Wedding Stuff

Pics/Blog from the last wedding I did. I'm referred to as 'Goochie' in the blog.  Its something that Nikki calls me. Not something that you call me. Click HERE

"The Bridal Ultimatum" on the marquee was my idea. I can co opt anything in pop culture and use it for some other purpose. It's a gift. It's called being creative[asterisk]. Really though: fantastic pictures, photographer is very talented.


I would write more, but I hate typing on the netbook. I should podcast again. However, sobriety has caused me to realize that most of my published thoughts that are what you people call "private" and unwilling to broadcast. or podcast. whatever. Suddenly, my masturbatory habits have become uncomfortable to discuss? Jesus, I used to be interesting. I could start writing about how cute it is that my cat, Missy, is playing with a stuffed soccer ball I impulse purchased from IKEA. But that would be boring and make even more people question my sexuality.

goochie:out

Roger Ebert's Photo in Need of a Caption

My submission: "Every Blow Job's Worse Nightmare."

 

Roger Ebert's twitter feed occasionally posts photos "in need of a caption." I've submitted one so far and this is the second. I just want Ebert, a hero of mine, to acknowledge me. Here's the original blog/photo/submission page: http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/photos-in-need-of-a-caption/121-photo-in-need-of-a-caption.html

 

Unlike the parking garages in down town Portland, I take validation anywhere I can.

 

goochout.

Moment of Clarifications...

Some people misconstrued the following (poorly written) sentence:

However, I've imagined what it would be like to date one of my female friends.

I didn't mean a specific female friend.I didn't mean to imply that I'd taken someone and inappropriately moved them from the friend zone to the spank bank. It was simply a hypothetical female friend.

Another big fucking clarification:

When you leave your Facebook account open on someone else's computer, it's almost their duty to fuck with you. If you pass out first at a party, expect to get ink on your face. If you leave your Facebook open, expect some horrendous shit written as if you'd done it. Here's what happened to me Sunday:

What's worse, is that someone believed that shit and I had to explain to them what happened. I had to convince a chick that I wasn't gay. If you're a dude and you have to spend more than three minutes explaining your straightness to someone, you should rethink your orientation. I hit the convinced mark at 2mins/47secs. Close, mothereffers. Close.

Back to the lab. Peace.

goochout.