Gays are responsible for tornadoes??

Ok, so queers are responsible for several things.. like distastefullly dressed women, the survival of Daft Punk and Matchbox 20.... but tornadoes?? C'mon! I was surfing the net trying to find a good joke, and I found this.... a great one.

Do Unnatural Acts Cause Natural Disasters?

Pat Robertson, founder of the Christian Coalition and captured above, recently warned Orlando, Florida, that it was courting natural disaster by allowing gay pride flags to be flown along its streets. "A condition like this will bring about ... earthquakes, tornadoes, and possibly a meteor," he said, apparently referring to his belief that the presence of openly gay people incurs divine wrath and that God acts through geological and meteorological events to destroy municipalities that permit gay people the same civil liberties as others. (Robertson also warned Orlando about terrorist bombs, suggesting the possibility that God may also employ terrorists.)

Before Pat and his Christian cronies get too carried away promulgating the idea that natural disasters are prompted by people who displease God, they should take a hard look at the data. Take tornadoes. Every state (except Alaska) has them -- some only one or two a year, dozens in others. Gay people are in every state (even Alaska). According to Pat's hypothesis, there should be more gay people in states that have more tornadoes. But are there? Nope. In fact, there's no correlation at all between the number of gay folks (as estimated by the number of gay political organizations, support groups, bookstores, radio programs, and circuit parties) and the annual tornado count (r = .04, p = .78 for you statisticians). So much for the "God hates gays" theory.
God seems almost neutral on the subject of sexual orientation. I say "almost" because if we look at the density of gay groups relative to the population as a whole, there is a small but statistically significant (p < .05) correlation with the occurrence of tornadoes. And it's a negative correlation (r = -.28). For those of you who haven't used statistics since 1973, that means that a high concentration of gay organizations actually protects against tornadoes. A state with the population of, say, Alabama could avert two tornadoes a year merely by doubling the number of gay organizations in the state. (Tough choice for Alabama's civil defense strategists.) Although God may not care about sexual orientation, the same cannot be said for religious affiliation. If the underlying tenet of Pat's postulate is true -- that God wipes out offensive folks via natural disasters -- then perhaps we can find some evidence of who's on God's hit list. Jews are off the hook here: there's no correlation between numbers of Jews and frequency of tornadoes. Ditto for Catholics. But when it comes to Protestants, there's a highly significant correlation of .71. This means that fully half the state-to-state variation in tornado frequency can be accounted for by the presence of Protestants. And the chance that this association is merely coincidental is only one in 10,000.

Protestants, of course, come in many flavors -- we were able to find statistics for Lutherans, Methodists, Baptists, and Other. Lutherans don't seem to be a problem -- no correlation with tornadoes. There's a modest correlation (r = .52, p = .0001) between Methodists and tornadoes. But Baptists and Others share the prize: both groups show a definite correlation with tornado frequency (r = .68, p = .0001). This means that Texas could cut its average of 139 tornadoes per year in half by sending a few hundred thousand Baptists elsewhere (Alaska maybe?).
What, you are probably asking yourself, about gay Protestants? An examination of the numbers of gay religious groups (mostly Protestant) reveals no significant relationship with tornadoes. Perhaps even Protestants are less repugnant to God if they're gay. And that brings up another point -- the futility of trying to save the world by getting gay people to accept Jesus. It looks from our numbers like the frequency of natural disasters could be more effectively reduced by encouraging Protestants to be gay.

Gay people have been falsely blamed for disasters ever since Sodom was destroyed by fire and brimstone (we have been unable to find any statistics on disasters involving brimstone). According to a reliable source, the destruction of Sodom was indeed an act of God (see Genesis 19:13) and was perpetrated because the citizens thereof were, according to the same source (see Ezekiel 16:49-50), "arrogant, overfed and unconcerned [and] did not help the poor and needy" -- not because they were gay. Now Pat would have us believe that gays are the cause of tornadoes (as well as earthquakes, meteors, and even terrorist bombs) in utter disregard for evidence showing that Baptists are much more likely to cause them.

I say "Kudos!" to Orlando. Despite Robertson's warning that Orlando is "right in the way of some serious hurricanes" (hardly a revelation), note that it was not struck by the very destructive Hurricane Andrew a few years ago. And amid the recent conflagrations (that's fires) in central Florida, which occurred just after Pat sounded his alarm, Orlando was spared. Keep those flags waving!

