While on a binger in New York City a few weeks back, a good buddy of mine showed me this awesome blog dedicated to themed penis images. Sound weird? Maybe, but if you like cock then it’s a smorgasbord of imagery from the impressive to the outright bizarre! Check it out – you won’t be disappointed!

In fact, you’ll lose(r) hours of time!

As soon as I saw her name on the phone display I knew mom had bad news. After eighteen years of companionship, the last of my childhood pets had to be put down. Homer was one of seven animals that occupied our household throughout the years – the last after Charlie, the dog I got when I was six died.

Homer was more than a cat and as much a part of the family as I was. He even had his own place setting at the dinner table where he would wait patiently in the chair for his food to arrive like a king on his throne. In contrast to this image, Homer was truly an outdoor cat and made every attempt to earn his keep on the homestead. His contributions to the household included came in the form of beheaded bunnies, tufts of feathers and various vital organs strewn about the patio. I know Ma Hazzard wasn’t thrilled with those “prizes”, but Homer was always particularly proud knowing he didn’t come home empty handed. He would charge in, throw himself on his back, do a little jig and then perch in front of the TV and clean himself, basking in his success.

I think he was happiest in the vast woods that surrounded the house we lived in when I was still in school. My brother and I would take off for the afternoon to hunt for toads, set small fires and engage in general mischief. Homer would be right behind use like a golden retriever excited for the next adventure. Unlike most cats I encounter, Homer never ran away from visitors. He would be right there when the first guest arrived to greet everybody with his signature vocal salute and dance. He bravely hopped on the lap of anybody that was seated, making himself a great place to see and be seen, relax and enjoy the gathering.

Homer and my dad were very close, don’t ask me how but those two were real buddies. When my dad was dying at home Homer would hop on his bed completely aware of where the tubes and wires were and would literally tip toe around the medical equipment until he got next to my dad to lay down and spend some time with him. It was clear he knew what was going on and was trying his best to comfort his friend.

It’s sad to watch something you love wither away. As a parent to an animal I can identify with the idea of trying to do everything in your power to make them better. Mom tried all there was to try. It got to the point where there were no vocals and no dance. It had come time to drop the curtain and bid him goodbye. We will miss you Homer Pierre. And when you see Helen, Harvey, Hamlet, Heidi, Rambo and Charlie tell him we said “Hey”.

Earlier this month I had the opportunity to visit Philadelphia for their 14th Gay and Lesbian Film Festival courtesy of our friends at TLA.

In addition to some quality time with the Boss Lady and Blake Riley I got to hang with some Channel 1 VIPs that we do not get to see very often. There were many highlights during the weekend in the city of Brotherly Love, but there were three in particular that I would love to share with you.

First, a while back I was sent an e mail from a young girl titled “Ode to Johnny.” Her name is Stoia, she works for Digital Playground and she’s gorgeous. It was most complimentary and flattering. Well lo and behold she is from Philly and TLA took this opportunity not to only have us meet but create a mini movie to document the entire ordeal from her writing the ode to our long awaited meeting. The movie was shot in black and white with a fifties motif. In the final scene we sharing a milkshake in front of a vintage soda shop; it was the best milkshake EVER!

Saturday evening we had the chance to schmooze and booze at a club called Pure. This was the chance for us all to hang out and be ourselves with no cameras, pens or other obligatory what have you. We were Free to Be. Early in the evening Chi Chi was scheduled to speak at an event that coincided with the Film Festival, but was geared more to, well, porn. As the limo pulled up to the theatre the first voice I heard was that of our lovely Hazzard Ahead contributor and my biggest fan on the East coast, RitaPHL! She was bright-eyed and looking very sharp with her new do! She later informed me that it had been two years to the day since we met in Bean Town when she and her husband Jim were on holiday being served by yours truly at Aquitaine. It was wonderful to see her.

Our editor at Channel 1 created a video montage of Chi Chi, Blake and me that was played before she went on and it was sooooo amazing. I asked them for a copy and I’m hoping to have it soon to feature here – I promise! After Chi Chi’s talk we opened the floor up to Q&A. My number one fan raised her hand and asked if I could sign her B-Rude original T shirt. It features my mug and pecs splattered on the front with “Blow my Speakers” as the caption. I gladly signed the shirt and was amazed that she was able to snag one. After Rita walked away Chi Chi turned green with envy that Rita was able to get her hands on one. At the end we were passing out our latest picture book “Smut” and I made sure my girl got one! Enjoy it Rita! And thank you so much for all the effort you went through to get there!

