WARNING: The following entry takes on the current political climate, particularly the current gay political climate. If you’re hyper-sensitive, easily offended and pissed off by what follows, please link to it, express your outrage, and spread it around as much as possible. I’m a traffic whore, thanks.

What kind of gay man would admit to being a Bush supporter?

Besides the obvious heterosexual overtones of the question (bush? Yikes!), I just don’t get how someone who sucks dick and loves to be with other men can get with G.W. Now, I’m not talking about Log Cabin Republicans or Republican-leaning gay men. That’s a completely different subject. I’m talking about gay men specifically, who in 2004, in five short days, will enter a voting booth and knowingly (I’m not counting Floridians here) select George Bush as the next President of the United States and feel proud about and support this decision.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

That’s more of a rhetorical question. I know the answer, and we’ll get to that in a second.

First, some personal background: I’m not a Democrat. I’m not a Republican. I don’t have any special affinity toward John Kerry, except that as an Army veteran who served in the first Gulf War (you remember…the one Bush Sr. stopped before we could take out Sadaam? Yeah, that one), I can share the outrage as some fucking AIR FORCE RESERVIST who did nothing but show up (allegedly) for his yearly physical attacks a war hero’s record. If anything, I could be classified as a Libertarian, minus the crazy paranoia and aluminum foil chapeau. I believe the government should be mostly administrative in nature. But even then, I’m not a Libertarian in the purest sense, since I still believe in some social government programs. Okay, I’m a flip flopper. How’s that?

But Bush? Really?

I’ve had some experience with gay male Bush boosters. At this point, I suggest putting on your raincoat, an old painter’s cap and some old shoes, ‘cuz this is where I start slinging my gross generalization brush around, and there’s bound to be some ancillary splatter.

These guys tend to be real pieces of work. You’ve seen ‘em in real life and read their profiles on Bigmuscle.com. You gay fellas know exactly what I’m talking about. Their profiles read thusly:

Hey, dudes. Masculine guy’s guy here into other men ONLY. Sorry, not into boys, bois, boyz or femmy types. Just not my thing, man. Into sports, lifting, jock type things. Straight-acting only, not into the gay scene. I know I’m an exception in the gay world, but I’m hoping to find that one special guy who understands where I’m coming from.

BUSH 2004

These profiles are invariably accompanied by pics of the author on a gay cruise or shirtless on the dancefloor of a circuit party, all with his head cut off or face blurred. Way to stand up for your convictions, Mary!

Gay Bush supporters whine and whine about how they’re an anomaly in the gay community, yet a cursory glance at gay.com or other hookup sites puts this in perspective. There seem to be quite a few of you loners out there, all searching for that one special guy to share their lives with. Yet they seem to have 1,028 “buddies” and several pics of them with other couples, inferring three-way relationships with guys who have “the biggest hearts on Bigmuscle”. Yeah, that’s it, big…hearts.

Gay Bush supporters complain about how gay life seems to be centered around bars, circuit parties, parades, leather, drag queens, blah blah woof woof. These complaints are situated next to pics of themselves in leather drag at the annual White Party Parade. Just that once. Honest.

I keed, I keed.

What’s irrefutable though, is that every Gay Bush supporter I’ve bagged is awful in bed. Just the worst. They’re so worked up about their butts and oral that you’re reduced to frottage or jacking off together. BuhRING a book! I’m certain most of these guys have a Matthew Rush Sculpted Dildo in their nightstand drawer which only sees the light of day during their most desperate hour, only to be put away after its use accompanied by the pained sobbing of its owner, crying not for the pain in his butt, but for his self-loathing soul.

So, what draws this type of man towards Bush? The same type of elitist hubris that draws many individualistic types towards Dizzee Rascal as opposed to Eminem, to Modest Mouse as opposed to Matchbox 20…the desire to stand out from the norm and be unique, i.e. not “gay” like everyone else. What better way to show fags that you’re not as faggy as they are by supporting someone who hates everything about fags? As an aging, jaded hipster doofus, I sort of understand this line of thinking. To quote Sam Kinison, I don’t condone it...but I understand it.

A few weeks ago, a friend asked me if I would like to go to dinner with him and a gay couple he’d been hanging out with for a month or so. They had just moved to town and were trying to make friends, a situation I’m more than familiar with. We all met at Hamburger Mary’s and it wasn’t ten minutes into our dinner that the awkward fun began. They were your prototypical gay muscle couple, all crewcuts, steroids and overly tight t-shirts tucked into overly tight jeans (sans belts). One was quiet, sorta shy yet still friendly and good to be around. The other was a fucking nightmare, rude, loud, complaining about everything from where we were eating, to the food, to the paper stock used for the napkins. He dominated the entire evening, talking about his Harley and his other cycle, this one being a cycle of test and deca. He moaned about gay bars and how awful they were in DC, Seattle, Fort Lauderdale, Chicago, San Francisco, and now, Los Angeles. See, he hated gay bars and I’m guessing he was making sure of his feelings by visiting every single one worldwide so he could speak with authority. He complained about how everyone on the gay cruise he and his husband just came off of were all into circuit parties and gay events. He vented on how John Kerry was a fraud, a fake, how Bush is the only person who could protect our country, and how he hated that being gay meant being automatically branded a liberal. I bit my lip and failed to remind him that 99% of Americans may look upon gay clubbing, cruises and sucking dick as somewhat to the left of the norm.