As any statistician will tell you, of course, correlation doesn't prove causation. Protestants causing tornadoes by angering God isn't the only explanation for these data. It could be that Baptists and Other Protestants purposely flock to states that have lots of tornadoes (no, we haven't checked for a correlation between IQ and religious affiliation). But if Pat and his Christian crew insist that natural disasters are brought on by people who offend God, let the data show who those people are.

Janis WalworthJuly 16, 1998

Sources: Tornado Occurrence by State, 1962-1991; 1990 Churches and Church Membership; Population by State, 1990 US Census; Gay & Lesbian Political Organizations, Support Groups, and Religious Groups from Gayellow Pages, National Edition, 1987.

Gay cartoons? He's got a point...

Merrie Melodies or just gay 'toons?

Thank God the Rev. Jerry Falwell has stepped in to clean up children's television. Last week he outed Tinky Winky, from that perverted show the"Teletubbies," because, Falwell pronounced, the character is clearly a fount of gayness: He's purple, the gay color; he has an antenna shaped like a triangle, the gay symbol; and he carries a purse, something all gay people do.But Falwell's work is far from over. You see, kiddy TV is downright rife with gayety. Heck, Toon Town is like one big circuit party and has been for years.

*** Fred FlintstoneEvidence: His nickname on the Bedrock bowling team: "Twinkle-toes Flintstone." The show's theme song ends "...we'll have a gay old time!" Wears an orange dress with little triangles on it. Hangs out with Barney far more than Wilma.

*** Bugs BunnyEvidence: Often stands with hand on hip. Plays a hairdresser in one episode. Frequently dresses in drag. Loves to throw on a top hat and tails and belt out Broadway show-tunes with his buddy Daffy -- who, it's worth noting, has a lisp. Has a history of kissing Elmer Fudd on the lips.

*** Velma (of Scooby Doo)Evidence: Always tries to sit next to Daphne in the Mystery Machine. Sports that butch haircut. Has broad shoulders and wears thick turtleneck-sweaters and knee socks. Never once shagged Shaggy.

*** PopeyeEvidence: Eats lots of salad. Wears a sailor suit, even though he hasn't been on a ship in years. Does little sailor-dances. Dates a flat-chested transvestite named Olive Oyl. Best friend named Wimpy.

*** Batman and RobinEvidence: Robin's nickname: Boy Wonder. Batman's real name: Bruce. Both wear tights. They're in great shape. They like to show each other their "grappling hooks."

*** Peppermint PattyEvidence: Has a deep, gravelly voice. Wears pants, not dresses like the other Peanuts gals. Plays a mean game of football. Likes to taunt Charlie Brown. Always hanging out with that androgynous Marcie. Wears comfortable shoes.Nickname: Sir.

*** The Pink Panther'Nuff said

I can make fun of myself, but if you laugh I get to make fun of you.

Lesbos Jokes

Two lesbians were standing at a bar drinking when another girl waved from across the bar. "Who is that babe?" one said to the other. "I'd sure like to get her spread out on my sheets." "No you wouldn't," said the other. "She's hung like a doughnut."

A man walks in to a doctors office and says, "Doctor you must help me. I have AIDS." The doctor replies, "Are you gay?" The man answers "yes." The doctor says, "I think I can help. Go to the grocery store, buy a box of laxatives and a quart of prune juice.Take ALL of the laxatives and drink ALL of the prune juice. Take a nap for a couple of hours. When you wake up your problem will be solved." The man answers, "Will that cure my AIDS?" The doctor replies, "No, but you will find out what your ass hole is really for!"

What's the difference between a ritz cracker and a lesbian? One's a snack cracker, the other a crack snacker!

QTV- David Letterman FUNNY!

From the David Letterman Show

David Letterman joked about QTV, the new gay and lesbian cable channel on his show January 10, 2005. Here's what he had to say, “There is a new gay cable channel entitled Q Television Network (what would the Q stand for?) to provide programming for the gay, lesbian and bisexual community. (Be nice if the bisexuals got their own channel, wouldn’t it?”)

Top Ten Shows on the New Gay Cable Network


10. "Everybody loves Raymond....especially Steve."

