In which FHC says really mean things about his own friends

With all this little rehab incident, I never ended up telling you about my trip to Baltimore. I will summarize it by saying that most of my friends have become nest building f***cks. They were turned into a bunch of gender-confused pastel-tones-painting Martha-Stewartesque f***ers. All conversations during the week-end were devoted to topics such as paint blistering and peeling, original features (of contemporary houses: see the irony) and bird wreath chandeliers. Nobody ever mentioned war, sodomy and the economy for the entire two days. I actually did not speak at all because I was either too busy reacting with derisive snorts or suffocating because of some domesticity overdose. Our activities included going to an open house without the slightest intention of buying it and visiting a local tacky arts-and-crafts exhibition at a neighborhood Pentecostal church. I always thought it was a joke people going to open-house to gather decorating tips but no it’s all very true. Hearing my ex-roommate saying: “yes we are really concerned with keeping as much as possible of its unique character” and “we are thinking of revealing the original wood pattern on this door” cured forever my [mild] crave for a stable relationship. I mean these kids, which were cool whorish alcoholic Trotskyite kids at one point (Drew excluded…at least for the cool part… btw I still have no internet access until next thursday), are now exclusively sleeping, breathing and masturbating about house decoration and renovation. Is that what love does? turning revolutionary faggots into homemakers crazily obsessed with domestic matters. Are there other options than settling our sexual frustrations in a perfectly decorated nest, which we will decorate and re-decorate for eternity? Hint: yes there is, undergear parties as an example. I almost feel closer to my straight friends with babies: at least they are obsessed with human beings. Many people blame me for spending time with Mark H. these days but is it my fault if all the decent gays of my generation are too busy fixing their giant gingerbread houses with their partner?

Comments

[kevin d.]

but aren't pastels d'jour?

[verizon dsl]

Don't you mean "du jour," you fool?

[Old Fagat]

We're sorry we didn't send flowers.