Sunday, August 31, 2008

An Open Letter To My (real) BFF

Dear Joe,

I just saw a movie that you will love. Or hate. I'm not really sure, but I do know that it's worth your time to at least try it on for size.
"Musicals? Musicals are for queers and women who wear too much makeup". I know they are, Joe. But let's try to keep an open mind when considering whether or not to view Sweeney Todd. Yes, it does star Johnny Depp. Yes, it is based on a play. Yes, it is a musical. But, Joe, if you enjoy gallons of red-colored corn oil and straight razors (which I know you do) then you'll love this movie.

The plot? A barber goes insane after losing his wife and daughter and starts slitting people's throats with his razor. Then this scary chick he's knockin' boots with grinds up the dead bodies and puts them into meat pies (English food, psh!). Is that not sick enough for you?

your friend,

**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Saturday, August 30, 2008

Who is Mike Valentino?

I'm going to need a little audience participation with this one. If everyone that reads this post could please answer the following, it would be greatly appreciated:

How did you first stumble upon this blog?


What were your first impressions of the blog AND its handsome author?

Keep the comments coming, y'all!

**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Friday, August 29, 2008

Stoned in the Morning

I heard a woman say the other day that she loved Charlie Daniels. In the same breath she expressed her love of his new gospel songs. I wonder how this little number fares with her. Oh, Mr. Daniels, if you're reading this (which I know you are) I just want you to know that ever since you "found Jesus", you suck.

**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Thursday, August 28, 2008

An Open Letter To My Wife

Dear Bekki

I figure I've hit on every other odd topic that's popped into my head, giving you your dues is, well, way overdue! I can't believe the cute little purple-haired broad I fell in love with back in high school is now my wife. Can you believe we've been together ten years now? That's a lifetime. Well, not if your sum old guy. But for me, that's a lifetime!

I'm truly blessed to have sumone that I can share every detail with. To have sumone I can open up to fully. There is no acting with you. And I love you immensely for doing the same for me. You are real in every sense of the word. From your vulgar vocabulary to your soft heart, I love every bit of you. Remember when Daisy walked between us and the preacher at our wedding? I don't know why that's worth mentioning, but it is. There are a million other little memories like that to draw happiness from. Like the kiss we shared on the bridge at the Columbia zoo. Remember?

And, babe, remember what you said about me not finishing that book ? Well, it won't be too much longer before I get to say, "In your face!"

**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Charles Manson and the Chocolate Factory

"Don't hate nothin' at all except hatred".

And, of course, these guys:

Dr. Dre- Why? Because at a record release party in 1991, Dre kicked the crap out of Dee Barnes (yes, a woman) while his bodyguards held off the crowd. He kicked her in the ribs, punched her in the back of the head after dragging her out of the ladies room by her hair and unsuccessfully tried to push her down a flight of stairs. The response from NWA? "Bitch deserved it"

Roman Polanski- Why? Because when he was 44 years old he fucked a 13 year old girl! What the fuck?! Did he serve his sentence? No! He fled to France (where he continues to make movies with Hollywood stars) before the verdict was read (Pussy!). So fuck Polanski and fuck Adrien Brody for starring in the Pianist. And also fuck anyone who has worked with him in the last 30 years and anyone who thinks it's ok to watch his movies and support a child molester.

*Oh, and the girl in the Polanski photo? If you got wood checking out her rack- remember that she got hacked up by Charles Manson. (ha ha)
**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

A Little Bocephus Fo' Yo' Ass

If Heaven Ain't Alot Like Dixie

The Conversation (with Waylon Jennings)

A Country Boy Can Survive

**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Monday, August 25, 2008

White Folks in Black Mountain

Bekki and I went to Black Mountain today. The folks up there are alot different than the folks down here. I suppose the college runoff just leaves random hippies and vagabonds to roam the streets. That was fine with me, though. I enjoyed the creative atmosphere. Along the way up there we stopped for lunch in Chimney Rock at a small Italian deli called Bellas. I got a few slices of bullshit on ciabatta bread and Bekki the same. It was a ripoff for the portion, but oh well. The scenery was good. We got he sandwiches to-go and parked by a river to eat. Nothing is more soothing than the sound of rushing water. Well, I'm sure there is something more soothing, but you get my drift, right? Good.

Bekki wanted me to buy her an amber ring we saw in a store in Black Mountain. She says she doesn't want it and that we don't have the money to buy it. . . yadda yadda. I think she's just using her female trickery on me. Women have this weird way of phrasing things and willing certain things to happen. I liken it to some sort of Jedi mind trick, but craftier.

