What Wall-E Means to Me

While E.Shrew was in line to get a jumbo diet coke and junior mints, I found us two seats to Wall-E in a packed theatre. I panicked that the Shrew would have a heart attack the moment he saw all the small children who were in attendance. Small children typically tend to annoy the Shrew. Fortunately, these children were quite well behaved and not bratty at all!

The movie gives you a good glimpse of what Earth would be like if we continue on with our wasteful consumerism. The worst part was seeing how the humans evolved. Everytime the humans of the future drank a shake, it reminded me of a certain blogger helping himself to a big smoothee. LOL. Okay...SRSLY... I am not talking about DBud! That would be like cutting off my nose to spite my face.

We both very much enjoyed Wall-E. You couldn't help but cheer for the romance between the robots Eve and Wall-E. After leaving the theatre, every single person should have walked out feeling like a disgustingly fat American consumer. Even I did, and I am NOT fat!

This movie did make me think of the waste I contribute on a daily basis. That would have to be my expensive driving habit. Anytime I drive to New Orleans to play Monte or Tom in tennis, it costs me $24 of gas. That's very indulgent of me considering I do it 1-2 times a week.

I then began to wonder why I didn't carpool with my dad or my oldest brother. They only live a few hundred yards away from me, and we all travel to the same workplace five days a week in three gas guzzling American made vehicles. I could definitely save some money (and our environment) by sharing a ride each day. It would be so simple to do.

Just thinking about, I would probably save money on food costs as well. Since I couldn't drive anywhere for lunch, it would force me to pack a sandwich for work instead of frequenting the many local restaurants near my workplace. A sandwich costs a lot less than the $12-$18 I typically spend daily on lunch.

Hmm? I could help the environment AND save money. That's a WIN WIN situation to ponder.

New Orleans Pride

It's been raining in the afternoon, but that didn't stop the eight float Pride parade. E.Shrew and I spent time with Brian and Greg while downing only a moderate amount of Bud Lites. I was a little tired from a grueling tennis match earlier today... so we didn't get too wild and crazy today.

My Pride Post

This post is for Kelly, who is always brave enough to enter my Jiggy Dance Whoreoff contests. You may have been fretting, but I was going to get to it eventually. Today is a great time because this weekend is New Orlean's own Pride Fest.

On Saturday, at 4:30pm, the Pride Parade will roll through the French Quarter. It'll consist of about 8 floats with mostly old drag queens. But it'll be a good excuse to get to the Bourbon Pub early and start drinking with our buddies.

Afterall, being with buddies is what Pride is all about for me. When our families treat us like "different people", we thankfully have our gay friends to bond with. I am thankful for all the friends who have come into my life. You guys are the best! You all make me feel normal. :)

Put THAT in Your Etouffee!

Excuse me folks while I indulge in a bit of gloating. It is quite obvious that Obama does in fact read my blog. Guess what has been reported in the latest news cycle? Obama is now working to pay off Hillary's debts. Who suggested he do that to began the healing process? I did. Who urged him to do some ass kissing to Hillary Clinton's supporters? I did.

There ARE perks to actually having an opinion. Some of you maintain the most cobwebby space in the blogworld. YOU should pay careful attention to me. If you don't have an opinion, then you are nothing more than a waste of space. You are just clogging up the blogosphere with BLAH BLAH nothingness.

Sure, I take heat for my opinions. It ticks me off when I get comments from other Cajuns that say they are embarrassed by me. While you feel embarrassment, I feel pangs of sorrow for you.

Excuse me for not being a corporate drone whose guts have been ripped out and replaced with political correctness. I am human. I have feelings and opinions. I am neither a drone nor a sheep.

As Julia Sugarbaker once said in "Blame it On New Orleans", Put THAT in your Etouffee and chomp on it!

Editor's Note: Every Southern gay man's required viewing is Designing Women. In fact, some of you who have left God's country (the South) and turned into West Coast Yahoos should brush up on your Julia and Suzanne Sugarbaker. When I sniff your ass, it reeks of corporate droneness and gnarly sheep shit.

The Art of Losing

Ladies and gentlemen... let me ask you something. Can it possibly get any lower than it is now? Do you folks realise that I am now sporting an embarrassing 0-3 record in the local Mixed Doubles League? I feel like the Notre Dame football team. Ugh.

