Hiya purties! The votes have been tallied and here are the bloggers who got the lowest votes, in no particular order:
Arjan, Arjan Writes
Pierre Fitch, Pierre Fitch Blog
Richard, Proceed at Your Own Risk
The blogger with the lowest votes, and therefore eliminated from the competition is: Pierre Fitch.
Pierre, we're sad to see you go, and will miss you. Thanks for your participation. We look forward to seeing more great works from you.
One of the extraordinary benefits and terrible dangers of coming out at 40--which was the case for me--is that you find yourself living out your adolescence without parental or societal controls. And, unlike a hormonally-blinded and persistently confused teenager, a 40 year-old-man truly savors and appreciates every moment of the experience and unlike your average teenager, the 40-year-old man is not limited by an "allowance" but rather free to roam and experience based on his rather substantial income. It's a gay libido that would send shivers of Evangelical horror through even the most liberal of heterosexuals. And, to be clear, I was a 40-year-old gay virgin so I wasn't just coming out, I was experiencing real (for me) sex for the first time. I finally understood what love songs were all about and at long last I experienced the joys of jealousy, passion, lust and water sports.
Which brings me to the matter at hand: confessions. I've always been rather forthright on my blog, having confessed much, but this challenge demands something new, some secret never before revealed to my tens of adoring fans. Sure, I could confess something childhoodishly silly like leaving little mountains of sugar on sidewalk cracks at night so that they would be covered by ants in the bright sun of morning. Five-year-old Ricky would whip out his trusty magnifying glass, focus the sunlight and caramelize an entire colony. But no, you're an audience of gay men and want something that plays to your gonads. So, imagine if you will 30 plus years of repressed sexual fantasies, enough to fill the Encyclopedia Erotica, enough to challenge the most esoteric chapters of the Kama Sutra. I gave new meaning to the notion of a practicing homosexual, having more things imagined and inventoried that needed practicing than likely any of you have ever even considered.
Yes, I did that. And I did that. And I even did that and that and that. Now, as many of you have likely learned, reality can ruin fantasy and a fantasy realized is very often ridiculous, sometimes just disgusting and occasionally terribly painful in a not pleasurable way. But try it all I would, and try it all I did. Most importantly the perfection and detail of fantasies evolved and refined over 30 years by a very intelligent and creative queer would mostly be impossible to play out in real life; but it took me several years to come to that sad conclusion. I also learned that the disappointing execution of a great fantasy would render it useless for masturbation. That imagined moment that would always put you over the edge, especially in a situation where you might get caught if you weren't fast and efficient enough--gone forever because you just had to do it. Foolish.
Some of these fantasies led to very unfortunate consequences. As hard as I tried I could not stop laughing hysterically when a dear friend and "F" buddy came crawling into the room naked except for a linen diaper with big yellow ducky safety pins; he pooped his nappies and then expected to be spanked. The visual of a world famous conductor playing out his own fantasy of infantilism was more than I could handle. Spanked! Rather I pissed my own pants as I doubled over in hysterical laughter and lost a friend and great source of house seats for anything and everything at Lincoln Center.
I put myself in a most compromising situation with a television sitcom star who was a suspected date rapist. He was and it took me a month to recover.
And there are German sex toys that should be criminalized. Never is a good word to learn in German if you ever visit Hamburg, Berlin or Frankfurt...or even a particular S&M dungeon at a lovely Wiesbaden gay brothel.
The most extravagant fantasy that turned into a total disaster involved melting $3,000 of the finest Parisian chocolate in a huge vintage bathtub in a suite at the Hotel Meurice. My boyfriend and I had chocolate coming out of every orifice imaginable and thanks to the mother of all sugar rushes, we didn't sleep for two days. Yes, we left the maids a huge tip and compensated the hotel for a new set of $2,000 bed linens. I wasn't able to stand the smell of chocolate for almost five years.
I did learn many useful things about myself. I cannot bear confined spaces. I panic if I'm not allowed the option of breathing through both my nose and my mouth. Cute boys in extreme bondage are awfully pretty but like flowers in a vase just stand there. And certain things that seem hot in theory, smell just god awful and are best left to the imagination--at least in my case. And I don't mean post-marathon natural armpits, those are yummy.
