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23 Monday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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23 Monday Dec 2013
Posted Monday Muscle
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22 Sunday Dec 2013
Posted Sunday Funnies
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22 Sunday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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If you think about it, it’s rather miraculous that the birthday most celebrated throughout the word isn’t even the day the birthday boy was actually born on. Not that it really matters in the grand scheme of things, but if I had my druthers we’d celebrate Christmas at some other time of the year. Like in August. The middle of summer would be a great time for another three day weekend. The weather is more conducive to partying then. And then December could be reserved for celebrating what really matters: my birthday.
Having a birthday during the Christmas holiday season sucks. Sure everyone is in a celebratory mood and partying their asses off, but you can only pretend that’s all about you for so long. Sooner or later you realize in everybody else’s holiday plans, your birthday doesn’t count. Even those who care enough to take the time to acknowledge your birthday really consider it an imposition. There’s already too many parties to attend, another one is just asking a bit too much. Not that anyone’s gonna through you a birthday party smack dab in the middle of celebrating Christmas and New Years anyway.
Having a birthday at Christmas gives your cheap ass friends and relatives an excuse to kill two gift giving occasions with one package. And if you do get a birthday present, it’s gonna be wrapped in Christmas paper. I don’t think it can be too much fun having your baby at Christmas either. You may get a bit of extra attention at all the parties you still have to drag your bloated body to, but it’s an awfully short spotlight. If I was a woman of child bearing age I wouldn’t let any man get within ten feet of me from early March through the middle of April. I just wish my mother had been intelligent enough to look at a calendar. Though I guess Dad had something to do with that too.
But it could be worse. Being born on Christmas Day must really suck. Hell, as a kid even you’d be willing to overlook your birthday in lieu of all the loot Santa’s gonna bring you. December 25 has got to be the absolutely worst day to be born. You’re probably lucky even to get an honorable mention.
Even though Jesus really wasn’t born on 12/25, since we pretend he was and since everyone is in that peace on earth goodwill to men frame of mind, you’d think people born on Christmas would be a little special. Like if you told me Mother Teresa was born on Xmas, I’d think, “That makes sense.” Ted Bundy, not so much. Any Catholic cardinal who wanted to be pope would be a shoe-in if his birthday was on December 25th. So I looked up which famous people share a birthday with Jesus. The dead ones didn’t count. And while there are no Noble Peace Prize winners born that day as you might otherwise expect, Jimmy Buffett was. And for a lot of people you just can’t get much closer to god than that.
Annie Lennox was born on Christmas too. Which doesn’t quite fit the image I was looking for. But then Annie was into cross-dressing in her early career so I can live with that. Happy Birthday Annie! Sissy Spacek was born on Xmas too. Sissy is a fine actress, quite talented, but there’s always a bit of the neurotic in the roles she plays. I suspect that’s not method acting, it’s just Sissy’s inner demons coming through. And while there is nothing messiah-like about Sissy, considering she’s spent over 60 years having her birthday totally ignored that neuroses is perfectly understandable.
That extreme level of psychologically crippling abuse also make sense out of what otherwise would be discounted as pure evil when you consider Karl Roves’ birth date. Yup, Karl was a Christmas baby. So I guess my whole idea of people born on Christmas being imbued with some higher calling doesn’t work. Finding out Karl Rove was born on Christmas is like finding out there’s no Santa Claus. (Oooops: Spoiler Alert!) It’s just a shame Stephen Colbert is on hiatus. He could have lots of fun with his Rove ham as a Christmas ham. I think I’ll drop him an email.
So I hope you all enjoy your Christmas. You bastards. But no problemo. When people wish me Happy Holidays, I just assume they mean Happy Birthday too. And it’s kinda cool having lots of complete strangers taking the time out of their busy schedules to wish you a happy birthday. Despite every biblical scholar agreeing that Mary did not drop child on 12/25, it’s doubtful that Christmas will be moved to the date it should be celebrated. Those of us unfortunate to have been born around the date we do celebrate that holiday will just have to live with. At least we have experience. And it could be worse. You could be born on 9/11.
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22 Sunday Dec 2013
Posted Stay In Bed Sundays
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21 Saturday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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Re-gifting has become the common way of getting rid of the crappy presents you get for the holidays. It used to be a dirty little secret no one would cop to and if you got caught out giving someone a gift you’d received and hated, a load of shame was headed your way. Today the biggest danger in re-gifting is that you may well get that piece of crap back as a gift yourself. While everyone’s least favorite aunt’s been doing it for decades, the idea of re-gifting seems to have popped onto the scene just a few years ago. But its origins probably can – or should have – been traced back to the first known instance of gift giving on Christmas day.
Most people are familiar with the booty brought by the three wise men on their journey to Bethlehem. No doubt the gold was well received. It’s always the perfect gift. At least it is when diamonds are beyond your budget. Frankincense you don’t hear too much about these days. But back then it was a popular, and pricey aromatic fragrance, the Glade Plug-In Air Freshener of its time. And with a manger full of domesticated animals giving birth to their own creations, it undoubtedly was both a breath of fresh air and a timely gift for which its recipient was grateful. Myrrh on the other hand, not so much. And as a gift for a newborn, myrrh just screamed to be re-gifted.
Like frankincense, myrrh too was an expensive commodity back then. An aromatic substance in granular form made from dried tree sap, due to its rarity it actually was more valuable than the gold. Frankincense was often burned, and symbolized prayer rising to the heavens like smoke, not a bad connotation for a gift being given to the messiah. Myrrh too was sometimes used as incense. But usually to mask the smell of rotting, dead bodies. Myrrh was used for burials; it symbolized death. Which didn’t exactly make it the #1 gift choice for newly born babies. A gift card would have been much more appreciated.
Giving a gift to celebrate a birth that symbolizes death is bad enough. But that little faux pas is compounded once you discover what – or who – myrrh is. And why it is probably an even more inappropriate gift. Unless your is a particularly close family. Like the Duck Dynasty.
Myrrha was the mother of Adonis in Greek mythology. So far, so good. Birthing one of the hottest hunks of all times ain’t chicken feed. But even in mythology – or at least in most myths – in order to have a rug rat you have to first have sex. And there’s the rub. Myrrha was the daughter of King Cinyras and Queen Cenchreis of Cyprus. No slouch in the looks department herself, Myrrha could have her choice of men from far and wide. Unfortunately the man who made her little heart beat like crazy was someone a bit closer to home. Myrrha was the original Daddy’s little girl. Pops was who got Myrrha wet.
Myrrha knew doing your dad was probably not the right way to scratch an itch. But his allure was too strong. Distraught over her incestuous feelings she decided suicide was a better choice than an orgasm and tried to hang herself one night. Well, the best laid plans of mice and men – not to mention young women big on DILF fantasies . . . her nosey nurse burst onto the scene and as a thanks for saving Myrrha’s life, she confessed her fetish for papa. Most nurses would have fled puking in terror, but Myrrha’s instead offered to help Myrrha trick daddy into bed.
They got their golden opportunity a month later during the festival of Ceres. During this celebration women were not to be touched by men for nine nights. Which made the men a bit horny, as you can imagine. The nurse found King Cinyras drunk in his bed and told him of a girl who was deeply in love with him, giving a false name. When he asked how old the girl was, the nurse responded that she was Myrrha’s age. That usually would sound a few alarm bells in most men’s minds, but King Cinyras said the hell with it, bring the young bitch to me.
The affair lasted several nights in complete darkness to conceal Myrrha’s identity. Not unlike how many farang have spent far more time than they’d willingly agree to with a ladyboy in Thailand. But sooner or later, orgasm or not, you just need to see exactly who has been pleasuring you and King Cinyras was no different. Unfortunately instead of discovering a chick with a dick, the King discovered he’d been doing his daughter. Angered, he put his personal sword back in his pants and grabbed a more deadly one to kill Myrrha on the spot. But in addition to being a wanton hussy, Myrrha was fleet of foot and took off running.
For nine months Myrrha fled from her daddy, headed out across Arabia. Three months into her escape, she realized like most men Pops had lied about using a lambskin sheath and poor Myrrha was with child. Afraid of death, tired of life, and with no sugar daddy on the scene, she begged the gods for a solution. Which is never a good idea ‘cuz history has shown the gods really have a wicked sense of humor. But they took pity of Myrrha, and after a few minutes of fulminating on all the dirty tricks they could play on her, the gods decided to turn her into a myrrh tree.
Though Myrrha abandoned her human feelings when she started sprouting leaves, she still mourned her tragic fate and her tears, being the drops oozing from the tree’s bark, are today known as myrrh. When it came time for the birth of Myrrha’s child, the tree appeared to wrench and sounded as though it had sighed and groaned. The goddess of childbirth came, touched the tree, spoke soothingly to it, and passed on the bad news that epidurals were not given to trees. With a great deal of screaming, and wailing while the goddess of childbirth yelled, “Push, push!” the tree formerly known as Myrrha cracked open and delivered a baby boy, Adonis.
