A girl called TRUEBOY

Hey-o Luvs,

So it seems that some of our beloved readers are a bit in the dark about the nature of the gender confusion going on in this blog. Anti, another cutie reigned into our devious world by TRUE, points to the 'BOY' in her name and then to the 'poetress' on her email tag and rightly asks, "What gives?" Mr. Anti, let me echo that sentiment regarding TRUE--she's a tough nut to crack. As some of you may know, she ran off from Brooklyn mid-October and has been dealing coke and fucking with people's heads in order to fund an unfashionably out-of-date beatnik road trip through the mid and southwest of this dried-up tit of a nation of ours. She hasn't bothered to call or even email Sterling or myself since. We were supposed to be her closest friends, her "crew", her partners in crime, but for reasons unknown to us she's written us off completely. The only things we know of her are what she writes in this blog.

The original understanding (Sterling, correct me if I'm wrong) was that this was to be a space for the three of us to pitch ideas and carry-on back and forth about art and products and events. We'd then decide which projects we wanted to pursue and pool our funds, our time, and our abilities. A forum for a little three person patch of socialist art making idealism. Sounded stellar, but Sterling and I should have known something was up with the name BRANDTRUEBOY as well as the fact that try as we would, TRUE kept "forgetting" to make us administrators. To this day, the layout, permalinks, the sitemeter, and even the posts themselves are under her thumb. She can delete what she wants, post what she wants, etc. On the BRANDTRUEBOY farm, all the animals are equal, but some are more equal than others.

I have to admit that I never really thought other people would be reading this, but given the occasional comment or two, it seems that they are. For all I know we're the next Tony Pierce. Sacrilege to say so, I know! A blog nation of millions can't hold him back! He's got it going on in that cute, basketball nerd kind of way but it's Jim Treacher who really makes my pubes curl. He's always on point with the one-line zingers, the entertaining links, the witty self-effacement, whatever you want, sweetheart. I actually had a dream about him last night in which he was sitting next to me at a railway station waiting room. His face was a blur, but I remember that he wore a red and white striped rugby shirt with a super-starched collar. He leaned over and whispered, "Size matters," into my ear. I don't know what it was in reference to but his breath smelled like pineapples.

Hey, so the point of this was to seperate the girls from the boys and the women from the girls:

TRUEBOY: A girl.

Sterling Fassbinder: Also a girl, but a dyke.

Me (Fitzcarraldo): 100% Gay Male (so in other words, all woman)

In celebration of our little coming out party, I encourage you to explore, "My Vagina," a most informative and (for a 21yr old) mature site. Keep your eye out for my version, to be entitled, "My Man Twat". Coming soon.

On that note, I'll close with the following frivolous story. Please note, it helps to read it out loud:

So, not long ago, I was flying TWA (biz class, need you ask?) and checking out a hella cute blond flight steward. He was cruising me back: giving me the eye, dropping things and bending over in front of me, offering to fluff my pillow--you know, the usual mile high games. Anyway, it was time for coffee, so there he was, staring at my crotch and practically curtsying in front of me with the pot:

"Sir, would you like some of our TWA coffee?"

"Ahh, no thanks," I said, in my most demure voice, "But I will have some of your TWA tea."

He nodded and immediatley turned to the cart for the hot water, before what I said clicked in.

"You devil!" he whispered, his eyes shining wickedly, before a woman up front called out for a napkin and he sashayed away.


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