Oh yes... it is quite true! While my peers from the men's league have won at least one match in the Mixed Doubles League, I have not. The saddest fact is that I once led the men's league for most of last season and finished at #8 out of 72 players.

The sucker punch to the balls came at precisely 9:40pm last night. That was when E.Shrew came strolling back in my house. Just by looking at him, I thought he had lost yet again. Why wouldn't I think that? E.Shrew's last win was reported on this very blog in The Secret to Getting Laid.

I was quite sure that Misery Loves Company would be our theme tonight. We losers would give comfort to each other. I would tell him, "Baby... you are not a loser! Your doubles partner sucks. YOU played great tonight."

This vision quickly evaporated as E.Shrew practically started doing handstands and somersaults. He was just feigning he had lost. ARGH! You bastard! He and his lady partner actually won, thus moving their record up to 1-2.

The news coincided with my sudden queasiness. I announced, "Oh my... I don't feel well. I need to go lay down. Can you please put the dogs in bed when you are ready to go to sleep?" The Shrew announces smugly that he is too energized from his victory to possibly retire to bed anytime soon. I felt hot steam rising from my head.

"Oh my goodness... my head is starting to hurt! I need to lay down. Goodnight." As I closed the bedroom door, the room was spinning around. I undressed and staggered into my bed. I could not be cheerful for the Shrew's victory on this night. The abyss of darkness is where I must lay.

I woke up this morning feeling refreshed. Was it all just a nightmare? (as I was praying for) Nope. I am still 0-3. The nightmare of my tennis season continues... :(

This Marriage Aint Working!

I loathe her thunderous thighs. Perhaps if she were slimmer, those legs could contribute something to the effort. I swear to God... five more weeks left in this arraigned marriage will be the life of me.

Truth be told, my female partner doesn't have much respect for me either. Supposedly, I "over analyze everything". Well, I am so sorry. Excuse me for panicking when we just lost the first set and we are now way down in the second set!

Nothing seems to bother her either. We could blow a 40: Love lead and she'll exhibit perfect coolness. I'll get wound up tight with rage and she'll just chirp, "one point at a time". If I hear that phrase again or the chirping, I am going to fucking lose it!

Our Al and Peg Bundy comedy routine has gotten us off to an embarrassing 0-2 start in the Mixed Doubles League with five weeks left. She is giving me a complex that perhaps * I * don't make a good doubles partner.

At least with Whipping Boy, I can get him fired up with negative reinforcement. I remember my classic "Pep Talk" in Louisville. We had just lost the first set 6-1 to the #1 seed. We were down 4-1 in the second set. After Whipping Boy missed a shot, I angrily got right into his face and said, "If you don't start playing better, we are going to lose!"

Whipping Boy turned beet red and looked like he was going to punch me. It spurred us on to win five straight games and take the second set. Our opponents were stunned with the sudden reversal. In retrospect, I should have done the same thing in the third set so we could have won that one too. It would have been so apropos with my theme of... The End Justifies the Means.

I have since been forgiven by Whipping Boy for that outburst. We have gone to doubles partner counseling every Thursday and our "marriage" has improved by leaps and bounds! He now even sports this new shirt that says, "If you play better, I promise to try harder."

But my female doubles partner is.. umm... a lady. She would probably cry a river if I talked to her like I do Whipping Boy. I just say, "aww... you almost had it... it was close". I do everything in my power to sound convincingly supportive. After all, women are super-sensitive creatures.

So, tonight at 7pm... we shall try once again to establish the identity of our team. Can the ship be righted? Or am I just a lousy husband? For good measure, I am bringing a cattle prod on the tennis court with me. Stay tuned...

Intervention

Your friends are trying to get you help. You've played so much tennis that you are no longer the muscle bear you once were. The first feeling is denial. Then you get mad and lash out.

"Look you fuckers! My pudgy gut couldn't have fit in these swim trunks without the TEN hours of intense tennis cardio each week!"

Then you feel guilty for going off on your buds. After all, they are only concerned for you for Christ's sake.

Okay... I'll consider balancing my extreme tennis regimen with gym workouts starting next week. While I am loving my rare flat stomach, I still want to be WOOFY.

Stop and Smell the Roses!