* Did anyone notice the book on the table? Chapter 8, page 191 bitches!
**This is a scheduled post. Show me you care and leave a comment!

Sunday, August 24, 2008

An Open Letter To My Bitches

Dear Bitches,

For two weeks I will be on a hiatus of sorts from my "badsumbitchness". I've got a couple of other projects I'm working on and they will take up the majority of my time. Don't worry. Don't cry. I sat down today and wrote 14 new blogs, one for every day that I will be gone. But if I don't respond to you, it ain't because I don't care. I will see you all in two weeks!

with love,
micky v.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

A Personal History Vol. 3

The Education of a Random Queer

Ever been motioned to suck someone's dick in a public restroom? I have. The first time this fucker approached me, I was oblivious to his intentions. He threw sum corny pickup line on me about having seen me at the Pantheon. I had no idea what the Pantheon was, so I politely told him that we had never met. Bekki had a good laugh when she informed me that the Pantheon was one of the gay bars in downtown Charleston. I would be lying to say that I didn't find it a little amusing. The second time all I felt was uncomfortable.

Between classes I run into this guy again. I know what he wants. He knows that I'm straight, that or the most naive queer around. There's nothing wrong with persistence, so I politely inform him that I'm flattered, but also engaged. He seems to take this rejection nicely. In all honesty, though, if I WERE gay, I would be way out of this guy's league. He was huge, taller than me and thick. He was bordering on obese and his face looked like a worn-out catcher's mitt.

I have to admit that I was taken off guard when he walked into the bathroom. I was standing there with my dick out, pissing, and in walks this hulk of a queer behind me. I glance over my shoulder to see what he's doing and he motions me to follow him into the stall! I should have strangled him to death with my belt, but was so uncomfortable that I chose flight as my response instead. I gained my composure quickly and when he I ran into him for the fourth time in the parking lot that day, flight was not the response I chose.

I'm walking to my truck and I hear a whistle. I turn to see this fat fucker sitting in his car with sum other queer and he's looking at me and smiling. So what do I do? I walk to my truck and dig thru my shit. I finally pull out the billy club my grandfather gave me and place it on the seat (just in case). Then I calmly walk to his car. He's leaning out the window now with this big goofy grin on his face. Maybe he thought I had finally given in to his advances. I don't know, but what he got was a rapid succession of bare knuckles and vulgarities. It took him a second to rise from his car and pursue me as I strolled back to my truck. But one glance of the billy club I was waving sent him right back along his path.

The moral of this story? There is none. This is just a personal history about me and my perceptions. That's all we are, anyways, random balls of perceptions that sometimes bounce off each other.

*Vincent asked me if my anger would have been as intense with a female suitor. My answer now is the same as it was back then: probably, but less bloodshed I'm sure.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

A Personal History Vol. 2

You Grab Your WHAT and Stick It WHERE?!

Vincent was a dirty looking queer. I met him in a creative writing class I took back in college. The originality he lacked as a writer he made up for in flamboyance and heart. He spun these elaborate yarns about death and dismemberment with a few homo-erotic descriptions thrown in for good measure. We didn't have a whole lot in common except for the fact that Vinny was a goombah. Moreso than that: Sicilian! He was a self-described "club fag" and declared it proudly to any who hadn't already assumed so by his feminine mannerisms. I envied his show(boat)manship, as I, too, was an ego maniac.

Wherever Vincent went, you'd hear that loud, obnoxious lisp displaying his colorful vocabulary. One of my more humorous memories was challenging him to talk "straight". He got pretty good at it, too. He'd walk up to strangers and start in on them like he was a news anchor. Good times were had by all. I liked Vincent. He was a slut, though. He was a HUGE slut, and proud of it. That always bothered me a bit. I'm sure by now his butthole is as loose as his morals. (I still preferred him to that faggot Jason Chard). It was around this time that I was faced with an unpleasant sexual advance. Vincent gave me sound advice on the matter, but cooler heads surely did not prevail.

To Be Continued. . .

*Tune in Thursday for the dramatic conclusion!

Monday, August 18, 2008

A Personal History Vol. 1

Queers: Acquiescing to Their True Nature

I grew up a sheltered life on the humid beaches of Sullivan's Island. There were two black families on the island and that was it. And the two black families were only there because sum white dude back in the day was bumpin' uglies with the colored help, had chil'ren and put them in his bloated will. Well, Sullivan's Island became a book (seriously, read it) and I became an awkward teenager forced off of the island and into the blistered hands of the public school system. My painful integration into the world of celebrated poverty and Gullah dialects I now view as necessary in the toughening of my young spirits. It wasn't until a few years later that I got a swift realization of another seedy subculture of social deviants: the Homosexuals!

