True Blue

"Aye, I remember the great days. Back, when each day was a fight for our freedom. Fighting for who we are as people, as men."
"But Grandpa, you were born in 1937. What was there to fight for then?"
"Sonny, you never heard of William Wallace?"
He took a bite of his deep-friend mars bar.
"Yes Grandpa, I've seen Braveheart."
He hit me in the shin with his cane, and started to yell, "You best watch your mouth boy! You're lucky that wasn't your head!"
Continuing, "William Wallace -- of modern times! -- was the greatest leader of the gay rights movement. Aye, that man had an ass as hard as bricks and arms that could lift a dozen lamb. Ahh, I can see him now, wearing that kilt like he used to, with no shorts of course."
He winked at me.
"Right."
"Yes, those were the glory days. Come to think of it, your mention of Braveheart isn't all that unfounded, there was that one time where we all mooned city hall. But I digress, William Wallace was the man of that time, he was there and the only one to do what it is that he did; the man could have lead all the revolutions of the world in one night. You know, it's a shame how that man died."
"How, how was that?"
After another long chew of his mars bar.
"A wrecking ball fell on him."

Oh No.

"I can't believe you did it dude!"
I was still half drunk from last night, but was somehow able to mutter, "Do what?"
"You don't remember?"
"No, not at all. What- what did I do?"
"Let me show you the pictures," is what I remember my friend saying as I lurched upright on his couch. I saw the pictures, and, yes, it all came back to me then. The beer, the whiskey, the gin, the whiskey, the gin; yes, it all came back to me then. And then, of course, the urination on the grave of my great uncle. He was my mother's father's step brother, I had never even met the guy. I guess that's what happens when you have friends who like to get drunk in graveyards and are goodly enough to take pictures of your "dignified" desecration of head stones.
"Wow," was all I could muster at that moment.
We ate a quiet breakfast consisting of chocolate-chip pancakes cooked by my friend's gothy girlfriend.
"He fought in World War Two. My family always talked about him being a decent guy."
My friend asked, "Yeah, did he kill any nazis?"
"No, I think he fought in the Pacific. He went into real estate when he got back home to the states."
"Sounds like a real stand up guy."
"Yeah, I guess he was. I should probably go say I'm sorry to his stone or something. My parents are never hearing about this by the way."

WITH AVENGENCE, A Return

So last week there were these two lesbian chicks just totally going at it on top of me. I mean, this was some serious business. There was frenching, and fingering, and fisting, and other verbs that start with "F" that I will not begin to type. This goes on for a good fifteen minutes when, to be honest, I get bored myself. They wanted nothing to do with me and were being pretty snarky about it too. I refused to move because I mean, hey, it was a free show. So finally the skinny one gets smart -- she was one of those uppity feminist ones, you know, short hair, no bra, perky nipples, you know? -- and decides to take bladders into her own hands, and just straight up pisses on me. At this point, I'm just thinking to myself, "Man, I am covered in piss." No really I was covered in piss, it was no bueno. So I said fuck it, and toweled off on that bitches hemp tote bag and walked out into the night.