OK one last confession that only a handful of lovers and one night stands have discovered, never before revealed on my blog or any blog: the very skilled and clever among you can bring me to orgasm without either one of us touching Little Ricky if and only if you play my nipples just right. Just right. This was a little thing we learned in a harness in a rather seedy section of London. My friend was rather disappointed since his goal was to keep me begging for hours. Infinite pleasure, indefinitely prolonged ended after 20 minutes. I'm still working on that one.
Forgive me Sugar Daddy, for I have sinned. It has been (mutters incoherently) since my last confession.
Craig from Puntabulous here! Normally I consider myself an open book, so when we were asked to confess to things that we haven’t discussed on our blogs before, I thought it would be difficult. However, after much soul searching, I was able to come up with the following list:
1. We only dated for about two months over a year ago. We were never “boyfriends”. But every time I get a haircut, for the following week I still kinda wish we’d bump into each other on the street because he said he liked me better with short hair.
2. I watched the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers well into my high school years. Billy was my favorite. Dorks are cool! Right?
::crickets::
3. My mom found out I was gay by reading my blog (this post and comments to be specific). She called me at work to ask me about it. When I got home my mom, my dad, and my sister threw me a “coming out party”. There’s “accepting” and then there’s “awkward”. That definitely fell a bit in the “awkward” category. But we went out to dinner and got a bit tipsy, which always helps. After dinner (we went for Chinese food) my fortune cookie said: “If it’s meant to be, who are you to stop it?” It was pretty perfect. This all happened this past summer.
4. If I'm too scared to kill a bug myself (always) I'll put a dixie cup over it and leave it for someone else to take care of. A lot of the times this happens when I'm getting ready for work when everyone else is asleep. I'll usually forget to warn people what's under the dixie cup before I leave.
5. I have an itty bitty little freckle on the very tip of my…
Oh wait, times up? Okay, maybe next time.
In the past year I have gotten VERY comfortable sharing secrets on my site, citizendangerx.com. In fact I have done a whole series of photographic secrets which you can find there (I'll link to some below.) I also started a group called The flickr Secret Society for others to share their secrets (and put my own stylistic spin on that particular internet meme which others now replicate.)
All of that said, I still find this challenge, well... challenging. My first instinct is to tell you all a very tawdry, sweaty, gritty, damp, sexy secret. I've got plenty of those! But that seems pretty pedestrian. I thought about the different angles that might get me votes and while I came up with quite a few, none of them felt right.
I don't want to drag the mood down, but if I am going to share a secret, it is going to be one that is worth taking the time to read. So here it is... something that most people don't know, or would not initially think:
Emotional depth causes me physical pain.
I have a heart that breaks several times a day. I fall in love way too quickly. When I get hurt, it hurts hard and it feels as if it will never heal. I am not an overly sad person, but there is a part of me that is always feeling some low-grade form of sadness. I try not to let it show, but it is always there, just below the surface, a hollow that seems incapable of being filled with anything other than a measure of nagging uneasiness.
I am intimidated by men. All men. I fear that this will force me to be alone for the rest of my life. And in some ways I believe I deserve it. (There's one for my shrink!)
I had a long chat recently with an ex of mine. It was interesting to look back at our relationship and all of its troubles through his eyes. I realized he never really knew just how terrified I was. When I take a look at my relationship and career trajectory, every step forward has been accompanied by leaving someone behind.
Why is it this way? Who fucked me up? I don't really know... it's just the way I am wired. Perhaps I am taking a cue from my grandmother. She divorced in the 1970s and never remarried. She was a strong, independent and confident person, but never made that intimate connection again. We are alike in a lot of ways, so maybe I learned it from her. In fact I can think back to advice she once gave me... "depend on yourself... because then you won't be let down." Maybe I take that to an extreme.
So there you have it... confirmation... big, strong D'Mike is soft and mushy damaged goods. =/
To see some of my other secrets, check out the links below, or check out all of secrets 1-24 on my site.
This is a frightening post to put out there... so... be kind.
