Just because you’re a homosexual, that doesn’t mean your OkCupid profile has to produce a gag reflex. Lately, I’ve come across a few pics on Hinge that are so “gay,” and I could just barf from what I come across on Tinder.
See for yourself. Take a look at what’s popped up in my feeds recently. You’ll understand what I mean when I say there seems to be slim pickings in the homosexual dating scene. (Click on a picture to open up the gallery and scroll through the comments):
Oh, Christmas Tree! Oh, Christmas Tree! How lovely is your wiener?!
Where’s Waldo (1 of 4): Now here’s a guy that actually had more than one photo in his profile.
Where’s Waldo (2 of 4): He likes to travel!
Where’s Waldo (3 of 4): Apparently, he’s athletic!
Where’s Waldo (4 of 4): But he’s really just a face (no telling which one) in the crowd!
Well, this just brings out the pedophile in me.
What the hell is this?!
I like a guy who has character, but this guy’s a bit too animated.
I’m blinded by his beauty!
Eenie Meenie Miney Mo. Pick a homo and there you go.
Lie to me, Pinnochio! This guy is Asian. There’s no way he’s floatin’ anyone’s boat with a buoy that large.
I’ll give this guy marks for creativity, but seriously! If I wanted to see a headless shot, I’d log onto Grindr.
Love is like a foreign language. If you don’t pick it up while you’re younger, good luck getting a hold of it later on in life. Take it from someone who’s getting rather well acquainted with that reality with each passing day.
I’ve a reputation for being a slut, and I’ve earned it. But even sluts have feelings. If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? And if you wrong us, do we not seek revenge?
Vengeance is sweet, particularly when some pint-sized homosexual who’s knee high to a piss-ant pisses us off:
“Payback’s a bitch!” As the Chinese philosopher Confucius once said, “Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.” So often, you wind up hurting yourself just as much as the person you seek to destroy.
Fellatio is the homosexual’s handshake. Moments after coming across some of the best produce in one of the finer sections of New York’s “gayborhood,” I found myself on my knees. After about half-an-hour of churning, I came up for air with a mouthful of apple butter. I swallowed.
Caviar is a homosexual’s delicacy, but until recently I never sampled the goods. Perhaps the “homosexual birth control” has put my mind at ease. I digress. Point being: He enjoyed the warm, moist cave of my throat with the occasional coil of my naughty tongue, and I couldn’t get enough of his “home brew.”
In an interview with SF Weekly, the Bay Area homosexual rationalized “cooking with cum.” He said, “People eat all kinds of weird stuff. Eggs are the menstruation of chickens. Milk is the mammary excretion from cows. Semen is…at least it’s fresh and you know who the producer is.”
If you’re a man who landed in high heels just as soon as you popped out of the womb, “you might be a [homosexual].” If every time you open your mouth a purse falls out, “you might be a [homosexual].” If you’re a snappy dresser who happens to smell good though, you might simply be a so-called “metro-sexual” often mistaken for a homosexual (even by those of us who rely on fine-tuned “gaydar” for our sexual livelihoods).
“Judging a book by its cover.”
Redneck Indiana businesses now have free license to turn away lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender customers all in name of the Lord now that Republican Governor Mike Pence put his “John Hancock” on the state’s Religious Freedom Restoration Act.
Praise Jesus! Hallelujah! Amen!
Has history taught us nothing?! I mean, why stop at showing a homo the door?! Here’s a novel idea: Why don’t Indiana lawmakers force “queer folk” out of the closet by requiring them to register and self-identify as LGBT by wearing rainbow patches? That way we limit any confusion about whether a person is gay, straight or bi—all in the interest of protecting religious liberty at the expense of civil rights and provide “full access to the judicial system.”
“From the pit of my stomach to the porcelain of the bowl.”
Nothings says “America, fuck yeah!” like some good old-fashioned bigotry, eh? I digress.
“Hoosiers don’t believe in discrimination,” Pence said. Over the weekend, he told The Indianapolis Star he was “taken aback” by all the negative reactions and “just can’t account for the hostility that’s been directed” toward Indiana. He indicated he would support a new bill to “clarify” the intent of the new law, but he was not prepared to provide further details about the legislation.
He apparently was not prepared for ABC’s George Stephanopoulos either. Take a look at how the governor failed to respond to simple “yes or no” questions when he appeared on the network’s political affairs program, “This Week.”
