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This video is great! It’s a drag queen dressed as Madonna with a bunch of gay guys, doing a parody of the “Sorry” video. I love the part where she gets knocked out with a disco ball! Classic! Don’t get me wrong, I love the video for “Sorry”. This is just really funny!
It’s just like regular voicemail, and you’ll be able to review your message before sending it. So give me a ring-a-ding: 206-338-NATEI look forward to hearing from you sexy bitches! [ Thanks to Donnie for the help. ]
Just playing around with Photoshop on a Saturday night
One of my lady friends, who will remain anonymous, claims she’s never used a mirror to check out her ‘gina and asshole. Bullshit! If I had a ‘gina, I know I’d be looking at it in the mirror. And of course I’ve checked out my asshole. Surely everyone has. How else will you know what it looks like? Whatever. Everybody has put a mirror down there. Am I wrong?
In the process, I completely cut off a white truck. Yes, I used my signal. But I was still an asshole. I was abrupt and forceful. I looked in my mirror and planned on giving him a hand wave to say “thanks”. But something stopped me from waving. He had a 4 wheeler attached to the back of the truck…plus, a “W 04″ sticker in the stupidest place. That’s when I recognized him. That bastard! On October 4th, 2005, that redneck motherfucker put me through hell! I had never been so scared on the interstate. It was so bad that I blogged about it. Back then, he terrorized me for no reason. He tried to make me wreck my car, and endangered my life. I still remember how hard my heart was beating in my chest that morning. Tonight, I was filled with a wicked joy. I cut the bastard off! I made him slam his brakes. I could have made him have a wreck. This queer finally fucked him back. Take that, bitch. [Editorial note: After reviewing my post from last year, I remembered the original truck had a black “W” sticker, while this truck had a “W 04″ sticker. Whoops, wrong truck. This whole story sucks now. But wouldn’t it have been cool?]
Meanwhile, someone else brought in chocolate cake. I try to avoid sweets. I hate it when people say “Oh you’re skinny, have a piece of cake” as if that justifies it. Poison is the same no matter what your weight is. Poison is still poison. And who made this cake? What do I really know about this cake? Maybe it’s a trap. Why would someone just bake a cake and bring it to work to share? Doesn’t everybody have a hidden agenda? I looked at my oatmeal. I looked at the cake. Take the high road, Nathan. You can do it. You can resist. I ate 2 pieces of cake.
Tonight was a gay ol’ time on American Idol. It was great. I really like the guys this season.
Apparently anal bleaching is a hot trend growing in popularity. The concept is simple - lighten the color around your asshole so that is doesn’t look like…well…an asshole. So I’ve done my research, and there is actually very little documentation about it. Apparently it’s very top secret. Most sites consider it a joke or a myth. The first mainstream discussion of anal bleaching was in April 2000, when gossip columnist Ted Casablanca reported that Lara Flynn Boyle was having her anus bleached. (That damn Lara, she’s always stirring up trouble.) So is it real or not? Apparently it is, and it doesn’t involve bleach at all. The chemicals involved in anal bleaching are simply skin lighteners, similar to what people use to even out dark spots on their face or body. Who would bleach their asshole? I think assholes look just fine the way they are. Is there no end to the cosmetic craziness people will go through? I guarantee this trend all started with some silly housewife in Beverly Hills. I can just see her and her friends running out to get their assholes bleached, along with their botox and lip injections. Bleh.
This story is from October, 2005, when our dog Petey was still a baby. Before he was trained, we often had to take him outside in the middle of the night. Our back patio is fenced, so we just let him go out there and do his business. We live right off an intersection, with only a hill of grass in between our fence and the street. It was about 3 a.m. (the Devil’s hour, if you didn’t know) and I didn’t bother turning on the porch light. It was dark, and the moon cast an eerie glow over us. I stood outside while Petey sniffed out a spot. I looked up and this very unusual figure was walking down along the hill. As he passed under a streetlight, I realized how disfigured and scary he looked. He also had a very strange walk. As he got closer, he looked more and more like a monster. He seemed to walk faster and faster. I became increasingly nervous. I didn’t want him to see me. It would only take a few seconds to run down the hill and jump the fence. I was praying that Petey wouldn’t make a sound. Petey finished his business and I quickly scooped him up and slipped inside the sliding glass door. I double locked it and closed the blinds. Safe at last. In daylight, this whole story would be different. But when it’s late at night, and we’re alone…vulnerability creeps up on us. I guess I’ll never know what this thing was doing outside the house. But it scares me to imagine.
Sidenote: Sorry, I just can’t handle these 3-letter nicknames people use on their blogs. CTG, you are now officially named Coo Too Gay. So anyway, Coo Too Gay lives in South Africa. It seems interesting to me that somebody thousands of miles away had the same favorite toy in his childhood as I had in mine. It’s a universal love for a lazy cat that slept all day and ate lasagna by the truckload. Wouldn’t that be a great life? I think most of you in your 20’s or 30’s probably share the same love for Garfield. I think it’s amazing how certain icons, even childhood ones, can bring back good memories for so many people across the globe.
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I love hearing from you boys and girls, so I’ve set up a Nathan Exposed Voicemail Line.
Okay, okay… now I need some honest answers here, people.
Is it real or simply an urban legend?
