I pass myself off to the world as the artistic type. Most people would certainly agree with that analogy, but I have a secret. I hate poetry. No, if I’m being totally honest, I loathe it. A cute, little twink friend of mine sent me a link to his blog yesterday and asked for my opinion. I clicked over to it and gasped.
"Oh fuckin’ no! Hell no!" I screamed and pounded my head on my desk several times at the injustice of it all.
His blog was all poetry, the type that only an angst-ridden, barely out of high school twink might write. Twinky poetry, that’s what it was, ya’ll. The poems all seemed to be about other guy’s eyes (usually blue), locker rooms, crying in the rain, not being asked to the prom, Lady Gaga (I'm so not kidding) and Robert Pattinson from what I could tell by the few I did manage to skim through without gagging too much.
Tomorrow he’s going to ask me what I think, I just know it. Maybe I’ll change the subject really quickly and ask him if he’d ever given any thought to writing a screenplay. Sometimes distracting the person away from the original question is your best bet in a situation like this, that way you don't have to lie (or encourage in this case). Hopefully writing a screenplay or at least a short story will keep him busy for a long, long time and I won’t ever have to read his Ode To Lady Gaga again.
Listen to me read the funniest hook-up ads I came across this week :