| 2002-07-24 : 12:20 p.m. | |||||||||
| platonic feline love happily coexists with rodeo ass fucking | |||||||||
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I used to spend my nights all alone in a castle of darkness with lightening in the atmosphere going hither and tither. My queer dyke ass was obsessed with representations of gay male on male spanking, and country and western scenes of rodeo ass fucking. Even more evil was my unabated obsession with ear candles, those rolled pieces of waxed paper you stick in your ear and set on fire; they are rumored to vacuum out all of your ear wax. I even preferred the irony of christian radio over the more scantified indie rock. Now I spend my days contemplating the possible validity of french feminisms, and focusing on my nipples as a preferred erogenous zone. I no longer plot to take over the world, but rather remark on the fuzzy cuteness of my feline as he slumbers and purrs next to me. I spend hours making up step song and dance routines dedicated to my cat. Some say I have fallen from grace, but I rebuff those claims. I have discovered a kinder, gentler world. A world where rodeo ass fucking has its place, but does not necessarily take precedent over using the word "cute" 15 times in a sentence. A world where self righteous irony cuddles with nipply foreplay. A world where I am a more whole, more well rounded, more complete person. And I can thank Basil the cat for that.
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