The Rampage of Lord DeLordy!

Well, my friend Dan C. flaked out and we didn't go to Vegas. Loser! Spent the day trying to get my costume ready for Jose's Halloween party. I bought the complete uniform of Captain Kirk from the sixties television series Star Trek. Yellow Captain's shirt, tight black pants, black high-heeled go-go boots, phaser, and communicator. I looked damn good.

My friend Chad, another American who lives down here in Tijuana had asked me to dress him up. He said he wanted something outrageous. Heh...that's my forte. Now Chad is a good guy. A six-foot, four-hundred-and-fifty-pound blubbery good guy. We went to San Diego and scoured wig shops, the Hustler Store, and some costume shops. We went back to my apartment and I helped Chad get dressed. Picture if you will a cross between Dr. Frank-N-furter from Rocky Horror and Fat Bastard from Austin Powers. He sported a huge white powdered wig, white makeup with a mole, purple silk petticoat, red blouse with white lacy frills, purple panties, black fishnets, and knee-high patent leather pirate boots. He was terrifying!

Chad gazed into my full-length mirror and camped, "This is great! But I need a name!"

Out of the blue, I beamed, "I christen thee...Lord DeLordy!"

Soon after I got dressed, two more of my friends showed up. Carlos was dressed as Edward Scissorhands. Great costume. He bought leather pants and a leather shirt, strapped on a bunch of black patent leather belts, a black fright wig, and white make-up. He bought two Freddy Kruger hands and extended the blades with balsa wood and painted them silver. Saul was a Zombie Mariachi. Pretty cool. They all laughed when they saw Chad and screamed in delight at this towering monster. We all drank a couple of martinis each, Chad drank straight whiskey, we smoked a little weed, and then were off to the beach house.

Once there, Jose's house was decorated accordingly; jack-o-lantern pumpkins, dry ice, and gravestones in the yard. It was festive. The music was pumping! There were already a good number of people there. A lot of twinks walking around with angel wings. Can't fags be original? The gay sect is always bitching about individuality but all they are are clones of one another. Snobby self-absorbed clones.

Anyhoo, Jose showed us the bar and we started to drink pretty heavily. Long Island Ice Teas all night was my beverage. The guests went wild over Lord DeLordy and Chad ate it up. Lord deLordy cooed and queened and rolled his eyes at the right moment, I was happy for him. It was Chad's night to shine.

Being the blue-eyed, blond-haired pretty boy, I was being complimented all night. The opportunities that were offered! I still blush thinking of them and their blatant advances. God, I love Latino men! Daniel, this super foxy guy that I had seen around town walked up to me. He was dressed as Dracula. He said, "Hola...I like a man in uniform."

"Gracias." I grinned.

"Will you dance with me?" He smiled, extending his hand.

So as Captain Kirk danced with Dracula, other ghostly guests started to boogie down and Monster Mash on the patio deck under the full moonlight. Off to the side, I noticed Saul was already tongue wrasslin' with a tall Chicano guy dressed as a lucha libre. Carlos was chatting and laughing with some outrageously dressed transvestites.

With the help of the cool evening air and the alcohol, Daniel and I drifted into a corner and started to make out. His kisses made me so hot. I vibrated with silent insect lust. We glided hand in hand into the bathroom and there, with the most casual moves, Daniel took out my penis and gave me such a great blow job. After I came, Daniel and I stood kissing amid the pounding on the door.

As we exited the bathroom, the DJ played The Time Warp from The Rocky Horror Show and Daniel and I joined a group and did The Time Warp. Again. At that moment, a door flung open and Lord DeLordy stood there wobbling drunkenly; holding a bottle of Jack Daniels. The bottle was almost empty. His wig askew and face cherry red, he glared out of glazed eyes. He was drunk off of his ass. He threw back his massive head and let out a shrilling howl, ran across the room, and did a body slam on the food table. With a tremendous crash, the table smashed to the ground, and amid gasps and screams of the guests, Lord DeLordy rolled back and forth in guacamole, doughnuts, and smashed chips, weeping, "I'm such a bastard! Such a fuckin' bastard! I'm horrible! No one likes me!"

Ugh! I helped Jose drag this intoxicated thunder lizard to the guest room where Chad quickly passed out. The rest of the night went very well. Hand in hand with Daniel, I socialized with a lot of hot guys. The night progressed and as dawn crept over the horizon, all the guests departed. Among myself, Carlos, Daniel, and a friend of Jose's, we decided to stay and help Jose clean up. All of us sat around chatting, passing a joint.

I love Halloween.

Vampires-a-Go-Go!

Halloween is just a couple of days away. You wouldn't know that for all the Christmas crap in every department store window. Santa Claus scowling down at you from every angle as his malicious elves plot your demise. Well, I won't let that dampen my festive spirits. I love Halloween, it is my favorite holiday! I shall run amok in the streets with childlike abandon.

Last night, Carlos and Saul invited me to join them at this little get-together in an old abandoned warehouse somewhere in the low hills in Tijuana. We downed a few whiskey shots before we took a taxi to this dark and creepy part of town. The rain had subsided, so it gave everything that Hammer House of Horrors feel. The building was a delipidated ruin and was perfect.

Cars and people mingled out front as cool music throbbed from within. Inside was a pretty mixed crowd. Drinks were served by guys and girls dressed as zombies in tuxedos. Us three stood off in a corner and checked out the people floating hither and yon, chatting, laughing, and dancing. I noticed there were a lot of people dressed as vampires. One of them, dressed in a velvet red cape and sporting a massive neon blue bee hive hairdo in which we referred to as Count Fagula, stood up on this little stage and with upraised hands yelled, "BASTA!"

Everything stopped. All eyes were on him. He did some melodramatic moves with his arms and hands amid flashing lights and puffs of smoke. There were snickers and light applause from the audience. "Let the show commence!" He boomed.

A little dwarf dressed in a tuxedo and wearing a freaky white mask...the mask was quite plain, two holes for the eyes and one hole for the mouth, and was taped to his bald head...stepped out from behind these red velvet curtains, walked across the stage to this lever and pulled it. The lever made these clicking sounds. Behind him, on the freshly painted white walls were projected four short "Horror" films made by local artists. They were quite impressive. The tequila was flowing pretty heavily and my two friends and I became quite ripped.

