Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Next up: Llama Merkins

Okay, so I just found out the our first lady's first name is Laureen.


Now then, I've recently begun to enjoy the smooth, creamy stylings of one T.L. Bocina, who waxed nostalgic recently about a former lover and it got me thinking about mine. The infant that has come to be known as the Young Portuguese was in my life and my hot tub for a short while, not a good while, and in that time he was remarkable for no reason whatsoever. Yes, his street cred and lower lip were oddly intoxicating, but he had no real defining characteristics that will stand the test of time except that he is the most recent and therefore at the forefront of my rejection neuroses.

Last night, I had yet another dream in which he appeared and was not an asshole. I would like to issue an edict to stop invading my subconscious with fantasies about his non-assholedom as I know this to be a fallacy. His lopsided spectacled smile has as little effect on me as a Mach 3 razor has on his ridiculous and troubling amount of underbelly hair. I can forgive many things; bad haircuts, backne, occasional racism and psychopathological knowledge of the Going-To-Hell song from The Hunchback of Notre Dame, inclusive. But seriously dude, it's like a fake alpaca stomach weave from Crafts 'N Things. You could make a pashmina outta that shit.This is about as appealing as Ranjit, the accounts receivable guy who regularly pees in the adjacent stall during my daily iPod solitaire break in the employee washroom. (The guy pees and then for a solid minute and a half just stands there waiting for aftershocks that generally occur 15-20 seconds apart. He then does up his zippy and stands there for another bit, I dunno, praying or something. I can't really tell, but why else would someone stick around post-emission? Pro tip: If your god requires lauding and thanks after urination by light of fluorescence, you picked the wrong religion.)

Okay, this was originally gonna be an attempt at being deep but clearly I lost my concentration roughly around "fake alpaca stomach weave." Sorry. I'll try harder tomorrow.


Pat Tillett said...

Everybody in the room just looked at me because I laughed out loud...

Tocalabocina said...

Alpaca belly hair....ID noooooo, you are above that shit. Although, the former lover that I wrote of had a fucking civil war mustache so, well, there's that.

feral geographer said...

Hi D,

I'm feral geographer and I blog at Along with Mae Callen of Driving Fast on Loose Gravel (, I'm working on creating an active blogroll of queer blogs from Canada and/or by Canadians. The project is called Queer Canada Blogs (, and we've added your blog!
Please check it out and let us know if you have any suggestions for other blogs we can add.

feral geographer

(Feel free to delete this comment... I just wanted to contact you, and couldn't find an email address!)