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Monday, July 21, 2003

I guess I should offer my apologies now, in case the flames of Ian's gayness melted your computer screen. Jesus. That picture was attached to some article (he is planning some bitch's wedding. God! Could he possibly be gayer? No.), but seeing as I already used up my best call about said wedding taking place in Vermont, I wont bother with the details. Copyright be damned! The only things you need to know are:

a. Ian Thorpe is not only gay, but tragically gay. What's with the suit and bracelet?
b. Ian Thorpe wears too much silver eyeshadow.
c. As much as Dawei bitches about his Cancer-esque coiffure, it has never been, or will never be as heinous as Ian Thorpe's fagtacular "windswept" combover.

Even if he lost the Donatella Versace-esque orange skin and hideous bleached-ass capped white teeth (which, by the way, increases one's level on Dawei's Patented Poof-ta-metre about 5.67 points), even I would not break him into the art of arse-banditry. Although judging by all the Armani he wears, I shall assume that Mr Giorgio himself has already had that pleasure. Repeatedly. So that explains that stiff, somewhat crusty appearance to his hair. And here I was thinking that he was indulging in the fine products of m.o.p!

While Thorpe may suck a whole lotta arse, my weekend sucked more. (Nice segue there, Dawei). I've decided that my goal for the semester is to increase my straight male friend factor by about 40% or so. My women friends can be pretty boring, and I'm totally over fags. Yawn. My current straight male friends just aren't cutting it. They are all far too pussy-whipped, and aren't interested enough in getting drunk with me. How selfish. So your girlfriend is taking you skiing tomorrow for a week. Is that my problem, bitch?

Man, I hate people who can only think of themselves.