The first short consisted of a man and his wife. The man would ignore his wife and talk all night on phone sex lines. He would literally fuck the phone with the cord wrapped around his penis. It was funny until the wife did him in with a chainsaw. That was even funnier.

The next film was about a babysitter who killed and flayed the child victims. Pretty fucking graphic! I'll never trust a grinning nanny again.

The next two I missed because I had to take a piss and there was a line at the toilet. Okay, it was a smashed-up car in the back of the warehouse that everyone was pissing on, but it made for some funny moments.

After the films, Count Fagula stood on the stage and said in his best Peter Lorre imitation, "Ladies and Gentlemen!" Fagula breathed, "I present...Vampires-a-go-go!"

This crazy seventies porno music started to play...wocka-wocka-wairn-nairn...with a spooky organ note behind it. Then, these four young girls dressed in flowing white gowns and kabuki makeup glided out of the shadows and to the twainging disco music began to commit acts of random lesbianism on each other. As they pawed and moaned, the Vampire lezbos all had blood dripping out of their mouths and long vampire fangs. We three passed a joint around with a bottle of Fundador and gazed as if in an excited state of hypnotism. The audience gasped and whistled at the scenes of sexual display that was committed on stage. Saul got a hard-on as did several other guys in the group. The crowd stood there, transfixed on this display of debauchery. It was intense!

Saul and I decided to explore the building and we found these metal stairs that led up to the roof. Following a dark hallway, we came out onto the roof and had a great view of Tijuana. There we were four stories up and with a commanding view of the twinkling lights of the city. There was a young couple that already found this place and we interrupted thier make-out session. I grabbed Saul, laughing between kisses, we started to make out in front of the young couple. They felt uncomfortable and left.

About 4:30 in the morning, Carlos, Saul, and I found a 24-hour coffee shop and talked about the night. Carlos passed the eye drops as I drunkenly gulped down my coffee. And it was then and there that I realized, I have some damn good friends. I don't care how bad you think the world is treating you, Dear Reader, life is good.

Life is real good!

television static

Will be leaving tomorrow for Las Vegas with my Aryan wunderkind Dan Cokenaur! The land of Bada-bing! Will of coarse tell all. I haven't been to Vegas in a couple of years it should be wacky.

The rain was pounding last night and Carlos and I was supposed to go to the movies, instead we opted to stay at my apartment and watch DVDs. Carlos brought over 21 Grams. This was a great movie. Highly recommended. The director was the same as Amoros Peros. Benicio Del Toro was superb! He is one of my favorite actors. I think it is in Sean Penn's contract that he has to show his ass in every picture he is in. Same goes for Gael Garcia. Though I kinda fancies Gael's tush.

The next film on our double feature was that cult favorite Buckaroo Banzai and his Adventures across the Eighth Dimension! Jumpin' jigglin' Jesus, this movie was cool! Watch it at all costs! It's from the eighties with all the eighties pop fashion and music. It's a sci-fi/James Bond/rock-n-roll kind of thing. John Lithgow as the tyrannical Red Lectroid ruler from Planet 10 is hilarious. He gets most of the best lines!

After the DVDs, Carlos left since the rain let up and I turned in early.

You see, Dear Reader, I can have a normal life. How boring.

Nice Girls Don't Wear Cha-cha Heels!

As you may well realise, Dear Reader, I currently reside in a Third World country. It has it's advantages, but it has it's downers, too. For example, woke up rather early today, it being my day off and all, and as I staggered to the shower, the water was cut off not only in my flat, but the entire colonia. (Neighborhood for you nameless assholes that only speeky the engleesh.) Well, I was forced to take a sponge bath and trust me it doesn't entirely satisfy. It's as useful as giving a blow job to a flaccid penis. Now, for some arcane reason the high tribunal muckity-mucks of Tijuana turn off the water once a day every week. Of coarse that day varies from week to week and today is that day. So, I am forced to stroll around town with that oh so sticky feeling. Son cosas de la vida, cabron y cabrones...

As I sat at my table drinking coffee, eating a slice of pound cake, and listening to Morrisey moan on about how everyday is like Sunday (True dat.) there came a rapping and a tapping at my chamber door. So, to my door I slinked only to find Alfredo standing there in the bright sunlight. I invited him in and asked if he'd like a cup of coffee.

"No." He said sitting at my table. "Just a glass of milk."

As I placed the glass in front of him, I poured the milk, and asked, "So, what brings you over here, handsome." I didn't wait for an answer. "How's the wifie?" He saw the look in my eyes and it was a mingling of hate and sadness. I still had feelings for this guy. Even though he treated me like a dog. I still love him. I ooze passion. I am a very emotional person if I care for someone. Unfortunately, I always care for those who don't care back.

"She's okay...we are fighting still." He said meekly. " I want to apologise for the other night...that was wrong of me."

I choked down a mouthful of coffee, "That's okay, Alfredo. I know you love her. Who am I to come in between you and your family. My concern is the happiness of my friends and I am willing to make a few sacrifices to keep that friendship pure and stable." (I want to thank the Academy...)

Alfredo stared at me long and hard and then without warning he reached over the table and holding my head started kissing me passionately. His hands found their way down my pajama pants. Next thing I know, he whips out his big nasty and we are doing the horizontal mambo on the living room rug. After about an hour of pure homosexual hanky panky, Alfredo used my chest and stomach for a cum rag. As we lay side by side and our heavy breathing calmed down, he whispered, "I've got to go."

"What? Why?" I pleaded. I felt like an elephant just sat on my heart!

"I just...I gotta go." He said cleaning off his penis with my dish towel. "I'll see you sometime." And with that was out the door.

I sat on the floor lost in darkness and confusion. I was a bit bummed, but I guess I shall get over it. I cleaned myself the best I could with my drinking water from the cooler and with empty scrotum and sallow heart I went shopping. Being a high falootin' homo, shopping is the best therapy.