Of course Myrrha’s incestuous story was all Greek to the wise men, so you could throw them a bone and act like they didn’t know better. But the bible too mentions myrrh. And while the details are a bit sketchy, myrrh is referenced seven times in the Song of Solomon, often with erotic overtones. So whether you go with the tale of incest or with myrrh being an ancient form of lube, gift-wise it’s not really an appropriate choice for a baby. It’s just a shame they didn’t have gift receipts back then so that Jesus could return the myrrh, which instead became the First Unwanted Christmas Present and probably the first to be re-gifted.
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21 Saturday Dec 2013
Posted End of the Week
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While we’re all gearing up for the Xmas holiday season it’s a good time to take a look at Thailand’s favorite holiday, Songkran. This blog entry from a gay Burmese guy living in Indonesia tells of his many great memories of visiting Bangkok during Songkran, and a few painful ones.
If you haven’t lost your sense of humor yet, comedian Kyle Dunnigan‘s Fuck You Mistletoe is a video of what happens when you accidentally stand under the mistletoe with your straight best bud.
The 24 Most Flawless Responses to a Wrong Number Text Message. And I usually just text back, “I hate you and never want to see you again.”
Huh. I never thought of it before but they’ve got a point: The 5 Most Unintentionally Creepy Christmas Songs.
If you give a ride to a sex worker in Washington (state), the law says you lose your car. That’s just one of the Weirdest Sex Laws in the United States, in map form.
If your Christmas tree could use a bit more bling still, pornaments are the way to go.
Asian Bois is this week’s NSFW Tumblr link, and in the spirit of the holidays it even has lots of those slim boyish dudes y’all like that don’t do a thing for me. Merry Christmas. Don’t expect me to do that again.
Just in case you’re thinking of partying hard for the holidays by emulating the feast put on via the traditional gifts of the 12 Days of Christmas, here’s the health consequences.
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20 Friday Dec 2013
Posted The 12 Gays of Xmas
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Let’s see, seven down, five to ago, and I’ve already trashed the French, the English, fans of Sunee Plaza, and the Russians. Looks like its time to spread some Christmas jeer the Germans way. For the last 50 years or so, the German have played it smart, keeping to the background, laying low, and trying to not remind the world they exist. This year all of a sudden they’re drawing attention to themselves by whining about how America has ripped off and bastardized their Christmas traditions. Uh, duh. We’re America. That’s what we do. But you get McDonald’s in trade. And at least we don’t confuse Silent Night with Crystal Night. Or confuse some other culture’s traditions with our own and then try to claim credit for them.
Germany is trying claim they invented Santa Claus, pointing at some image from a few hundred years ago as proof. That’d be cool but the real Saint Nick came a few centuries earlier than that. He was known as a man of elfin proportions who had a bushy white beard. So good try but you might want to check with Thailand to find out how you are supposed to deal with producing a knock-off. And claiming it’s original ain’t it.
Germany used to try to claim they invented the Christmas tree too. Granted, they came up with one made out of toilet bowl bristles, but that’s not exactly building a better mouse trap. Hundreds of years earlier the Circassians had Christmas trees. At least until the Russsians came to town, invented modern day genocide, and started practicing gay bashing before they had gays to bash. To give credit where it’s due, Germany did come up with blown glass Christmas tree ornaments. But not, as they also like to claim, the infamous pickle ornament. So blow that. In any case, before the pickle comes the balls – at least from my usual perspective – and the idea of Christmas balls came from a bit further south and several centuries earlier. And it’s those yule time low hangers that are the subject of today’s holiday tale. For which we have to go back to the 800s and the Byzantine Empire.
Back then Rome was the world’s sole super power and until they got a bit too full of themselves understood the importance of spin. So after conquering all of the countries worth conquering, they allowed the rather difficult to deal with tribes a bit northeast of them to believe they were still under their own rule. No biggie. The trade routes and the cash that commerce from them produced still made its way to where it mattered: Italy. And though it’d still be another few centuries before Shakespeare pointed out that all roses smell the same, the Roman Empire allowed the eastern part of their world to call itself the Byzantine Empire. Though the folks back home usually called it the Eastern Roman Empire. Which worked out well for those who preferred acting like they were not a subjugated people ‘cuz when Rome took a nose dive into obscurity during the 5th century, the Byzantine Empire just acted like they hadn’t noticed and continued on their merry way for another thousand years or so.
