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6:17 a.m. - 2003-06-27


I've recently decided that I truly love the gay people.

It's true.

Not that I've ever hated the gay people.

But back in my high school days, I was wary of the gay man because I was under the impression that the gay man wanted nothing more than to shove things up my butt and if I were to talk to him, the gay man would somehow hypnotize me, shove me to the floor, rip my pants off and begin shoving office supplies and vegetables in my ass.

I have since learned that isn't true. I'm sure there's a few psychotic gay men out there that would like nothing more than to make my ass bleed like a pig in a knife fight, but for the most part, those gay men exist in "Oz" and the majority of gay men want nothing to do with making my butt bleed.

Armed with that helpful bit of information, I have befriended the gay man and have deemed him "cool".

So anyway … the other day I'm in a meeting with this fag who I'll call Forrest and ....


It's okay to call them "fags" when you say it in a loving manner.

Trust me.

There's quite a difference between "I love me some fags" and "Let's kill us some fags tonight."

You and your political correctness.

You need to loosen up some, pal.

So anyway, it's me, Forrest and two other women holding 30 minute interviews with a host of different people for several hours.

Forrest is funny as all get out and we get along great. He's a prissy bitch and I love him for it.

So anyway, we get to an interview with a guy named Lou.

I'm expecting this big New Yorker guy with a stained undershirt smoking a stogie and trying to get me to place a bet on a sporting event with him.


Lou's a tad bit on the flamboyant side himself.

Now, I know exactly how my gaydar works. I can spot a gay guy a mile away. No shit. It's a gift or something.

But I wasn't really sure if these guys could figure out that each other were gay.

Now Forrest is from out of town and travels quite a bit. I have no idea if he has a boyfriend at home or not, but for some ungodly reason … I thought it was essential that Forrest and Lou hit it off and go have gay sex somewhere.

Don't ask me why. I just wanted Forrest to be happy and get him some ass on this business trip.

Now, I'm not so ignorant that I'm going to blurt out "Hey, since both of you guys are gay, why don't you go blow each other in the bathroom and live happily ever after!"

So I sat for 30 minutes and tried to send them both telepathic messages saying "Dude…ask him out!"

They seemed to click, but I'm not sure there was a love connection there or not.

Which is a good thing.

Because a few hours later, I had to go with Forrest to a big seminar.

It was there that I saw John.

I'm not sure John's gay or not, but my gaydar's very rarely wrong and it's screamin' off the charts when I see him.

I introduced John and Forrest and they instantly hit it off. Forrest is a big manly looking man while John looks like an underwear model.

I stood back and beamed as these two chatted away before and after the meeting.

I sure hope they had some gay sex that night.

That would make me ever so happy if I were able to help a friend get his big butt slammed by an underwear model-looking guy.

So last night, Susie and I are sitting around with Andrew watching that goddamned Blue's Clues shit that he's so into these days when the phone rings.

Susie checks the Caller ID and says "Fairfield Resorts?"

According to my calculations, Fairfield Resorts has called 7,000 times a day for the last month and we've never been home to get the call and they never leave a message.

"Pick it up," I snarled, trying to get the bad taste which is Blue's Clues residue out of my mouth.

Susie picks up the phone and listens to whoever's on the line for a while. She then says "My husband will have to make that decision" and hands the phone to me.

I punched her swiftly in the solar plexus and took the phone.

"Hola!" I said in my really bad Mexican accent.

This girl babbled on and on about how she wanted to give me a hotel stay of four days and three nights in Gatlinburg, Tennessee for $109.

"$109 a night, senorita?" I asked

She confirmed it was $109 for the ENTIRE stay.

"Why are you calling me?" I asked.

She then mentioned my Godfather's name whom I haven't seen in probably 20-30 years. He gave them my name because he wanted me to have this opportunity. And since he is a "Gold Card Carrier" for Fairfield Resorts, they were presenting me with this great savings.

Susie and I honeymooned in Gatlinburg and one of her best friends is getting married there in September. We were already planning on going to that and now if we were to agree to this deal, we'd save a lot of money on a hotel room.