I stopped off at the shoe store by my flat and I heard the funniest thing. It was in Spanish, so I'll translate. A mother and her daughter was checking out shoes. Apparently from snatches of dialog I understood the girls birthday was coming up and mother was going to by her any kind of footwear she desired. The girl picked up these horrid black platform things with gold straps. The mother looked them over and said, "You aren't getting those."

"But I like them." The girl pleaded.

As in which the mother retorted, "Nice girls don't wear cha-cha heels."

If I ever make a documentary about my life the title will be "Nice Girls Don't Wear Cha-cha Heels."

That's brilliant.

Just call me Cumdumpster.

Spent the entire day with my good friend Carlos. He is such a sexy little fucker. Spent the latter half of the day smoking weed and screwing with him. I am so tired. Wore out is the word. Such passion in a little guy. Carlos just left about thirty minutes ago for home. I'll watch my spankin' brand new DVD of The Day the Earth Stood Still. Such a cool movie. I bought Amores Perros, also. I'll whip up a couple of martinis and settle in for the night. I don't feel like going out.

Sex is a pain in the ass.

The Dark Backward.

The midmorning sun broke through the uneven Venetian blinds of my studio apartment. The air was stagnating and the particles danced in the beams of yellow light. The efficiency apartment was small and dingy; it consisted of one room, a kitchen, and an adjoining bathroom. A television on black milk crates, a small table, a touchier lamp encircled a large black foul-smelling futon that took up much of the room. Movie posters of underground directors such as David Lynch and John Waters cluttered the walls and dirty laundry and empty fast food containers littered the carpet.

I reached over and grabbed a light bulb that had been charred black on the bottom side. On the table next to the ratty futon on which I lay in nothing but my blue striped boxers and black sox, I picked up a little white rock from a small plastic zip-lock baggie. With galvanized jerks of hopped-up anticipation, I placed the small shaving of crystal meth into the light bulb and placed the copper end of the bulb to my mouth, I heated the bottom of the glass section with my lighter.

I drew in a long deep breath and watched as the dark grey smoke swirled and spiraled around inside the bulb as the meth liquefied from the heat. The meth crept from the back of my spine up along the top of my skull to my forehead with a static tingling sensation. My body felt like it was hooked into a 220-volt socket.

"Fuck, this is some good shit!" I quivered; my whole body shook as if I had chills.

I passed the bulb over to my friend Carlos, who lay next to me naked. Carlos was my neighbor who lived around the corner. A small copper-colored Mexican, Carlos looked almost Japanese. He had almond-shaped brown eyes and straight black hair parted down the middle. I had met Carlos in a bar in an alleyway in downtown Tijuana nearly a month ago. No one but Carlos and myself was in the bar at the time and sat at opposite ends, nursing our beers. As our eyes met, I could see in Carlos' eyes that he was hooked and asked if he could score. From that day on, it was a junky match made in hell.

As Carlos held the light bulb, his brown veiny feet wiggled in anticipation as his junk cells readied for a recharge. Carlos grasped the bulb wide-eyed and took a hit. To me, it looked like he was going to swallow the whole bulb.

I chuckled, "Stop giving head to my light bulb."

Carlos waited a few seconds, and exhaled, "Aye, cabrone!" His smooth and tan petite body was glistening in sweat and he was vibrating like a tuning fork. The smoke wafted across the television set on which a DVD of David Lynch's Blue Velvet played. On the screen, Frank Booth did his thing.

"Get ready to fuck, you fuckin' fuckers! Daddy's coming home!"

Carlos reached over and stroked my flat stomach, tracing the light brown hairs around my belly button. The meth was making Carlos feel sexy, but I pushed his hand away and turned up the volume of the TV with the remote.

"Hey, this part is so cool!" I said, pointing at the television. "Dennis Hopper really made this fucking movie great!" My teeth started to grind and my tongue began to click on the roof of my mouth.

Now, I am one of those types that like to kick back in silence and enjoy my hit, but one thing you can count on with a meth freak is that once he starts a story there isn't no stopping him. And that person was Carlos.

"I told you about my friend Bubu, right?" Once we scored for meth that was laced with PCP or crack or some kind of LSD. I had no idea what kind of crazy shit was in it so we returned to my apartment, I readied my aluminum foil; took a hit, and Blammo! There was this crazy static charge that hit me all over my body!" Carlos twiddled his fingers up and down his thin torso, ribs protruding.

I was agitated; I followed Carlos' words attentively. But, the slightest hesitation made me want to grab Carlos by the throat and force him to talk faster. "Okay!" I spat. "What happened next?!"

"Well, I fell to the floor and couldn't get up." Carlos said. "I laid there on my side, propped up on my elbow for six fucking hours and the only way I could keep track of time was by way of the TV programs came on. So, Bubu and I would stay up all night and get high and I always had plenty of aluminum paper and straws or we'd use my light bulbs; but, I never let him use my glass pipes because he eventually would wind up breaking them. So every day, we would go buy our dope. We'd visit off of Coahuilla Avenue and purchase it from Thing. In this shit-crusted alley filled with dirty kids and dogs, there is this huge, blue-painted concrete wall three stories tall. It had no windows but down on street level was a hole in the wall a little bigger than a man’s fist. Sedans with tinted windows would come and go all day long. When we would buy our meth, a hand would pop out and snatch our cash, we'd wait a few minutes and the hand would pop back out and cop us our dope. I would always say, 'Thank you, Thing.'"

Carlos stopped for a moment and scratched the bottom of his right foot. He stared at his big toe and began picking at the nail.

"Finish the fucking story!" I snarled. "What happened next?!"

Carlos smiled and rolled on top of me. Carlos could feel my heartbeat through his thin ribs. The heat from our bodies made our skin slippery and Carlos slowly rubbed his torso up and down on mine. Carlos planted a wet kiss on my mouth, I could taste the metallic flavor of the drug. Carlos whispered, "I'm excited. Wanna fuck?"

I looked up into Carlos' handsome face and studied the pencil-thin mustache over his pouty lips. But, I knew my limits when I am doped up on meth. Getting an erection was harder than changing water to wine.

"I'm not in any condition to do anything like that." I said, rubbing my hands across Carlos' smooth backside. "Besides, what time is it?"