9. "CSI: San Fransisco"

8. "Inside the actor's studio apartment in the West Village"

7. "Law and Order: Special Antiquing Unit"

6. "King of Queens"

5. "Desperate Houseboys"

4. "Stone Phillips-Unleashed"

3. "Malcolm in the Middle"

2. "My wife and kids....have no idea"

1. "Press the meat"

Lesbians are funny.

Some brief lesbian ranting..

Some Lesbian ranting...

Few people quite grasp the concept of how terrible it is truly is to be a lesbian. Gay guys, they have it easy, aside from the occaisional gay bashing and STD. They know how to dress. They care what they look like. And for the most part, they are attractive. Lesbos are not quite the same. They can't dress themselves. They take advantage of the fact that there aren't all that many lesbos out there, and decide that it doesn't matter what they look like. And they are mostly unattractive.

I'm not saying I'm a prized pig myself, well, yes I am. I'm too hot for these lesbians. They repulse me and that leaves me fairly lonely. If the sports bras, dyke hair, and wife-beaters weren't enough, they have now started wearing fake penis's under their pants. I don't know about you, but I for one am not attracted to people with mental issues. And I would surely say that wearing a strap-on out in public screams mental illness. So, I say, get your freakin' operation and go harass the straight girls and leave me alone Mr. Lady!

The only ones that are attractive are completely nuts. And I mean, balls out nuts. No common-sense, no ability to reason, and "I'll stab you in the face if you ever cheat on me" type of jealousy. That's scary. So, I ask you people.... what is scarier.... a woman wearing a penis underneath her men's American Eagle Carpenter jeans, or a knife-wielding hottie with every intention of stabbing you if you even so much as look at someone else?

You're right. I'll go with the knife-wielding hottie. After all, I'd rather be dead than to be woke up by a woman with a painted on mustache, asking me if I've seen her hormone pills. No thank you sir!

The Car Wash

Workin' at the carwash...

We're going to take a little break from Francis stories for awhile and I'm going to share some stories about how a $2 Car Wash changed my life. I'm not sure if it was for better or for worse, but it certainly gives me and my friends lots of things to laugh at.

Let's just get this straight first, I had a real job. I worked at the car wash, drying cars, when I was bored and wanted to get high and make money while doing it. The car wash consisted of several interesting characters. First and foremost, there was Lenny. He was the manager; a short fat man with a molester mustache, a full body snowsuit, and Hooters stickers on his Buick something. He was a major perve who went to Nudes a Poppin', some event where woman walk around naked, every year. He always was taking pictures of all of us girls with both a regular camera and a video camera. Plus, he always had a pocket full of "Lenny Joints", which we called them, so that we would always come around. They were named after him because they were so small and mostly paper. We all knew that he did that so the pot would last longer, thus more visits from us, and we had to smoke like 10 of them to get even the weakest high. When he was feeling really generous, he would give us one on our way out. We found out later that not only was he a perve, but possibly a dangerous one and also a pedophile. We knew he had a screw loose, but we liked getting high for free.

Me and about 10 of my friends all hung out there. Mostly just 4 of us, but others would pop up there when they wanted to hang out and they always knew where they could find us. It was pretty cool though, despite the nuts that worked there, because if you were bored, you could just go to the carwash and there would be at least 4 of your friends there. We used to get stoned and play cards, or shoot dice, or dry cars and get paid.

We all felt safe there in numbers, but if you went up there alone, it wasn't as much fun. You could still get high, but Lenny would always take advantage of the situation and say that dope couldn't be smoked there and that you'd have to go for a ride. He never tried anything with me, but asked for a kiss every once in a while. I didn't do it, of course, but it's still scary. He tried that with my best friend once when she was only 16 and he scared her half to death. I guess he thought she was an easy target and was a little more pushy. I think he knew that I would stab him, and she would not.

One day my friend Stephanie fell right through the grates in the floor of the carwash. We played on the tracks often while smoking, and I guess they had moved or something because she took one step and the floor gave out on her. She fell right into that nasty carwash water. It sounds like a horrible experience, and it was for her, but it was still damn funny to us.

My friend Ron, the one featured in the last Francis story, also worked at the car wash. He walked with a cane, due to getting hit by a car, drank non-stop, listened to Slayer and King Diamond, and laughed like a woman. He was great. Except he always tried to make out with me when he was wasted and we were alone. It would take me an hour to get him out of my car. That was not funny, no sir.

