Fucking Cheekbones told me yesterday that a "man from my past" had returned to Australia, and was in Brisbane over the weekend. Let's call this man from my past... LongThinFreakBanana-esquePenisMan, due to the fact that his love-knob sprung from his light brown pubes, its long thin shaft arching so that the head of his slick pleasure-stick touched base again at the far side of his navel. I could also call him "Laughingly Bad Underwear Dude", because even in my massively drunken state, I remember thinking "beige underwear? What the...? I'll quickly throw those behind the TV!"

Come on guys! Choosing nice underwear isn't hard. Please remove the following from your wardrobe (especially if you're looking for a piece of Dawei's fine ass): satin boxers, grey or white anything, Rio anything, g-strings. I'm also not a huge fan of boxer shorts (in regards to sexual relations), as they are so boring. You pull down their pants, and the boner is just there, stabbing you in the eye. Boring! At least with normal undies (or boxer-briefs, calling card of the homosexual. Sorry ladies, if your man wears these, he is poof-tacular. However, if he wears the Bonds lo-rider style boxer-brief, he has fine taste, and thus earns a high-five! from Dawei. So it's not all bad!) when you open their pants, you get that nice bulge happening, the air thick with anticipation as you trace the outline of the shaft with your fingers GAH!!!

I'm getting sidetracked. What was my point? Oh. Stupid Cheekbones.

Ahem.

So anyway, Cheekbones, LTFB-ePM (uhm, I suppose I should be open to new suggestions for that. I'm not in my best form. It's too cold!), and a couple of other 'mos all got together on Sunday night. Gee, thanks for inviting me Cheekbones, you cunthead. I could have been out humping like a mofo on Sunday night, instead of watching fucking Australian Idol. Although, now I think about it, I had some explosive diarrhoea that night, so maybe it's a good thing I wasn't nuded up with someone. "Oh hey! I haven't seen you in over a year since you helped me starch some sheets. Oh, what's that? You want to go to rim town? Okay! Whoops. You might want to wipe that off with a tissue. Or a towel."

Yeah, probably not the best way to win someone over to the mystique of Dawei. Unless he was into scat, I guess.

Still, I have the right to be shitty, right? Right?! And it's not like the banana penis-ed dude doesn't remember me: Cheekbones told me that he asked how I was! Unfortunately Cheekbones was an ass (shock), and said that I was a slut (bwah!), because he pointed out to all the 'mos present that I had been with all of them. Hmph. An unfortunate coincidence. I suppose I can understand where he is coming from though. His flatmate has had a hardon for LTFB-ePM for ages now, and was heartbroken when he got palmed for moi. Oh well. I guess we can't all have my Volumes Of Desirability and Kicking Ass-ness. See what I did there? Yeah, I'll push the Post & Publish button now already.

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posted by Dawei at 11:02 am

Do you know what I realised ten minutes into the previews for Charlie's Angels today? The Pirates of Penzance and Pirates of the Caribbean are not the same thing. I am so dumb sometimes. For months now I've been wondering why everyone is getting all orgasmic over Orlando Bloom and the Pirates of the Caribbean project. Through all the hype, I've just been thinking to myself "Orlando in those purple felt pants? Meh. Why does everyone care so much?"

When sailors started to turn into skeletons in the preview, a little light blinked on in my brain and I realised that maybe I had the two confused.

Having now seen the preview, I think that a film of Orlando in purple felt pants would be much more enjoyable.

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posted by Dawei at 7:22 pm

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.



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.

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posted by Dawei at 1:22 am

Dawei Writes Two Brief Letters

ONE:

Dear Queensland Transport,

STOP TAKING FUCKING UGLY PHOTOS OF ME YOU CUNTING ASSHOLES!! DON'T YOU THINK IT'S TIME YOU UPDATED YOUR FUCKING CAMERA EQUIPMENT OR MAYBE RETRAINING YOUR LAME-ASS STAFF??? THEY ARE FUCKING FORTY YEARS OLD AND WORKING A POLAROID CAMERA FOR FUCKS' SAKE WHY DON'T YOU GIVE THEM SOMETHING BETTER TO DO AND GET SOME PROPER EQUIPMENT BECAUSE I'M SICK OF HAVING TO CARRY AROUND A PHOTO OF ME LOOKING LIKE A CUNTING FAGGOT ARSEHOLE.

Thank you.

Kisses, Dawei.

Two:

Dear shopboy who works in Community Aid Abroad and wears an apron,

I am going to fuck you.

Kisses, Dawei.

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posted by Dawei at 2:52 pm

Booyah, I got complimented on my mad oral sKilLZZ today!

