Tales From Queer Gaza/ Golden Boy In Peril

He can't help himself, he just shines. Golden Boy reads his lines better, acts better and just is better than the other Jew on a stick. You see, it's three Jews nailed on a wood beam. Not all on the same beam, they all have their own.

Now, first thing, how do you have an intelligent conversation if you're nailed by your hands and feet? You see, you can't talk very well, all your weight is pulling on your arms as you die, and the more pull the less you breath. Try it. I mean not nail yourself but hang on something and see how long you're able to. Not real long and besides the incredible pain, you're stuck on a stick of wood. And you want to talk about paradise? Please, I would be screaming for help, yes, if I could scream but I doubt that.

Anyway, they're nailed and one thinks he going to happy-hour-forever-lounge and the other, not so much. Golden Boy is the other. And of course his lines are better, they're more believable for one. And they are difficult lines, nothing intriguing like, "Got a light Mac?" But that's okay, he still does great lines and the other guy? So sad.  "You mean we're all gonna fly out of here to Pair-a-dice? Yeah!

See what I mean, it's not his fault but the Farsi, well that's another thing. The fucker is going to sell Golden Boy to the fuckin' Farsi. Because when a Farsi sees a Mercedes, their dick gets hard. Now here's Golden Boy's dilemma--he's out to lunch. He's going to be the star of the show, who wouldn't love him? Well, the asshole you're stealing all the good lines from and let's face it, even if he had good lines it still wouldn't come out the way it should. But envy knows no mercy. Once this queen stands there, or rather nailed there, and they start throwing fruit at him, he's gonna go right to the Farsi and tell them about Golden Boy's Mercedes. That's when the shit is gonna hit the fan.

We'll have to be on extra alert here in Queer Gaza. Extra Alert. And I have authorized the hummingbirds, I feed them enough, to keep a look out. Hummingbirds hate Farsi because they have a dish that calls for hummingbird tongues, imagine. And they love to check everything out, the hummingbirds. "If you guys see a Farsi hanging around Golden Boy's Mercedes, let me know. There might be extra nectar in it for you."

Tales From Queer Gaza, Golden Boy Nailed.

He's not playing the major role. Not the role of the gardener of Gethsemane, Je'sus, who was swept up in a raid of illegals. Not him, but one of the other guys Je'sus met in a Jerusalem cell. They were talking shit about the government and the next thing wind up nailed to a crossbeam. Fucking nailed and Je'sus, tells them he'll see them in paradise. They're freaked, I mean who wouldn't be, because the other dude, not Golden Boy, thinks Je'sus has a plan to get them un-nailed and off to Vegas for some shows and a bit of gambling.

Golden Boy plays the part of the other poor jerk that's nailed and when they were back in prison, didn't do shit except ask if they had a joint. Than wham, there's the guards busting them and some carpentry work, only they're the ones getting nailed. He ain't going for it. Fuck no.
He has great lines too. I mean, here's this dude freaked out thinking there going to Vegas and a gardener who's taking them. "Yeah right," that's his answer. Great isn't it? And the way he says it, sort of a mix between Marlon Brando and Brad Pitt.

Anyway, this puts Golden Boy in a very precarious position. Muslims love a good nailing, in fact, why not make a bomb and fill it full of nails! That's their idea of a good time. But they don't know Golden Boy's star performance and much less care it's going to be in a major queer church. Muslims would bomb a queer church sure, but not go in one. 

There is a rat being nailed too. The, "Oh, that's so cool, we're going to Pair-a-dice guy, he thinks he should get top billing. Fuck the gardener, what kind of role is that? He's the one that doesn't think Je'sus is crazy but would really like to get off the beam and on to Vegas. That's how dumb this guy is, yet, besides blond, he hates Golden Boy. Jealousy eats him like a bad burrito and he would like nothing better than to get rid of Golden Boy pronto. Everyone will be looking at Golden Boy's tall, swarthy, good looks at the Mega-Queer Church Of Perpetual Indulgence. 

What will become of Golden Boy? Will he get to the church on time? Next Tales From Queer Gaza.

The Iranian Invasion Of The Hood Puts Golden Boy In Jeopardyy

During our break for coffee at the Corner Bakery, filled with rude, Middle Eastern jihadists, I was forced to sit with Hateful Jew and his wife. Hateful Jew keeps telling me how he wants to kill all Germans for what they did during the Nazi regime. He actually wants to nuke Germany today. Never mind that almost everyone is dead from that era, that there is more of a problem with Nazis in our country than in Germany, Hateful Jew wants to kill Germans. Why he tells me this I have no idea except that I'm from German descent. My grandparents spoke German, they were good people too.

