The Mexican and I hosted our very own little Oscar party at the weekend. I mean we’re not even gay or anything, but we condone anyone who wants a little glitz in their life. Plus we like any excuse to invite over some half wasted ladies in cocktail dresses. So we dressed up, conjured up some hors d’oevres and had a fun night of drunken gaiety and eating olives out of ladies’ cleavages.
It was kind of fun watching all the fine, fine Hollywood ladies (with the emphasis firmly on “wood”) in their sparkly gowns. I got sort of a kick out of it, to be truthful. There ain’t no shame in it. My ma always used to tell me there was a gay man inside me trying to get out, which I always found a little alarming, especially since I had a bowel problem at the time and was having trouble sitting down comfortably. There ain’t nothing wrong with being a ‘mo, you dig, I have some ‘mo friends who’re really fricking awesome dudes and not once has one of them tried to touch my fleshy pipe!
Well except that one time. And I had over-indulged in the Beefeater gin sours and in the dim light I thought he totally was a lady. It can happen to anyone. I, the Spunk, am 100 percent lady-lovin’ hetero. So I have a Liberace album or three. So what if I have a splendid mustache? I am secure in my manliness. I can embrace my feminine side.
Anyway, the Captain got a little rigid when he saw that Sarah Jessica Parker chick. This is the first time that’s happened and truthfully, I was a little concerned because that chick truly looks like a horse. Then I noticed the reason for the Captain’s excitement. That chick was only one small stumble on her high heels away from liberating the mamorial twins from their bustier. The Captain can sense these things you know.
So yeah, hope y’all had a fine weekend with lots of sexy times. Y’all stay fabulous now.