Marc
What I'd Like To Say
The Fast Brothers know how to get down. In my book, they's is aces, for schnizzy. Scooter and myself took a trip up to Matt's pad on Friday night to meet up with said bros, and headed out to two bars where we all proceeded to get absolutely shitfaced drunk. And I'm talking the good-kind of drunk where you're happy, you're (somewhat) coherent (in the sense that you can carry on conversations with people, though they tend to be rambling and sporadicly spaced out over the course of hours), you're (by the end of the night) dancing, you're pushing people into oncoming traffic, and you're laughing about it as you take him (re: Matt) inside to buy him a (reconciliation) burrito, etc.
I woke up, true to fashion, the next morning on Matt's couch with Matt's testicles and manhood dangling only (what seemed like) inches away. His girlfriend (who is also aces) was laughing from the bedroom as Matt proceeded to wildly, and very much nakedly, dance about the living room that myself and Scooter were attempting to sleep in. It was unbearably disgusting, yet oddly comforting all at the same time. I think that, inadvertently, by seeing Matt naked so often my (what I hope were miniscule) homophobia levels have decreased dramatically.
See, I come from a town that's not so far away from the city, yet very much filled with hicks. And, by Thanksgiving night's close, I was at a friend's relatives (young married couple, to let you know for demographic's purposes) discussing all kinds of things from religion, to retail jobs during the holidays, to racism, to black holes, and on and on. One of those great conversations that never seems to end completely. It just gets too late, and people are too tired to actually come to any point, so everyone, by default, ends up being right about whatever point they were arguing on whatever topic. Anyways, we're talking, and everyone starts telling stories about people they know from the area that have expressed unsavory, I guess is the best word to use, views on people of opposite races or sexual leanings or whatever. Including myself, who found out just two months ago that my childhood babysitter (the one I somehow idealized over the course of the last 14 years or so) was a staunch racist who wants her daughter to move out of a neighborhood that's being run over by "n_____s". Sad. Totally, disgustingly sad to me.
So, at one point the topic turns to being gay, or homosexuality, or something akin, and someone says something about naked dudes and how he can't stand even looking at them at all, and all I can think of is, "How many hundreds upon hundreds of times have I seen Matt Fast naked?" I said it out loud, too. The only human body that I currently have a problem with is my own, and it's entirely my fault. I've seen so many naked guys, it seems, over the course of the past four years or so that I think I've finally realized that almost nothing will shock me.
Wow. How did this end up at this point? I better stop and go to bed. Damned lazy Sundays. Making me think too hard.
What I'd Like To Say
The Fast Brothers know how to get down. In my book, they's is aces, for schnizzy. Scooter and myself took a trip up to Matt's pad on Friday night to meet up with said bros, and headed out to two bars where we all proceeded to get absolutely shitfaced drunk. And I'm talking the good-kind of drunk where you're happy, you're (somewhat) coherent (in the sense that you can carry on conversations with people, though they tend to be rambling and sporadicly spaced out over the course of hours), you're (by the end of the night) dancing, you're pushing people into oncoming traffic, and you're laughing about it as you take him (re: Matt) inside to buy him a (reconciliation) burrito, etc.
I woke up, true to fashion, the next morning on Matt's couch with Matt's testicles and manhood dangling only (what seemed like) inches away. His girlfriend (who is also aces) was laughing from the bedroom as Matt proceeded to wildly, and very much nakedly, dance about the living room that myself and Scooter were attempting to sleep in. It was unbearably disgusting, yet oddly comforting all at the same time. I think that, inadvertently, by seeing Matt naked so often my (what I hope were miniscule) homophobia levels have decreased dramatically.
See, I come from a town that's not so far away from the city, yet very much filled with hicks. And, by Thanksgiving night's close, I was at a friend's relatives (young married couple, to let you know for demographic's purposes) discussing all kinds of things from religion, to retail jobs during the holidays, to racism, to black holes, and on and on. One of those great conversations that never seems to end completely. It just gets too late, and people are too tired to actually come to any point, so everyone, by default, ends up being right about whatever point they were arguing on whatever topic. Anyways, we're talking, and everyone starts telling stories about people they know from the area that have expressed unsavory, I guess is the best word to use, views on people of opposite races or sexual leanings or whatever. Including myself, who found out just two months ago that my childhood babysitter (the one I somehow idealized over the course of the last 14 years or so) was a staunch racist who wants her daughter to move out of a neighborhood that's being run over by "n_____s". Sad. Totally, disgustingly sad to me.
So, at one point the topic turns to being gay, or homosexuality, or something akin, and someone says something about naked dudes and how he can't stand even looking at them at all, and all I can think of is, "How many hundreds upon hundreds of times have I seen Matt Fast naked?" I said it out loud, too. The only human body that I currently have a problem with is my own, and it's entirely my fault. I've seen so many naked guys, it seems, over the course of the past four years or so that I think I've finally realized that almost nothing will shock me.
Wow. How did this end up at this point? I better stop and go to bed. Damned lazy Sundays. Making me think too hard.
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