Jason Chard was a flaming homosexual. We didn't know that in 7th grade, though. "Fag" was still this meaningless word intended to express amusement and ridicule. He was unusual to say the least. He wore outlandish clothes and listened to Marilyn Manson (I'm showing my age, right?) which I found to be a wonderful conversation starter. Our friendship, however, was doomed before it ever blossomed. I blame this largely on Jason's own queerness. The same overtly crass personality that attracted my curiosity at first soon helped develop my intense hatred for the boy. I remember the first time I talked with him was as we walked out of the middle school gymnasium. It must have been purely small talk because the bulk of it I can not remember. Our parting words I do, however. My stepfather (a Hoosier) was picking me up from school when Jason looked at me and said, "That's your dad? He's a weird looking fucker!"

Even after all these years, if I were to pass his lifeless corpse by the side of the road- I would leave in search of a tall glass of water. Once I found a tall glass of water, I would swallow it and return to where his body lay for the sole purpose of pissing on his rotting flesh.

*This is the first post in a scheduled series of three. Tune in Tuesday to hear more of Mike Valentino's run-ins with those sneaky queer bastards! Also- Is queer bashing EVER justified, and, if so, is Mike Valentino guilty of hate crime?

To Be Continued. . .

Friday, August 15, 2008

A Conversation with. . .

ring ring ring

Me: Yello!?

Shaikens: Hey! Can I speak with Michael, please?

Me: Speaking. Who's this?

Shaikens: Hey, this is Shaikens from the internet.

Me: "From the internet"? Really?

Shaikens: Yeah, I gotta make this quick. The League's holding their semi-finals down at the bowling alley tonight, so let's cut the bullshit.

Me: Ok. (My voice trembled with fear)

Shaikens: You need to fix your RSS feed. You're not coming up on my page so there's no way I can keep track of your complete awesomeness.

Me: Do you mean 'aweSUMness'?

Shaikens: What?

Me: You know, spelled SUM instead of SOME?

Shaikens: We're on the phone.

. . . awkward pause. . .

Me: What IS a RSS feed?

Shaikens: What do you mean, 'what IS a RSS feed'?

Me: Well, this is sort of embarrassing, but I'm kinda new to this whole internet thing. I've never blogged before.

the receiver crackled with so much laughter

Shaikens: You've never blogged before?! Ha ha ha! What a loser! Ha ha ha! Wait a second. Are you crying? Seriously? I can't believe you're crying! What a pussy! Bad Sum Bitch? More like, uh, just Bitch! Ha ha ha!

Me: Please, stop. I'm on medication.

Shaikens: Ha ha ha! You're sick! Ha ha!

Me: Well, uh, I'm glad you called, Shaikens.

Shaikens: Ha ha ha!

Me: I guess I'll let you get to your game. Are you there? Hello?

. . . if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and try again. . .

Thursday, August 14, 2008


When we get coons, Momma just sweeps 'em off the porch with a broom!

Well, those two "nigger boys" finally stole something, but it wasn't mine.

Willie, Austin's older brother, was the victim. Willie is a tall 18 year old with a dark complexion, speech impediment and a menial part-time job to call his own. "Dey hole ma man goose" What? "Days tole my mom's goose!" I'm sorry, what the fuck did you say? After going around for a bit like an Abbot and Costello routine, I realized that Willie was referring to his "Mongoose" (which is apparently an expensive bicycle). The culprit? Blacks, of course!

Austin's "daddy" bypassed the cops in true omerta fashion and found the punks himself. They had already removed the brake cables and stickers (How about we peer into the future and hand you your felony now?). Several cans of spray paint littered the front yard (I know, right?) where the bike was found. I could not ascertain what Austin's "daddy" actually said to the boys or their parents, but I'm sure it wasn't pretty. Austin's "daddy" is a pretty intimidating man (I could take him, though).

All is well, I suppose. Willie got his bike back. Justice was served (?) and I've made little progress concerning my self-inflicted education .

* Sum things are meant to offend. If this post did not offend you then there's sumthing wrong!

Sumone cares? If it's about me they do!

