Bar full of conversation staler than its Chex Mix, collecting cobwebs and cumstains in the same Nicorette-laced breath.
Longing for a soundtrack much less appropriate and much more distorted.
Let them go deaf!
They're not listening to each other anyway.
They can GaGa-gag themselves with this shit.
Where is Fred Schneider when you need him?
Oh, masterful Fred, with so much gusto!
Where are you against all this vibrato?
The mahogany hums with so much grinding and so little fucking.
Anxious twitching causes palms to sweat rivers and crotches to bulge.
Why can't it get that hard when it's supposed to?
Dreams of one day being better paid than the vapid go-go dancer turned bartender who can barely spell gin let alone mix it.
I'm hip-tini to your scheme, mother fucker.
I want to stream my discontent the way queens upload their foibles.
Should have fucked that one.
Ended up fucking his friend.
Congratulations! You put one relationship light years out of reach by settling for an alternative: the one who said, "yes."
GOD DAMNIT, BOYS!
We can be monogamous, too.
Hell, we can even stay together.
We're not our parents.
We're fags.
But we can break the monotony of illustrious promiscuity.
We can love one.
Other than ourselves.
Not equally, but pretty damn close.
I'm about as interested in how many reps you did at the gym as I am in how many times my mother climaxed conceiving me.
(It was 3, by the way. We're tight.)
I will howl until someone hears my cry!
Not for my mother.
She got hers.
I want mine.