Carlos looked over to the digital clock on the floor. "It's eleven thirty-two."

"Crap! I gotta go!" I jumped up and started to get dressed in my usual clothes of jeans, a t-shirt and a leather jacket. The uniform of the obvious homosexual. Thanks Dad. I pulled on my biker boots, "Get dressed, I gotta met some friends downtown."

"Can I come with you?" Carlos asked, slipping on his red soccer jersey and shorts.

"No, this is some private stuff. Secret agent Bond kinda stuff." I said. I stopped getting dressed and took Carlos' right hand. "But, I can see you later?" I felt a surge of warmth in my heart.

"Yeah...can you get some more?" Carlos said, eying the small bag with remnants of dope in it.

I grabbed the baggie and placed it in Carlos' hand. "That's what this meeting downtown is all about, mijo." I dipped my finger into the baggie and pulled it out coated with meth. I then tenderly massaged my finger along the front gums of Carlos' mouth.

"Orale." Carlos smiled.

Us two embraced and kissed passionately.

"I got to go." I pleaded. And after switching off the television, we left the apartment with a slam and click of the heavy wooden door.

Downtown, I met my friend Salvador (Sally to his friends.) and Juan. We started to drink pretty heavily and around one in the afternoon I passed out. I woke up in my bed with nothing but my t-shirt on. Alone. Lost in darkness and confusion. I tried to remember what had happened and how I got home. My clock said 12:36 a.m.! My mouth was foul and evil tasting and I drank two glasses of water from the cooler. Two things I remember:

"But, I'm straight." Said an appalled waiter at whatever perverted advances I attempted to make.

"So's spaghetti until you get it hot." I snapped and goosed his ass as he walked away.

And I remember on the street asking a pretty girl for directions and getting a hostile response. I said to her, "Look, cupcake. Cut the attitude! Not everyone on this planet wants to fuck you!" She started yelling and I just walked away, "Bitch, your pussy stinks." You want to shut a girl up...tell her that her pussy stinks.

Tears of the Broken Hearted.

Very well, Dear Reader, it's still freaking raining. Yesterday, I sat around my apartment staring at the walls, listening to Iggy Pop and Molotov, and smoked a joint. I worked out a little. But my day culminated in fixing the perfect dinner for me and my good friend Alfredo. I held nothing back; I made tortellini in red sauce with a fresh green salad. I roasted French bread with garlic and opened a bottle of wine. Everything was perfect. My dinner table was set. It looked like a table reserved at the restaurant in the Waldorf Astoria. I even lit freakin' candles. Seven thirty came around and there was a knock on my door. Sweet Alfredo is always on time. I swung the door open. There Alfredo stood with his wife. And she was holding a bag of tacos. I smiled the fakest smile I could muster. She held out the dripping bag, "Are you hungry?" "Well, I made pasta, Veronica." I spit out the name through clenched teeth. I glared at Alfredo who sheepishly smiled back. "Veronica was waiting for me when I got of work. So I hope you don't mind that I invited her over." He said. "No. Not at all." I breathed. I grabbed an extra plate from the kitchen and placed it down on the table so hard it was a miracle I didn't break it. I had become Jack's raging bile. Throughout the dinner, few words were said and I sat there casually laughing at her jokes and pretended to be interested in what she said. Alfredo would reach over at intervals and casually stroke her hand. Death! Death where is thou sting?! After we had finished the meal I had prepared, Alfredo took out the tacos Veronica had bought and started to eat them. I poked at mine with a fork. Blondie wailed over the radio with Heart of Glass. I had a glorious vision of tying Alfredo and Veronica both naked to a tree and shooting flaming arrows at them. Ugh. Why? Why do I set myself up for these tragedies? Will I ever find my soul mate...or is he lost forever in a faded memory of a life that ended in me losing my mind? Is this it? Is this the homosexual lifestyle that I had chosen mired in bitter tragedy and sad heartbroken loss to be played over again and again and again and again like a terrible late night infomercial? Luckily, after they had finished eating, Alfredo and Veronica left saying that the weather was terrible and they had to get home early. I walked them to the door and we said our goodbyes. I cleaned the dishes and took a shower to wash the stink of that woman off of me. I laid down in my bed and, Dear Reader, for the first time in eleven years I silently cried myself to sleep.

Boredom and Pasta Alfredo.

Well, it is going to rain all day today. All freakin' day! God, I feel like I'm living in Scotland or some other permanently soggy country. It's coming down so hard. And on my day off! Guess I will spend it watching television. But, what? Midget Mexican Wrestling? Jerry Springer? Oprah? Thunder Cats? I guess I can watch a DVD. Can't choose! Star Wars? Mommy Dearest? 1984? Willy Wonka? *sigh* All my friends are at work. I guess I could start that graphic novel...nah. Perhaps write a new screenplay. How's this: A real handsome homosexual assassin who fucks his enemies before he kills them. On one job he falls in love. Title: Passion of the Assassin. No!!! I'm not a hack, fercrissakes!!
At least on the bright side, Alfredo said he's coming over for dinner tonight. I'm making Pasta with garlic bread. He is just the most sincere passionate sweetest guy I know. Too bad he loves his wife. Son cosas de la vida.
Well, I guess I better put on a raincoat and slosh to the market. I don't have any meat for the pasta.
Last night, Alfredo, Saul, and I went out for drinks. We were drenched by the rain, so we dropped into this bar you had to go down a little flight of stairs to get to. There were perhaps eight other people in this small cantina. The jukebox wailed Mexican music as the bartender smiled and pointed to a table, "Please sit down."
The three of us sat and the waiter came over and asked us what we wanted. At this moment this drunk beggar sided up at the table and, putting out his hand, asked for a few pesos. Our waiter politely pushed him away and then the drunk whirled around and punched the waiter in the face.
Then all hell broke loose.
The bartender, in one swoop, dived over the bar with a metal bat and started clubbing the beggar. Then two men, with our waiter, started punching and kicking the drunk to a pulp. Right in front of our table. Two guys then picked up the unconscious guy, went up the flight of stairs, and threw the drunk out. As I looked down at the floor smeared in blood, teeth, and gore, our waiter adjusted his tussled hair and said with professional dignity, "Can I get you anything else, Caballeros?"
"No." I said, grinning. "We're cool."
Well, I better get to the market before it washes away. Alfredo better give me some tonight.