I know it's been a few days since my small and apathetic fan base got their regular scheduled dose of yours truly, so here's a link to something I wrote for a friend whose coattails I intend on riding straight to the D-List.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

An Open Letter To My BFF

I just read a very well-written essay and a very poorly written blog post . The latter is about me, or probably more accurately, a parody of me, while the first is a supremely articulate essay concerning how every artistically inclined person has felt during some time or another. In this dark cave blanketed by shame and uncertainty, I fine myself constantly. Where financial gains and business savvy fail to deliver that boost to the ever-limping ego, the arts can always be counted on to give a weakened heart a steady jolt. But the intangible feeling of artistic triumph is comparable to a lunar eclipse, it is seldom seen and flashing in it's longevity. So a sincere heap of gratitude is extended to you, sir. For, although you may at times see the same starving artist that your mother does peering back at you from the mirror, you are nothing short of encouragement to those at the foothills to the mountains you've climbed.

peace, love and cornbread,
micky v.

*If it weren't for this picture I would have never known you were gay.

Friday, August 8, 2008

A Lazy Afternoon

Well I took the twins to the vet today to get their nails done. The vet does it for free, so why not, right? Anyways, Dixie went first as Ernie circled my feet. Then I put her down and held Ernie while he got his nails trimmed so he wouldn't maul the vet tech's face off. About half way thru I think to myself, "what the fuck is that awful, horrible, terrible, no-good smell?" and I glance down to see the floor and the heel of my shoe completely covered in Dixie's shit. Oh, and she also pissed everywhere. It was a wonderful experience.

In the lobby of the vet's office, this uptight tourist couple and their well groomed Hispanic children are waiting with their poodle (no lie). I get behind them in line and listen to them petitioning the receptionist to let them see the vet at once. Apparently their dog got its first tick and they were completely oblivious as to what should be done about it. I politely offered to pluck the tick off but was ignored. Obviously the silver spoon these people were born with contained a healthy dollop of stupidity, because these parents wouldn't even let their kids pet the dog until said tick was terminated. The receptionist happily sold them some Advantix and told them to go back to where they came from (ya ain't frum round here, is ya?). All the while my two hellions are wrapping their respective leashes around my legs and barking profusely at the pampered pooch.

Then Bekki and I joined forces to tackle the grueling task of finally switching the tags on our cars over to North Carolina plates (which also included a safety and omissions test). $300 sum odd dollars later we were finally freed from the ignorant governmental clutches of South Carolina and now fully immersed in the, hopefully, more apt hands of the North Carolina powers-that-be.

On the drive home from the grocery store where another $100 was blown, a minor disagreement between Bekki and I was had concerning the consumption of alcohol that was tentatively scheduled for whenever I felt like it. After we split to different sides of the house to waste our energies cleaning and organizing instead of brawling, we kissed, hugged and overall made amends.

Around this time the neighbor boy, Austin , came by with the bicycle pump we had requested to borrow. I was surprised that all three of our ancient and rusted bikes rode perfectly fine. I even took it down the hill into the parking lot of the Baptist Church across the street. Sum would have you believe that a grown man has no place on a purple woman's mountain bike, but I would have to strongly disagree. While trespassing on church property, Austin and I spotted a bird that had been trapped in an unairconditioned building flapping vigorously against a window. After we were denied assistance by sum lingering Baptists, the three of us tried in vain to break into the locked building. I guess "all of God's creatures" only applies to those who vote Republican.

Next on the agenda was dinner with Bekki's parents to celebrate her father's 69th birthday. It was a pleasant evening. To cap off the day, Bekki and I whipped out our books and read well into the night. The end.

And, once again, if anyone cares I have already devoured 130 pages of this literary monster .

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Damn, Son. Get Off My Dick!

Here is an email that I received today, followed by my response. Enjoy

Date: Thu, 7 Aug 2008 13:03:39 -0500
From: n/a
Subject: permission request

Mr Valentino:

Greetings! I am one of the few, the proud, the pervs, I suppose you'd call us , who are enjoying the fun between you and Prince Gomolvilas this week.

My somewhat innocuous, and damn near reader free blog, has a weekly feature called hot guy friday. I usually post some generic pictures I find on the net of a well-known, or relatively so, actor whom I find attractive.

This week I had a bit of inspiration. I was thinking of using you as my Hot Guy Friday subject. This, of course, would be limited to the pictures posted on both your, and Prince's websites, which Prince has told me would be fine with him. He did however suggest, and I concur, that I should acquire your permission before pursuing this idea.

