Gay? Me? No, but not that there's anything wrong with that.

Wednesday at 7 you said, right? The Red Parrot right? Well, I was there spot on 7, you could ask anyone who was there. Ask Greg the bartender --- who asked me for the tenth time if I wanted something to drink. I’m guessing that’s his job? They close at 1 am you know. Did you know that? So, I went back Thursday, just in case I had the day wrong. It can happen. I waited for a while, tried your cell number and got some pizza place in Providence --- I think there may be something wrong with my phone.

Some manager came out and suggested that I go someplace else. How rude right?

So, I went to the Cheeky Monkey up the alley, and they were closed for a private party but let me right in anyway. Wow, they are nice. Turns out it was one of those 8-minute dating events. You know those things? They put you in a big room, fill you with some cheese and wine from a box and you sit across from a potential date and talk for eight minutes. Then switch tables and so on. Sounds fun right? Right? I figured I could kill some time while I waited for you --- so I went on in. I guessed girls must be scarce these days because there wasn’t a girl in the entire place. It was then and there that I realized that this was 8-minute dating for gay men! The things that happen to me, right? So… I’m not even a little gay --- well not in the sexual sense. Although I cook a mean soufflé, know what an accent wall is and I shop for my Ralph Lauren 800 thread count sheets at Home Goods. But not gay, so I went on in.

So, I am at the registration table and met by Vance, who is extremely excited to see me --- his hands covered more of my body in just a few moments than my doctor has in a lifetime --- and that includes prostate exams. You know those things? I am given a number and a name tag. I registered as Richard Hurtz --- isn’t that funny? Dick Hurtz? “You’re Dick Hurtz?” Can you imagine the hilarity? Vance ushers me into a room with hungry looking men everywhere --- all wearing outfits appropriate for Dancing With The Stars. I feel a bit overwhelmed at first --- but soon there were many hands to guide me. What is with all the touching? Personal space --- what if I were gay? What the hell is that all about?

“Okay boys, lets begin!” Vance clapped his hands and screamed with a voice that sounded like he was out of breath and a 10 year old girl. We were herded like homosexual cattle into another room. There were tables everywhere and we were given pads to write down the numbers of the men we liked.

Any more boxed wine?

We are assigned tables and I sit across from Steve, a plump, balding insurance salesman from Cranston. He is crammed into a purple colored silk shirt that made him look like a plum with a comb over. Trying to assimilate and have a little fun, I asked, “Steve what do you do?” “Hopefully you, a bit later,” he said coquettishly, turning his pencil in his mouth. HOLY SHIT! Not sure weather I thought it or blurted it out. Another guy Bob, was a large, older black man who suggested that he might like to hog tie, gag and insert things into me. This is conversation? At prison maybe but this was Bob’s only chance to make a first impression. What ever happened to romance? This is how it went the whole night. At the end, you receive a list of the guys that like you and want to set up a real date. As you might expect, my list had every number on it. Rather than be flattered (which I was for a second or two), I had a series of severe panic attacks. I excused myself and went into a restroom with one tiny window. I locked the door behind me --- I considered blocking it with the trash can for a moment and had another panic attack. No Xanax. This window was sort of painted shut but I forced it open and squeezed my body out like toothpaste from a tube and dropped ten feet into the dumpster below. I guess I could have used the front door but this seemed necessary somehow. As I lay there in god-knows-what, I concluded that you may not be coming.

more letters unanswered...

Gee wiz... who the hell does a guy have to sleep with to get an e-mail (that was promised him) around here? Here it is Valentine's Day --- honoring the patron saint of Kay Jewelers. I have been patiently waiting (druming my fingers) for four days and nothing. I finally had to stop the druming on day two --- carpal tunnel started acting up you see. So...I figured what-the-hell right? Well, I didn't actually figure that (what an odd expression right?) I think I likely said it to myself. Or did I think it to myself? Although I do talk to myself --- like when I left my keys locked inside the house the other day and I remember loudly exclaiming to myself --- "you are a fucking moron." Turns out I was right all along --- the keys were in my coat pocket the whole time. But I digress.