Come Hell or High Water!

Went to work early today! And the rain was coming down in sheets! All the streets were flooded and became roaring torrents of raging water. Raw stinking sewage was gushing out of manhole covers like geysers setting off car alarms and woman and children ran screaming to and fro. The news said it will continue for the next three freakin' days! That's okay...since it hasn't rained in like seven months, at least it will clean the city out. Guess production will go on hiatus. Damn.

Gay Cowboys

Didn't do much of anything. I worked early and was so busy today, I just walked home and relaxed. On the way home there was this guy who was very handsome; all muscles, clean cut, shaven head...he was wearing a tight white dress shirt, blue jeans, and a white cowboy hat. Nice eye candy, I thought. But that butt-poking buckaroo followed me all the way to the corner by my apartment. There is this large park adjacent to my trap, and I stopped and chatted with a couple of friends I noticed who was walking through the park. This park, you understand is very cruisey and you can easily pick up guys at any time of the day or night.
Anyhoo, Cowboy was tittering on his boot heels on the opposite corner, acting like he was lost or something. My two friends, Angel and Julio, both queers by the act of congress on their part, wanted me to go over and talk to the Cowboy. But, I was so tired from the night before and having to work so early this morning, I declined, said my goodbyes, and returned home.
In my apartment, I showered, got into my pajamas, and fixed me a steak sandwich with a glass of wine. You ever get so tired that you can't sleep? That's the way I felt. I lounged on my couch after popping Mulholland Drive into the DVD. I was so relaxed.
Halfway through the movie, there was a knock on my door and I was pleasantly surprised to see Alfredo standing there. I invited him and the first thing he did was give me a long embrace. I asked if he talked to his wife and evidently, they had another big argument. He said that she told him to get out and that she is no longer his wife and doesn’t bother seeing their son any longer. Typical bitch bullshit. How I loathe women. A human virus on this planet. God created Adam to worship and adore Him and out of the kindness of His heart He made Eve for companionship, but that hateful bitch fucked it up and women have been a hindrance ever since. (Please send your letters now.)
Alfredo and I sat there and chatted for a while paying half attention to what was playing on the television. Around 10:30 that evening, Alfredo left. He had already planned to stay at his friend Saul's place. I told him if he ever needed a place to stay, my door was always open. He is so sweet.
I went to sleep after that and had the silliest dream. I was running through a forest, terrified, because I knew something malicious was after me. It wasn't very far behind me in the darkness of the woods, I could sense it very, very near. I eventually came to a cliff overlooking a gorge. I stopped at the cliff and looked back, out of breath and scared, only to see a 450 lbs. naked fat blond woman giggling toward me at full steam. What was I to do? Jump to a certain doom or fall prey to this jiggling thunder lizard.
I jumped.
I remember screaming all the way down, but instead of hitting hard earth, I found myself bouncing safely on the stomach of a lounging obese woman like a goddamn trampoline. I woke up laughing. Fade out to mambo music...

Boogie Nights in Tijuana.

After I got off work today, I had a date with my good buddy, Alfredo. He wanted to go see Resident Evil, so I was to meet him later that night at my pad. After crossing the border, I was pretty tired and I weaved through the taxi drivers all on the hustle, through the hawkers and the beggars, grimy arms outreached forever.

I crossed the bridge over Rio Tijuana and as I whiffed its heady vapors I gazed out over the city as dusk fell upon it and I felt so optimistic. Under the starry sky, twinkling through the smog and as rats zipped to and fro in the darkening shadows, I concluded I am truly blessed to be here. I don't ever think I will live stateside again. As I walked through the congested pedestrian traffic, a young guy drunk off his ass had his freakin' dork hanging out pissing into oncoming traffic. And the weirdest part was...no one paid attention. I arrived home and showered, dressed, made me a martini, and played some Flaming Lips on the hi-fi as I waited for Alfredo to show up. As usual, which is unusual for Mexicans, Alfredo was on time. And as usual, he looked damn hot in his weathered blue jeans, black t-shirt, and denim jacket. We hugged and said hello and after we downed a shot of whiskey each we took a Taxi Libre to Plaza Rio Mall to see Resident Evil. The upper-scale area was crowded with shoppers and revelers.

We arrived early so Alfredo and I decided to jet into a side bar and have a shot of Tequila and a beer. The music was loud and save for myself and Alfredo, the place was dead empty. We sat and I joked with my friend but I knew something was bothering him and when I asked, he stated that he was thinking of leaving his wife and two-year-old kid. I stated that if there really isn't any love there, what was the point? It was a somber and poignant moment. I think I am starting to have strong feelings for that boy.

Well after the movie, which was okay, Alfredo complained that Resident Evil was too much like the game in which I retorted that's where the idea came from, kiddo. We decided to go to a little bar off of Constitution and 5th that Alfredo knew about. Not exactly queer, but pretty well mixed. It was sprinkled with working-class Mexicans all enjoying after-work drinks, talking of their jobs, their wives, and their problems. After a few Pacificos, Alfredo fell into a deep depression and started sobbing about his wife. I consoled him and told him that he needs to make an adult decision about his problems. He told me through eyes shrink-wrapped in tears that he wants to go back to his wife and with that he left the bar, stumbling and remorseful.

I sat there staring into my drink when two guys walked into the cantina and sat next to me at the bar. I said Howdy; they said Hi; and introduced themselves. Juan was tall and thin with a shaven head, goatee, green mesh football jersey, and green fatigue pants. The other guy was a little younger, about 21, with black slick back hair, and wore a Metallica t-shirt with dark cargo pants. He said his name was Sylvio. Sylvio? What kind of name is that, I asked. And he went into this long tirade about Aztec culture and that Sylvio was a name based in the Aztec tradition. Whatever.