Should you agree I will post the pictures attached to this email and simply recap the exchanges between you and Prince this week and let it go at that. Should you decline I'll go with someone else, obviously.

Let me know your thoughts on the subject. I understand the only balls you touch are your own, (a bit more info than I needed perhaps,) but I thought a cute real-world guy would be a nice change of pace.

Sean Taylor

The Response

Poor unsuspecting dolt? I can't believe you have the nerve to ask my permission on anything after repeatedly referring to me as a dolt and helpless victim on your haphazard blog. This isn't gays vs. straights, alright? I think you need to leave your condescending, judgmental prejudices where they belong - heavily hidden beneath humor. You are nothing more than another faceless coward ducking behind a computer monitor. I try to live peacefully, but am far too short tempered to let some nobody step on my toes. I have nothing but the utmost respect for Prince. If he doesn't feel the same then that's fine. But, just so you know, I was the one to instigate our back and forth banter- so if anyone baited anyone, it was me.

Oh, and you can put me as your hot guy Friday if you like. I'm flattered and would gladly accept the extra traffic to my page. If, of course, anyone reads your page.

love always,
micky v.

An Open Letter to the Playwrights of California

Wow! That sounds inclusive, right? An Open Letter to a Few Asian Playwrights Who Sometimes Read This Blog would have been more honest, but I think I made the right choice. I could have titled it An Open Letter to All Asian Americans. Now, THAT would have been a tad presumptuous (just a tad, mind you). Linguistics aside, I would like to publicly thank that small demographic that make up my audience (don't laugh) for their tireless support these past two months. A previous blog, The Hillbilly Speaks , was my first to reach 10 comments (can anyone make that 11?). I think two of them were from myself, but thank you anyways. Also, my page has been viewed 500 times, now. I went to bed last night and it said 499. I think I know who that special barrier-shattering (don't laugh) visitor was! Prince! Come on down and see what you've won! A lifetime supply of patronage delivered at a feverish pace of 25 times a day!

And, Prince , I fully admire your willingness to retire our shtick before it grows stale (or has it already?), but I must not close this dialogue without declaring my disgust for sports. Alas, the only balls I touch are my own.

And, Madley , your interest in this ongoing opera (ah, yet another Italian accomplishment) is greatly appreciated. I visited your blog today. I was just about to comment on your honey post, but started to sob uncontrollably. And then I went and ate sum honey.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

It's Teddy. Mr. Roosevelt if you're nasty!

I got a new book, y'all! "He can read?" I know, right, who woulda thunkit? It's part one in what was planned on being a trilogy by author Edmund Morris. I'm not much of a reader so I thought it would be entertaining to document how long it takes me to devour this 800 page monster. I started a few days ago, but I'll give myself a head start by counting today as the official start.

Any bets on how long it'll take me? Anyone?

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

The Hillbilly Speaks

A Feeble Attempt at Silencing Regional Stereotypes

In response to Prince's repeated references to me being a "Hillbilly" which clearly I have too many teeth to meet the requirements, I feel it is my utmost duty to rectify these slandering remarks by somewhat detailing my arduous travel from the sunny coasts of Charleston to the wooded hills of Southern Appalachia. OR I gotta set sum shit straight.

About a hundred years ago my family was swept up in the mass migration of Sicilians that were seeking refuge from the oppressive mafioso that basically dominated the local politics of Sicily. They settled in the historic town of Charleston, SC long after the Civil War had crushed the antebellum society and civic pride that the once large and prosperous city had. The correlation between myself and slave owning aristocrats is, therefore, nothing more than a humorous stereotype. While on the subject of stereotypes, I must also point out that my wife and I are far from the "downtrodden Southerners", because although my kin were not slave owning aristocrats, they were somewhat aristocratic (although at what some consider the tale-end of that self-gratifying echelon).

So, as I blossomed into adulthood and found a bride in my childhood sweetheart, I came to see my standing as King-like in the midst of rural Southerners and, on the other hand, pauper-like while amongst my own (My own being the private school attending, cocaine sniffing, imported car driving and imported beer drinking aristocrats). And so naturally my wife and I made that arduous trip from prosperous Charleston to the hills of North Carolina where folks place commerce long behind God and family. We enjoy the slower pace of life and the simplicity that surrounds us and, for the moment, are completely contented.

* These are pictures from a few years back of a Charlestonian "night on the town" to prove that we aren't THAT backwards. Oh, and Prince, if you keep saying things like this: "Mike, please do no die before I get to suck you off while your wife's back is turned", Bekki won't let us continue our friendship. She thinks you might be a bad influence. She's probably right. That's why I find you so hip, like an Asian James Dean. You are a Hoosier, right?