It was by my dentist. And before you all start highfiving me and showering me with glitter and confetti while carrying me around on your shoulders in triumph, celebrating in joyful chorale the fact that someone might actually find me sexually satisfying, he was merely commenting on my toothbrush technique and applauded me for still having no cavities. Unfortunately, my dentist is not a hot dark haired young man fresh out of university wearing a tight white shirt, his taut, toned biceps straining against the crisp fabric as he gently replaced the tooth scrape-y picking hook thing with his hard throbbing slab of dripping manstaff that he had subtly slid from his bulging black fagpants unbeknownst to me whilst I stared vacantly at the cheap rainforest poster stapled to the ceilinglaskjdlkasjd alskfjaslkdfj gflksdjfllksdfjljkga;lkergjale;kdrgjlak;erjga erglaekdrjgl;akdejgl;kadgjlkd;f hlkajdgh;lakjhadfg.

I need a shower. Preferably cold. But a steaming hot one with a detachable nozzle wouldn't go astray. (Although, speaking of sex and dentists, why does that fluoride liquid shit taste exactly like ass? Not that I know what ass tastes like, ahem).

Ahem, anyway. Mum was proud of me for not having to have any holes filled (hee hee), so she took me for a spot of clothes shopping. I might never get any of my holes filled, but dammit I can root (geddit? Sex root, but also root canal? See the way I craftily linked the dentist and sex jokes together? I'm funny.) out a funky pair of pants with my eyes closed.

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posted by Dawei at 4:13 pm

I don't normally do links to news and shit (mainly because I don't read it and can't comment on it as I'm dumb), but dude!

Is this true?! Am I really dumb for falling for it? Or is Delta faking it, trying to be the new Belinda Emmett only with bigger norks (or norks period, I guess)? Hmm, doesn't look like it. Poor kid.

I think Hodgkin's is treatable though, so I don't feel too bad in making jokes of poor taste (I restrained myself though, I didn't even mention how hairless her crack will be!). However, as I think she's cool, I will offer Delta Goodrem premature membership in Dawei's CancerHair Club, for all those with unfortunate hair. May we stand united!

Kick its ass, dude.

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posted by Dawei at 5:54 pm

"You have no new emails."

Hmph.

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posted by Dawei at 4:06 pm

Heard any rumours about the latest reality TV rejects? Have you seen Wil Anderson and Angus Smallwood making out in the street while wearing stripey shirts and berets? Seen Matthew Kopp vogueing in Akira, knocking back a shot of wheatgrass? Are you Matthew Kopp? Why not drop me a line! Check out my new link above. Pretty groovy, hey! I've totally made web-publishing my bitch.

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posted by Dawei at 11:45 pm

Ew, I was a total skank last night. I wasn't even good-skank! I was bad-skank. True, I could have been bad-skank, but luckily that was prevented.

For those of you not in the know, I shall make a few entries into the ever expanding volume of Dawei's Dick-tionary.

good-skank: you meet someone, you get along well, and then you go home and ride each other like a thrashing motherfuckin' bronco. At the end of the session, you pretend to give a shit and take each others' numbers, when you both know that you will never see each other again, other than possibly some awkward light banter if you bump into each other while scouting for your next trick.

bad-skank: you see someone. He sees you. You exchange the Look of Homosexual Acknowledgement. He breaks away from the crowd, and you follow him into the alley/bathroom/car/deserted office/empty construction site (cheers, Cazzles). Not a word is spoken, and you get down to some serious grunt work. Or better yet, you merely get on your knees, and get cum blasted over your face while getting nothing in return. You sit in the warm sticky remnants of the encounter, while he goes back to his live-in boyfriend for vodka-based cocktails and arms-above-head dancing to Britney and 80s pop tunes. An HIV test is recommended, if this path is experienced.

Bad-skank (without the bold and italics-y goodness), however, is just a mixture between the two. You don't do enough to wake up with anonymous cum caked in your hair, or land you in embarrassing situations where stains on your clothes glow under the lights in clubs in a suspicious sprayed pattern, but you do enough to make yourself feel like a bit of a whore for at least a few hours. Normally when I'm out in gay clubs, I don't mind a bit of skankiness. I like flirting for free drinks, and shaking my ass on the dancefloor with some friends, cockteasing the shit out of random homos. However, when bits of my body rub up against on some anonymous bare dick, I feel like I've crossed the line into bad-skank, and I'm only a lick of the lips and a glance of meaningful eye-contact away from going into full bad-skank mode.

So I was in this club, having a bit of a boogie with Hot (Straight) Canadian Dude (who isn't so hot anymore. Bad haircut. I'm sure he'll be back amongst it in a couple of weeks. And his body is still bangin', after all), when all of a sudden I feel this boner being pushed into my arse-cheek. Seeing this isn't very unusual, I don't think much of it, and get into the groove of it. Then he starts with the more... forceful grinding, grabbing my pelvis and squashing his dick into my arse. I should point out by this stage I had had like, six drinks (yes, it only takes six! Shut up!) including a wicked Lychini so I'm pretty shitfaced. Anyway, his hands start wandering under my shirt and into my pants, and he sucked on my ear. I figure if he's going to jerk me off, the least I can do is feel him up a bit. So I reach around behind me and stick my hand down his pants and... boner city. Yeah. Not my finest four and a half minutes.