But the kicker was that this “typical gay lifestyle”-despising guy moved from the east coast to Venice with his boyfriend to enter into a decidedly non-traditional three-way relationship with another man. After giving up their house, their jobs and settling in, Bush supporter and Venice guy decide to cut out the nice, shy, now-unneeded third party. Nice, shy guy moves to Long Beach, sets himself up nicely and shyly, and decides to move on after being screwed. Of course, after two weeks, Venice guy dumps Bush supporter, and Bush supporter comes running back to nice, shy guy who takes him back. It was after learning this that Bush supporter reveals to us at dinner that he’s against gay marriage.

Well, of course he is. He hardly has anything resembling marriage in the first place. It was this declaration of his that made me realize this hardline, right-wing, proud Bush supporter is just about the most liberal man I’ve ever met. At least much more liberal than I ever have been, based on what he’s done. To wit:

• He attends several circuit parties.
• He goes on gay cruises.
• He’s been involved in a three-way relationship.
• Judging from his steroid use, he has a very liberal view of drug abuse.

Reviewing this, it sure makes being a Bush booster look like a load of fun! But, never fear. I have a solution to all this election era hand-wringing that satisfies everyone and gets our country back on course. Gay Bush supporters, take heed: Come November 2nd, in the curtained privacy of your voting booth, no matter how hurt, offended, or angry you feel about gays, liberals, the economy, the war, whatever, please, please, please vote for John Kerry anyway.

Now, why would you want to do that? Easy. By voting for Kerry, you ensure the continuation of equal rights for gays & lesbians, not to mention the continuation of the planet revolving and not being reduced to nuclear ash. But wait, there’s something in it for you as well! By secretly helping Kerry win, you ensure your martyr status as a persecuted, misunderstood Gay Bush supporter for four more years! Just imagine…four wonderful years you can walk around scowling, bitter and snarling - and this time FOR A REASON! I mean, your man lost! That’ll be some serious Jesus On the Cross time for you. And with the magic of secret balloting, no one will ever know you actually voted for Kerry! You can lie, lie, lie, just like your true hero. See? Everyone wins.

Now, get out there on Tuesday and do the right thing - show everyone how much you love Bush by voting Kerry!

What is it that compels people in my office to come to me to complain about any and everything in their lives? I'm not talking about subordinates with work/personal issues...I'm talking about other directors, VPs, managers, you name it, talking about their weekend, their car trouble, the mall, traffic, weather, whatever. I don't mind small talk in the morning, but this goes on...ALL. DAY. Apparently, we need some layoffs here.

I'm not a good listener when it comes to people I work with complaining about non-work related issues. I'm not particularly friendly at work. In fact, sometimes I'm downright rude, looking at my monitor, continuing to type, not responding at all as they drone on and on about some fucked up project, some stupid meeting, an irate phone call they had to field, whatever.

I mean, look at me. Bald, tattooed, burly and scary. For Christ's sake, I even had a pierced eyebrow until May of this year. You people should fear me, not Dear Abby me on an hourly basis. And yet, still they come. Especially the women.

If I came and talked to me and I ignored me the way I ignored these people, I'd think I was an asshole and never bother again. Why can't these people take the same initiative?

Let's make this really simple. If you work with me, I hate you. Easy!

And quit asking me to go to lunch with you, god damn it.

Serena this entry is dedicated to you, for you know my pain.

Feeling the urge to pry myself up from the couch and actually do, like, you know, stuff this weekend, I took Friday off from work and headed south to my old stomping grounds, San Diego, to visit friends and see how the old town is doing. The verdict? The only difference I could spot after two years of being away is that the old Jack in the Box on University in Hillcrest, which was formerly a favorite for crackheads and bums, has been reimaged as “JBX”, as in Jack in the Box EXTREME!

How very Tom Green/1998.

Actually, it’s a fairly impressive building, all rusted metal and aluminum, with earthy-colored walls and a very industrial feel. The only problem from a consumer standpoint is that standing outside of it, you’d have no idea what the building WAS since the only outside signage reads “JBX”. That’s it. No menus, no window signage, nothing. The Creative Director in me loves it, the Marketing Director in me hates it. It needs something to lure potential e-coli recipients in.

But enough shop talk! Let’s get to the dick!

Well, there wasn’t any. I just hung out with my friend Jimmy all day, watching the new SCTV box set and laughing my ass off at quite a few shows I hadn’t seen since they originally aired in 1981, plus a few I had never seen (Bill Needle may be my current new favorite SCTV character). Yes, I drove 100 miles south to watch TV on a different couch. For some reason at this point in my life, that was much more fulfilling than going to Bourbon Street and tricking with my favorite bartender. (You may submit your guesses in the comments below.)

Saturday, I went to work out at my old gym, 24 Hour Fitness in Hillcrest, and no joke, the same people were there that I last saw there two years ago. I was bigger of course. Nyah.

Saturday afternoon, I drove back to Long Beach in time to catch Matty/Bearlinda and the Gay –Gays play at Ripples for Raphael’s 30th birthday party. The band was a lot tighter than the last time I saw them and Matty sounded really good. I also got to be part of the show, playing the Go-Go’s first bass player, Margot, who got tossed from the band after a drunken rampage onstage where she berated the crowd to find her missing purse. My job was to recreate this event, screaming “Where’s my purse??!!?” over and over again, until someone in the crowd found the hidden purse, full of prizes, natch.

Very inside and it kind of went over like a lead balloon, but I played it MST3K style…the “right” people will get it.

Doing stuff is fun. I recommend it every once in awhile. For now, back to the couch.