Unlike Rome, which was oriented toward Latin culture and heavily into polytheism, Byzantium was big on doing it Greek-style and practiced a form of orthodox Christianity. Even if they couldn’t agree on exactly what form that form should take and spent years busily killing each other over the squabble. “Cuz that’s what Jesus would do. Which brings us to 812, and the reign of Michael I. (Digression Note #1: When you are an Emperor and people start referring to you as ‘The First’ it’s not a good sign and your future doesn’t look too rosy.) Michael was at war with the Franks (yup, it’s those damn French sticking heir gallic noses into yet another Christmas tale). Things weren’t going well and since Byzantium had already been used to being some other empire’s bitch, he recognized Charlemagne as Emperor, got Venice back in the trade , and then called the whole thing off, took his The First title back and went back to war. Until karma handed him a bitch slap for being an Indian-giver and his army was seriously trounced at the Battle of Versinikia.
Losing a major battle is never a good thing when you’re Emperor. It tends to make you look bad. It usually doesn’t make you look to good either when you are General. Especially when you run away, abandoning the battlefield. But a King trumps a knight and Michael earned his The First title by abdicating in favor of said general, Leo the Armenian, soon to be called Leo V. As a thanks, Leo had Michael I’s sons castrated. Which you are probably thinking is my cute little way of segueing into the origin of Christmas balls. But that’d be a cheap shot. And I’m not that easy.
Now you might think a one horse open sleigh sounds like fun, but in Byzantium castration was all the rage. Forced castration to be precise. Because otherwise we’d be talking about ladyboys in Thailand. Castration was good for whatever ailed you back then, be that thieves, adulterers, liars, or blasphemers. And it topped the charts when it came to palace intrigue too. Whacking off the balls of your political nemesis’ offspring was common. And a practice most of us wish had survived long enough for Bill Clinton to have used. It was both a smooth shave and a smooth move if you were a newly crowned Emperor ‘cuz then you didn’t have to worry about the outgoing monarch’s kids trying to dethrone you. Not just because of the depression castration tends to bring on, but because in the Byzantine Empire the Emperor was considered a reflection of heavenly authority. Kinda like the Tea Party views Sarah Palin. And since God was perfect, the Emperor also had to be unblemished; any mutilation, such as finding yourself suddenly ball-less, would disqualify an individual from taking the throne. Not to mention people in other empires would laugh at you.
Not that being a member of the eunuch class meant a completely unfulfilled life. Michael I’s no-longer-a-man son Niketas went on to become Patriarch of Constantinople and later was canonized as St. Ignatius. But not the one you’re thinking of. There’s about a dozen saints named Ignatius and all but one still had his saintly jewels attached. And for some strange reason the one sans testicles never made it to the big time and never became a patron saint of anything. Though you’d think he would have been a shoe-in for patron saint of losers.
But back to our tale. Leo V, much like Republican politicians of today, wanted the support of the religious right. Sucking up to the religious powers that be, he kneeled before an icon of Christ, thereby assuring everyone of his orthodoxy and strong faith in religious imagery. But it wasn’t long before he showed his true colors, as well as his membership in the Tea Party, and initiated the second period of Byzantine Iconoclasm, banning all forms of religious imagery as blasphemy and proving he could out conservative the conservatives. His move to the far right lead to revolts by iconodules (supporters of icon worship) throughout the empire. And it also lead to one of his most trusted generals, Michael the Amorian, conspiring to dethrone him. So Leo V threw the Amorian’s ass in jail. In hindsight, he probably should have had him castrated too.
On Christmas Day, Leo V was attending church services when a group of assassins disguised as monks suddenly threw off their robes and drew their weapons. In the dim light they mistook the officiating priest for the Emperor and the confusion allowed Leo, unarmed and alone, to defend himself with an incense burner in one hand and a large wooden cross in the other. Neither of which, when it comes to weaponry, really cuts it. Leo called for his guards, but the conspirators had barred the doors and within a few moments a sword stroke had severed his arm; he fell before the communion-table, where his body was hewed in pieces.
Leo’s remains were dumped unceremoniously in the snow and the assassins hurried to the dungeons to free Michael the Amorian, soon to be known as Michael II. Unfortunately for them, Leo had hidden the key on his person, and who wants to sort through bits of body pieces looking for a key? Since it was too early in the morning to find a blacksmith, Michael was hastily crowned as Emperor with his iron manacles still around his legs.
Taking a page from his recently departed predecessor’s playbook, Michael II immediately decided to deck the halls with Leo’s four son’s balls, had them all castrated and botched the job on Theodosios so badly that he died from his gender-reassignment procedure. Which has got to be one of the more embarrassing causes of death to have entered on your death certificate. And that my friends – now that we have a firm tie-in with Christmas – is the first mention of balls of historic proportions at Christmas.
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