Anyway, you'll all be glad that I snapped out of it. Of course it took a glance in a fortunately placed mirror to do so, but I snapped out of it nonetheless. The guy was HIDEOUS. I had a suspicion that he wasn't all that hot, but damn. I don't know which I'm more upset at: the fact that I felt this guy's dick, and got his pre-cum all over my hands, or the fact that he felt confident enough to whip it out and feel me up without any contact beforehand, be it vocal, eye, or miscellaneous. Am I THAT unthreatening and of the anti-hot?!?

I guess I should have picked up on the signs. The top of his head only came up to my shoulders, and I hate shorter men. Plus, he not only had short stubbly pube regrowth from shaving his groin, but he also had them on his stomach and arms!! Ewww! The worst part though? He was wearing a black pleather vest with studs along the sides! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Luckily for me, I hauled ass off the stage and found Hot (Straight) Canadian Dude propping up the bar. He covered me in a corner to help me hide (mmm 6'1+ men), and then when the coast was clear, we ran off to the casino to play blackjack for a couple of hours.

Actually, come to think of it, it was a pretty good night! And random cock dude didn't squeal and run away when he felt up my stomach, so I guess that's a compliment. Right? Right?!

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posted by Dawei at 11:00 pm

I never knew how much fun getting shitfaced with Dad on an expensive bottle of red while watching Neighbours could be until last night. Actually, it was heaps more fun than the shite bar where I later graced with my presence. Maybe that says something about me or something. Am I a lot more... simple than I think I am?

Anyway, the highlight was Dad snarling at Delta Goodrem when she came onscreen "oh, go fuck yourself, Delta!", and then recanting five minutes later saying "I feel sorry for Delta, having to work with people from Neighbours. Isn't she a 'star' now?" Indeed, Dad.

The lowlight was him telling me that I had Jack-hair. Great. For all you plebs who don't watch Neighbours (and I must ask, why the hell don't you?! Best show ever! Well, it used to be. Sort of. In a crap way. Shut up.), Jack (Jay Bunyan. Go Google search whoring!) has cancerous rat 'tard hair. At first I was horrified that my suspicions that I had a cancer-esque coiffure were true, but now a more startling realisation has occurred to me: cancerous hair is the new faux-techno-mullet! Like, it's meant to look like that. Hopefully I wont look as much as a poseur as the total fugmo losers who sported the faux-techno-mullet, but I'm choosing to believe that my sick chop is soon to be gracing the "Hot" sections of teen magazines. I just can't believe that my hair artiste would give me an assy cut on purpose, especially a few days before my not!date with Hot (Straight) Canadian Dude.

I offer you one final piece of proof: Mr James Campbell, Obviously Gay Dude himself. From what I can recall of Popstars, OGD (gay-)prided himself on being all stylish and shit. Actually, I remember one of the chicks lamenting his passing, as with OGD gone, noone would be able to tell her what to wear. Anyway, he has total cancer hair. I'll have you know that my cancer hair is far more bangin' than his. Obviously he went to a bargain basement place to get his hair treatment (geddit? Hair treatment, cancer treatment? See what I did there? I'm funny). Actually, the budget of his latest promo shoots must have been pretty damn low. What's with the earrings? What's with the "bling" around your neck? If ironic commentary on the r'n'b phenomenon didn't work with Scott "Whack Hands" Cain, I doubt it will work for you. As not only are you white, you're a faggot. I mean, black skivvy turtlenecks? Dogtags? Please. You will get your ass kicked.

And dude: what's with the cargo pants? And the scraggly chest pubes? And the Calvin Kleins awkwardly sticking up in that in that "it took fifteen minutes for this band to be casually displayed" way? As Ruth says: "the 90s called, and they never want their outfit back again".

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posted by Dawei at 3:29 pm

Argh! I have cancer hair! I don't understand it! Normally my hair artiste is excellent, but today she seems to have forgotten to cut a bit at the front. I have this massive thing jutting out at the front! I look like Tin Tin in that Very Special edition where he contracts AIDS from Captain Haddock. I'm just glad I decided not to get it dyed as well. Crap natural colour + crap cut is preferable to crap faux colour + crap cut, right?

I might be reacting prematurely though; everyone knows that hair doesn't peak from between five to nine days, post-cut. Maybe it'll flatten out or something, and I wont look like a five year old. Hmph. Anyway, that's no comfort to me, as I'm seeing Hot (Straight) Canadian Dude on Saturday night! And if I get him drunk enough to go gay-for-a-day, somehow I don't think he'll want to get jiggy with someone who has the body of an autistic twelve year old girl, with hair looking like they are two weeks out of leukemia treatments.

Well, if he's going to be that shallow, I don't think he's worthy of my bone. I hate shallow people.

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posted by Dawei at 3:04 pm