Many of you, yes I'm referring to all 12 of my fans and followers, may have noticed the lack of new blog postings and useless rambling from me in the past months. Along with crazy work schedules and the burning desire to spend every last dime on traveling to faraway, yet often times stupid and irrationally random places, I've begun to work on writing and publishing a book. As we speak, I have entered into a contract with a small publishing company and have been working with editors and "professionals in the field" (whatever that means) to publish a collection of stories and essays in hopes that I can get at least 12 people to purchase and enjoy. I promise I will continue to update this shithole of a blogsite more often.
The book is about halfway complete, which really means nothing in the literary world because it ends when I run our of shit to say. So what the fuck is "halfway" anyway? It's just a good answer I use for when people ask me how it's coming along. For a while, I kept this not so much a secret, but a private matter for fear that it would not actually work out or that I would jinx the entire thing. Right now, all I want to do is finish the book and see it in print with a cover and my name on it, and whether or not it sells more than 2 copies (I know my parents are guaranteed to each get one so there's 20 bucks right there!), I really just want to see my aspirations for becoming a real writer come through in the physical form of a book. So whether or not it all works out is yet to be seen, but at least I can say I was able to accomplish something that's important to me while so many others never get the chance. And to be quite honest, I just really want to see my fucking face on the back jacket of a book with a description underneath that reads, "Andres is the New York Times best selling author of 'Politically Incorrect: The Various Ramblings and Often Times Worthless and Confusing Anecdotes of a Troubled Gay'. His career took off after his alleged affair with Bravo Television Exec Andy Cohen and the release of their disturbing yet best selling sex video involving endangered Japanese Vervet Monkeys and Trannies collected from various truck stops across America. Andres lives in New York with his stunningly attractive and wealthy husband Kent, 12 Shiba Inu puppies, and litter of 5 adopted Pakistani, Madagascan, Kenyan, Indian, and Guatemalan Asian babies. How he managed to find an Asian baby to adopt in each of those countries still remains a mystery."
Thanks for always reading.
Xoxo,
Andres
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
The Truth, and Nothing But the Truth
I've recently been thinking about the strangest things. I'm not sure if it's a product of my environment, but I've concluded that the more I've been seeing things emerge on the news, the more I've realized the type of person I don't ever want to be. Here's what I mean by this...
It was not so long in the distant past that a man by the name of Osama Bin Laden was tracked, monitored, and eventually ambushed and killed by a team of what I can only assume were extremely attractive and, in my mind, scantily clothed navy seals. From what information I've gathered, this is how I feel the event went down:
I picture Bin Laden sitting on his couch with one or all of his many wives and children, enjoying a relaxing evening at home watching Anderson Cooper on AC360 or catching up on DVR'd episodes of Glee, when all of a sudden a group of hefty American soldiers came barging in and pumped him full of lead. Or perhaps they knocked politely first - Americans do tend to feel awkward about showing up to someone's house unannounced. A phone call in advance is usually appreciated.
As our nation celebrated, I couldn't help but wonder what on earth was discovered in the world's most wanted terrorist's house. Luckily, I didn't have to wonder for too long as it quickly became evident that amongst other things, Bin Laden had an affinity for not only vast amounts of pornography (which I'm pretty sure Islam actually frowns upon, but minor details right?), but he apparently also had a slight obsession for none other than Whitney Houston, America's favorite crackhead superstar. If she's good enough for Oprah, she's sure as fuck good enough for Bin Laden. I even heard from a quite reliable source, which some may recognize as the Kane show on Hot99.5, that he even had elaborate plans to eliminate Bobby Brown in hopes that Whitney would come to her senses and realize how much of a true romantic Osama Bin Laden really was at heart. Within days, the New York Post published a fresh issue of Bin Laden developments, with the cover cleverly illustrating in bold black letters, "Osama Bin Whankin!". Instantly, I realized that Mr. Bin Laden was not the person I had always thought he was. It's delicious when you find that a man whom you thought was the epitome of an extreme religious psychopath who once walked out of a horse derby in Qatar because they started beating drums (which he infuriatingly stated was un-Islamic and offensive), is really actually into suffocation porn and black women who enjoy the occasional crack rock. And really, who isn't?