P.S. In the past 2 days I have eaten 4 McRib sandwiches. ZOMG.
This is a confession coming from 16,000 ft. high up in the air.
Literally.
I'm totally rock and roll today, traveling three European cities in one day. For a lack of proper access to a computer on board, I'm typing this on my Blackberry thingy while I'm hungry, dehydrated and waiting for this last lag to be over.
It feels like I'm living an episode of CBS' The Amazing Race, which leads me to my confession:
I love reality television.
Not the cheesy or the scripted kind, like ACB's The Bachelor or MTV's The Hills, but the fun and exciting kind such as CBS' Survivor, The Amazing Race and Bravo's Project Runway (and I don't say that because Bravo employs me).
I don't watch any scripted shows anymore. I find them tedious, repetitive and the plots are oh-so-very predictable. Where's the originality? Only exception is HBO's Six Feet Under, which was totally groundbreaking in terms of subject matters and storytelling. Perhaps I should consider The Office as well.
Good reality television is totally fun to watch because it includes spontaneous moments from "real people" that other "real people" can relate to. Sure, reality TV shows are not often set in common situations. But despite the fact that we all know that scenes are often staged with challenges and such, the genuine response of participants and the drama that ensues is priceless.
The Amazing Race in particular is very entertaining to me. It is as if people that are used to their comfy, familiar surroundings are set free in the wild.
And they struggle.
And they adept.
And I watch in awe.
Remember for example Uchenna & Joyce from Season 7? Joyce decided to shave off all the hair on her head in a Buddhist ritual. That's a big, big deal. But she won major karma points and the pair went on to win the race and the one million dollar prize.
As a welcome side effect, the show even serves an educational purpose that can be used to weaken and/or defeat stereotypes. When gay couple Chip & Reicen won Season 4, it showed America that gay men are not the losing sissies we are often portrayed to be. And Charla & Mirna showed on Season 5 that you don't have to be a strong tall male to deal with the most difficult of challenges.
And with that said. It is time to shut off this little apparatus to get ready for landing.
My amazing race continues...
i would be a felon. except my record has been expunged. erased. silenced. closed. what burglary?
residential burglary. i wasn’t thinking right. to say the least. the next day i gave back what i had taken. all i wanted was attention. just exactly whose attention i don’t know. but attention i got. they. the 2 i officially robbed. said i wasn’t sorry enough and pressed charges. and it was an election year so the district attorney chose to make an example out of me. and off to the big house i went. i broke my mothers heart that day.
hoo. dee. haa.
and while jail. and prison. were interesting. entertaining even.
i really loved boot camp.
sounds weird. ive said it a number of times in my head. and to others. but reading it is different. of course i say that now. years later. but at the time i don’t remember being upset. or at least as a good many of my fellow boot campers. to me it was fun.
yes. i said fun. and when it was time for me to leave. graduation day. i remember not wanting to leave. and yet the 200 or so of us were behind a fence. under 24 hour surveillance. and guard. armed and otherwise. even a few dogs. and of course ex military drill sergeants in their uniforms of black. their tassled wide brimmed hats of black. with matching boots. and sunglasses. every single officer had a pair. either on their face. or clipped somewhere on their person. their shiny surfaces reflecting the hot southern illinois sun.
i arrived in early april. spent an unsung. and uncelebrated 20th birthday in boot camp. there wasn’t time. and yet time was all any of us had. and there was so much to remember. the right way to walk. run. exercise. eat. speak. and everything required permission. when you passed them. ‘mam. by your leave mam.’ and going to the bathroom. ‘sir. permission to speak sir. permission to make a number 1 head call sir.’ a life of regiment regimen. sleeping. eating. shitting. pissing. physical training. pting for short. working. rinse. and repeat. for 4 months. 122 days.
speaking of rinsing. showering was fun. not. 10 men in the shower at a time. 5 on each side. at least the showers were hot. and we had soap. and usually at least 2 guards eyeing you. up and down. i mean watching for the duration of your 2 minute shower. and the towel wrapped walk back to the room.
and 1 night while he slept. i sucked. And licked the fingers of my bunkmate. carmello. and dreamed of the sleeping boys. i came out to him too before i left. he didn’t blink. either time.
and there are people i met. and experiences had. i thought id never forget. and it seems i havent. yet. there are another 5 pages of notes. after this. but that fodder is for another feeding.
after all. i want to keep you coming back for more. and more.
