Gay For Six Minutes

My conscience is a porcupine. I gotta come clean; level with my readership. Your commitment to the truth is evident and deep-seated, or you wouldn’t be following the-blog-the-authorities-don’t-want-to-exist; wouldn’t risk capture by agents and offices running cyber sweep programs and shit. So here’s me telling it straight-up, in the manner to which ALB™ has accustomed you: this weekend I was totally gay for about six minutes.

As a male reader, you’re shocked. But you don’t want me to feel bad, all ostracized and everything, so you go, “Well, since you can admit it, no big deal, summer after college we were all dancing, pretty deep into the piña coladas, and this dude sort of started making out with me, and I just kinda went with it. No big deal. I figured whatever, I’m in Europe, the music was going UNTS UNTS UNTS, and I just sort of let him in my pants and everything. No big. And returned the favor. No big deal. The fag. So, yeah, totally been there. I hear you.”

And I’m all, Uh, no, I’m talking about the few minutes I let that Nothing’s Sweet About Me song into my head. Spacing out over morning coffee.

Thanks for your story, though.