Saturday chuckles

Day 25. 74 pages, 33,332 words. Yes, I could have written one extra word but then what sort of a friend to OCD people would I be? That’s enabling, that is.

This weekend I’m just dropping a couple of funny videos and not putting much thought into it in general. Pre-writing in my spare phone moments and just getting it done. Nothing much planned for the weekend itself although I do intend to sleep for a big wedge of it.

Today’s video features this guy, who looks at first glance like a slightly chunky David Tennant (and you know Tennant, this leaves a lot of room for otherwise slim people to be labelled “slightly chunky”). Shared to me by my highly esteemed adopted son Mr. Popov, I thought it was … pretty much spot-on in every sense.


I mean, about the only reason (other than those mentioned in the hilarious stand-up above) I can think of for a single straight guy to not want to go to a gay bar is … maybe … because they’re unlikely to find a straight woman to hook up with there? I mean, unless they pretend to be gay a bit and let themselves be picked up by one of the straight women who’ve gone to the gay bar with the avowed intent of “turning” a gay man.

I consider that a victimless crime because both parties are being kind of childish.

But I don’t know, I’m out of both the bar-hookup and pub session game. Well, I guess occasionally I’ll hit a bar with friends. What I’m mostly looking for there is cheap drinks and a place to sit, and I’m usually out of luck on both fronts. The sexual orientation of the clientele is of stupendously little interest to me.

Have a nice Saturday, folks.

About Hatboy

I’m not often driven to introspection or reflection, but the question does come up sometimes. The big question. So big, there’s just no containing it within the puny boundaries of a single set of punctuationary bookends. Who are these mysterious and unsung heroes of obscurity and shadow? What is their origin story? Do they have a prequel trilogy? What are their secret identities? What are their public identities, for that matter? What are their powers? Their abilities? Their haunted pasts and troubled futures? Their modus operandi? Where do they live anyway, and when? What do they do for a living? Do they really have these fantastical adventures, or is it a dazzlingly intellectual and overwrought metaphor? Or is it perhaps a smug and post-modern sort of metaphor? Is it a plain stupid metaphor, hedged around with thick wads of plausible deniability, a soap bubble of illusory plot dependent upon readers who don’t dare question it for fear of looking foolish? A flight of fancy, having dozed off in front of the television during an episode of something suitably spaceship-oriented? Do they have a quest, a handler, a mission statement, a department-level development objective in five stages? I am Hatboy.
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