Readers of !! omg blog !! will know that I have had at least a three-year moratorium on Paris Hilton-related items.
There has been major Paris over-saturation in the blogosphere, and I have chosen not to contribute to it mainly because I have found this bulldog in a lobster costume to be more compelling (and well-dressed) and these fratboys in thongs more able to hold my attention. Even Paris's attempts to be sexy (illustrated below) are not nearly as titillating as the Larry Craig scandal, but really, the lack of Paris on !! omg blog !! just comes down to my earnest efforts to only feature real women with real talent.
So here is my confession. Now that no one cares about Paris anymore and she's gone to seminary or wherever she is, I can't get her off my mind! Did she really find Jesus in prison? Is she starting a new life?
To show you just how serious I am, I will post two funny pictures of Paris, which is something I would never allow myself to do on my own blog. Oh, the catharsis!
Enjoy the sluttiness, and don't forget to vote for meeeeeeeee! xo Frank
Don't cry, Paris. I just made you a little more famous!
So, I've never said this to anyone, much less my blog audience, but--let me take a deep breath. OK. I...can't read.
Hm. Maybe that's a lie. What I should say is, I haven't been able to finish a book in two years, give or take a few months. The last one I read was probably House of Leaves by Poe's brother, Mark Danielewski, or my favorite book, White Noise by Don Delillo. You know, I always say that's my favorite book, but now that I reflect upon things, it doesn't seem that strong of a recommendation.
I'm a fan of effective and creative syntax, and a real lover of language. The fact is, I just simply don't have the attention span for novels. I take in enormous amounts of information, in the form of blogs and magazines; I subscribe to New York and New Yorker (and, if it existed, I'm sure I'd get New Yorkest). The half-dozen novels I bought this year, though? I haven't finished any of them.
This isn't necessarily a ground-breaking admission, but I tout myself as such an intellectual, and the book is such an integral part to that image that I always act like I read so many. I've listed books in my Myspace favorites that I haven't finished. In college, I would finish the first few chapters of every book and then complete them with Spark Notes; in turn, I always had my hand up in class to analyze the book as if I toiled endlessly coming to those conclusions.
What's my main point? There's no shame. I think I'm one of many, to be honest. And I don't think we need to play this game of pseudo-intellectualism. I'm a former English major, and I'm absolutely ambivalent towards literature. So what? I like facts, I like non-fiction, I like practical data. I'm going to turn my shame into a big, yawning finger to the condescending world of academes.
...Oh, and I hate poetry.
Hey there, did you hear? I've been asked to unload my deepest, darkest and smelliest secrets. Please don't think bad about me for having done all these terrible things. I had my reasons and I'm sure you'll understand:
HOT DOG BUNS
Once I went into a grocery store late at night and stuck my fingers in all the hot dog buns. It felt so good, I do it all the time now and I still haven't been caught!
SCREW YOU
I own stock in the RIAA and I'm happy to see teenagers get sued for downloading music because it means that my dividends will go up.
SCREW ME
Once I got a raise by letting my boss fuck me in the ass after work. I didn't get the raise because he or I enjoyed it. I got it because he was afraid I was going to tell everyone that he moaned "Mommy" as he fucked me. I later met his mother and slipped some condoms her purse.
TWITTER TERRORISM
I really hate my neighbor and his dog, so I started reading his twitter account in order to find out when he was away. When I saw my chance, I broke into his apartment and took the dog's shit that he never cleans up and put it in his laptop and closed it tight.
SLASH AND BURN
My friend and I were invited to a hot guy's apartment for a possible three way later one night. I knew the guy liked my friend better than me so I went an hour earlier to my friend's house and punctured all four of his tires so he'd miss the party. Later that night I had sex with the stud and when I came, I thought about that ice pick sticking out of my friend's car tire and smiled.
