10.23.98

"Go and join the Army,"
said the father to his son.
"See the world around you, boy
and learn to use a gun."

Noticed one thing today, I keep writing 12, instead of the current month, which is 10. Who knows? Freudian slip, perhaps? Maybe I just want this month to be pau already.

We had the opportunity to spend several hours with the "Boys in green" who defend our gorgeous United States from all enemies, foreign and domestic. What a thrill! We are pleased to announce that the USA is chock-a-block full of what we call in normal queer parlance, twinks. They're young, attractive, and have that fresh glow of youth firmly planted on their rosy cheeks. Mmmmm, yummy!

There is a difference, however between these kids and your garden-variety twink. An ordinary twink has a gym-toned body -- everything muscular is ornamental and useless except as a sex toy or eye candy.

....not that that is such a bad thing, mind you....;-)

These kids are genuine. I digress...I say kids, because that's what they are. I've still got a few years before the magical event occurs, but I'm damn near old enough to have sired some of them....

Genuine. Their muscles (and they do have them!) come from an endless parade of pull-ups, push ups, and running endlessly. It makes for a quite satisfying bundle of joy, their oh so tight asses being cradled by a thin sheet of athletic jersey. I won't even mention what's on the other side. let's just say that it took an infinitesimal amount of concentration to keep my eyes on the paper where they belonged. Don't get me wrong, they did stray once or twice...perhaps as many as 200 times.

Downside...they're really stoopid. I had to make a pause for the cause at one point, and made my way to a cubicle in the uhhh, latrine? I actually had a thought of sexual release, but was distracted by the graffiti. Most of it was racially motivated, so good taste prevents me from repeating it here, but there was mention of "teariny," "Begotry" and a smattering of "fagets."

A story for you...Sgt. smartass sits down, I ask "How are you today?" He answers: "Pretty, good, Dracula." I say: "You may call me sir," and have a flashback to my days in the Air Force, when I was addressed regularly as "sir." He remembers our relationship ( I superior; he grunt.) and we carry on easily.

Can you tell I tucked in my scrubs today???? (see below.)

Been thinking about something that I read....
An interesting thing happens when we read things which are biographical in their nature. I'll include online journals in this, because I mention a thought for the day, it is somewhat so. (Bad sentance...sorry.) Biography allows the reader to crawl up into the brain of the writer (or in the case of autobiography, the person whose life is being documented) and set up housekeeping for a while. After you, dear reader peruse these hallowed pages for a while, you know everything that there is to know about me, the person opening my soul to scrutiny. That's all you want to hear.

That is a dangerous assumption to make. Ask anyone who really knows me in my personal life. Folks at work think I'm quite a different person than I portray on these pages. Quite frankly, they would be surprised to learn what I write here. They'd probably be amazed that I would dare criticize the place where I work in such a public forum. I'm usually not deep and ponderous at work, save the moments where I am called on to form diagnoses and offer medical guidance and opinion. I'm like breakfast cereal...flakey and fruity. I'm the 'father confessor,' the healer of lost souls. Every workplace has one...the guy you go and talk to when everything is totally fucked. The one who allows you to vent, to cry on his shoulder, to convince you that it is worth putting up with, the one who prevents suicide.

But, you know what? I gotta get pretty cozy with you before I let you inside my psyche, so don't think because I let you read my banal life that you have any clue as to what is going on here in Honolulu.

"there's nothing wrong with dying,
after all, it's just a game."
--Yaz 'Unmarked'