It was Edgar A. Poe’s anniversary of his death and instead of absinthe and bemoaning life’s fragile state, some friends and I gathered to watch ‘The Black Cat’ and eat snacks, followed by a night out at the goth club. I go every now and then to these event nights as the music doesn’t suck and it brings the freaks out.

It’s always fun to watch the sexually ambiguous dance about, losing themselves in whatever beat they are attempting to capture. It’s a dress up kind of deal, where normal people get charged more money for admission. It’s a good mix of ropey-haired, latex wearing girls that look like evil dolls, punks, nerdy types with a dark side and a penchant for trenchcoats, older “lifer” goths, a tranny or two, and a smattering of military boys out on leave in dark clothing.

Smiths, Siouxie Sioux, and Thrill Kill Kult sends the masses into a taffy-pulling vortex in the smoke machines and strobe lights. Sweat pours down, glistening in bursts of light, collecting in cleavage and collarbones alike. Beautiful arms, tattooed, clad in black bondage gear thrust high above the heads of the crowd as a navy boy stomps about giving curious glances at other boys. People throw shapes, the music pulses on into the night, and I can practically smell how youthful everyone is.

For a moment, it carries me too, I feel like I’m feasting on their youth and I feel young again. It’s moments like these that make you wish you could freeze time, capture it, like an insect in amber. To be a vampire at that moment in time, strong-arming the pychobilly boy up against the wall where the strobe doesn’t quite go, sinking my teeth into his perfect brown neck – I would have sold my soul for it.

This is what you came here for? This dance to celebrate death. Not Edgar Allan Poe’s but your very own. The fantasy lingers only so long until I see where the sweat collects in his dark grey military fatigues and then I just wish I was his underwear.

And there’s that realization that time moves on, moves forward and doesn’t wait for me. My mouth is dry. I’m 36.

I go home for a cup of green tea and bed. It will be raining heavily this next week and it will be spent in doors, writing terrible verse to a buck-tooth girl in Luxembourg or piecing together pieces of art for very patient men.

Let’s get down to business. Man, I really hate all that forced bullshit these holidays bring. If I had to endure another song about yule logs, I think I’d hit somebody with one. Everyone is busy running around, all hopped up on this false idea of “Christmas cheer” when we all know it’s a case of last minute shopping and bad driving. It’s dangerous out there. As I see it, there are about 16 more days before everyone goes back to normal as that’s when the gaudy lights and inflatables come off people’s homes and people have returned all those unwanted gifts from Aunt Selma.

I’m also glad people will stop saying “Merry Christmas” to me instead of a simple good-bye. I’m not Christian. Don’t assume. It got to the point where I’d be at CostCo getting things and instead of saying “Thank you,” or the ever popular “Have a nice day,” I am sent away with “Merry Christmas”.

“Happy Hannukah!” I’d smile and say back to the most puzzled of faces or delight in watching them vacillate in the awkward dance of telling me they weren’t Jewish or assuring me that my sudden and apparently assumed Jewishness was ok too.

War on Christmas? You got it! After all, you started it with the constant sensory assault through sleigh bell music, that Santa hat, and that annual trampling of an elderly person at your local big-box superstore. Where’s the kindness? Where’s the sanity? And where are my damn gifts?

And isn’t it what this is really is all about? Mass consumerism and capitalism dressed up in red and green and twinkling lights? Yes, Virginia, there is an ATM at this location. In buying a gift for those loved ones, people are caught up in this cloud of anxiety and expectation of what this time of year is perceived to bring. If you liked these same people the other 364 days of the year, couldn’t you have bought them a gift at any time?

So now, please put away that wreath of pinecones, those ever-so hilarious novelty antlers for your VW sports wagon, and that precious cat sweater with “MEOW-y Xmas!” on either sides so it can live another day to embarrass us all (including the cat). I’ve had enough – enough of all the appropriated mish-mash of pagan, Christian, and made up consumer come-ons to last me a lifetime. This includes that crazy story about that one guy who rose from the dead and did all these purported magic things.

Um, yeah, like whatever.

Stupid doctors, crappy healthcare.
Dressed in head-to-toe gowns
In the air
There’s a forced feeling
of Christmas.