We used to go over Ron's to drink and party so often that we would leave our pipes there. Plus, they were safe from our parents. One day we went over there to hang out. I pull out one of our pipes, packed it, and took a big hit. I started coughing and instantly knew something was wrong. I looked over at Ron with his round face and red cheeks, and he was giggling to himself. I asked him what he was laughing at and he said that he let this guy Ron B. smoke crack out of it. Funny. Not for me. Well kinda. Crack sucks.

Ron B. also worked at the car wash back in the day, before my time. Lenny fired him for being too much of a retard. It's pretty hard to out-shine the rest of the land of misfits, but not for Ron B. Once he came through the wash in his car, drunk as hell, and forgot to put his car in neutral. He drove straight threw, jacking his car all up. Class A retard. But he was hilarious to hang out with. He would get so drunk that he would start zoning out and just fall side-ways out of his chair. That's quality if I do say so myself. He would stay with Ron sometimes. Once he stayed one night, he would never leave. We were never really sure where he came from. He would just pop up twice a year, stay for a couple weeks, then disappear again. A wanderer, if you will. Ron always got so pissed about it. He had "the guy on the couch" pretty often and it wasn't always Ron B.

to be continued...I'm tired of typing.

Francis: Peek A Boo....

This story is incredible scary to me, though I'm not sure if it's because I was messed up when it happened, or if Francis was crossing the line once again. Any commentary is invited.

So one evening, me and a couple friends were hanging out with our pal Ron from the local carwash. We were at his apartment, listening to Slayer, popping mini-thins and drinking Old English. All was going well and we were having a grand ole' time, until I started getting pages that said 7-11. I really didn't understand what that was all about so I ignored it. I should've figured that Francis had something to do with it, since he had also been paging me non-stop. But I didn't. Must've been the narcotics. Anyways... the pages went on until I had an epiphany.... our friend Ron's apartment was right next to a 7-11. I'm so smart, I know, I know.

So I glanced out the window and what do I see? Francis's obnoxious car parked outside the 7-11. I'm not sure how he knew I was there since he didn't even know Ron. He's suck a sneaky little guy. I could see him staring at the windows, trying to see someone spy out so he could figure out the apartment.

Thankfully, I didn't have to run into him because we just waited him out, and his stake out was unsuccessful. He stood out there for about 2 hours. That's just scary.

Still Gay...

Just wanted to let everyone know that I'm still gay today, but my sister might not be. We'll have to wait and see how she feels after dinner.

To Grandmother's house we go...

Part Deux in the Francis series is a lovely story of a week long stay at my friends' grandmothers' house. Grandma went to Florida for a vacation in the winter, as old folks often do, and left us with her house. Surely, she forgot was it was like to be 19 years old, or she wouldn't have made that decision. Nonetheless, it was a good time for us.

This story isn't so much a Francis story as the latter, but it does highlight his insanity once again and I like that.

First off, the house was being kept up by primarily my friend Val, who's grandma owned the house, my friend Carrie, and myself. We did welcome strays and others stayed here and there. There were also lots of people there every night of the week as it was a free-for-all. This was back in my hay-day and weed was our specialty. We were really high. For a week. Well, for 5 years but we'll just talk about this week.

We went out and bought special bongs for the occaision and many a people came by to pack our shiny new water pipes. I don't remember alot of the week, but what is remembered was grand. There was the bedroom with the "GNOMES" which to this day I'm not really sure what they were. Small dolls or trinkets. There must've been thousands of them, and nobody would sleep in that room. Which meant about 5 to 6 girls, on a good night, piling in a full sized bed. The few that were brave enough to chance it never lasted long. I braved the trolls for one night, and woke up in the middle of the night to them all smiling at me. I moved to the couch because I didn't want everyone to know that I was as chicken as them, but I didn't sleep in there again.

