Why Do They Gotta Front?

I'm blogging early tonight, because I'm going out and I'm already going to expose you to something kind of scary in this post, I don't want to make it any worse than it is by writing it when I'm a little inebriated. I do want to preface this all by saying, good lord and Jaysus, Mary and Joseph and then, ah, for fuck's sake.

Have you ever gone out and had a beer or two and forgotten how white you were and decided it would be really, really funny if you made the gayest guy in the bar do some eighties dancing with you? You figured it would be fine because everyone else seemed to be at least as drunk as you, so they probably wouldn't even remember it the next day. Then about a week later your friend Dexter might send you an email with a photo of your sad, sorry excuse for dancing. Granted, he is nice enough to tell you that he got rid of any other copies, so if you deleted the one from the email, there would be no other traces. When you foolishly opened it at work, you had to stifle your horrified scream, because it looked like this:

Eeeeeek! Right? Your first impulse would probably be to hit the delete button about thirty times in a row, just to make sure it was really and truly gone. Then, after you thought about it for a minute, you thought it was just as funny as it was frightening, and if it were someone else, you would want them to post that photo of themselves so you could feel better about yourself in general. Plus, you know that you seriously have no shame, so there's really no use in pretending like you do.

So, what the hell, you all get to see me being a complete and total dork. Feel better about yourselves now? Yeah, I thought so.