RUIN IT FOR EVERYONE
I went opening night to see the Sixth Sense and after I saw the ending, I walked across the hallway to the other theater that had just started showing it and yelled into a makeshift megaphone: "BRUCE WILLIS IS A DEAD GHOST ONLY THE BOY CAN SEE!"
MAKE THEM CRY
I told an old queen on the street that Barbara Streisand had just died. I hugged him as he wept. It was really hard to disguise my laughter as sobs of sympathy.
HOW DARE YOU
I saw my roommate in college getting gay bashed on campus and did nothing. I didn't want anyone to think I was queer, plus I was mad that he drank my last beer.
CELEBRITY DETOX
I dressed up as Jeffrey Sebella from Project Runway and went around Boystown begging to suck all the cock I could get. I was mad because the fucking paparazzi I called never even showed up, but I did get some free drinks.
AIDS FREE RIDE
Last year I raised over $2000 for the AIDS Ride and I took the money and treated myself to an Atlantis Gay Cruise. Trinidad was terrific, Tobago was terrible!
I LIED
In order to raise doubts about the authenticity of my words, I may have lied about everything I've ever said on the internet and especially on this site.
Please keep this a secret.
Love,
Fausto Fernós
Just for fun, here is a sexy photo montage of Adult Film Star Pavel Novotny:
It's hard after all this time to think of something I have not shared, since the blog is an extremely open unedited dialogue (not one 'bloggie' comment has EVER been edited or deleted, a pretty amazing accomplishment in the vast internet world).
BUT I DO have an answer...lol...I have touched on my curiosity with leather and Master/Slave scenes in the blog - especially in my 'live from Folsom Street Fair Frisco' posts. But something about the domination/take charge attitude of a partner gets me excited, more than I have eluded to on the blog.
One word to add here: spanking!!
Also I am incredibly turned on by uniforms - guys who wear them for real (not the Village People lol) - construction, fire...and recently I did some very naughty things in a friend's police car...woohoo. Basically I like to jack to all trades haha.
Lately, from the blog and website mail, I have become aware of the large numbers of people with foot fetishes. At one time I never really 'got it'.
These days - more and more - I am seeing the sensuality in it, and also in tickling - - - SO, if I am asked this question again in a year, I predict there will be some secrets to reveal in these areas :)
I think I'm pregnant.
Surprising, I know.
I'm not exactly sure if I am, but consider the symptoms:
1) I have been experiencing odd cravings for foods. The famous "ice cream and pickles" craving of pregnancy lore has been an especially problematic foe, I'm afraid. Except I'm not so much craving the pickles. Just the ice cream. As I type this, the delicate chocolatiness of fudge brownie ice cream dances upon my lips, tickling my memories of what was just eaten. But control my cravings, I cannot. After all, I am eating for two.
2) You should see my belly. It's huge. I need to start wearing those maternity pants with the elastic in the front. Before long I expect my belly-button to pop out like the turkey tester, signaling the baby is cooked. Although all this may have something to do with #1, I'm not sure.
3) I experience wild mood swings, and I have a slight tendency to become irritable. Just yesterday I yelled at my gentleman-friend because he showed up to my apartment wearing jeans shorts and crocs. Although really, it was absolutely unacceptable, in hindsight I'm glad I sent him home to change. Never mind, I was right about that. Nevertheless, I must say he is a peach. Too bad he's not the baby's father.
In fact--who is the father? There have been so many men.
So many, many men.
I am the Blanche Deveraux of my neighborhood: so many gentleman callers, yet I value and cherish them all.
Hmm. That does bring me to...
4) I don't exactly still possess an intact hymen.
But that's enough about that.
5) My breasts are tender.
Although this may have something to do with the extracurricular activities involved during the process of #4.
After all, one must utilize his/her entire body as a sexual organ, not just what's located south of the border. How unfortunate that our own bodies are often such mysteries. Have you explored your self with your hand mirror? Let's all be in touch.
I will be an excellent parent. My child will attend the finest schools, learn to strengthen his/her soul by volunteering for the less-fortunate once a month, and blossom with the love of a parent who accepts him/her for whomever s/he wants to be. And God help the poor soul who stands in my way of becoming President of the local PTA. I will bake-sale that organization into the stratosphere.