Ridicule me all you want, but I have a good pulse on the feelings of voters. Where is Obama's bounce in the polls? It's non-existent. Many voters, like me, are not thrilled at all with what has happened. Without Hillary, many of us will sit home come election time. And it's totally Obama's fault for not kissing the ass of 17 million who voted for Hillary in the primaries.

Sure, call me a stubborn jack ass. I have still not gotten over the fact that Hillary won six out of the last nine primaries and was done from the Presidential race simply because time ran out. Momentum was clearly on Hillary's side, but the primary race does not reward momentum does it?

Can you feel the sheer political boredom in the air now that Hillary is out the race? I sure can. It is with much dread that our choices have dwindled down to Obama and McCain. ZZZzzzz....

I say Hillary Clinton should now run as an Independent. She can win in a three way race much like her husband did in 1992. Remember that election with Ross Perot and George H.W. Bush? I sure do.

And before some screaming queen says, "She lost. She can't rewrite the rules simply because she couldn't win by them." I say, "FUCK YOU." Obama has done nothing yet to respect Hillary's power. Obama deserves the price he is paying for ignoring Hillary Clinton.

The clout of so many supporters is worth a hefty sum. I encourage Hillary Clinton to make the next move in the Chess game. It's time to shake things up! If they don't respect you by offering the VP position, then surely they'll respect the nuclear option of your independent candidacy. The End Justifies the Means. Make them pay dearly for their indifference!

It's official: I am now 38 years old!

Early this morning, it was raining cats and dogs in New Orleans. I think Jesus was weeping that I have turned a year older. I keep telling myself that.

Getting older sucks royally! I am now older than TJ, Rob, and Moby. It is only downhill from now on. Gravity will soon start making things sag. Soon those testicles will look like bull balls. 

My friends and I ate at The Wine Bar in the French Quarter last night. I had asked the Shrew to somehow get the word out that I really didn't want presents. This was unsuccessful, as everyone brought such amazing and useful gifts. 

Like this hand mirror! When I realized what it was, I turned beet red. The table roared with laughter. What? What are you guys trying to tell me? 

The food and company were excellent! It really meant a lot to me to celebrate my birthday with such great friends. Thanks a lot guys! It meant the world to me! :)

Creole Tomato Festival

New Orleans celebrates the Creole Tomato this weekend. Louisiana tomatoes are not banned from consumption. I, for one, am glad because I love tomatoes.

The weather was so hot today. While we ate our pulled pork sandwiches, we sought shelter in the French Market. They have completely redone this area after Katrina and it is so much nicer.

This Cajun staple, Crawfish Etouffee, was excellent with stewed tomatoes! It is one of my favorite dishes:

The French Quarter has plenty of these historical signs all around. It was so hot, I had to take my shirt off with my "Ripe & Ready" tomato sticker.

Considering that I played four straight hours of tennis this morning AND attended the Creole Tomato festival, I am sure I smelled pretty ripe to most ALL DAY. Some of you may be into this:

As you can see, I am still keeping my shape by playing lots of tennis. I have yet to work out in a gym and be the Muscle Bear I want to be. Oh well...

Let Them Eat Sand

Some bloggers tote out their Granny to give you that feel good gooeyness. Other bloggers bastardize comics to tug at your funny bone. I am just me: a proud Southerner who is not afraid to speak his mind.

For example, I never got into the SG-1 or Battlestar Galactica series. Some of you heauxmeauxs that drool over it always seemed like a bunch of queens bull shitting that it was cool just so ya'll could look all trendy geek. To me, both series were bull crap!

Which brings me to my subject today. The OPEC oil cartel is really socking it to the world economy. While behemoth oil companies make record profits, they pretend that the market is being controlled by supply and demand. That's poppycock. Or poopycock for you gays.

I say it is controlled market manipulation by the some of the world's greediest multi-nationals and wealthiest individuals. This has all happened under the watch of our beloved Emperor, Dubya Bush, who has fiddled while our economy has burned.

"LET THEM EAT SAND!"

I urge the European Union, Latin America, United States, Central America, and Asia to launch a food stranglehold against those oil rich states until they stop hijacking our economies.

My electricity bill is $71 for the month of May, yet my vehicle travel costs have soared to over $600 a month. Something indeed is VERY rotten in Denmark.