In Sunday’s edition of The Washington Post, Apple CEO Tim Cook pointed out Indiana is not alone in passing pro-discrimination ‘religious freedom’ laws. “There’s something very dangerous happening in states across the country,” the openly gay executive wrote. “A wave of legislation, introduced in more than two dozen states, would allow people to discriminate against their neighbors. Some, such as the bill enacted in Indiana last week that drew a national outcry and one passed in Arkansas, say individuals can cite their personal religious beliefs to refuse service to a customer or resist a state nondiscrimination law.”
Anyone who’s taken a stroll through Manhattan’s Midtown West knows birds of a feather will flock together. How else could you explain all the queens who call that neighborhood home? You’ll find more “royal highnies” in Hell’s Kitchen than you will in Buckingham Palace for Pete’s sake!
Not even subzero temperatures could keep all the single ladies from making their appointed rounds at the usual homosexual establishments. All together now: “Before we bed hop, we must bar hop!”
Again… I digress.
The bitter cold that turned the Bryant Park fountain into a frozen sculpture and scabbed over the Hudson River with ice has ushered in the Canada Goose. The coat is apparently so warm it allows scantily clad homosexuals to waltz into a gay bar wearing little more than their kinky boots and a jock strap. Filled with down, lined with coyote fur along the hood, and—of course—let’s not forget the “polar cap” badge, people flaunt around in them like they’ve earned a Girl Scout achievement patch for selling cookies.
Homosexuals in their twenties and early thirties will jump at any opportunity to brand themselves, eh? If you want to dress to impress, nothing says “cool and prestigious” like the Canada Goose.
One of the world’s leading manufacturers of extreme weather outwear, the company says it has experienced tremendous growth, “including more than 1,500-percent growth in over the last five years in the U.S. alone.” On a local level, Bobbing for Apples counted fifteen “Canadian Geese” in a New York minute. That’s one every four seconds. The obviously unscientific experiment took place on a weekday afternoon in another neighborhood home to a large percentage of the city’s homosexual population – the West Village. To meet demand, Canada Goose—as recently as May 2013— established U.S. headquarters in Denver, Colorado.
If you want to strut your stuff with only a Canada Goose between your warm, moist flesh and the dry, frigid air, be prepared to spend north of $800. Depending on when and where you buy, you might snag one for $500.
So, it will cost you a pretty penny, but perhaps that’s a small price to pay when you’re just “looking” for a way to keep warm on yet another cold winter’s night. So go on, ladies! Charge yourself a little happy. Run out, shake your tail feathers, and then find some hot guy to ruffle them for you!
If the walls in the Oval Office could talk, they might tell you “Honest Abe” shared his bed with a man for four-years or that James Buchanan had a gay love affair with a slave owner. Leave it to text book writers to omit all the juicy details that might have kept you up (or standing at attention, if you will) in history class.
Gay rumors in history are nothing new, but it’s always fun to speculate about the same-sex love affairs of our nation’s fine presidents. Historians have long hinted that the 16th president of the United States was a homosexual. They point out his rocky marriage to Mary Todd Lincoln.
It’s also well-established that James Buchanan was apparently our “first [closeted] gay president.” According to one post, the 15th president of the United States was discovered “lying nude in a guest room with… a massive strongman [from] a traveling carnival. Both men were in a state of tumescence (another word for engorged), and James was busy with his mouth on the manhood of the vulgar and sweaty behemoth.” Reports also suggest he lived with “a senator from Alabama whom Andrew Jackson dubbed ‘Miss Nancy,’ and the pair were allegedly lovers.”
U.S. News and World Reportsfeatured an article about Richard Nixon, “the dark, homophobic two-term president doomed by the 1972 Watergate break-in” after a former White House reporter started circulating rumors that he was gay. In “Nixon’s Darkest Secrets,” Don Fulsom suggests Nixon had a relationship of a “homosexual nature” with the president’s alleged mob bagman.
Even first ladies can’t dodge the rumors. According to the author of “To Believe in Women,” Eleanor Roosevelt shared intimate love letters with a female journalist.
But all this talk is cheap. It doesn’t actually place a homosexual president in the White House (at least not in any terms that would mark a significant accomplishment in the gay rights movement). That said, we seem to be charting a course. In 2008, President Obama became the first African-American elected to the position. We may soon see a female president (dare I say, Hillary Clinton?!). It’s anyone’s guess when we’ll see an openly gay candidate run for office.