"Sure. What the hell" I said, abruptly dropping the bad Mexican accent.

The lady was all excited and got all my information from me including credit card number.

She promised me that she would have someone call me back in five minutes to verify the information.

Five minutes passed.

Ten minutes passed. I began sweating.

Twenty minutes passed. I was frantically trying to find a phone number where I could call the credit card company and start bawling over the phone that I had foolishly gave my credit card number to a total stranger over the phone and now I was scared they were going to buy tons of stuff, ruin my credit and then come and kill me.

Thirty minutes later, someone called back. I exhaled.

They verified the information. I sat there and went "Correct. Correct. Correct. Correct" after everything they said.

Then they started reading all the crap they need to read to me at an abnormally quick pace.

And somewhere in that mile-a-minute jargon, I heard the words "attend a 90-minute time share presentation".

I blurted out "WHOA!WHOA! WHOA!" like a cowboy with Tourettes.

"Nobody said anything about a timeshare presentation," I said to the woman.

"Erica didn't mention that to you?" she asked.

"No," I said. "I think I would have remembered that."

"Well, it's only 90 minutes long and it's basically a tour of the hotel," she said.

I thought about it for a second and said "Okay".

Y'see….what they don't know (shhhhh!!) is I have a spoiled and unruly two year-old boy who will NOT sit through any presentation no matter how long or short it is.

So as soon as he starts laying on the floor kicking and screaming, I'm grabbing the boy and high-tailing it out of this program and leaving Susie behind in my dust to deal with the high pressure salespeople who insist that we buy a condo in the Smoky Mountains.

Tee hee!

I'll show them alright!

My God.

I hated the first episode of "I'm With Busey" on Comedy Central.

But this week's episode had me in stitches several times.

I guess I've become comfortable with the concept. Gary Busey is a mentally deranged idiot and each week he freaks this kid out who's tagging along with him on adventures.

If you get the chance to see a repeat of this week's episode where they go into the desert to become one with nature or whatever…watch it. Especially when Gary comes up with a new game to play with Adam…"Chase Adam Around With A Stick On Fire". I thought I was going to lose it.

And I'm the happiest damned camper in the world right now because when I went to search for that link, I found out that the first season of Strangers With Candy is now available on DVD!!!

SWC is perhaps my favorite television show ever. Well…that and "Twin Peaks". I think I loved both shows equally.

To give you an idea on just what kind of show this revolved around a 46 year-old bisexual ex-prostitute/drug addict named Jerri Blank who went back to high school to start her life all over again.

Here's some of the best quotes from the show which give you a feel for how politically incorrect it was.

I went ahead and bought the best of Primetime Glick too since I'd get free shipping if I just spent a few more bucks so I did that.

Anyway…go buy the Season One DVD of Strangers With Candy so that enough people will have purchased it for them to warrant putting out Season Two.

I guarantee you'll love it. If you like Uncle Bob, you'll love "Strangers With Candy".

Or maybe not.

At which case, you're out $23.

But hell ... I spent more than that at Cheeburger Cheeburger for lunch the other day, so there ya go.

I had what was quite possibly the worst pizza ever yesterday.

I went to Stevi B's Pizza for lunch.

This Stevi B is not to be confused with late 80's crooner Stevie B who sang "Because I Love You" and then faded into obscurity faster than any person has a right to fade.

Anyway, I go through the line and I see a ham and pineapple pizza.

I grab a few slices because I'm Hawaiian like that.

I sit down and take a bite.

Dem ain't pineapple, boss.

Dem's potatoes.

Fucking potatoes on my pizza.

Fistfucking potatoes on my motherfucking pizza.

I almost put a kid's eye out halfway across the room when I spat that sludge out of my mouth with the accuracy of an eagle-eyed archer.


Word of advice….tell people before you serve them a pizza with potatoes on it.

The fuck?

This ain't Ireland, Stevi B.

Crazy potato pizza eating mofo.

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