People sick
People passing
Seeing people out of work
and on every street corner you’ll hear

We’re in hell, we’re in hell
It’s Christmas time in the city
Ding-a-ling, Republicans
Soon it will be Christmas day.

Throngs of homeless
Under stop lights
In soup kitchens it’s obscene
As Walmart shoppers rush
home with their treasures.

It’s a cash crunch
Kids without lunch
Glen Beck makes a scene
And above all this bustle
You’ll hear

We’re in hell, we’re in hell
It’s Christmas time in the city
Ding-a-ling, Republicans
Soon it will be Christmas day.

Nothing really matters to me right now, so you’ll excuse me for a little bit – ok?

With extreme trepidation I joined the legions of people on Facebook over a year ago after I was censored by the MySpace goon-squad and was likened to ‘lice’. Initially, I found the good-natured and well-mannered people on Facebook to be like crisp, clean sheets – seductive and a great comfort to linger about in on a Sunday afternoon. I’ve made some great friends on there, reconnected with old ones, sold art through it (which I never did on MySpace!), and found the conversations to be adult and way above the troll-like behavior of some of the gay message boards filled with shadowy faces and dubious profiles seemingly created for the sole purpose of flinging feces upon everyone and anyone on the internet.

You had to put your face and some information about yourself on Facebook – hence the name I gather – and meeting people was similar to doing an event or going into a bar and feeling very much like ‘fresh meat’. Good for the ego with none of the downsides. A pure win-win situation, I thought.

Then I started playing the little games and apps on there, spending way too much time clicking and poking and prodding at candy-colored tiles and flash or java based games. I’m a diabetic in a candy store who can’t stop filling his gullet with the oh-so-sweet treats, knowing all too well that I was wasting my time waiting for somebody to reply to my message or comment when they very well might be asleep in bed.

I got lazy somewhere between the crisp, clean sheets – thrusting my butt up in the air, much like my cat does when I come home demanding a good solid brushing, at best and at the worst, like some wanton sex fiend on Craigslist. Where I used to be rather suspect of anyone without a face on Facebook or just a photo and some brief blather about themselves that would make me walk away in any other social situation, I began adding people with glee abandon.

Blind invite after blind invite came so fast and so furious, studied for a brief moment in some sort of A.D.D. litmus test and then added just so I could go back to Scrabble or my Dungeons & Dragons Tiny Adventure or Castle Age, until I was so full of anonymous electronic Facebook semen that I just lost the will to stop. I’ve got ‘friends’ on my Facebook account that I can’t tell you one thing about. Not one! ‘Friends’ with such dubious taste in music, fashion, and some might say lacking in basic intelligence that maybe it is I who should have his head examined!

So I guess it begins and ends with me.

If I want the madness to stop, I have to apply the brakes. That means deleting everyone and anyone whom I don’t like, speak with, have no interest in doing things with, all those desperate people padding their friends lists with ‘cool’ people, even the hot ones, the ones who post Madonna concert footage, the ones who can’t be bothered to spell correctly, and those with personalities that must taste like cardboard. In real life, I have maybe 5 friends. Close friends. Online, I have over 600! Six-hundred people who don’t give a shit about me and frankly, that street goes both ways.

If that makes me a douche, so be it, but at least I’ll feel sane.

I heading to Chicago for MIR in the first week of November. I’ve got a bunch of stuff to take with me as I’ll have a booth where you can get your hands on some very rubbery art and cards to take home to decorate your den of iniquity or give to that special loved one.

So… here’s the thing. I don’t want to put up in a hotel. Anyone in Chicago want to put me up? Hit me up!

Now, what to pack from my extensive rubber clothing collection?

Jocks and watersports and punks – OH MY! Another piece for another client in Seattle. I present, “Pit Stop”.

Yep. That’s the theme. If you are in Seattle this weekend, head on over to The Cuff for the Northwest LeatherSir, Leatherboy and Bootblack contest events! And while you are there, check out the art I did for the event. They should be also auctioning off the print of the work that is on all the posters, brochures and advertisements. Enjoy!

He comes over in plaster caked jeans, those big brown steel toe boots, and that thin t-shirt that clings to his torso like a second skin. There’s a V-shaped sweat stain down the front of the grey t-shirt, and two on the pits that run down his sides. The name of the business has rubbed off so all you can really see is the word “Interiors”. I met him through my website. Sometimes having dirty art out there has it’s fringe benefits.