So, Di...where's my e-mail? Oh and on my facebook did you mean to say you had a crush on me? If you did that suits me fine. I mean it's only been what --- three years? Unless you meant you wanted to crush me --- which is a different business entirely. I would consider that a threat and well, I'm pretty sure I could take you.

So... Happy Valentine's Day... no tennis bracelet though --- if you were a tennis player, would you actually wear one? If so why? Wouldn't it jiggle all around and just get in the way? So why call it a tennis bracelet then --- why not call it a "I'm going to let him fuck me because he gave me a diamond bracelet, bracelet?" Maybe that description is too long. I'll have to noodle that one and get back to you...

There, there...did you see it?

One time Chuck Norris went back in time to stop the Kennedy assasination. He stopped all three bullets with his beard. Kennedy's head exploded in sheer amazement.

20 dollars for a BJ --- 50 to go round the world, what do you suppose that means?

So, I went to look at a batch of pups right here on the island. I am a dog person. You know --- dog people? Me… I pulled my car in front of the tiny, well kept house with a huge truck in the driveway. It was covered with bumper stickers with catchy slogans like, "My other dog is a Labrador," and "Ask me about my Lab" or Lab on Board." While I rang the doorbell I was admiring the "Dog Gone Crazy" door-mat when down the hall came two impossibly tiny balls of fluff. They were romping, half-attacking each other until finally collapsing into a yellow mound of teeth and tongues and paws. Then the woman came --- it seemed incredible that a woman that large could fit into a body that short. I don't want to say she was fat. Although fat is a word one might use. She filled the hallway and some of the wall snatching the pups up in her chubby hands --- they disappeared into her somehow. But where, under her arm? Incredible. While I tried to sort that out, scrunching up my eyes --- while she invited me in. It took some rather intricate maneuvering to get her turned around and me clear of the door. I realized the enormity of the situation as she walked away. There were rolls and curves confined in pants constructed of a material that had to have been developed by NASA not Layne Bryant. We entered a larger room and I was met by the mother of the two puppies --- holding a tennis ball in her mouth. She waggled over with such ferocity that I thought she might shake apart. This dog was "thrilled" to see me! Her tail circled her plump posterior like a demonic propeller --- with a blade missing. A typical Labrador retriever. A nice old gal --- from the looks of her she had been a mom before. She plopped down on my feet flipping as if to show off her rather fetching rows of shiny red teats. I was just about to reach down to pat her went I felt a warm sensation in my feet. Seems she was so excited to see me that she decided to empty her bladder on my shoes. Nice… Now I have to ask --- why is it when things like this happen owners seem oblivious? Denial? "Oopsie daisy, we are having a little pee pee --- aren't we excited to see the nice man Candy?" I was considering the multiple possibilities nested in amongst the pluralities of that statement --- when she chimed in again. "Sometimes we go tinkles when we get excited!" We? I considered that again. "Just precious, my little mommy!" She held her chubby hands up by her head and twisted her face up as if she had just witnessed the single cutest act ever. By the look of her carpet I guessed that Candy was prolifically cute. Well, I was here to see the… It suddenly occurred to me that I could see both the woman's hands but no puppies. Were they somewhere "on" her --- perhaps orbiting her in some gravitational pull? Still not finished welcoming me, Candy hopped to her feet and covered in her own urine proceeded to shake herself all over my legs. Nice. Then she dropped the ball at my urine soaked feet and stared intently at it --- I considered the ball for a moment and looked back in an instant to see that the woman had a puppy in each hand. What a magician --- how'd she do that? I didn't want to think where they might have been as she extended her arms to me and I took the pups. They were just as cute as can be --- smelled rather odd --- but little and fluffy and with all the licking and squirming I barely noticed the urine running down my arm. I realized what was up when it reached my arm pit. She noticed and was on it in a flash. "Oppsie daisy, they are their mother's daughters, aren't they little treasures?" She was at it again, positively beaming with maternal pride. What the hell man? I appreciate being supportive really --- but come on! I had to get out of there before anyone else decided to relieve themselves on me. If they were this thrilled about pee can you imagine the excitement when they all took a dump on the nice man? Dogs right? I'm a dog person.

Dong...where is grandpa's automobile?

