Sunday, September 19, 2010

FOR MY LOVE, GEORGE MICHAEL


All these years I'd been writing my proclamations of love on MySpace, desperate and thinking you really were reading them and just ignoring me, like you do on the street when I "happen" to be in the neighborhood. But now I realize that all this time you were where the young boys are, my dearest. Facebook.

I won't bother repeating what I've already publicly said on Myspace, as it's already been published in four languages. Not my exact messages of love of course, I mean the court proceedings that always seem to follow. God I love how you prosecute me every single time. It's like you enjoy seeing me at court. The way you glare and snarl at me all intensely and say "Keep that THING away from me!", it makes me so hot my love.

"Gay" - it's such a loose term. Aren't all noodles straight until you put them in hot water? Let's not mess up what we have with semantics and labels and those silly charges with you and that cop in the restroom and the childish restraining orders that never seem to keep me far from your bushes, peering in on your beautiful life, licking all your utensils and rubbing everything within sight on my boobs while you're gone...

There's a statute of limitations on breaking and entering and straddling all your pillows but there's no statute of limitations on my love for you! One day you are going to see that all these gay guys are going to do is make you happy. And really, is that any way for a man to live? Ask yourself this, and then call me. At the very least I can teach you how to stop getting caught with pot! I mean, HELLO. How old are we George?

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