“Sorry I’m so sweaty, but I know you like that, ” he says with that shit-eating grin.

I just push the side of my mouth out with my tongue, half smile and grunt. He walks past me, down the hall and into my bedroom. I shut the door behind us kicking off my Kansas City Wizards shorts watching him kick off those big boots revealing those wide meaty socked feet and I go stiff. He sees what I’m looking at as he pulls off his dusty jeans and grabs the tops of his tube socks and pulls them  tight up to his knees showing me the dirty, sweaty wide bottoms. Again that toothy grin. I grab his foot in my hands and push it to my face.

“Yeeeah!” He cheers me on, “Day 4 of wear. I guess I don’t have to ask you what you think.” He swats at my dick with his meaty paw and I flinch.

“You’re going to pay for that.”

He’s a good foot taller than me and probably works out just a little too much for my liking. He’s big. His feet are big. His dick is big. His mouth is big. He’s a scruffy, unshaven, sweaty, with this long bit of chin scruff. He tugs on his dick as he watches me lick and suck the sweat out of his socked toes and then grabs for the lube and lubes up his cock and starts plunging a finger up his ass.

“You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted it bad, huh?”

“Can you tell?” Grinning at me with his legs in the air and 3 fingers now jammed up his crack. “You’re mohawk looks hot dude.”

If I had a quarter for every time I heard that I’d be rolling in it. I grab a condom and slide it on and slather my length with lube. With his 3 fingers in there I push inside of him with both of us hammering away at his hole. He lets out this sound, which is kind of like a donkey but with his furrowed brow and chin fuzz, it makes him look like a goat with a monkey’s face.

“Slut.” I say flatly and I pound away, pulling my face out from his feet cupped in my face.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say forcefully. “You know you are. You love cock up your ass. You told me yourself. You crave dick. My dick!”

“Yeah?” he probingly asks again, hoping for more of my dirty talk.

“Fag. Faggot. Sissy. Pussy. Cunt.” I spell each one out for him and punctuate it with a hard thrust of my shaft.

“More. More!” He begs me and then he does this weird thing. He reaches behind me with his long monkey arms and pushes two really greasy fingers up my butt. I give him a smirk and bite my lip. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and I start laughing.

“Dirty. Fuckin’. Pig. Fuckin’. Nasty. Sweaty. Stinking. PIG. Rotten. Little. Fuckhole. Sicko. Pervert.”

“YES!” He throws his bald head back on the bed. “Yes! Yes! More! Look!” He shows me his big veiny uncut dick slapping it against his stomach leaving little strings of pre-cum. He lubes up some more and then this time reaches from  between my legs this time and pushes 3 fingers in me.

“You little fucker!” I jackhammer his ass and he throws his head back again lets out this long howling grunt.

“Takes one to know one. I could probably put my big thick hand in you, you whore!”

“Keep that up and I’ll rip my cock out and replace it with my forearm!”

“No way,” he squealed.

I pulled out and his pucker drooled lube and winked. I grabbed his calf and in one swift movement, flipped him over onto all fours.

“Stay.”

I grabbed my gloves and popped the lid to a brand new can of Crisco, scooping out a nice big ball of it to push inside this fuckers greedy little hole and then coated my hand and forearm. He looked back at me and said ’shit’ under his breath. His hole opened up so easy for that semi-soft ball of lard so I gave him another. The bastard is going to eat my arm.

Two fingers, three and then four went in so easy. I pumped my gooey fingers in and out of him and stealthily popped the thumb into my palm and began to fuck him on it. He kept rocking back on my hand getting used to it, or so I thought, and the whole hand goes in!

“Oh my god! How many fingers??”

“Um… all of them?”

“All? Like what?”

“My hand is up your ass, dude!”

“Oh sweet!! I’ve never gotten this much at once!”

I laugh knowing he’s probably taken some big things up there. So I let the pig bounce around on my hand and wrist, watching him gleefully take it and he sweetly reaches back and greases up my dick looking at my face as I watch him pig out on my arm.

“What?” I ask him.

“What time is it?” he asks me.

“Almost 7. Why?”

“Shit. Pull out. Shit. SHIT! SHIT!”

