stop talking about that. It is making me sick. *giggle*

Father O: I could so eat a damned baby. I bet it'd be like veal, ya know. Especially a baby who isn't walking yet. Hasn't yet built up its little muscles. Oh my god, I want to eat a baby! They'd be so damned tender. Damn, I need a baby. I'll cook that shit right here. I've got my cigarette lighter.

Appalled. Laughter. Appalled. Laughter. Laughter. Laughter. Laughter.

I'll write more after work. That is basically all for now. Oh yea, my car was broken into.