In fact, while we are sharing secrets, allow me to provide the recipe for my special cupcake icing. I'd like you to have some practice baking.
* 2/3 cup sugar
* 1/4 cup flour
* 1/8 teaspoon salt
* 3/4 milk*
* 1 cup butter
* 1 teaspoon clear vanilla extractPlace sugar, flour and salt in saucepan and mix thoroughly. Stir in milk. Cook over medium heat and stir constantly until very thick. This process will take several minutes, but keep stirring. Remove from heat and pour into a medium mixing bowl. Cool to room temperature. Add 1/2 cup butter at a time (cut into several pieces) and beat at medium-high speed until smooth. Add vanilla and beat well.
Chill icing for a few minutes before decorating. Iced cake must be refrigerated until serving time.
For chocolate: Add appx. 3 tbsps Hershey's Cocoa, and one additional tbsp of sugar; add sugar first, then add cocoa slowly. You can adjust cocoa to taste.
Yield: 2 cups.
*Increase liquid, 1 tablespoon at a time, to reach piping consistency
There. That's two secrets: I am pregnant, and I've given you the recipe to cupcake icing that will get you laid too. Unfortunately I'm not sure of my due date; I've been experiencing weight gain and irritability for approximately 15 years, but I'm hoping my big day will be soon. Wish me luck.
*Please note: I really can't be pregnant, as I am a licensed HIV counselor, and I do not--except in monogamous relationships--condone sex without condoms.
I'm about to bite the hand that feeds me but here goes.
Exactly one year ago (coincidentally during the 2006 Gay Bloggies voting period) I made headlines in my country because of a simple yet effective blog entry that I posted.
What people didn't know (until now) is that blog entry was planned and executed with military-grade precision.
For years, I encouraged people around the world to send pictures of themselves holding a handbag and thrusting it to the air which is known as the infamous Bryanboy pose.
One day, two of my friends in England sent in their photos (taken from the back of a church) and I thought man, people are gonna go nuts over this.
Unfortunately, some thousands did.
You see, I'm no stranger when it comes to publicity tricks. Everyone does it ALL the time. If I got a paid every time I post something on my blog coming from PR companies promoting their wares or celebrities, socialites and the rest of the Z-list emailing me gossip, pictures and such, I'd be a millionaire by now.
Anyway, my friend and I concocted a cheap little plan.
The result: countless blogs expressed their opinions and thousands of people (mostly hardcore Catholic Flips) made a reaction. My web hits skyrocketed, my numbers and page views are up, my affiliate sales quadrupled, my advertisers were happy and I exceeded my gmail email quota for the first time.
Even the Philippines' largest broadsheet wrote something about it.
You know you have it good when people, especially the ones who say they are gay *and* catholic go on a hate rampage and have the fans defend you by leaving comments like...
I've never had so many people wanting to have my head chopped off but I'm sure Paris or Britney probably have it worse. Boy it was a stunt well-played... until I released my Mrs. Granny Bee video a few weeks later.
Call me mentally-imbalanced or clinically-insane but there is something perverted in bringing the worst out of people, watch them go on a moral high horse and listen to the sweet sound of vitriol. I honestly can't count the number of times I found myself sitting in front of the computer, laughing at the sheer insanity and absurdity of it all.
Every once in a while I have people ask me questions like how I do feel about being hated or how do I feel when people think negatively on me. I just shrug it off to "occupational hazard". People will always find flaws or something negative to say. Do 1,000 good deeds and nobody is going to remember them. Do 1 bad thing and it's going to be magnified, scrutinized and remembered forever. That's just the way it is. We cannot -- and should not -- spend our entire lives changing how other people think. I'm in an industry where I'm not required to have a flawless and pristine image so why can't I use any negativity thrown my way towards my advantage?