And then there's the emergence of a shocking headline on CNN that reads, "IMF chief arrested for sexual assault against hotel maid". This was phenomenal for a couple of reasons. While it's unfortunate that a poor young woman working as a hotel maid got allegedly assaulted and attacked, the details that have developed and been exposed as a result of the investigation align exactly with how I think someone should "go out with a bang". Pun completely intended. When I first read the headlines, I couldn't help but burst out in an uncontrolable fit of laughter. The image of a 62 year old overweight man quietly emerging nude from a bathroom and sporting a raging boner, like some low budget porn movie from 1988, and chasing a hotel maid throughout various rooms of his elaborate hotel suite, is not exactly how I have always pictured this man. Since I work at the IMF (and for the sake of keeping it that way, I'm holding all opinions to myself), I've been very familiar with who Dominique Strauss-Khan is. On several occasions, I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a variety of awkward encounters through narrow hallways between myself and his team of body guards. On my first week at the IMF, I recall ordering a delicious cup of Broccoli and Cheddar soup from the cafeteria. As I held my cup of soup close to my chest, giddy with anticipation of enjoying such a lovely treat yet furiously angry with myself for forgetting to grab the complimentary oyster crackers, I noticed a bulky man walking straight towards me. Behind this bulky man was a small Asian man, and next to him a stalkier gray-haired man whom at the time I didn't know was Mr. Strauss-Khan. I'm not sure how often one encounters body guards at such a close proximity, but they are not always as polite as one might think. The body guard grabbed my attention moreso than the Asian man and S-K, simply because it is rare to see such an attractive specimen at an institution such as the IMF. As I stood in the narrow passageway of this hallway, clutching my soup and attempting to look as attractive as possible by sucking in my fat and most probably blinking my lashes awkwardly, the bulky man abruptly shoved me aside as Mr. Asian and Mr. S-K followed in his tail, looking exactly as I do when I shamelessly follow a speeding ambulance through traffic. It's not everyday that you can be fortunate enough to be manhandled at your place of employment, so I wasn't all that upset by the small amount of soup that spilled from my container during this romantic rendezvous.
So the thing I find funny is that anyone, from the leader of an extremist Ismalmic terrorist group to the leader of an international organization, can be caught with their pants down. Literally. There have been numerous occasions where I've been caught with my pants down, and mostly because I'm convinced that door locks malfunction on purpose and must have some highly evolved intuition/electronic signal that is transmitted the second a person removes their underwear. Yet to date, I'm not a public figure so most people just react with a look of disgust as opposed to enough curiosity to provide more details on the incident. I can't help but wonder how someone like Bin Laden or Strauss-Khan must feel when they are caught doing something that goes completely against what they publically stand for. Of course for Bin Laden it's a bit more tricky since there is currently a bullet lodged in his brain, but I can't imagine Mr. S-K showing up to a board meeting anytime soon and saying, "These donuts are great, thanks for bringing them in Kathy. You're a doll. Love the skirt. So what's on today's world hunger agenda everyone? Oh and excuse the stain on my shirt, that's from the Boston cream......."
So when I say that both those men and related news articles represent who I don't ever want to be, aside from the obvious terrorist and alleged sexual predator qualities, I mean that I prefer to never be in a situation where people are surprised and shocked when they find out I have porn on my computer or that I occasionally enjoy chasing someone around a room with a boner. I'm a fairly transparent person when it comes to embarrassing shit. Yes, my dad has caught me using one of my multiple shakeweights that I ordered whilst drunk from an infomercial and assumed it was a popular new gay sex toy, but at least he was not shocked. Or the time I brought home a large dildo from California that was originally intended as a gift but I ended up keeping for comedic purposes and held a show-and-tell session with various friends one drunken night at my house. This same dildo was later used to slap my brother in the face in order to prove my point that stupidity and useless rambling or watching of ESPN sports highlights will not be tolerated in my presence.
