I know not to drink and drive, it's too messy, you are bound to spill it. Driving stoned is much more sensible.
I learned not to dye my hair when I am pissed, I ended up looking like a Panda the last time I tried that one on.
I've come to the conclusion I should never use chatlines, or text, for that matter, when I'm inebriated. Too much to regret once the fog has lifted. Doh!
But, when I'm staggering home pissed from wherever, I still can't go passed Fitzroy Kebabs, without making a (hard) right hand turn. This has nothing to do with diet or vomiting, or sobering up, for that matter and has everything to do with the boy behind the counter. Now, I don't want to offend anyone's ethnic sensibilities, so I won't guess what nationality he is, but he has all the right genes for my particular tastes. Suffice to say, he is a wog boy of many natural charms with the unusual addition of the most beautiful blue eyes.
Surely, other people have noticed him? Surely, the Q & A boys must have salivated over him, as I do?
He makes me drool. He makes me inarticulate. I know I linger, unsteady and ogle him - considering the whole mutual respect thing, between gay boys and straight boys - is that so wrong?
No comments:
Post a Comment