We joked and talked and the beer started to flow and we got drunker and drunker. Juan said he wanted to go to a bar and see strippers, so we left the little bar and hoofed it down to the Red Zone and popped into one of the hundreds of hoochie houses. As we sat there and watched this short fat Indian jiggle in all the wrong places, I told my two new escorts that I was going to go. The last thing that I wanted to see was a bunch of old men ogling a floppy-boobed dancer in a smoky cockroach-infested strip joint. Drunk, Sylvio laid a hand on my shoulder and asked me, "Which one do you want?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, quite perplexed.

He pointed to himself and then to Juan, "Which one of us do you want to take home, guedo?"

I sat there for a moment. Inside I was giggling like a little girl. These two guys were competing over me! What a compliment. I looked at Sylvio with a serious look and said, "Why not both of you?"

They both agreed and we stumbled back to my trap. Once inside, we three downed shots of Jack Daniels and soon my head started to spin. Next thing I know, the clothes come off, I'm escorted to my bed by Sylvio and laid on my stomach. Juan sat in front of me and I sucked that uncut dick like a champ as Sylvio tongued my ass. Next thing I know, Sylvio slides up in me and I am taking Mexican both fore and aft! After Sylvio finished, Juan whirled me around onto my back and with my feet on his shoulders, he took no prisoners; the boy went at it like a madman!. Sylvio kissed me passionately as Juan pounded away which caused me to lose my cool and I came on myself. With a groan, Juan pulled out and hosed me down.

As I lay there panting, covered in sweat, semen, and saliva, Juan lit a cigarette and after taking a drag, placed it between my dry lips. I stared at the ceiling fan and wondered if Alfredo really was going to go back to his wife...

Vacation on the Moons of Saturn.

Woke up...got outta bed...raked a comb across my head…

Here I am at work early Sunday Morning and feeling tired from the pool game with the Interzone Boys last night. Peter Murphy is warbling over the radio. I'm sitting here at my computer terminal surrounded by the three other unfortunate-looking girls I work with. Oh, wait there is Mike...forgot...but, he's on the other side of the office, so he doesn't count. Damn good coffee and my supervisor brought fresh blueberry muffins. There is a God.

Last night, after I returned home from work, I showered, dressed, and made myself a whiskey sour as I waited for my friends to arrive. Listened to some Oingo Boingo CD's.

Now, I'm not much of a pool player, but when I was a wayward traveler I was known to be a pretty good billiard player. Played pool from San Diego to New York to Puerto Rico to Peru and back. However, I haven't played a game of pool in about two years and was apprehensive of me being rusty.

Alfredo, my dear brilliantly handsome friend, showed up at my door with Javier and Saul, two of his friends from his job. We sat for a while over tequila shots and talked awhile about how our generation had been cheated and lied to by the generation before us. Here it is 2004 and I do not have a flying car or a robot to do my laundry! What's up with that? When I was a kid, I'd thought I'd be taking vacations on the moons of Saturn by now. What a jip!

We all walked downtown to this huge pool hall a block off of Revolution Avenue. It was packed and we had to wait about fifteen minutes for a table. But we spent that time drinking cold beers and gawking at all the hot straight men milling about the room. I know what you are thinking, Dear Reader, why aren't you at a gay bar or disco? It is Saturday night. Nah...not my thing, anymore. I did that when I grew up in Hollywood, California in my salad days. Nothing is more boring than sitting in one of those atrocious places watching guys looking goofy on the dance floor trying out the latest moves...badly. I find the guys in those places so phony, trust me there are other places to hang out that are less offensive.

Finally, a table opened up and it was good times. There was this old drunk stumbling around the hall taking sips out of other people’s cups. I kept an eye on that fucker! Saul, being a scrawny little cutie, he's what you'd call "Man-pretty" tried to be as macho as possible when this girl tried to pick up on him. I like my friends, so bisexual...yet so sweet, too.

Alfredo was hungry and this little chubby man was going around the pool hall selling burritos and we bought a few and Holy crap! They were delicious! As I sat there munching my burrito, this shabby old bum shuffled in. He smelt like piss and his grey suit was blotched with black dirt, shiny over the dirt. He had a great mane of grizzled grey hair. As he walked by me, he smiled from a dark toothless hole and gave me a wink. Now from my sitting position, I had an unobstructed view of the entrance of the men’s restroom and the trough urinal. Okay, Alfredo and I was penis-peeping.

Anyways, the old bum wobbles over to the urinal and in one sweep, he pulls down his pants and takes a big shit right into the urinal. Loudly and abundantly. I mean, it was like chocolate fudge being blown out of the muffler of a '73 Oldsmobile. I sat there with my eyes glued, stone-faced, half-eaten burrito frozen at my lips, My God, I whispered. The men’s room stank after that. A worker entered and cursed in Spanish and had the unfortunate job of scooping the shit out.

Two a.m. rolled around and I mentioned that I had to go home because I had to work the next morning at 10:00 a.m., so we all dispersed. The four of us walked to a taxi stand and said our goodbyes. Alfredo was nice enough to stay the night, so I didn't get to sleep until around four. Went to sleep and dreamed of the moons of Saturn...

Me Ol' Pal Jose Cuervo.

Al-kee-hall.

Pretty fuckin drunk right now. Walked into a late-night Internet Cafe off Revolution Ave. So... I’m walking down the street...the lights keep changing... there are wires in the air and the asphalt is all around me, Daddy-oh! Speaking of that, what's up with those sneakers and shoes tied together and hanging from telephone wires you see everywhere? What is the significance? The Mexican guy who is running the cafe is pretty damn hot! He looks like he plays around. He's talking with some bitch...ah...yes, his name is Ulysses...but she pronounces it in Spanish. Oolissees. So hot. I am racked by unbridled ghost bound lust.
Did I ever tell you the time that I played the part of The Mistress in this man’s life? I met this guy named Carlos at Plaza Rio Mall and after we talked for a while we checked into a hotel and had the hottest sex. Afterward, he calls his wife. His wife! That he will be home soon and have dinner ready. Then we fucked again. It was so kooky. We hung out together a few weeks after that and he would come over to my apartment after work to release a little work-related stress. Then one day he stopped. I don't know why.
I think I'm going to Revolution Ave. and see what's going on there. Maybe will prowl for some Navy guys. Some of those jokers are quite yummy!