So in the future, should I happen to stumble upon immense fame, fortune, or the chance to whore myself out on some reality television show, just know that I will have exposed all of my dirty little secrets before any other curious fuck gets the chance to. I will be releasing my own sex videos and hiring a private photographer to take crotch shots of me exiting a vehicle so the twigs and berries can be enlarged and properly airbrushed for publication. If I can get satisfaction from purchasing an embarrassing object that makes the cashier feel more awkward than me while ringing it up, then why would I want to keep this from the world? Had I not been inclined to pass that dildo around to my lucky friends that night or used it to slap my brother across the face, it would most likely have sat lonely and forgotten in a drawer or shelf, ironically sharing space and collecting dust with some poster of a victoria's secret model or Neve Campbell that I probably used to prove to people, way back when, that any self respecting straight man with descended testicles would love to fornicate with either candidate. Or at least hold them gently through the night and talk about their feelings so they feel respected in the morning...
And if I'm to be truthful, which is usually a rare occasion, I would venture to say that amidst anything else, I would rather be walked in on chasing someone around a room naked or watching golden shower interracial midget porn than have someone discover my dusty posters that served their purpose so well all those years ago.
It was not so long in the distant past that a man by the name of Osama Bin Laden was tracked, monitored, and eventually ambushed and killed by a team of what I can only assume were extremely attractive and, in my mind, scantily clothed navy seals. From what information I've gathered, this is how I feel the event went down:
I picture Bin Laden sitting on his couch with one or all of his many wives and children, enjoying a relaxing evening at home watching Anderson Cooper on AC360 or catching up on DVR'd episodes of Glee, when all of a sudden a group of hefty American soldiers came barging in and pumped him full of lead. Or perhaps they knocked politely first - Americans do tend to feel awkward about showing up to someone's house unannounced. A phone call in advance is usually appreciated.
As our nation celebrated, I couldn't help but wonder what on earth was discovered in the world's most wanted terrorist's house. Luckily, I didn't have to wonder for too long as it quickly became evident that amongst other things, Bin Laden had an affinity for not only vast amounts of pornography (which I'm pretty sure Islam actually frowns upon, but minor details right?), but he apparently also had a slight obsession for none other than Whitney Houston, America's favorite crackhead superstar. If she's good enough for Oprah, she's sure as fuck good enough for Bin Laden. I even heard from a quite reliable source, which some may recognize as the Kane show on Hot99.5, that he even had elaborate plans to eliminate Bobby Brown in hopes that Whitney would come to her senses and realize how much of a true romantic Osama Bin Laden really was at heart. Within days, the New York Post published a fresh issue of Bin Laden developments, with the cover cleverly illustrating in bold black letters, "Osama Bin Whankin!". Instantly, I realized that Mr. Bin Laden was not the person I had always thought he was. It's delicious when you find that a man whom you thought was the epitome of an extreme religious psychopath who once walked out of a horse derby in Qatar because they started beating drums (which he infuriatingly stated was un-Islamic and offensive), is really actually into suffocation porn and black women who enjoy the occasional crack rock. And really, who isn't?