Before our night out I managed to bug everyone with my digital video camera. Since there is some mild nudity and some appearances by folks that would rather not be featured I am including just a small piece here. The full version will be on Hazzard Central in a few days time. Enjoy!

I love traveling to the East Coast (especially on someone else’s dime) thanks Eric and thanks Philly!.

On the final evening of a not-so-recent trip to Boston I was treated to an evening of laughs with old friends and arguments with new assholes.

The friend I was visiting ditched me for a date that night so I made plans with her roommate, Mikala, also an old pal of mine. We met after her shift at the restaurant and sat outside making our plans. A small man walked by and instead of blatantly ignoring him I nodded a congenial, “Hello” in his direction. Something about his eyes suggested that my choice may have been a poor one and I immediately returned to the discussion at hand.

Mikala and I ended up two blocks down at Sister Sorel, a favorite of the locals here both gay and straight. As we sat enjoying our nightcaps I noticed that the guy who had struck my defenses earlier was sitting just two stools over. To make matters worse, the bartender mixed up our orders. I was caught off guard as I looked to see which lucky guy received the smashing India pale ale. It was him. Eye contact was achieved a second time and I would soon be wishing I had stayed with the Irish stout.

I turned to Mikala and asked if he was staring our way.

She replied with a quiet “Yes.”

Great.

Mikala visited the WC and in her three minute absence I managed to involve myself in a slight altercation with a woman that felt justified using the word “fag” in a derogatory fashion. When I refused to call her a dyke to “even the score” she proceeded to try her case to every gay man in the bar seeking any sort of validation for her ridiculous opinion and behavior. Not surprisingly, the small, staring man had befriended the group of people belonging to the poor word choice lesbian and I knew it was prime time for a switch of venues.

We continued to another local hotspot, Stella, which has more space and a less offensive crowd. Just as we were getting settled the entourage we left behind at Sister Sorel staggered in the door. I can’t be certain, but it did seem like Mikala and I were the subject of many hushed discussions between members of the hostile posse. We kept our distance in hopes of salvaging what was left of the evening.

As the night progressed and the liquid courage flowed I narrowly escaped several attempts by the small, staring man to engage me directly. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can pull off with fake mobile call tactics and he finally caught me off guard.

Standing on his tip toes he slurred into my ear “What difference do you find with the people of Boston and the people of the rest of the US?” I took a deep breath and looked down at him long enough to say “Sometimes they can be very annoying.”

He grimaced in defeat and returned to the growing group of drunken patrons. Glancing in their direction I took notice that the self-proclaimed “dyke” was making out with some guy and eating something from another restaurant’s take-away container with her fingers.

A few more of my Bostonian friends had joined us by the time the persistent and completely pissed small, staring man returned for yet another go with me. His entrance statement this time was “Has anybody heard the new Pink album?” I was done. The time for diplomacy had expired. I hissed into his face, “Yes, my favorite song is the one that goes something like “don’t talk to me, keep your drink and give me the money? I can really relate to that”.

The level of hostility I exhibited cued one of my newly arrived friends to intervene. He sent me to the gents and tried to neutralize the situation with the aid of Mikala. Somehow even after all she had been through she still had faith in the power of kittens, rainbows and bubble gum to make everything better. That didn’t last long. Once the small, staring man thought he could intimidate her with a little close proximity verbal abuse Mikala traded in the sunshine approach from some good old fashioned whoop ass and shut him down pronto. The small, staring man finally departed with a half-assed finger gesture that nearly caused him to lose his balance.

I was happy to see him leave, but most of the night has been tainted and it was nearly closing time anyway. I started to feel bad about my thoughts and actions towards the little man, who meant no harm and probably just wanted to make some new friends albeit in an intrusive and rude manner. I am not usually impatient, but I just didn’t have it in me this time around. I think the encounter with the “lesbian” at Sister Sorel served to strip all of my patience reserves for the night.

I am human first and foremost and deserve to be left alone to enjoy my time by myself or with my friends. I tried to be kind, polite and even used sarcasm to get the message across without hurting or even worse, embarrassing him. We all have our limits and he pushed me to mine. There are people with no social filtering mechanism and when they are inebriated it seems like nothing will get through to them. If he has any recollection of the night at all it will probably be what a raging asshole I was to him. He will gloss over his terrible behavior and label me a jerk for not inviting him into my circle. Perhaps my guilt is somewhat misplaced, but at least I took the time to see the situation from his perspective.