There was the snow. And there was alot of it. We must've got 3 feet that week and if you can picture it, 3 really stoned 19 year old girls shoveling 3 feet of never ending snow was a laugh on it's own. It was almost as comical as watching us try to get our cars in the driveway afterward. Picture this... a poorly shoveled driveway with 3 foot walls of snow on each side. The driveway was somewhat elevated which was no good for the likes of our past vehicles. Val's 95 Neon had to be floored from down the street to make it up, not to mention it had to turn into the driveway, on a poorly plowed side street. Once the car was close enough to the driveway, we'd turn the wheel and give it more gas, sending the car plowing into the snow walls, ricocheting off of them all the way to the top. I don't know how the cars survived. Only one was trashed by the end of the week and it wasn't mine.

There was the bathroom faucet incident. I was taking a shower and put my foot on the faucet while I shaved my legs, and it snapped off. Completely. Not only was it embarrassing, I thought Val was going to kill me. Luckily, Carrie's dad is a plumber and came over and gave Grandma some new piping since I broke it off all the way from in the wall. You're welcome Grandma. The embarrassment was bad enough, then I had to face her dad and him making fun of me, and on top of that, had to have a parent in the weed smelled house. It sucked.

Now through all of this fun, I had forgotten about one thing... Francis. He was not happy that I was not having anything to do with him for an entire week. He was also not happy that everyone in the city of Fraser was invited over but him. This did make me feel slightly bad since I met all of these friends through him in the first place. But whatever. Life goes on. Back to the story... Francis was paging me non-stop and of course I would ignore him. I didn't think he knew where to find me, but apparently, he found out from someone because he showed up at the door one day. I was mid-bongtoke and I get the page "ICU". How creepy is that anyways? What a freak. I look outside and he's there, so I call his cell and tell him to go away. He begs for me to talk to him for a few minutes, and after much rejection, I obliged. I went outside and he was being his normal freakish self, whining about how I don't call him back and he doesn't know why I always do this to him. To this day, I still don't know exactly what I was doing to him. It was more like what he was doing to me. It was cold and he somehow talked me into getting into his car, and as soon as I shut the door, he floored it backwards out of the driveway and stole me. My friend Val was standing in the driveway, mouth gaping wide. You would think we would expect this kind of thing, but it was always a shock. Perhaps because we were always high. I'm not sure what Francis's objective was in kidnapping me, because he returned me after about 20 minutes of me screaming at him. I think he just needed to get his fix. What can I say? I am sexy.

About 3 days later, he struck again. This was one of the creepiest things he's ever done in my eyes. It was around noon. Several of the girls were at work or school. Only my friends Val, Michea, and I were home. This time, there was no warning pages, no warning calls to the house. Nothing. We were trying to sleep when we heard a knock at the door. I did a 007 to the front window and see Francis's car in the driveway and quickly run back to the bedroom before I'm spotted. We layed there silently hoping he would just go away, but no. That just doesn't happen. He kept knocking. Sometimes taking breaks to go around the house peaking in windows. Apparently, he was tired of wondering, so he decided to let himself in. We heard him try to open the door, and were deeply saddened when we heard it open. Whoever left last did not lock the door!! We layed in the bed, pretending to still be sleeping. Eyes closed, we listened to Francis walk through the kitchen, down the hallway, and stop right outside the bedrooms' open door. He just stood there for a minute looking at us, then turned around, walked out, shut the door behind him, and began knocking again!! What a freak baby!! Who does that? If he wasn't still a friend, I would report him. Surely.

On our last day at Grandma's, Val and I went out to breakfast then headed back to the house to clean up and remove the bong's from the house. As we turned into the driveway, we saw the Grandparent's car there and the bag with our bong's sitting outside the door. We threw the car into reverse and got the hell out of dodge, but knew we would have to go back. We freaked out for awhile, then decided to face the music. Well, Val had to face the music. I was stoned and just made her go in. She got our stuff, grabbed the bongs from outside, and Grandma has never mentioned it to this day. I'm still waiting for it.

Francis: Sold out for smokes and a Mt. Dew

I'm not going to list stories in chronological order. I prefer to go with what stands out in my memory most. I most likely choose this one because of the level of betrayal I sustained. Or maybe because it's the most fun to tell.

The story begins with a fun night out with my friends. I had been sleeping on a recliner in Francis's bedroom, because my mom threw me out of the house for being a pot-head. So my best friend, Liz, met up with me at Francis's house and we were picked up by 3 of our other friends, Val, Carrie, and Michea. These 3 friends will be featured in several other Francis stories, because they have seen a great deal of madness.

