Do you know how I spent my Christmas?

Well, I invited all of the gay boys I knew and we all had the most massive, most orgasmic .. orgy of our lives. There was so much cum in my living room, I can still smell it from my bedroom.

MUAHAHAHAHAHA.

Actually no lah. *coy tone*

Nothing of that sort happened. But oh how I wish it did.

Eh. *innocent* Pretend I didn’t say THAT. I really am *innocent* in every possible, single, *innocent* way. And look at what word I’ve used. Single. Lol. Not that I mind.

But I spent my Christmas working in the day, and alone at night. Staying at home. A stark contrast to last year. It’s just so difficult when you compare… how extremely happy and lovely I had been, and 365 days later, it’s like…

An atomic bomb. A once happy place with butterflies and big blue mushrooms and rainbows and rabbits…

Now  — bomb –

…and there are shacks and the clouds are grey and there’s thunder and there’s no trace of life anywhere.

It sounds a bit exaggerated, but hey, that’s what analogies are for, what.

All is fine.

—–

Sometimes, when things go up till it reaches where Sir Edmund Hillary has gone before… plant the flag. Touch the skies. Take pictures of this achievement.

And maybe Father Time, that bitch, just huffs and puffs… Sir Edmund Hillary tumbles down hundreds of thousands of feet from the summit, bouncing off the icy terrain like a ragdoll (CHOY!) and when it’s over, he promises to stay firmly on the ground from now on. From the summit to sea-level.

Oh. His pride. He achieved something and yet…

And what motivation does Sir Edmund Hillary have, to try once more? It scares him that Father Time would pop by gingerly and God-knows-for-what-reason, blow him down again….

At least he still has his pictures.