Sunday, March 17, 2013

Brownies

I made chocolate brownies. Santo says I have ruined them for him forever. He can't get it into his brain that they are only chocolate and nothing else. He has never just had the chocolate variety before.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Iced Water

My new favourite drink is iced water, lovely. It is the nicest drink, so simple, so refreshing.

Last night, Santo and I went out to eat. It was too hot at home and we wanted to get out of the house. We settled on our favourite Asian restaurant in Smith Street, which was very busy. We ordered and then I got us a bottle of water and 2 glasses. The water was hot, literally. I asked the waitress if she had some ice for the water, as it was practically undrinkable the temperature it was. She said she did. It is amazing how a few cubes of ice transformed the water.

I had to ask for ice 3 times. I felt a little guilty as they were busy and she looked exasperated each time that I did. But fuck it, I thought. The water needed ice and it was such an easy request to fill.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Moomba

Oh, the Moomba Parade... what an embarrassment for all Melbournians. A Girl Guide and a hoola hoop and a length of ribbon, how do the commentators keep a straight face when they are reporting the um... er... spectacle?

Wednesday, March 06, 2013

A New Pair of Red Shoes

So the Pope is retiring, the first in 700 years, or thereabouts. So what does that mean? Like the yellow ducks in the old fashioned carnival shooting gallery, another one will pop up to take his place.

Hopefully, they will go for a progressive guy who will, at the very least, allow Catholic Priests to get married and have normal relationships, therefore putting all the little boys and little girls somewhat out of harms way.



Monday, March 04, 2013

Asian Boys





























Asian boys are hot. They are sexy and good at sex. They like it a lot.


Saturday, March 02, 2013

Black Boys



















I reckon if I'd grown up in America, I could have had a thing for  African American boys.

I remember the first time I went to America as a gay man, one of the things I wanted to do was sleep with a black guy. And I did. He was lovely. His name was Anton. I took him back to my hotel room and we spent the night together. We had a lovely time.

Friday, March 01, 2013

Choofa's Delight

I was a just bit stoned as I drove down the Gertrude Street hill in the sunshine, on the way to the dog park (Before you get stuck into me, or tut tut to enthusiastically, I'd still say that I was under .05, if we had reasonable laws and had the same margin for smoking dope and driving, just the same as alcohol) I’d smoked all the joints that I’d rolled this morning. (But, it was a few hours later, by this stage) Okay focus. The sun shone through my sun roof and warmed my face.

Leave the house, get some exercise, before sitting down on my arse for the rest of the day.

A police car came the other way. The 2 coppers looked tucked away in the dark interior, the driver staring straight ahead, the side kick gazing out the side window. Then another police car came the other way, a divy van, with coppers who looked like they wore bullet proof vests inside, but that was probably just me imagining it. When I turned into Church Street, there had been an incident, of some sort, and there were a number of police cars, and a fire engine, lining the sides of Church Street. 

Of special note were a couple of hunky fireman with their hoses in their hands... or was that my day dream? And one copper in very tight blue pants, which showed off his thighs and arse in a very nice light. Were they standard issue trousers, I thought? The young copper waved me on and winked when we made eye contact, so, naturally, I winked back. 

I never see police cars usually. If I was one of those air-head types who needs to believe in something bigger than all of us, I might have thought something, or somebody, was trying to tell me something. God, some idiot called Allah, the rainbow serpent. You know, what is popular now a days. Whichever? Good thing I don't.

We got to the park, and Buddy ran off around the perimeter. I walked to the centre of the lush, green oval and blew another j. There was one chick there with a jet black Labrador, who, naturally, came walking towards me as soon as I got the bloody thing lit. I walked in the other direction, of course. She followed, of course, actually, her dog followed and she followed her dog.


The black Lab and Buddy ran around together, sniffing the same grass spot, pissing on the same fence post. Friends instantly. The Lab's owner and I kept our distance from each other, eyeing each suspiciously, the way strangers eye each other, keeping their distance. She looked at her phone, as people do now a days. I felt the serenity and the cool breeze on my face.

I am very happy with 40 kph speed limits, for my short drive home. Sometimes, I think that getting outside and breathing in the fresh air, makes your dope come on more strongly, or makes one feel the full effects more so than when you are sitting at home in a controlled environment, pissing the day away. Forty kilometre an hour speed limits are the choofa’s life saver, just chug along nothing can go wrong at all. 


No really, nothing.

The problem here, of course, is that those of you who like to get their knickers knotted over such claims have probably never been stoned, and are probably trying to equate it to being pissed, and it just isn't the same thing. Not even close.

There were still police cars in Church Street as I chugged home, with Buddy panting away from the back seat. I'm still not at all sure what the palaver was all about, but the strapping men of the various services, the strong and the brave, were standing on the edge of the road as if it was another good job done.