Francis was with his friends watching WWF, and therefore was not upset by my going out. That is until he got home, and I was still out and about. So, me and the girls got stoned, went to Coney, and acted like jackasses. This was our favorite past-time. All the while, Francis was paging me non-stop. (Yes, I had a pager. This was back in 1997. The only cell phones were the huge Zack Morris phones, and that would come later. I preferred to spend my money on weed.) I didn't call him back, because I didn't feel like it. I was having fun, and I knew he would want to hang out. Plus, I was planning on going home with Liz and spending the night at her house and I knew he would have a cow.

A few hours and a million pages later, we decided it was time to head home for the night. In our weed-induced brainlessness, we totally forgot that Liz's car was parked in front of Francis's house. The fear set in. I can't explain the feeling exactly, but it was a kind of panic that nobody else has ever made me feel. So we fabricated a game plan. Val, whom was experienced in stunt driving due to other Francis encounters, was driving. The plan was that Val was going to speed around the corner in his sub-division, pull up next to Liz's car, and we would run to the car, lock the doors, and never look back. We did a test lap past his house, and his car was not in the driveway. This only meant one thing.... he was out looking for me. On our 2nd time around the block, just as we were coming around the corner, the blur of a rust colored Ford Spectrum comes out of nowhere, breaks, skids sideways, and stops perfectly as a sideways road-block between us and our destination, Liz's car.

We all sat there for a second, stunned and paralyzed in fear. Then Liz and I started screaming, "Roll up the windows, lock the doors!!" Just as the last window was up, Francis comes barreling towards my door, trying to pull it open and banging on the windows. It was a sight that not even the best writer could capture, and not even the best horror movie producer could create. It was pure, real life insanity, and it was directed at me. I'm not sure if the weed made it better or worse, but all I do know is that shit was scary. He was screaming at everyone to unlock the doors or roll down the windows. All the while, his car is completely blocking his some what busy side street. We were stuck, and there was no other option than to deal with him.

Francis began pleading with me to "just talk to him", as he always would. Followed by the predictable comments of "why do you always do this to me" and "I care about you so much". I told him that I would talk to him if he would stop acting insane and move his car out from the middle of the road. He agreed. As he was getting back in his car, I had an idea. I was not yet ready to throw in the towel. After all, I am a fighter. I told Val to floor it as soon as he moved out of the way, and I told Liz to get her keys ready and we were going to make a run for it. We had left the doors unlocked so I thought we have a decent chance of survival.

Francis moved his car, Val waited for him to pass Liz's car and head up his driveway, then she gunned it. I don't even think she had stopped her car when me and Liz had jumped out and ran for it. As absurd as it was for us to put together this plan, Francis caught on very quickly, and he threw his car into park mid-way up the driveway and came running. We got in the car with plenty of time to shut and lock the doors. There's was just one problem. The "hooptey" has power windows, and mine just happened to be down about 1/4 of the way. I felt like a blonde bimbo in a horror movie as I was screaming for Liz to get the keys in the ignition, and she fumbled just the same as the terror took control over her trembeling hands.

Francis came from nowhere, and lunged his arm into my window, just as Liz got the keys in the ignition. He was panting and yelling, and his face was bright red. We could even see the veins bulging out of his forehead. We were stuck, and he refused to remove his arm from the window unless we would allow him to accompany us back to Liz's house, which was 1/2 hour away. I said no way, and gave Liz the look as though it was ok for her to roll the window up on his arm. She also told him no, but was easily persuaded once he offered to buy her a Mt. Dew and a pack of cigarettes. There was no hope for me. We were stuck, and I was sold out by my best friend.

Francis knew that we couldn't be trusted, so he followed closely to the party store where he took Liz hostage inside with him, to assure we didn't escape. Liz got back in the car and announced that she would try to lose him on the way, but I was still pissed at her and knew she was no match for the crazy stunt driving that Francis was so good at.

We began the journey to her house with Francis on our tail. At one point, Liz pulled a quick right into what looked like a rinky-dink car dealership. Francis didn't even flinch before following us inside. It wouldn't have mattered anyway because there was one way in and one way out. He started screaming out the window at us, and Liz acted dumb and said she thought she blew a tire. We continued on our way. Once we got into Liz's sub-division, we decided to mess with Francis a bit. Liz started doing about 2 mph down the road, and he became infuriated. He started pulling up right next to us, and screaming out the window. We just looked ahead and pretended not to see him. This pissed him off even more. We started driving around in circles, and continued to do so for about a half hour, smiling and waving at Francis as he screamed obscenities out his window.