He just doesn't get it and yet sits there and tells me he wished I was dead. All my ancestors dead and if the cat came from Germany, it must die. To want to nuke an entire country for something, most alive Germans, didn't do, is fucked up. I've had enough of Hateful Jew and his wife, the Realtor.

Realtor is always business, it's always about where you live that matters to her. We live in an old white, Post WWII village. Most everyone fled to better places but we stayed, we had to. It's not bad really, the hood is changing, but it is diffidently going Middle East fucking fast. Realtor said so. Told me, while forced to sit next to her husband because Mickey, took the chair next and left me rubbing elbows with Hateful Jew. And I'm really ignoring the bastard. What I want to do is get up and find another table and really should have in retrospect.

"Your neighborhood is Persian," she announces once getting my attention.

"Yeah, I know, I call us the Gaza Strip."

She looks puzzled, "Why's that?"

"Well, we have Jews from Israel on one side, and Iranians on the other. So we're the Gaza Strip."

She didn't get it. The Palestinians aren't really wanted anywhere. Forced from homes they once owned, from livelihoods and left, like we did to the American Indians, the worse of lands. They are diverse with Christian and Muslim belief, they are the queers of the Middle East. Tolerated to a point but no one wants them and they have a country, if you want to call it that, I can't call it that, it's the most ridiculous, dysfunctional boundary for a country that it is hard to justify it as such.

It was intolerable. These smug fucking assholes that live in the hills overlooking the valley with their fucking rich banter and I was left there with them. Mickey had to get back almost right after we sat down. So it's confirmed by the Valley Realtor Society, Iranians are moving in by the ton in our hood.

Little Iran likes to fly an Iranian flag now and then. Not a good idea but no one seems to have taken offense except for his neighbor across the street. I haven't seen it, must be on the other side of their house, must be a small fucking flag but hey, I fly an American Flag on certain days and sometimes for the hell of it. So what the fuck, fly your fucking flag if it makes your day, it sometimes makes mine.

And they all like cars, these Middle Easterns. They like expensive cars. Cars that have a price tag, like Golden Boy's car. It's a pre-owned Mercedes. Not a fucking used Mercedes but owned at one time by someone who's asshole was sworn to never touch the leather seats, so it's pre-owned.  

The Mercedes will be in the driveway. The pre-owned, black expensive car will be prominently displayed at the Gaza Strip. The queers have money, at least they'll think so and that's where Golden Boy has to be watched. In his innocence, his naive way of navigating troubled waters, could be easily captured by Iranian Jihadists, and, once captured, made a dancing boy for the Jihad Party Boys under the constant influence of Drag Queen and Trans, we might never see him again and our little kingdom would be sad and suffer a great loss for Golden Boy is our hope of a better future. What peril is Golden Boy going to face? Wait and read all about, Tales From Queer Gaza. 

 

Mom & Her Proclivities

She is on a quest to lose weight and get in shape for a century ride at the end of April. Mom also has a cold, or is coming down with one and is intent on infecting everyone she knows. I called to see if she was coming out to ride, the weather will be perfect but when she answered, it sounded like the house of plague.

"If you have a cold, or think you do, with your coughing spell, please don't come over. Please." I'm upset, Wally had just got over a cold and life here wasn't fun with his dementia AND the cold.

"I'm fine, hack-hack-cough-cough. Just fine. Don't worry about me."

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried you could give us your cold. Please don't come over, I can't deal with it if Wally gets sick again."

"I'm fine, hack-hack-cough-cough."

The bitch doesn't listen, which is why five hundred abused women all have this in common. They don't listen. And she thinks she is such a giving person, "Oh, I'll sacrifice myself so you can go to the bike race." She actually said that word for word. She'll watch Wally, yeah right, once she has her nails done and a face peel.

Saturday she came over, hacking, she rode from West L.A. over the pass and didn't want to eat anything before riding further. That would have meant we would have to stop along the rode while she ate a power bar. Nothing like standing next to the road inhaling gas fumes because her sugar level dropped.

"Look, why not eat one blueberry waffle, I make them really good." I do, they have been perfected. Hint, use buttermilk and than thin with milk, don't have a thick batter but thin, they come out light and crunchy and so fucking good.

She ate one. No maple syrup (real), no butter. Fine bitch, at least we won't be stopping for you to munch on road kill.

She is something else, and too bad the bitch has a cold because the weather is just fucking unreal. Got a variety of lettuces planted after tilling the soil and adding the chicken compost the girls make. The garden is looking good and it isn't spring, officially, just yet.

Well, lets see if the bitch shows up. Mom with her self destruct button stuck on go and looking to take someone down with her. The usual family shit going on. 

