Now you know I am not one to gossip, ha, but I also realize I haven’t written a blind item in quite sometime…
So John Doe-eyed has this obsession with what our gays lovingly refer to as homothugs — that illustrious cadre of gays who have a swagger, a style, an inflection in their voice all to their own. They are like the Tupac to the common gay’s I don’t know… Shakira. The homothug (if said species truly exists) has a prodigious amount of masculinity, so much so that it oozes out of pores and from the crack of their exposed asses in their baggy jeans! Dey frem dem grimy streaaaats!
Anyhoo, so, yeah, John likes these kinds of guys and never really heeds the advice/maxims that his friends spew like “thug in the streets, gay-er than gay in the sheets”; “I saw him voguing at…”; or “how you gonna be gay and a thug at the same time?” But, John, he is so blind and seeks homothugs out with such voracity that looks and personality are secondary to that overall thuggish appeal.
So John had been seeing this Thug for a bit. John, the old-school broad he is, actually waits a good two to three dates before he takes Thug up on his offer to see his place. What should have been John’s first clue that something was askew? Well, turns out Thug lives in the very very scary and dangerous hood known as D.U.M.B.O. You know? Where median price range of lofts can be in the upper-millions. I love me a struggling down-and-dirty gansta!
Unfortunately, John’s second clue wouldn’t be until he actually entered Thug’s apartment that crisp Boyz N Da Hood-esque night. Once inside, thug leads him into what could only have been described as a shrine — museum if you will — of the most gangsta porcelain dollhouses this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. In every corner, every nook, every cranny, there was a porcelain-ed replica of some cottage or some intricately designed antebellum mansion fit for a queen of queens.
John said he never made it past the one perched dangerously close to Thug’s vanity just outside the bathroom before he started to feel a little retch surfacing. Of course, John instantly came down with the “flu” and had to leave. That’s all sounds as suspicious as Thug’s swag!
File under: if a thug falls in a forest and ruins his new Timbs and no one is around to hear it, did he really have timbs on in the first place? Put them heels on, girl! W-E-R-K!