When we arrived at Liz's house, he was pissed, but also wanted to hang out, so he dropped it after about an hour of bitching. The confrontation was never as bad as the chase, but you can't blame a girl for running. After all, he did always kill our buzz.

Francis: The Pre-text

I will begin my stories, with a sub-series of stories, about a fellow that indefinately changed my life. He's everything a writer could ask for in a topic.... insane, lovable, furious, and hilarious. As a friend, he's also everything you could ask for, well he's everything I could ask for. Most people would probably be afraid, as I was often. But he kept life interesting, and always kept me laughing, even when it was for the wrong reasons. What more can you ask for?

We'll call him Francis, since I still like him pretty good. Plus, Francis is a funny name and I like to say it. I met Francis when I was 17 years old. We were both working at the local Buffet Restaurant. To this day, I'm still unsure of how we became friends, since I was, and still am, unsocial, and he was not the typical type of person that I would befriend. One way or another it happened, and he began letting me borrow his car. This was an exceptional deal for me, since I barely knew how to drive since my mother revoked my privileges after I almost killed her twice.

Now, Francis had stipulations on the usage of his vehicle and violating these stipulations would not result in the loss of privileges, but resulted in the most horrendous of consequences.... a pissed off Francis. I'll tell you what, I'd rather have my mom pissed at me, than deal with him. It was that bad. Anyways, back to the stipulations. One, you must NEVER drive the rust-colored Spectrum while impaired. Which, for me, meant stoned. Hey, I liked weed. Two, you must be on time to pick Francis up from work. And that was it. Two simple rules that were impossible to follow. But, oh, what a time.

Now I haven't quite touched on the part where Francis was madly in love with me. He was. And I now know where they got that phrase from. Not only did he go berzerk over the misuse of his vehicle, but he also went berzerk if I chose to spend time with anyone other than him, if I chose to use any drugs other than pot, or if I insisted that my best friend, Hurricane Elizabeth, tagged along. Of course, I did all 3 regularly and this also caused many of great stories. Now that we have the pre-text taken care of, we can get to the good stuff.

Hi!, I'm a lesbian.

Hey people. I guess this is my introduction, so I'll start off with my purpose. No, not my life purpose.... the purpose of this blog. Obviously, I am a lesbian, but this is not all that I'll speak about, so if that's what you're looking for, I'm not your girl. But I will tell you this, and it may help, as I know I would want to know, I'm not a nasty man-dyke. It's a little less captivating when you're imagining a 250 pound, vested, lesbian with a mullet and facial hair telling you stories. Who wants to picture that? I sure don't. God, I already have to live with the fact that 70% of the available vagina is attached to one of those burly beasts. My life is sad. Seriously, how come gay men are so handsome and well-dressed, and 70% of lesbians are hetero rejects that no man could love. I guess it works because woman are supposed to be able to love someone for what's on the inside, but sadly, I wasn't born with that kind of empathy. For me, woman are like cars. If it's not sexy on the outside, I couldn't care less about the inside. I'd rather put up with massive amounts of nutty bitchness, than lick on one of those titless waddlers. And I do, as you'll find out.

There's alot more to me other than the fact that I'm gay, and I can tell you that my life will make you laugh. Alot. Not to mention that I'm hilarous. Yeah, I said it. I may change names to protect the obviously retarded. I may not, depending on how much I hate you. We'll just have to see. Also, I maybe should've mentioned this before I started maming people as retarded, but I do tend to be a bit offensive at times. If you have a strong will to defend the unintelligent, protect the innocent, or shield the ignorant- you're not going to like me. But do me a favor, and click an ad on your way out.

With that said, we'll get started. Prepare yourself for insanity, and the most colorfully crazy characters that you would probably never want to meet. If you're reading and realize that you are one of them, I'm very sorry. But know this, you've made a lasting impression on me some how and will NEVER be forgotten. And most likely, neither will any idiotic thing that you've ever done in my presence. Good Day.