One more thing... the Auburn Tigers has to be the GAYEST football team in the Southeastern Conference. I had to get that off my chest too.

The Cantankerous Old Crawfish

Let me step up on my soap box with my bullhorn so you fine folks can clearly hear me. I flat out REFUSE to accept my death march to 40 on Sunday. I will NOT be turning 38 years old. It is not even an age I feel anything REMOTELY close to. You can give my age to Patrick and DD. They are more deserving.

With my good Cajun genes and nothing else I swear, I am a fairly youthful appearing man. I have never smoked. I drink only sparingly. I really haven't had a rough life other than being "gay". It is simply not my time to turn 38. I refuse. So, I am choosing to stop at the respectable age of "37" from here on out.

Any whispers to the contrary will be appropriately dealt with in a swift and most CRUEL manner. Oh yes... we all know I can be one vindictive bitch! Who is scared of fatty pics? Uh huh. I thought so. Cracking knuckles. I am so glad we have this understanding.

Ten years into the future... "Hi. My name is Brett. I am 37 years old. And you are?"

Yosemite Sam I am

Do you remember how Yosemite Sam turned all shades of red anytime Bugs Bunny got too sassy with him? Oh yeah... that was my exact look yesterday morning.

The seeds of this tragic tale were planted over a month ago. The Shrew and I each joined a mixed doubles league so we could do something together on usually boring Mondays. We were each assigned a lady partner because... um... we didn't have any.

We have had a whole month to get ready for this league. While I have been playing lots of singles and doubles matches like an addicted tennis crack head, the Shrew hasn't done shit! Every time I reminded him that he needed to practice before the league starts, there was always a reason to put it off another day.

I was so worried that the Shrew was going to be embarrassed on the court last night, I asked him to warm up with me an hour before his match. He flatly said, "no". When I questioned his wisdom, the Shrew got sassy and said, "Until you win a real trophy other than "runner-up", I don't think I need to take any advice from you on my tennis game." OUCH!



Which brings me to my moral dilemma last night. Have you ever wished that someone close to you would learn a lesson just so you can say, "I TOLD YOU SO!"? Sure, you don't want them hurt too badly or to suffer too much. But a good ole fashioned ass whooping wouldn't hurt 'em either! Well... that's what I was thinking last night.


To my amazement, the Shrew was actually playing well! Wow. His serves were harder than I had seen before. Well, son of a bitch! Maybe he was right all along. Honestly, I was quite proud of how well the Shrew was doing. His team went up 4-3 in the first set. They were marching along quite fine on their way to victory.

Then the unthinkable happened. On a fateful lunge forward, the Shrew experienced a popping sound in his calf muscle immediately halting the match. It was the exact same pull of the calf muscle that happened in Austin this year causing him to withdraw from that tournament. The only difference was this happened now on his other leg.

I immediately felt flushed with guilt. While I was expecting a butt kicking in the game score, I certainly hadn't entertained the idea that the Shrew would get injured. Gulp! I carefully chose my words when I told him that he needs to get out and exercise more or this will surely happen again. It's pretty obvious what happened, but to tell him feels a lot like beating a dead horse.

Future Site of our Bear Retirement Community

Let's face it. We bears are getting older and crotchety at a rapid pace. We need to start planning NOW for our bear retirement community. Think about it. Do we really want our families to place us in a nursing home with a bunch of crazy OLD women named Doris and Betty? HELL NO! We want to live our senile years amongst our own kind.


Just picture it: a nice big lake to catch our sun rays, plenty of trails to "cruise", and circuit parties daily at 5pm! I am sure this is exactly where Kelly and Jeff will park their tired old asses day in and day out. With Cosmos, of course!

For those that like animals, there will be horse petting activities. I will personally be in charge of taking care of those hung like horses. Okay, Moby, I'll share in the duties. I am selfless that way. LT, these mares have nothing on you!

For those old bears that look down and judge circuit parties at the Lake, our bear retirement community gives you the Tranquility Reflecting Pond. It is here that TJ, Jimbo, and Homer can reflect on their beauty all day. Or gossip and bitch!

We wont need Bear411 or Manhunt out in the middle of nowhere. We have something better to hunt bears! We'll scope them out here and lay our bear traps at night. I am assigning Timmy! with this task.

