I must say OGIGers - for that is your new name, you have been very patient this month because it has been WEEKS since my last entry. And I thank you kindly for that. In my defence, however, this blog has now been extended to an article in a new gay magazine called Violet that will be hitting the high street soon. So thats TWO loads of OGIG per month! Oh, how I do spoil you. Obviously though, this one is the original and best so there will be far more juicy muck spread right here as always.
Anyway: to business. Men!
When did we become such unfeeling, unloving, insufferable barbarians?
When did we start manufacturing shit somewhere other than in our colon, so that it dribbles out of our mouths, unscented and invisible, without a second thought for those on the receiving end? Now I'm including myself in this bracket because I have to, unfortunately, since I have a penis. Well, I am here to inform you, my dear friends that gay men; through all the hardship we've suffered at the hands of those who have unfairly judged us, through all the ridicule we have had to endure from those who have shunned us throughout our repressed adolescence ARE JUST AS COCKING BAD!
Of course I'm talking about Grindr, because, as you know from previous posts: I am on the lookout for the perfect man. Some may argue that Grindr is not the way to do it. Initially, I thought this was rubbish. Now I'm beginning to think that Grindr filters out the morons from the gay community in the same way that a sieve filters out the acrid, powdery, elephantine lumps from an otherwise perfect gravy.
Right off the bat the profile picture irks me. If you are unfamiliar with the workings of Grindr, you start with one large profile picture of the person you are targeting, or vice versa, complete with an introductory tagline. You then tap twice to enter the instant messenger screen so that you can actually converse with the imbecile. So first of all, the self proclaimed lothario treats us to a full on snapshot of his grimacing mug, complete with the legend: "straight acting - no camps, queens or over thirties". I'm hoping that I only fall into one of these brackets. And why? Because this continuously reinforced inside job ignorance and insolence makes one feel as though we should be exiled if we are branded as either of the first two. And who makes all the fucking decisions anyway?!? First of all"straight acting" as the great Boy George says, is comical in itself because it implies that it is all an act. Second of all, you're not so straight acting when you've got someones tackle dangling over your face are you big man?
It seems as though being gay is another adjective for being arrogant. Newflash, we are not in Costa Coffee, ordering off the menu and YOU are not David sodding Beckham. My favourite is "don't bother if you're camp, no offence". I'm sorry douchemonkey, but that IS offensive. I suppose you've never considered that you have all the sexual allure of used sanitary towel and if the choice was going out with you, I'd rather shit in my hands and clap!
Oh, and how honoured I should feel when you bless me with an Instagram shot of your quivering member. How lovely it looks in its purple hat, smiling at me like a seal with a fish in its mouth, as though you are dangling the proverbial carrot over my nose?
Please; the last time I saw something that red and disused, I was throwing an old Comic Relief nose out.
"Oh, my ex drinks that" And we're done with the Stowfords.
"Oh, I'm driving so I can only have one" I'm walking and I don't even want to finish THIS one.
"I'm not long out of a relationship which was pretty fucked up" I'm not Denise Richards love, I'm here on a date.... with YOU! Did I miss a memo or something?
But the worst: the pinnacle is after the first few dates. You have been candid and I mean really candid about where you are at the moment. Haven't mentioned any exes or fling influenced horror stories. You've confessed that you are not particularly looking for commitment. Just a laugh, some companionship in this lonely old world and a bit of fidelity out of respect for my sensitivity and honesty. Pffft! You might as well throw a clove of garlic at Edward pigging Cullen. Some of the excuses I've heard: "Er.... my dog is bipolar and needs constant attention", "I'm building a maisonette on an unmanned oil rig in the Adriatic Sea and I'll be away for three months", "I've got the bends". Mate, its unbelievable.
And once you're past all that. Once you've had the date, taken them to bed, started to feel comfortable in their company. Thats when the little devil on their shoulder gives them carte blanche to treat you like you are the most disposable thing ever. As though you are covered in armour and the most tactless, crass behaviour will simply bounce off you. If you have ever been there, you know exactly what I mean.... And in a way, because the behaviour is so incomprehensible coming from another member of the human race, in a few days, once you've removed them from the bottom of your shoe, it kind of does bounce off you. You pick yourself up and begin the cycle again like the trojan that you are.
So, I think its fair to say that I am struggling to find the perfect man on this tool. Unless my loins have a tosser magnet imbedded into them. I shall, however, persevere else I'll have no more fodder for this delightful little blog. And I do believe he's out there.... and he's one lucky guy.