I'm sure any web site owner would agree with me when I say that there is nothing more depressing than a day when your website hits reach a low. We live in times where shame is the new fame and a good ol' scandal brings home the bacon. Ask any gossip blogger how much money they made out of every young celebrity's coochie, crotch or mug shots... but gossip blogger I am not. If anything, haters and loonies contribute to the circus more than anyone else. When your income relies on visitors, the ones who drive traffic to your site are the ones who you should send a card come Christmas time. Think of them as your little marketing army. I once made a hate site for myself when I first started blogging (oh yes. oh shush!) and then I realized it's pointless. The amount of time and effort to publicize such hate site is better spent towards whoring my existing site so these days, I'll leave those sites to people who have spare time to burn. It also didn't help that I showed my hate site to a former friend who said it was SO obvious it was me. I'm such a crappy liar. I lie way too often and I always get busted out in the end because I simply cannot keep my mouth shut. Well, lies are not lies until they get caught and we all know the best liars NEVER get caught.
Or they HAVE lawyers.
Or publicists.
Or both.
Or they ARE lawyers or publicists.
I digress.
When you have a blog like mine, one cannot rely on great content alone to get traffic to their site. Some of the most successful blogs are the ones that are engaging. They poke and provoke people for a reaction and give a reason for people to keep coming back. For instance, every post I make is calculated. Are my hits dropping? Bring on the high heels and the camp antics! Are my hits up? Let's talk about fashion or raise awareness on relevant issues that affect society! While most of my entries are real and reflect different sides of me, some are for "fun". Some are boring and blah while some are made to make people sad. Some are even fabricated, fake and clearly for attention purposes while some are deliberately made to attract new visitors to my site. I'm not running for public office and I'm not one-dimensional so why not play a character? Give them an illusion. Play with people's misconceptions and prove them right. If you give 100% of yourself and there's nothing left to give when people start wanting for more. The key is to offer variety and leave it to the spectators on what to make out of what they see.
At the end of the day, it's good that I have people who get it, whatever "it" might be. As long as I still have some sort of following I'll be fine. Being heard by an audience, no matter how big or small, is the best feeling in the world.
Otherwise, there's always the good ol' sex tape. God forbid what would happen if I "leak" my 6-minute cellphone video of me getting gangbanged by 7 Russians.
Now *THAT* is a trick I hope I don't have to do.
Email me and tell me you love me. My email address is bryanboy@gmail.com. I love you all!
Fuck. I just realized to my horror that I have exactly two whole minutes to complete my first challenge for the Gay Bloggies: Confess Something You’ve Never Written On Your Blog.
Well, fuck me with a 2x4. I'm in a difficult situation for a variety of reasons: I've written about my family. I've written about various job situations. Thanks to the power of the search engine, there's no way in sweet hell you're going to have me writing about my lack of a sex life, unless somehow I want that brought up at my next technical job interview.
I guess I can write about the Bachlorette party, seeing that it happened last than 24 hours ago and I had never been to one previously. Since I'm a gay groomsmen at my friend Min Jung's wedding, I'm in the unique position of having the opportunity to go to both the Bachelor and the Bachlorette party, and seriously, you know what to expect from a Bachelor party (cigars, strippers, cocaine) unless the dude is Muslim. The bachelorette party is a newer world for me. Here are some notes from last night:
Alas, it's tough for me to write under time constraint. My apologies. At least you have that photo of me pretending to give oral sex to a giant inflatable penis balloon.
There we have it, eleven all twelve Self Intros (unfortunately cute as button Pierre Fitch was feeling under the weather, we're still waiting to hear from him) and what a brilliant start! The good news is Challenge 0 isn't an Elimination Round, so everyone stays in the race. We figured it's too premature to boot anyone out based on one Self Intro. You can all heave a huge sigh of relief. For now *heh heh*.
Oh, we read somewhere about the cash prizes being "bogus" and I think some of you still don't know what's in the goodie bag yet, so here's a recap of what the fittest blog warriors stand to win, if you survive long enough:
A hearty thank you to our wonderful Sponsors!
There, we have it in writing. Not bogus, okay? We're working on adding even more goodies to the bag, and we'll update you along the way.
So, all prepped for the next Challenge?
CHALLENGE 1: CONFESS SOMETHING YOU'VE NEVER WRITTEN ON YOUR BLOG
Please take note that this will be an Elimination Round.
Deadline: End of this Sunday, 11/11.
Many good luck lickie licks to all! We want all the sordid details!