The Temple For Golden Boy

The first obstacle was to clear the area for the temple. Filled with debris from temples to writing, temples to cycling, and temples of lost hope.  At the time I bought the cowboy hats for dressing up to do the two step at the Rawhide, it seemed perfectly logical. Had to have two, one black the other tan. The tan one is the best. They sat in the closet now for a good ten years, after I met Wally and moved on to other things. Now, the hats are nothing more than a lost cause, a dream of yesterday and they make me sad in some respects because I yearn for the better days we once had.

Three desks, one an oak roll top five feet long, four chairs, writing books, book shelves, computer crap of all ages and sizes, (I did get rid of actual floppies (they really flopped) from long ago.  Pictures, large small, in boxes, bundles and laying about, most tossed, others needed a new temple someplace else.

Than there was Millie. The room is where she grew up, it's where she ate her meals as a kitten, had water, took a shit. I mean that's personal territory there and it's where she sat with me for hours at a time while I wrote. She had a cat tree at the window to look out at the backyard. Millie did not take well to being evicted. She's accepted better now, I have her food bowl in the den where I now write and she likes to curl up in the sofa chair near me and nap while I work. She is so sweet except she wants to destroy hula-man, a figurine of a guy with a ukulele in a cheap green hula skirt (there is nothing under the skirt, in fact he has been mutilated by springs for legs so he can hula. What some figurines will do for fame).

I don't miss the old room, I had a corner with no view, Wally had the window view but he's stopped being interested in computing some time ago. And it's nice, here in the den. I have a view of the front and back yards. Wally can sit with me and so can Millie. We spend far more time here than we ever did watching TV.

And there will be life, once again, in the house and in our lives. Golden Boy is handsome, smart and young, the opposite of us. I'll have a bit of company, life should be better for us all, I hope. And with the invasion of the Middle East into our hood, it's nice to have another native here when the scuds go flying by.

The temple turned out pretty nice too. New wood floor, A.C, closet space improved, and a fan that, I hope, will be the final touch. The fan has been a real problem, but with an electrician, I hope to have it up in the next day or so. Unless an Iranian scud comes zooming in.

Where Did Dafney Go?

I found out where, into the spam folder. He use to send me jokes. Then, one day I started getting all kinds of mail from him. Those strange emails with little one liners they want you to click on so you can have your computer infected too. I didn't and, I guess, put his e-mail in the spam folder. That's where I found it after all these years wondering why I wasn't getting his e-mail.

I'm not sure though if it is a good idea to have him back. The jokes are really lame. In fact terrible, as is his sense of humor. He's from Staten Island, they are very strange people that come from there. First off he still has his Staten Island dialect. It was as if he just got off the ferry from Staten Island and he hasn't been to the mother country in over fifty years.

An invasion of sorts, just like what's going on here. The Middle East is taking over here. Doesn't bother me really except for the scud missiles they throw at each other. And I have never heard so many fireworks. There is always fireworks going off at anytime in the night. Not next to me though, Little Iran and Little Israel are too fucking cheap for lighting up a sparkler but somewhere, close by, are fireworks in the middle of winter, spring or July, it doesn't matter. Probably to celebrate another Muslim victory somewhere on the planet.

So, I'm waiting for the first dud joke and in the mean time, the grapes are just beginning to bud out. The garlic is growing fast as well as the onions and beets. I think the apple tree is coming to life from its bare root start. I'm hoping so.

Weird News From Little Iran

There's a knock at the door and it's a woman with a baby. At first I didn't recognize her but than realized it was the wife of the Greeter from Little Iran. She wanted to show me her baby born eight days earlier. Cute little bugger, and I told her so and how nice the kid look, of course they all look strange at that age but it wasn't until I shut the door and got over the shock that she had a baby when I realized that at no time did I see her pregnant.

I saw her a few weeks ago, she was thin, not puffed out with a belly full of baby and now there is this full set of hair kid in her arms. How did she do it? I think the rug-rat she's showing to the neighbors is to make everyone think she has been pregnant. She wasn't anymore pregnant than I am.  In fact, I look more pregnant than she ever did, if she was pregnant. It's a boy. A kidnapped boy who, I'm sure, will be trained in Jihad.

Golden Boy is preparing to move in. His room is ready anytime he is, and he said he would put the fan up tomorrow. It's a nice fan too, the old one went belly up that I installed in 85, the year of his birth. Gad, it will be like having a teenager live here and I'm thankful. The house will be full of life once again with someone to talk with, I hope.

Of course, what does an old geezer have to talk about to a young guy? Not much, I don't think but  I'll think of something to say, I usually do. The room looks nice too. Navy blue with white. Got the A/C in, the closet redone for lots of clothes. He wants to bring his boyfriends over. I think it's great.

Strange about Little Iran and the baby, very,very strange.