Glen

Glen, you're an idiot! Please picture me pointing my non-manicured finger at you while I say it. You claim to be me, yet your post has you, Glen, the gregarious gay man with the one-testicle dog named Mr. Peepers, as the writer.

It is obvious our fan(s) know you wrote that last post, and it is quite the eye opener, not for whom you CLAIMED it was for and by, but for the utter transparency of the lonely call for help and acceptance by and for your gay self.

Cry all you want, it is falling on deaf ears, for no one wants to hear the insane and inane ramblings of a 43 year old queer that lives in his mom's basement playing pong and listening to Mac Davis records while viewing his Farrah Fawcett and Liberace posters one-handed.

You sit there, with your neatly coiffed and colored hair, surrounded by shag carpeting, black lights, and a hooka wondering what went wrong. Perhaps your lapels are too big on that light blue tuxedo you've owned since 1973, but who really knows?

I guess you're still humming that Village People song you started singing this morning in the car. I, on the other hand, am hearing "The Girl from Ipanema" in my head, so just keep flapping your lips...or fingers...or whatever it is you flap because I'm not listening....ASS!