I do and ask him what’s wrong. He avoids the question and asks me to get him a towel, he has to shower. So he does, gets dressed and as I walk him to the door I ask if he’s ok. I clean up a little and put my shorts back on.

“Yeah. Yeah,” He assures me and then kisses me hard on the mouth with tongue, “I’m late is all. I have to go home, it’s me and my wife’s 6th anniversary.”

I stand there watching him from the door with my mouth wide open, getting into his big white truck, waving and smiling and then drives away.

You little fucker. I hope you read this.

Lucky for me, I bought my tickets way in advance as I had a feeling this sucker was going to sell out this year and that hunch paid off. My first two days at the Con was basically popping in and out of the call out sessions and staying clear of the marketplace downstairs. I did this for two reasons – to avoid people I knew and to avoid the temptation to buy stuff. If I ran into people I knew or had yet to meet – I’d stay and gab their ears off. Plus, I’m on a budget.

Taking the trolley down from my house was a godsend as that meant little to no road rage on my part. A happy and calm Drub makes everyone else around me happy and pleasant as well, plus 5 bucks for an all day pass is a no brainer.

My 3rd day was very eventful. Instead of popping in and then popping out to go home, I went around to see who was manning the Prism booth, who else that I knew had booths and check out all the cool indy published stuff. I don’t know if it was me or if it was the weather or what, but it was very very…um… cruisy. Boy-candy everywhere. Or maybe I just need to get laid. Anyways, it was a blast and I don’t think I could have wished for a better time. At this point in the posting, I’d like to point out that it’s going to get rather heady and ridiculous in here with all the name-dropping.

Last Gasp has finally released Best Erotic Comics 2009 and the printing is excellent, so I urge you all to snap up your very own copy. “Dem Bones” which originally appeared in Hard To Swallow #3 was included, and even though it has received mixed reviews, I urge you to pick it up and judge for yourself.

I had two celebrity run-ins in which I totally embarrassed myself. One being Amber Benson and the other being John Barrowman. I like to pride myself at not gushing inappropriately nor interrupting people speaking but I seemed to throw all that out the window and practically laid eggs right there on the carpet as each of these people seemed to magically appear in front of me. All said and done, Amber is as funny and down-to-earth as one can imagine. No sooner had that happened and Amber left, I told a couple friends what a geek I was, stopping in mid-sentence as I heard a distinctive voice right behind me. I turned around, gasped and turned away and my pals must have thought I lost my marbles all over the floor. I then pointed out the the actor from Torchwood, our very own Jack Barrowman, was right behind us which brought various expressions of confusion and delight to those that understood my fangasm. Soon, every gay man with a camera or iPhone was gunning for a snapshot and all I could do was watch as this maelstrom (Fagstorm?) developed right in front of my eyes. I became flush, wet palms, frozen in place, sweaty brow – the works! He touched my back! I began to get even more giddy to the point where I had to force myself to calm the fuck down. I seriously thought somebody was going to slap me to just shut me up. Pathetic displays, for sure, but at least everyone was gracious about it and it makes for a good story.

If you didn’t get to draw in Lynx Delirium’s “Snow White” book, you missed out on a lot of laughs and fun.

Now completely high on life, I decided to check out some video games Sean Z had suggested I check out. Aion looks amazing though I don’t know if I could ever spend time on an online game such as this, with the subscriptions and whatnot, but it was definitely breathtaking. I also enjoyed the demos for City of Heroes – again another MMORPG with magnificent graphics and details though with my iMac I’d have to boot both into boot camp to run the Windows emulator.

Aman’s Big Gay Dinner at Bandar. So full of food. So crazy. So fun. Especially with Steve MacIsaac, Sam Saturday, and Eden Bradley.

Some other things worth checking out:

Sina Grace’s Cedric Hollows in Dial M for Magic – an illustrated novel about a sorcerer sleuth in Orange County. The graphic design alone will make you tingly.

Ed Luce’s Wuvable Oaf. If you don’t pick up this comic, you’re missing out. I grabbed a copy after seeing what he did in the Bent Comix Sampler. It’s got great line work, excellent story telling, and lots of bears and kitties.

Sean Z’s Myth – Do check out the online comic and buy the prelude book to get caught up if you aren’t already in ‘the know’ on the developing story.