Tales From Queer Gaza

The most queer, most terrible thing happened to Golden Boy. Set upon by Muslim extremist in the hood that envy his Mercedes, they sent him a queer Christian who happened have a hot bod and good looks. The only crack in his perfection was that he was crazy as all hell, but of course if you're a jihad Muslim warrior, what else would you send? They are so very devious.

The squeeze liked to pray a lot. That's strange in itself, unless of course you're gay and praying to get laid, I've done that myself. But this dude prayed for any reason, like if you're in line at the grocery store and decide you want to go to New York, so you pray not to leave the line and go. Break a dish in the kitchen, pray to have it fixed. It was the perfect setup, Golden Boy likes to pray too only not all the time.

You see this way the squeeze would slowly drive Golden Boy to pull his hair out, gain weight and watch Lucy sit-coms. He would be transformed into a house-mouse and that would be the end of Golden Boy. Then Golden Boy would no longer need a Mercedes and the jihad Muslims would ply him with a trade for a donkey cart. With Golden Boy's moral so low that he would take the bait.

But that didn't happen. Golden Boy saw through the plot. Especially since the plant, being an extreme Muslim Holy Warrior in disguise as a Queer Christian started to rant and rave. Once foaming at the mouth occurred, Golden Boy said, "Adios mother-fucker."

Golden Boy has once again been saved from Muslim extremist but what awaits him next? I'm sure the Muslims in the hood are not finished yet.  They keep at it like a lemmings jumping off a cliff.

Tales From Queer Gaza. Batter Up.

Baseball is here and with it comes dogs and beer. There is something about a beer with a dog, in bun, slathered with mustard and a scoop of kraut on top. Or  chili with mustard and onion. Or mayonnaise, just mayo, and dog on a steam bun. Then there is cheese with a variety of toppings it just goes on. And I get the really good dogs, no nitrates or preservatives, uncured with natural seasoning and wood smoke. They are so good.

So you have your game, a nice ice-cold beer and, on a plate, some slaw and a dog. The game begins and the batter is flicking his bat like a nervous scorpion, waiting for the right pitch. It may come now or later but the waiting game begins and there you are chewing on a dog with cold beer to wash it down.

Then Mom comes in, "Can I use your computer?"

"Sure," I say, "Do you need help turning it on?"

"No, I can do it."

Only she can't do it, she can't do shit because she is such a ditz. So right when there is a base hit, two out and a batter up, she of course asks for help. No help needed between innings, shit no, but come something that might change the score, the bitch is in need.

"Here, push this button in the back, and wait for the screen to come up."

"I'm going to make the reservation for House of Blues."

"Okay."

Mexican Monkey's wife is performing Wednesday night at the House of Blues. We're suppose to have dinner there and then see her concert.

"I sent you an e-mail confirming the reservations,"

"Okay."

The batter is out and now there is a break, I'm going to the kitchen for a dog and ask Mom if she wants one.

"No, I'm not hungry, and I can't eat bread."

"You can have a dog without a bun. There all natural, no preservatives, and they are really good."

"No. I'm not hungry."

I fix the dog, fill the glass with more beer and go back to see the next inning.  Right when they have a man on base and no outs, Mom asks, "Do you have coffee?"

"What's left is in the thermos, help yourself."

"Can I use this cup?" She stands at the doorway with a coffee cup.

"Sure, I don't care." What does the bitch think a coffee cup is for?

"Do you have Splenda?"

"Yes, it's in the cupboard by the stove."

Now there are two men on base and one out, the batter has two strikes and three balls.

"I can't find it."

"I'll be there in a sec."

"Don't get up. What cupboard did you say?"

"The one by the stove."

"There are just pots and pans,"

"Look at the top one."

"Oh, above the counter."

"Yes, that one."

"I don't see it."

"I'll be there in a sec,"

"Never mind, I don't want coffee anyway."

"Fine. "

"Do you have Crystal Light?"

"In the fridge, at the bottom in the pitcher."

The batter hits the ball and I hear a crash in the kitchen.

"I'll clean it up. Do you have a mop?"

Okay, now I'm going to have to go to the garage for the bloody mop. I can't fucking wait to get the damn thing or Mom will have half the kitchen torn up. I get the mop, help with clean up and get her a fucking drink.

When I'm back, the dog is cold, the beer warm and there was a home run I missed.

Baseball season has arrived. Mom made the reservations for the wrong day at House of Blues and everything is back to normal here in Queer Gaza.

Tales From Queer Gaza

The other day, Burka Bitch came out of Little Iran with the new baby. It's not the mom of the baby, Burka Bitch stays in the garage and makes bombs. She had the kid with her, wrapped up. Now here's one of the strange parts. She didn't walk on the sidewalk. Nope, she walked on the parkway where all the dog shit is and it wasn't just our parkway, she walked on everyone's parkway rather than the sidewalk.

Okay, if that's what Burka Bitch wants to do fine, but why? What the fuck is wrong with the sidewalk? Maybe when you wrap yourself in shrouds to hide your face and body, you're required to walk only on grass and dog shit. She had shoes on from what I could see. Maybe it's her long hours building bombs that has made her edgy around hard surfaces. Drop a bomb on cement and I guess it goes off. On the grass, not so bad, maybe it will explode, maybe not. Anyway, the kid got out of the house to see the hood. Although I don't know what he saw, he looked asleep to me.

The handyman was over to put in an electric box in the hall closet. Golden Boy has wires going every where in his room. He wants the T.V. where there is no outlet so I have to re-wire the damn place. When the handyman went under the house he found a pool of water. It is suppose to be dry as a bone. He said the pipe from the toilet wasn't connected. So all the fuckin' waste has been going under the house. He's the only fuckin' handyman we have but he says it wasn't him that didn't glue the PVC pipe when he put in the toilet. Okay, no one around here admits guilt to anything, I'm use to that. But let's get the damn pipe fix. It did and hopefully the lake under the house will dry up in a few months.