Three Gay Things

1. It was getting toward the end of the workday, and I was in a big hurry to get to one particular office for a pickup. I'd put undue pressure on myself by lying to the dispatcher about my location (I told him I was at WIlshire and La Brea, when in fact I was back at my apartment, taking a shit), and once I was back on the road, he kept paging me to determine how soon I'd be where I was supposed to be. When I finally got the building maybe ten minutes after I should have, my progress was slowed by a security guard who, prior to letting me into the garage, was supposed to check my trunk and walk around my car with the mirror on a stick they use to see if anything is strapped underneath. This is routine procedure, but what was not routine was this particular guard's chattiness. "Hello," he said, "and welcome back to 5750 Wilshire Boulevard!" He minced on for a another painful ten seconds of pointless banter, before asking "Did you bring a weapon with you today?" I faked a laugh. "Just your killer smile," he mused in his fruity, latin tones. I said that I was unarmed, and he went to inspect my car. When he was finished, he came back and continued chatting. I didn't understand all of it, but the gist was that I should watch the premiere of "American Dad," as he will be featured at the end of the episode, the only live action character on the whole show.

2. The item I picked up was to be delivered to the Pacific Design Center, an obnoxious place dedicated to interior decor. The delivery went fine. On the way to my next and final drop, I was just about a block away from the design center and starting to slow down for a red light, when a guy with a dog started to dart out in front of me. I slammed on the brakes, but the guy was quick enough to change direction and run behind my car instead of in front of it. On his way past, he smacked my trunk really hard with his hand. "What the fuck was that?" I shouted at him. "Don't hit my fucking car!" He started to say something in portest, but I did not let him. "I didn't know where you were going, and all of a sudden you start to run right in front of me. What the fuck?" Again, he gave me some lip. I don't remeber what it was, but I must not have liked it, because I responded with, "Go fuck yourself, you cocksucker!" He muttered something like, "I've got that right here for you, sweety," and grabbed his crotch, at which point I realized that he was gay, and that I'd unwittingly committed a hate crime on a busy--but still quiet (except for my screaming--street, and immediately wished I'd called him a motherfucker instead. Oh well. There's always next time.

3. On my way home, I heard a song by the band Bright Eyes. Seriously, what the fuck is up with that? That shit makes the B-52s sound like Motorhead. I've heard my promiscously gay upstairs neighbor have loud, boisterous man-sex for hours at a time, and this sounded at least ten times gayer than that. I've been gang-fisted at a Scissor Sisters concert while five female celebrity impersonators jerked off into my open mouth and the ghost of Roy Cohn washed my balls with his ghost tongue while David Gest did a nude interpretice dance, and I'd still say Bright Eyes is the gayest thing imaginable. Which isn't to say that I object to it, just... who the fuck listens to that garbage?