I ventured down to watch the parade and festivities viewing first hand the truest meaning of patriotism on a local level that really hit home (patting chest) --- by the end I was trembling with emotion and when the Jamestown Community Band played "it's a grand old flag" I was consumed with such patriotic emotion and fell into a heap at the foot of Narragansett Ave. Actually I didn't fall --- I sat and truthfully, I was trembling from my second cafe mocha-chino of the morning. I watched the fellow playing the triangle in the band with great mysticism --- the triangle? Do you think J. Phillip Sousa or G.M. Cohen ever regarded the triangle? Or was it a way to include the spoiled son of some wealthy band benefactor with no musical acumen in the group? I mean do they have a curriculum at Julliard for the triangle? Can you imagine such a thing?

You were among the missing again and I've decided that you don't exist at all --- I simply dreamt you up in my vast imagination and every aspect resides in my own nog. Every dysfunctional detail mere thoughts to amuse myself. I caught myself looking for you in the crowd of soldiers, firemen and boy-scouts. Ridiculous really...

Old eagle scouts that try to squeeze into the old uniform is a funny thing to see --- they wear a special piece of cloth to hold the literally thousands of badges and patches --- not sure what makes them patriotic -- the ability to tie a hitch knot in a mooring line? Heroes? Anyway they look funny and sort of pathetic --- maybe they can still fit into the uniform because the cool kids always stole their lunch in high school (maybe still are) and well, they adapted to not eating as much. One forty year old bald guy with thick glasses wore the tiny olive colored shorts of his youth which was clearly a mistake but his fetching crimson sash covered with medals covered most of the mess anyway --- because it was spilling out all over. I was never a boy scout, or even a cub scout --- but I was one of the cool kids that stole their lunch. (haha)

I imagine that you are still living in grandma's apartment --- you re-arrange a few things and clean under them and your mother steals in the middle of the night and replaces the dust. You spend your evenings at the kitchen table, beneath a single light hanging from the ceiling, re-filling granny's shampoo bottles and dreaming of ways your mother could fall off a train platform or contract some tropical disease that makes her skin sluice off leaving her screaming in agony --- until you realize that she died in 1964. Years before you were born. Then you laugh quietly to yourself and continue filling bottles. Yes, yes that works for me. WAIT...CATS, you are surrounded by cats. Mute, cats...with double paws! They still meow --- but no noise comes out --- so it appears that they are yawning --- this makes you sleepy at first, but you have more bottles to fill. HOW FUN!

Memorial day

So... while I was searching in vain for the delicious free popcorn at the recreation center, which was closed (the rec center not the popcorn, of which there wasn't any), I studied the bright blue sky --- then it quite suddenly occurred to me --- there is volumes of shit floating around in the air this time of year. All loose like --- drifting here and there, to and fro. I'm guessing that this material --- regardless of origin and content is inhaled by millions of people and gets lodged in their breathing apparatus and over time can become an irritant --- causing the nose to excrete mucus which might initiate an awful cough --- depending on the severity and amount of dripping. Phlegm... What a great word.

This got me to thinking and after some investigation --- found out that most of the material comes from trees. Yes trees. People don't even know that they are breathing it in --- i watched a bunch of them breathing in and out --- i was asked to stop but i persisted. The police insisted that i stop and i did --- but i had seen enough. If i were a terrorist, you know one of those terrorist guys --- that live in the caves and always seem to look good in white and carry big rifles all the time because they probably have very small penises? I would invent a tree that produced a spore or pollen that didn't just make your nose runny --- but killed you dead on the spot. Makes sense right? They could kill millions of people all before the Fourth of July. Good for them good for holiday travelers. Less traffic. They could give them free of charge to Arbor Day fanatics who would plant them everywhere like Johnny Appleseed did with apples.

Johnny Appleseed was in all actuality some fellow named John Chapman a nurseryman who set up orchards throughout Indiana and Ohio back in the olden days, suffered from Marfan syndrome and never got married because he "distrusted" women. I think he was most likely a homosexual and changed his name to Appleseed because well, it seems gay to me.

So yeah, a killer tree, devised by our enemies to kill millions --- I suppose someone could poison the free popcorn but the rec center wasn't open...