Last night, at a location that shall remain anonymous, a fairly attractive boy took the stage and was introduced as the latest XY cover boy.
Nobody seemed to care except me. "I used to work for them!" Fly G booed them and praised Qr, bless.
The ordeal became deliciously ridiculous when they started handing out the magazine with autographs from the cover boy!
Naturally I ran to the stage.
"What's your name?" Someone asked.
The 'coverboy' signed my issue without so much as looking up.
Oh sweet irony, how you enjoy tickling my anus.
I folded the issue and gingerly shoved it in the back part of my pants. I lost it while dancing and making out with a boy.
Intriguing but strange article on Salman Rushdie. It's strange because I didn't think of Salman as a party animal, and I'm well versed in this sort of thing.
Friday, August 18, 2006