And then there's the emergence of a shocking headline on CNN that reads, "IMF chief arrested for sexual assault against hotel maid". This was phenomenal for a couple of reasons. While it's unfortunate that a poor young woman working as a hotel maid got allegedly assaulted and attacked, the details that have developed and been exposed as a result of the investigation align exactly with how I think someone should "go out with a bang". Pun completely intended. When I first read the headlines, I couldn't help but burst out in an uncontrolable fit of laughter. The image of a 62 year old overweight man quietly emerging nude from a bathroom and sporting a raging boner, like some low budget porn movie from 1988, and chasing a hotel maid throughout various rooms of his elaborate hotel suite, is not exactly how I have always pictured this man. Since I work at the IMF (and for the sake of keeping it that way, I'm holding all opinions to myself), I've been very familiar with who Dominique Strauss-Khan is. On several occasions, I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a variety of awkward encounters through narrow hallways between myself and his team of body guards. On my first week at the IMF, I recall ordering a delicious cup of Broccoli and Cheddar soup from the cafeteria. As I held my cup of soup close to my chest, giddy with anticipation of enjoying such a lovely treat yet furiously angry with myself for forgetting to grab the complimentary oyster crackers, I noticed a bulky man walking straight towards me. Behind this bulky man was a small Asian man, and next to him a stalkier gray-haired man whom at the time I didn't know was Mr. Strauss-Khan. I'm not sure how often one encounters body guards at such a close proximity, but they are not always as polite as one might think. The body guard grabbed my attention moreso than the Asian man and S-K, simply because it is rare to see such an attractive specimen at an institution such as the IMF. As I stood in the narrow passageway of this hallway, clutching my soup and attempting to look as attractive as possible by sucking in my fat and most probably blinking my lashes awkwardly, the bulky man abruptly shoved me aside as Mr. Asian and Mr. S-K followed in his tail, looking exactly as I do when I shamelessly follow a speeding ambulance through traffic. It's not everyday that you can be fortunate enough to be manhandled at your place of employment, so I wasn't all that upset by the small amount of soup that spilled from my container during this romantic rendezvous.
So the thing I find funny is that anyone, from the leader of an extremist Ismalmic terrorist group to the leader of an international organization, can be caught with their pants down. Literally. There have been numerous occasions where I've been caught with my pants down, and mostly because I'm convinced that door locks malfunction on purpose and must have some highly evolved intuition/electronic signal that is transmitted the second a person removes their underwear. Yet to date, I'm not a public figure so most people just react with a look of disgust as opposed to enough curiosity to provide more details on the incident. I can't help but wonder how someone like Bin Laden or Strauss-Khan must feel when they are caught doing something that goes completely against what they publically stand for. Of course for Bin Laden it's a bit more tricky since there is currently a bullet lodged in his brain, but I can't imagine Mr. S-K showing up to a board meeting anytime soon and saying, "These donuts are great, thanks for bringing them in Kathy. You're a doll. Love the skirt. So what's on today's world hunger agenda everyone? Oh and excuse the stain on my shirt, that's from the Boston cream......."
So when I say that both those men and related news articles represent who I don't ever want to be, aside from the obvious terrorist and alleged sexual predator qualities, I mean that I prefer to never be in a situation where people are surprised and shocked when they find out I have porn on my computer or that I occasionally enjoy chasing someone around a room with a boner. I'm a fairly transparent person when it comes to embarrassing shit. Yes, my dad has caught me using one of my multiple shakeweights that I ordered whilst drunk from an infomercial and assumed it was a popular new gay sex toy, but at least he was not shocked. Or the time I brought home a large dildo from California that was originally intended as a gift but I ended up keeping for comedic purposes and held a show-and-tell session with various friends one drunken night at my house. This same dildo was later used to slap my brother in the face in order to prove my point that stupidity and useless rambling or watching of ESPN sports highlights will not be tolerated in my presence.
So in the future, should I happen to stumble upon immense fame, fortune, or the chance to whore myself out on some reality television show, just know that I will have exposed all of my dirty little secrets before any other curious fuck gets the chance to. I will be releasing my own sex videos and hiring a private photographer to take crotch shots of me exiting a vehicle so the twigs and berries can be enlarged and properly airbrushed for publication. If I can get satisfaction from purchasing an embarrassing object that makes the cashier feel more awkward than me while ringing it up, then why would I want to keep this from the world? Had I not been inclined to pass that dildo around to my lucky friends that night or used it to slap my brother across the face, it would most likely have sat lonely and forgotten in a drawer or shelf, ironically sharing space and collecting dust with some poster of a victoria's secret model or Neve Campbell that I probably used to prove to people, way back when, that any self respecting straight man with descended testicles would love to fornicate with either candidate. Or at least hold them gently through the night and talk about their feelings so they feel respected in the morning...
And if I'm to be truthful, which is usually a rare occasion, I would venture to say that amidst anything else, I would rather be walked in on chasing someone around a room naked or watching golden shower interracial midget porn than have someone discover my dusty posters that served their purpose so well all those years ago.
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