Oy vey blow me
In the featured personals of “Genre” magazine, I found one of an overgrown twink who was, for all intents and purposes, adorable and fun, if not unoriginal. But the last question asked – “Does size matter?” – and his response – “No, but the bank account does!” – left me feeling like the end of “Schindler’s List”: depressed and pensive. Sadly, this guy was probably the most “circuit perfect” of the bunch. And when you’re beautiful, you can get away with being repugnant from time to time.
Of course, any guy who is rich, hot, and actually cool would make one prize of a Prince Charming. But when you prioritize with his financial status as being first in line, you’re really putting yourself first in the relationship, aren’t you? Yourself and your own got damn material desires.
I sometimes wonder if this sub-sect of fags stricken with this upward consumerism mentality was born on the same planet on myself, and morally weaned on the same after school specials as I was. Hey, they may not have been Shakespeare, but they had a good message to them. You know, don’t make fun of the fat chick ‘cause she may turn out to be a bombshell later on in life. Don’t act like a haughty shitwipe ‘cause karma’ll bite you in the ass. And don’t count material fucking possessions over the value of people.
Like at the end of “The Goonies”:
Mikey: “I’m sorry, dad. We had our hands on all that rich stuff, but we blew it. We lost the Goon Docks.”
Mikey’s dad: “Don’t worry, son. Your mother and I have you and Brand back safe now. And that makes us the richest people in Astoria.”
Word.
