These days the majority of my friends are gay men. And they’re all whores. Every last one of them. How they manage to not keep it in their pants amazes me. In fact, pants are arbitrary. Why have them if you’re not going to use them? Why?
Before the divorce, my friend group consisted of couples, some straight and some gay. Everyone was nice, and I mean nice. They threw dinner parties and talked about their pets and plans for the future. Board game nights were popular as were group outings, like trips to the cinema. It was like being old while still being young. And there was something comforting about that, something dreadfully comforting.
Then shit hit the fan, and I found myself single. And I found myself relating less to the couples and drawn to other people in my situation. Enter the whores. It’s not that my newfound friends are special. They’re single gay men in the big city, specifically Chicago, one of the gayest cities ever. Don’t believe me? Feast your doubting eyes on this:
That’s right. This city is full of rainbow things. Garage doors…pillars…rainbows. It’s pretty gay, and I loves it! But anyway, it’s pretty predictable that a single gay man in this city is going to be a whore, at least to some extent. And I don’t mean to be pointing fingers at my friends (lord knows many fingers should be pointed at me), but it’s just funny that there is a rather high frequency of times two of my friends who don’t know each other sleep with each other and then tell me about it only for me to tell them that their hook up is a friend of mine (and likely a former hook up as well). Such a small world this gay one is. Such large libidos though.
Oh, and I took a picture of my friends. See below: