Actually right now the “f” is for “fuck Christmas”


I spent the afternoon wandering around the Castro, looking at people shopping and just kind of being around humans. Everything in the Castro is “holiday”. It is festive. Men in pink shirts bustled with gaily (note the spelling!) wrapped boxes, lesbians were seen in Walgreens. I bought Alex a delicious can of holiday dinner. I bought myself honey soap, caramel and marzipan candles, and band-aids. I should have rented some festive movies for myself, like Deliverance or Requiem for a Dream. When I got home I had a mailbox full of festive holiday bills and the best holiday card ever — a report card. This side reveals my grades; this side shows my report. Yikes! An “F” in “humility”!? But I’m so shy! Reticent! It’s the cupcakes! Not me! “Sexual acting out”!? It’s the cupkakke…. !

I feel like I should go out and find the five friends left in San Francisco right now who have been rejected by their families for being vegan, but I just can’t seem to make the effort. Damn this nauseatingly familial season. I bought little foil bows for no reason at all. I think I will stick them on my cat. And maybe my tits. And surf for more eye-searingly awful porn to post on Fleshbot. That’s fucking festive, isn’t it? Like my holiday dinner, salad. So joyous. In empathy, I drowned it in Italian dressing. Maybe if I find more eel porn it will put me out of my misery before tomorrow. Actually, I’m going to my friend Jessica’s party in a little bit, another party where I don’t know anyone. When Jessica’s out of earshot, I’m going to fabricate my employment description. I will be a livestock inseminator. Or a prison guard. Or a porn star whisperer.

No, the goal is to find a boy or girl all in black sitting morosely in the corner, with which to sip bitter drinks and convince to attempt euthanization of each other with our frightening knowledge of Morrisey and Cure lyrics, to help me count all these very sore cherry blossoms and maybe even get them kissed a little bit, and just generally lament that this season just stinks to high heaven. This is exactly the kind of scenario where I brood all night until I decide to make a death ray space laser with my copy of the Necronomicon and wake up the next morning after the experiment went horribly wrong, determined to destroy christmas but can’t decide if the winged monkeys or undead army will go with the fetish heels I’ve picked out for christmas eve, not sure if I have time to be an evil overlord of all mankind because I have to do some blogging and stuff, and maybe I can just do it part time with a supernatural avatar, except I’ve totally got the *perfect* little black dress for world domination *and* a burning desire to turn christmas carols into bloodcurdling screams of terror… bwahahahahah!



Off to the party now.

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