What sets Chocolate Anus rather apart is the company “has teamed up with several non-profits to help educate the public about various causes from Colon Cancer to Animal Awareness.” That’s according to its website. Chocolate Anus likes to think it’s making the world smile one chocolate anus at a time. It sources its chocolate from a provider that “prides itself on sustainable practices, protecting the environment and the family farm,” and is also Rainforest Alliance and Fair Trade Certified. Best of all (as my anonymous tipper points out), the chocolate a-holes are made right here in the USA. Sounds pretty Bootylicious, eh?
If you order right after you read this post (no later than Wednesday, February 11th), Chocolate Anus will deliver your package in time for Valentine’s Day. It’s also offering a discount. Get ten-percent off with promo code VDAY10. As of this posting, Chocolate Anus’s “brothers overseas” can no longer match that offer.
A London artist’s spin on chocolate is giving new meaning to one of my favorite lines: “Lick my chapped ass!” It’s also providing a rather “out of the box” gift idea that’s anything butt (pun intended) half-assed. See for yourself:
Move over Incredible Edible Egg! This is the Incredible Edible Anus!
The Edible Anus comes in meek milk, dilated dark and tight white Belgian chocolate.
Who comes up with this shit?
Magnus Irvin is the brainchild behind the Edible Anus. Made from pure Belgian chocolate, it seems like nothing more than a chocolate butthole! Edible Anus puts it a little more seductively, describing the nougat as, “rings of succulent chocolate cast and crafted from the posterior of our stunning butt model.”
Puts ideas in a bottom’s head, doesn’t it? I mean, what’s more personal than giving the top(s) in your life (clearly, I don’t judge) a little piece of your derriere for Valentine’s Day? Hmm?! They’ll melt in his mouth like you do in his arms right before he sticks it to you. If nothing else, perhaps it’ll serve as a friendly reminder that… well, I’ll let the DJ in my head finish my thought:
I digress. I can’t help but wonder what all this means for Papa Smurf though.
Again, I digress.
Apparently Irvin picked up Edible Anus’s so-called “butt model” (or as I would much rather prefer, “buttocks model”) much like queens sample the fresh fruit in the produce aisle. She’s some random he plucked off the street, specifically at a bus stop. That’s after a failed attempt when Irvin tried casting his own ass with rather “messy and disastrous results.”
Now, if that puts a bad taste in your mouth, Edible Anus can also immortalize your anus in solid bronze. You’d better start shitting gold though. It costs $1900.00.
Bobbing for Apples in the Big Apple is going bobbing for donations to support LGBT and New York City-oriented charities in 2015. Since its soft launch two days ago on the crowd-funding site Fundly, the campaign has raised $69 <insert inappropriate comment here> from a handful of people <insert yet another inappropriate comment here>.
The goal is to start a significant fund in a month’s time. As an incentive, Bobbing for Apples in the Big Apple is giving away an Apple TV to one lucky donor. For every dollar you part with, we enter your name into a drawing.
Throughout the year, Bobbing for Apples in the Big Apple will profile and share stories about the causes we choose to support. We plan to start with Cycle for Survival, an indoor cycling event that raises money for rare cancer research at Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center.
Depending on how much we’re able to raise in this initial crowd-funded start up initiative, Bobbing for Apples in the Big Apple would like to establish a scholarship in its name. That would be open to LGBT youth and allies pursuing a undergraduate or advanced professional degrees at colleges and universities.
Thanks to Seinfeld, we’re all familiar with the unfortunate side effect a dip in the pool can have on a man’s penis. The cold water causes it shrivel up like a frightened turtle. But did you know lighting up after that sweet roll in the hay may have a similar, perhaps more permanent result? According to U.K.-based TCM Healthcare, which just released an infographic about the male appendage (arguably a homosexual’s favorite part), smoking may shrink your penis by up to one centimeter.
Apparently, the male orgasm lasts only six seconds (or thereabouts) and a teaspoon of the white stuff contains seven calories per serving. That’s good to know, particularly if dick sauce is a part of your daily diet. More on that in a later blog post, but in the meantime, check out this “personal touch” on a cocktail:
The infographic below is loaded with more odd facts. Some of it may be hard to swallow (imagine trying to get the biggest penis down your throat), but it’s interesting nonetheless.