dear Sam
(*click on Sam to link to the news if you aren't in Portland and don't know what I'm talking about.)
Oh dear. It's been a rough week. First of all, I'd like to start by saying Just Out can suck it. Whatever happened to solidarity, huh? The jerks.
Also I'd like to state for the record that Beau Breedlove is a hot beefy stud and I think every single Oregonian who sees his picture (with that charmingly receding hairline and that square jaw of his) probably gets a little warm feeling inside and things "well, of COURSE he slept with that guy! I'd like to sleep with that guy!" And with a name like Beau Breedlove... I mean, come on. We should all just be glad he's not a porn star. Because he could be.
But seriously Sam. What the fuck were you thinking? If you knew enough to know that they wouldn't believe "your version of the story" (i.e.: that you waited until Beau was legal before you pounded his sweet little behind), then you probably should've realized that waiting until he was 18 wasn't going to make one tiny bit of difference when the whole thing came to light. No, they probably don't believe you. My wife doesn't even believe you. I believe you, but that's hardly going to help.
Lying, of course, was an obvious instinct. I don't blame you. And christ, didn't we learn anything from Monica-gate? There are some questions we just shouldn't be asking and we shouldn't be expecting answers. Even a politician should be able to dip his stick here and there and (providing the receptacle had reached legal majority) John Q. Public should keep his nose out of it.
But we know that what SHOULD be isn't what is. You knew when that hot little stud-let began to oh-so-smoothly put the blast on you that this could only spell disaster. And that's why I believe "your version of the story." Because I feel I can relate. I can imagine the justifications that cruised through your mind as the temptation stood before you in all it's jailbait glory... "if I can just hang on a few more months it'll be mine! ALL MINE!!!"
Oh but even then you must have suspected that waiting wouldn't be enough. And it wasn't. And now you're all holed up at home and everybody's turning their backs on you, pretending to be outraged that you had the audacity to lie about your sex life. Give me a break. I'm sorry it's turning out this way, but I would like to give you a nice hard noogie for being so short-sighted. Though, no noogie from me could possibly compare to the beating you're probably giving yourself right now.
Oh Sam. Oh well.
Oh dear. It's been a rough week. First of all, I'd like to start by saying Just Out can suck it. Whatever happened to solidarity, huh? The jerks.
Also I'd like to state for the record that Beau Breedlove is a hot beefy stud and I think every single Oregonian who sees his picture (with that charmingly receding hairline and that square jaw of his) probably gets a little warm feeling inside and things "well, of COURSE he slept with that guy! I'd like to sleep with that guy!" And with a name like Beau Breedlove... I mean, come on. We should all just be glad he's not a porn star. Because he could be.
But seriously Sam. What the fuck were you thinking? If you knew enough to know that they wouldn't believe "your version of the story" (i.e.: that you waited until Beau was legal before you pounded his sweet little behind), then you probably should've realized that waiting until he was 18 wasn't going to make one tiny bit of difference when the whole thing came to light. No, they probably don't believe you. My wife doesn't even believe you. I believe you, but that's hardly going to help.
Lying, of course, was an obvious instinct. I don't blame you. And christ, didn't we learn anything from Monica-gate? There are some questions we just shouldn't be asking and we shouldn't be expecting answers. Even a politician should be able to dip his stick here and there and (providing the receptacle had reached legal majority) John Q. Public should keep his nose out of it.
But we know that what SHOULD be isn't what is. You knew when that hot little stud-let began to oh-so-smoothly put the blast on you that this could only spell disaster. And that's why I believe "your version of the story." Because I feel I can relate. I can imagine the justifications that cruised through your mind as the temptation stood before you in all it's jailbait glory... "if I can just hang on a few more months it'll be mine! ALL MINE!!!"
Oh but even then you must have suspected that waiting wouldn't be enough. And it wasn't. And now you're all holed up at home and everybody's turning their backs on you, pretending to be outraged that you had the audacity to lie about your sex life. Give me a break. I'm sorry it's turning out this way, but I would like to give you a nice hard noogie for being so short-sighted. Though, no noogie from me could possibly compare to the beating you're probably giving yourself right now.
Oh Sam. Oh well.
posted by reasonably prudent poet at 8:26 AM
1 Comments:
oh, we got this story in our news here. i remember it cause i snickered that his name was sam adams, like the beer.
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