Could all of us old bears live together in peaceful harmony? Or will the FBI raid our camp and call us a "cult"? Thankfully, this property is in Mississippi. Only those Texas jerks would break up a masc bear retirement community! Whew. What do you think of this idea? Would you do it?

One Brave Soul

Sometimes in the course of human events, one brave soul must rise up against the tyranny of another. When one person exerts his foot on the neck of others, his rule often goes unchallenged. One brave soul must take charge with the confidence of a stallion that he will return to glory and defeat said foe.

Dear folks, today I enter battle once again with a court nemesis who has been a bane to my tennis career. God has Satan. I have him. Though I have beaten this dastardly foe before, Monte has severely put a dent on what would be my glorious record.

Last week was a triumph for the little guy. The utter desperation in my opponent's eyes will forever be etched and cherished in my mind. I owned his ass on the court that day and he couldn't wiggle his tail out of it this time!

Monte's beaten down ego shattered into a million pieces on that fateful day. I couldn't help but smile down at the sparkling pieces strewn all over the court. The angels sang that night. I drank wine with friends and we celebrated the glorious miracle of that victory!

Alas, our last two matches have not been kind to me. I put up a valiant effort, but it was not enough. My opponent was one stubborn jack ass that refused to break when I had him at Deuce time and time again. I couldn't impose my will. And you should know that I have to impose my will. Or else.

Please don't cry for me. Not that you would. Napoleon never got a river of tears either. He too accomplished victory, but he was susequently exiled, imprisoned and poisoned by the British on a tiny island in the end. But I digress.

As God is my witness, I declare that this day will be different! I have a fleeting memory of what victory tastes like. The blood in my veins are filled with an ecstasy like none other. It thoroughly intoxicates me. I hunger for more... like a two bit crack whore.

Know this gentle readers: nothing will make me prouder than to walk around with the head of my enemy on a pike tonight. I'll beam with pride as I carry it around the spooky swamp infested nether world where I lay.

Power Tripping

I would like to extend a congratulations to Mr. Obama for winning the Democratic nomination for President of the United States. You had a hard fought campaign against a formidable foe and were able to hang on for the win. Those early election successes helped you tremendously.

However, I will NOT vote for you for President unless two things happen. You must first offer the position of Vice Presidency to Hillary Clinton AND pay off all of her campaign debts. She is by far the most qualified to run this country, but I will accept her as Vice President. Hopefully, as VP, she will eventually take the reigns as our commander in chief.

That's the condition of my vote. And I am sure that this is the exact position of many supporters of Hillary. Her strengths are your weaknesses and vice versa. I think together you would make a great team. Please choose VERY wisely. You have a fleeting chance right now to warm up Hillary supporters, but it totally depends on whether you make the right choices.

The Crowing of the Cock

Cock-a-Doodle-Doo! Cock-a-Doodle-Doo! When you live on a farm, you don't need an alarm clock. Nature has graced us with a creature that is perhaps the most colorful animal on the farm. He wakes my ass up at approximately 5am every morning. Meet my favorite cock, Rocky the Rooster:

You can be sure that Rocky is ALL bad ass. He'll spur you in the snizz in a heartbeat just to show off in front of Myrtle and Betsy! Picking eggs in the hen house is ALWAYS part martial arts and part cock blocking.

My favorite part is when I DARE pick up Rocky in front of his nine lady friends. Rocky HATES that! I do relish showing him that we can be friendly towards each other if we really want to be.

If you are wondering, Rocky is a straight rooster. I can just tell. If you have a gay Rooster, his morning refrain would be: Any-Cock-Will-Doooo! I know. That's a corny old farm joke! Ha ha.

What I did on Sunday:

Umm... I lost to this guy (Monte) 6-3, 6-3 at City Park this morning. He played very aggressively at the net and had a higher consistency rate than our previous encounter. It was a very competitive match.

Kelly Stern's buddy Chris showing off his hot physique and his manly furriness. It's nice to see someone that is not afraid to show off some fur! Chris is only 28 years old. He is a baby!

When you are in New Orleans, it is fairly common to show your titties. This is Chris and I. The bartender, Tim, at the Bourbon Pub gave me an approving glance. He said he had no idea I had abs. LOL! Our friends made sure all lint was cleared from our "traps" before these photos were taken.