Crazy Madness of a Porn Freak.

Okay...ya ready?
I was sitting in a 24hr porno theater and it was around 7am in the morning. Couldn't sleep for the last two days because I am full of so much pent-up angst! So, I'm sitting alone in this porno theater with the slurps and grunts from the soundtrack echoing in the few centimeters of my skull. Where, I thought, is everybody? I need oral satisfaction.
About thirty minutes passed when this handsome college-type Mexican kid wearing a red sweater and blue jeans came in and sat a couple of seats from me. My stomach knotted in anticipation even though as I glanced over at him he met my look with perturbed annoyance; in porn theaters, bath houses, discos, bars, the usual homosexual facial greeting.
At that moment, the door buzzed, and in walked a scrawny old queen with his grey hair tied back into a ponytail. With prissy galvanized jerks, he sat down right in front of me and blocked my view of the screen. Asshole! I thought. I had to pee real bad, so I got up and rushed to the restroom. I made up my mind that when I got back in the theater I was going to make my move on that Mexican guy.
However, when I got back, that old fag had stolen my seat. Man, that pissed me off, the worthless cockblocker! So, I sat on the opposite side of the Mexican guy with that old bitch on the other side smacking his goddamn gum real loud! I guess the Mexican was a little embarrassed by what was going on and got up and left. Great!! There I was alone in that freaking porn theater with some dried-up ancient vampire smacking gum as loud as he could.
After ten minutes of this, I really was getting agitated. I need some dick! The door buzzed and in lumbered a fat bastard wearing dirty red sweats. That's it! I got up and went to the front lobby and bought some peanuts and a grape nehi soda.
When I got back, that fat guy was sitting in my seat! Why?! What is so special where I sit? Is it a scent I leave? I stomped up and flopped right next to the Fat Man.
"Why is it every time I move, you worthless faggots steal my seat?", I hissed through clenched teeth.
"That's right." He smiled. The stench of halitosis wafted through the room.
"Of course, I'm talking to you, bitch!" I snapped.
"That's right." He repeated with that fuck you look on his face.
There was a white flash in my head and for some reason, I poured my soda all over him. The Fat Man got up...and up...and up. Jumpin' jigglin' jesus, that motherfucker was bigger than I thought! He grabbed me by the collar and as he pushed me out into the aisle he kept slapping me on the back of the head asking in some foreign accent, "Why did you do that? Are you crazy?"
Once in the aisle, I whirled around and popped off several blows to his face. Pow. Pow. Pow. I heard something crack in his blubbery jaw. He started pummeling me with his meaty fists. I jumped up on him, straddling him, holding on with my legs around his waist, punching his face, while gouging my thumb deep into his left eye. "Bitch!" I hissed. "You're goin' down, you fat bitch!"
He pulled me off and flung me across the seats where I landed on my back. Crouched in a Lucha Libre stance, he then flung himself on top of me. Blow after blow smashed into my face as I returned the painful gifts with belts of my own.
I spit into his face blood and saliva and said, "Asshole! You don't know where I've been!"
At that moment, the theater clerk swung open the door and said, "Hey, you can't be fighting in here!"
I got up and pointed at the Fat Man and said between gasps, "Call the police! This motherfucker molested me and when I said no he went ape shit!"
"What?" The Fat man said. "You threw your drink on..."
I cut him off, "This bastard is a psychopath! Your lucky I didn't mace this fucker!"
"You guys hafta go outside." The clerk said.
We three walked through the lobby and as I reached the entrance I could hear the sirens of the police cars that were called. With the Fat Man behind me, I turned and spit on him again. I then raced down the street, around the corner, and I slid into a little dive bar. My eyes were not accustomed to the darkness and I heard a voice, "Can I help you."
"I'll have a Corona!", I breathed. My eyes became accustomed to the light and I saw I was alone and being served by a little old man. He knew something was up from my agitated state. What the hell just happened; I thought as I stared at the water dripping from the condensation on the bottle. What a crazy freak I am sometimes. Sometimes I doubt my own sanity. I am not a violent person by nature, why these sudden attacks?
Maybe I need more fiber...

Giant Robots and Kung Fu Hookers.

Last night my friend Alfredo and I went to the flicks and saw Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow. It was really great! Any movie that has an army of giant robots marching through New York City shooting laser beams from their eyes is okay by me! I can't wait for the DVD.
Afterward, we went to a real swanky restaurant and had some birria and tacos. All was going well until a big grey rat ran across the dining room floor. The waitress thought it was funny. So did I.
Alfredo and I decided to hit every dive bar in the Red Light Zone in downtown. The plan was that we would stop in a bar, order a shot of tequila each, down it, and then move on to the next bar. After the thirteenth or fourteenth bar, we were both tore up from the floor up, cabron!
 We stumbled down the street bumping into cholos, stepping on dogs, harassing the tourist. I babbled on and on about a comic book idea I had that combined Buck Rogers with Chinese chop sockey movies.
Alfredo, being the tall, dark, and cute bi-sex guy that he is, dipped into a whore house without letting me know. I stumbled down the sidewalk a few feet, going on about Martians and soccer when the hookers on the corner began yelling and whistling to get my attention. I turned around and they yelled that my friend had gone inside their house of illrepuke.
I jutted my head in the door, saw the long filthy hallway of doorways and shouted in Spanish, "Hey, Alfredo! You in here?"
My nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of used and stale unwashed pussy.
Alfredo yelled back that he'd be out in a minute, so I drunkenly sat on the curb outside with two unfortunate-looking prostitutes. They asked if I'd like to go inside and join my friend, but my bi-sex salad days are over, plus I was so drunk I wasn't in the condition.
Anyhoo, I interviewed the girls, and asked them questions about if they liked their jobs, did it pay well, how was the pay. All of their answers were quite positive. One fugly one gleamed about how she loved fucking young American boys. All righty then.
At that moment, a carload of young Mexican guys, about six, pulled up next to the girls. They started bargaining for prices...how much for this, what about that...when one cholo popped out from the back seat and asked, "Hey, how much for the white boy?"
I smiled and said, "Twenty pesos."
Everyone laughed and the car took off. At that moment, Alfredo stumbled out of the building buttoning his jeans.
Later that night, as we lay in bed naked passing a joint and listening to Johnny Cash we exchanged stories that would later fade into antidotes.