Saturday, August 2, 2008

Confessions of a Guappo

Leonardo da Vinci
Universally recognized as possibly the most intelligent man to have ever lived.
He was a polymath, undisputed genius and, you guessed it, an Italian.

I thought I'd share with everyone my long standing opinion concerning the Western World and how the Italians basically own it. It goes like this: Who created the largest and longest lasting civilization that the world had ever known? That's right, the Italians. Who killed Jesus? It was the Italians, fuck the Jews. What group was the first to create paper? Well, that was the Chinese, but we've got plumbing, so fuck the Chinese. Who was the first to force Christianity down its citizens throats? That's right, those hairy knuckled, wife beating, pasta eating goombahs.

And what happened when the Roman Empire fell? Tha mothafuckin Dark Ages, bitch! That's right! Without Italian domination the whole European continent fell into a thousand year slump of religious hypocrisy, feudal wars and the Bubonic Plague. And what brought mankind out of this slump? A little thing you might've heard of called the Italian Renaissance! Yeah, that's right! Suck it up your ass!

*So yeah, I'm not full Italian, but Tiger Woods isn't full black, either. So suck it.

A Conversation with. . .

My Neighbor

knock knock knock

Me: Hey (I trailed off because I don't know her name)

Neighbor: Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I saw two black boys walkin thru yer yard yesterday.

Me: What?!

Neighbor: Yeah, they jus cum thru the front yard right there and along thru the back on to my yard.

Me: Niggers? Thru my yard?
(She was quickly taken aback but regained her composure almost instantly.)

Neighbor: Yeah, two little nigger boys jus walked thru yer yard yesterday.

Me: Well, what were they doin'?

Neighbor: Well (she sighed) I got this dirt bike in my back yard and I think they were aimin' ta steal it. But I just stood there and glared at 'em.

Me: Well if I've got nigger boys walkin' thru my yard I better go buy a chain to tie up the lawn mower.

Neighbor: I wuz jus thinkin' that. I wouldn't be surprised at all if they tried to steal yer lawn mower. (We keep it on our back patio unlocked)

Me: Well, I appreciate you lookin' out for us. If I see anything strange going on, I'll let you know.

Neighbor: Alright then. Bye.

Me: Bye. (I turned and yelled to Bekki) Get the guns out the closet, Bekki! We got niggers, again!

Friday, August 1, 2008

A Conversation with. . .

Prince Gomolvilas

What a long, awkward trip it's been. Here's the breakdown for those who haven't been paying attention: The Catalyst, The Backlash , followed promptly by A Lot of Soul Searching, and then the birth of Artistic Respect , and now this. . .

ring, ring, ring

Prince: Hello?

Me: Yello! Talk to me.

Prince: Hello?

Me: Yello!

Prince: Ok. Who is this?

Me: It's me. You know, your online love interest.

Prince: Mike Valentino?

Me: In the flesh. The hot, sultry, pornographic flesh. How I got your number is not important, so don't ask. I just thought it was time that the relationship move up to the next plateau.

Prince: Wow. Uh. . . I don't know what to say. Mike, we don't have a relationship. You're married, remember? And I'm an entertainer. I'm a playwright. I work with make-believe.

Me: Of course I know I'm married. I love my wife very much. Are you saying I don't? Because if you are then we've got a problem.

Prince: Calm down. I didn't realize how much you Southerners loved your wives.

Me: Actually it's just me. Most Southerners only pretend to love their wives because some preacher told them they'll go to Hell if they don't. I am actually deeply, deeply in love with my wife. She told me I could pursue you on the side, though. She said you appeared "clean".

Prince: Well, I'm flattered, but you do know that you can't tell if a person is an STD carrier by mere appearances, right?

Me: STD? Ha Ha Ha. You big city fellas with your abbreviations. Ha Ha.

Prince: Anyways. . . Mike, I'm NOT gay.

Me: Huh?

Prince: It's an act. I figured that being Asian wasn't enough to make me stand out in California, so I created this gay persona. I'm even more of a minority than before. It's fabulous.

Me: I didn't think homosexuals were considered minorities in California. Huh. You learn something new everyday. Well (sighs with discontentment) I've gotta go shave my legs. I'll talk to you later, PrinceyPoo!

Prince: Ok, bye then.

Prince hangs up the phone and shakes his head in shame. "Wow" he says to himself. "What a fucking queer".