FHC, RIP - death! of a polo wearing fag

What happened in Louisiana is really a saddening and chocking tragedy and apparently it is getting worse. It reminded me that I read last week in some newspaper that Sen. Hilary Clinton has just toured Alaska to “see evidence that global warming is real” (sic). Obviously this is a strong signal she need not go that far and I would not be astonished if some argue that ratifying the Kyoto treaty is urgence.

As I am quite self-centered, all of these terrible natural disasters always remind me what frail vessels our lives are. I decided to start working on my obituary today. I’d like to share with those of you that knew me well the first draft. This is a work in progress, if you want to share anecdote about FHC youth or some prayer intention, do not hesitate to contact LL who will be taking responsibility for my funerals and the readings.

With the passing, on September 1st, 2005, of FHC HH, killed by a bike messenger less than a few months before his 24^th birthday, we are gathering around his cute little pile of gay ashes and remembering him more or less fondly. The community has lost one of its most enthusiastic members: by the time of his death, FHC had never accomplished anything meaningful and had stayed useless to mankind: he had drunk and f***ed his life away, bought a lot of polo with little logos on it and spread various rumors on innocent people. His last words were: “the drinking was painful, the f***ing was ok, take care of LL for me”. No doubt he is trying very hard to break the barriers of hell as we speak.

Born on April 17, 1981, in Madrid a gorgeous city in, what was once described a a degenerate country, in a once-affluent yet privileged, catholic, dysfunctional family, FHC was quickly a disappointment to his parents when they were sober enough to notice him. As they could not drown him because of the harsh laws that govern infanticide in Europe, they paid reluctantly f or the catholic schools he frequented and sometimes even some vacations in the summer. His early childhood disrupted by a substance abuse issue at kindergarten which was handled very seriously by an excellent specialized institution, was apart from this unfortunate incident, monotonous. A mediocre student in high school, without any unusual talent (besides perhaps pottery but he gave it up), lacking common sense, with a twisted personality (he was know for having terrible anger crisis) and a strong inclination for boys, FHC’s contribution to society was null. Marine Boy Scout for two years, he never obtained any merit badge, did not learn to sail whatsoever and spent his time drooling over his fellow scouts. Little FHC (born small, he stayed small all of his life and was nicknamed the “mean little dwarf” by his friends) was forced to study economy and management by his father as well as wear hard contacts lenses (he actually would have wanted to be unemployed with soft contact lenses). He managed to keep up with his college level studies (while living at home) through treachery, bribe, fraud and scams and acquired there the rotten reputation of being conceited, ill-mannered, cynical and a snob. His academic career led him nowhere, and he became an underpaid Marketing Assistant at Cofinluxe, a Spanish cosmetics company that is now almost bankrupt I believe. Once it became clear he would make a very poor breeder, his family reached a deal with him and bought him a one way ticket for Washington, DC and a MBA degree in exchange of his agreement to change name and only go back once every two years. He then moved to the US with two bags, a pair of ugly glasses and a new sexual orientation (well not that new actually…let’s be frank).

FHC, who always confused temptation with opportunities, spent his first years in the US dating a handful of blond (and sometimes not so blond) Americans, staring at wide-screen TVs, avoiding bright lighting and participating in endless chemically enhanced parties, “sexo collective” (when available) and boring conversations. One of the numerous two-week long boyfriends that composed his so called emotional life once told him: “I have wished you would suffocate in your sleep every night we spent together”. He sticked anyway to a quotation he had once read: “I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, underage boyfriends or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me”. At the end of his second round of studies, FHC still could not speak a word in English and therefore stayed unemployed for nice idle months. Around that time he developed a new approach to life based on taking many prescriptions drugs, lying about everything and keeping a low profile. He grew accustomed to the US and once said: “The states are fine… beside the fact that if you live here you only have the choice between getting fat or hit the Gym and both are repulsing choices…”. Having spent 9 months dicking around California and Florida, FHC joined the staff of an institution that will stay unnamed in circumstances that are known but will stay untold. With age, his interests shifted gradually from going out and get laid - a field in which he retained lasting interest, but to which he never really returned – to LL, Friendster, Netflix, E-bay and Ameritrade. As a result, he died happy but slightly overweight and seriously balding.

Tristan de Algiere was an exceptional fag of his time. He went through the last 24 years (or so), in absence of clearly defined goals, taking some odd pride in not learning anything besides perhaps that happiness if of a retired nature. His tragic, yet cheerful life may gradually fall in oblivion as those of us who knew him when he was a crack head may no longer be here to remember and LL remarry with a younger and richer man; and dust may settle on his porn collection, but one title to fame will never tarnish – FHC knew how to waste life away with style and had the thickest Spanish accent on the East Coast.

Comments

[Brian]

To the lovely obituary, please add: “Let us not forget that the mean little dwarf practiced driving in a go-cart in San Francisco with LL, a GPS voice-over and a trendy helmet (now certain to be found on the shelves of a Universal Gear near you, no doubt). Soon after, he achieved the nearly unattainable goal of acquiring a U.S. driver’s license – sadly, just days before his passing.”

Also, in news related to the latest obsession with little sewn-on alligators, I recently read an open letter in a newspaper addressing the gay – no, American – obsession with whatever is fashionable in the current moment. “Some of us will pay outrageous prices for items such as designer jeans because someone [FH? Ricardo Z.? Dr. Scott E.?] has influenced our perception of what is ‘cool.’ We are so gullible that, based on our perception of reality at different times, bell-bottoms and leisure suits have been both cool and a joke!”

[Alexandre]

I have called my lawye and told him that I would like you to write my obituary...