Sticking Feathers In Your Ass Don't Make You A Chicken

I am going to a club tonight.
Invited by a friend. Queer bars always bring me down. Mexico or Stateside.
I am very comfortable with my homosexuality, but I can't stand being in a smoky den filled with squeaking squealing queers. All cooing and giggling at every crotch they see. Sometimes I feel like a piece of meat or being sized up like a goat in an Arabic Bazaar.
These squinty-eyed, pinch-face "girls" talk to me and try to be pleasant, all circling me in a vain attempt to get me in bed. What would make them think I would be interested in their unattractive person?
And just let me try to take a piss. Several follow me into the restroom, line up at the urinal, and glare in ambiguous lechery.
"It's just a freakin' penis!" I once snapped and marched out.
Usually, I get depressed and take my business elsewhere. But tonight my friend wants to "come out". So, I guess I'll humor him.
Why? I don't know. I guess 'cause he's so sweet.

My Junky Roommate.

So, last night I met a really handsome guy laying on the concrete floor of Old Andy’s roach-infested apartment. The kid was of Mexican Indian descent and had smooth Aztec features, piercing green eyes, straight black hair, and a copper-smooth torso. He was leafing through a Mexican tabloid paper and introduced his name as Hector.

"Hey, howzit goin'?" I croaked, extending my hand in friendship.

Hector, it seemed, was just released from the Tijuana City Jail that afternoon. He sure smelled of unwashed bodies and sour feet. As I stared a gazeless glare down at his scrawny sprawled form, I wondered how attractive this young man was in a Diego Luna way.

Well, it seemed Hector had nowhere to stay, so out of the goodness of my heart, I invited Hector to stay in the small extra room in the back of my apartment. He agreed and followed me downstairs to my trap.

However, he invited some 40-ish whore along with him. She seemed to materialize out from the dark, musty shadows of Old Andy's apartment like a phantom ghost; black matted hair, sunken cheeks, red lips turned down in a permanent grimace with a cigarette hanging out. And really big floppy titties. Hector stared at her with the look of a lizard following the course of an ant. Can't curb the enthusiasm of a horny teenager, I guess.

 As we sat in the kitchen, the Whore clopped around preparing a late-night snack of cheese and tortillas. Hector and I gobbled them down with cans of ice-cold Tecate and spoke very little.

I occasionally glanced across the green Formica table at the young boy and had the bad urge of stroking the strand of black hair in front of his eyes. The old Whore farted and giggled to herself.

After eating, Hector said that he was tired and wanted to go to bed. I showed him his room and said goodnight. Not five minutes after I laid down, the bed springs in the other room were squeaking out a symphony and the old Whore began to sing opera for the next thirty minutes. Twice more, Hector banged the old broad as I lay in my room listening to the radio and toking on a joint.

I lay there in the heat, sheet clinging to my body like a wet condom envisioning Hector in bed with me. I would casually stroke my fingers up alongside his ribs, feeling with trembling fingers.

 As I heard Hector finally moan out in orgasm, I whispered, "Jesus Christ!" And turned up the radio. El Sirenita by Plastalina Mosh blared from the speakers.

The following morning, Hector was up early in the kitchen. I came in as he poured me a cup of coffee. The Whore was gone. I looked at Hector and we both smiled...his neck and shoulders were spotted with a mass of "monkey bites".

 "That whore really fucked ya good?" I asked.

"I haven't had sex in six months...I needed that." Hector said, lighting a cigarette from the gas stove.

"Well, as I said if you wanna live here you are more than welcome." My eyes flickered over his thin muscular frame with a ghostly white flash of lust.

At that moment there was a knock at my door. When I answered there was a kid standing there; he introduced himself as Carlos and he asked if he could speak to Hector. It seems that Old Andy told this Carlos where to find him. I invited him in and after some chit-chat; I found out that this was Hector's older brother. He resembled Hector very much, except for the macho mustache and thinning hair.

We all eased into Hector’s bedroom, littered with used Kleenex from the night’s previous fuck fest. Carlos promptly went to the armoire and pulled out a syringe, a foil of heroin, a blackened spoon, and a lighter. Hector sat on the bed like an immobile lizard and I stared in wonderment at the situation. I opened the drawer on the nightstand and pulled out a joint.

Carlos cooked down the shot and, looking in the mirror on the armoire, jabbed the syringe deep into his neck. Hissing through his teeth, Carlos pushed the plunger and the solution drained into his waiting veins. Muscles going slack and with a vacant look, he passed the needle over to his brother who did the same. Eyes rolling back and with a sigh of junky orgasm, Hector lay back on his bed and dreamed of dark and troubling things.

I sat there, legs crossed, sucking on that reefer so nasty.

Is there a difference between love and lust?

I have always wondered what the difference was between love and lust.
I mean, I was in love once...a long time ago.
For four years I was in bliss. Breakfast tasted good. I liked my clothes. I actually enjoyed the presence of other people. Then it went all to shit. We broke up, he went on to fuck in bathhouses and public parks and I went fucking insane. For ten years I traveled the world, meeting new faces, new cultures and you know I don't think I ever really recovered.
At first, especially during my time in Tijuana, Mexico, I degenerated into a sex junky. I would fuck anything and everything.
And then the drugs kicked in. Snorting meth, that wonderful habitual booger sugar, made things whirl at an even faster pace. And yet, I never seemed to find love.
Not like I had.
For a while, I worked at a twenty-four-hour porno theater by a navy base and I sunk down into my cockjunkie phase. I was sick in mind and body. And still, after all those nameless assholes, I still felt no love. Or at least it had eluded me. After seeing my grey-hazed friends die or become incarcerated, I hit the road.
El Paso, Texas. Norfolk, Nebraska. New York. New Orleans...Puerto Rico…Brazil…Peru. Where are they? Where are the ones that are meant for you? I continued to search all the way back to the dirty town of Tijuana and I stopped. I have thought about just waiting. And instead of looking for love, I will wait for it.
 
Two years later and I'm still waiting.