So this story starts around 1-o'clock on a Saturday. After around half-an-hour of miscommunication Tommy Corbett and I finally met up at Harris Teeter. This was after a half-hour of idiocy of which I totally can't blame on him, as he hasn't been in this area for years although it was 100% his fault).
Upon parking I got into his Ford "Texas Edition" truck. Which was our house hunting vehicle for the remainder of the day. Prior to this, Tommy had laughed at the fact that if I went house-hunting with him, we might be viewed as a gay couple. Luckily, he was wearing a T-shirt and a camo hat, and I was wearing a Sabonis shirt and a Jeff Gordon hat. Utterly convincing.
So we arrive at house after house, all generally nondescript in terms of uniqueness. Shocker, in Charlotte, NC - home of the clone homes. The fact that Tommy was more interested in attempting to set me up with a few of the (admittedly) hot realtors, as opposed to focusing on the houses told me enough about his opinions (which as his supposedly gay partner - I was so offended by). All I wanted was for him to play his part - my bottom - which he clearly would've been. But he kept disrupting my inquiries about shrubbery and backyard space with these bullshit questions about "master bathrooms." Let's just say, if he was my bottom, this was his bottoming out - whatever that means..
However, as "luck?" would have it, he really seemed to enjoy most of the facets of the next house. By he, I mean, we were both enjoying the fact that for the first time tonight, we encountered a couple who totally understood our lifestyle choice.
It was an interesting encounter - to say the least. I hadn't seen the "bottom" aka the guy that Tommy clearly bonded with yet, so when one of them asked me if I had any "legitimate criticisms" of the house, I felt it was my duty to stay in character. I instructed him that the shrubbery needed work along with the kitchen needing certain adornments, he stated "he was glad someone told him."
I felt my feedback was very meaningful at this point. This was quickly curbed by the fact that Tommy also stayed in character whilst talking to the other guy. When our foursome met back downstairs to speak about the house, both of them - clearly blind sadists, were speaking directly toward Tommy - as opposed to me. Wtf. Clearly these fags didn't understand fake gay dynamics - so this house was a bust.
After all these cis-gendered related judgements, it was finally time to take a break from real estate and engage in some real relate. Irish Que style.
An oddity happened next. It was almost if the (sexist) woman at the Irish Que didn't realize my pool strategy the entire time. Luckily, Tommy kept backing me up despite our hour-and-a-half pool game. I told him/her, he/she, it that from the start - I was playing "defensive pool."
An odd strategy some might think... but when the person you're playing is awful - it's an effective one. I won't even bother to say what happened... let's just say - my balls were everywhere.
After some endurance pool, we finally arrive back to Tommy's camper to meet his neighbor who was apparently from Connecticut. I pissed on her camper. No worries, it was unbeknownst to her.
Apparently in my idiocy of having to go to the bathroom and buying beer for Tommy's camper - Tommy had bought some cigarettes. Now I have no issue with that - nor apparently did Billy Corbett - who I will return to later. And yes, you'll always be Billy to me - to paraphrase Elton John.
So later we both decide it's a fun idea to go to the track - for no reason. Long story short - we get there - and try to light one of the aforementioned drugs. The wind however, is gusting and we're habitually failing at doing so - so what better time to call Billy Corbett. This man entertained us, simply by staying on the line, an unbelievable amount of time, whilst updating me (yes me alone) on the results of what everyone said was the best game of the playoffs - which I COULDN'T see because despite my laptop and wifi-hotspot - I was in a deadzone around Charlotte Motor Speedway - (how does he live like this).
The next morning we got up early as Tommy had to go house hunting again, this time with someone who wasn't pretending to be his gay top - John McClellan - Buzzuto's husband (...).
So early and 75%, wait, I mean, mostly sober- It's time for me to drive home.
And I.. almost do. At this time there is a massive - and I mean zero visibility - massive rainstorm that occurs. I had been trying not to wreck or just to see anything most of the time. Then around exit 10, I look at my guages, as it had died down - ever so slightly - for the first time.
I live off of exit 7. Unfortunately from exit 9 (which has an A,B,C) my car starts to overheat. At this point in the highway, you literally cannot pullover. FUCK.
"Please last til around exit 7," I'm thinking. And it did.
Unfortunately, that's all it did. My car dies on the exit 7 ramp, during a massive rainstorm that hasn't subsided since exit 18.
My car overheats and breaks down on the exit ramp. And despite all my pseudo ass faggot behavior this weekend - this is a true faggot ass...
-Reality Check
Upon parking I got into his Ford "Texas Edition" truck. Which was our house hunting vehicle for the remainder of the day. Prior to this, Tommy had laughed at the fact that if I went house-hunting with him, we might be viewed as a gay couple. Luckily, he was wearing a T-shirt and a camo hat, and I was wearing a Sabonis shirt and a Jeff Gordon hat. Utterly convincing.
So we arrive at house after house, all generally nondescript in terms of uniqueness. Shocker, in Charlotte, NC - home of the clone homes. The fact that Tommy was more interested in attempting to set me up with a few of the (admittedly) hot realtors, as opposed to focusing on the houses told me enough about his opinions (which as his supposedly gay partner - I was so offended by). All I wanted was for him to play his part - my bottom - which he clearly would've been. But he kept disrupting my inquiries about shrubbery and backyard space with these bullshit questions about "master bathrooms." Let's just say, if he was my bottom, this was his bottoming out - whatever that means..
However, as "luck?" would have it, he really seemed to enjoy most of the facets of the next house. By he, I mean, we were both enjoying the fact that for the first time tonight, we encountered a couple who totally understood our lifestyle choice.
It was an interesting encounter - to say the least. I hadn't seen the "bottom" aka the guy that Tommy clearly bonded with yet, so when one of them asked me if I had any "legitimate criticisms" of the house, I felt it was my duty to stay in character. I instructed him that the shrubbery needed work along with the kitchen needing certain adornments, he stated "he was glad someone told him."
I felt my feedback was very meaningful at this point. This was quickly curbed by the fact that Tommy also stayed in character whilst talking to the other guy. When our foursome met back downstairs to speak about the house, both of them - clearly blind sadists, were speaking directly toward Tommy - as opposed to me. Wtf. Clearly these fags didn't understand fake gay dynamics - so this house was a bust.
After all these cis-gendered related judgements, it was finally time to take a break from real estate and engage in some real relate. Irish Que style.
An oddity happened next. It was almost if the (sexist) woman at the Irish Que didn't realize my pool strategy the entire time. Luckily, Tommy kept backing me up despite our hour-and-a-half pool game. I told him/her, he/she, it that from the start - I was playing "defensive pool."
An odd strategy some might think... but when the person you're playing is awful - it's an effective one. I won't even bother to say what happened... let's just say - my balls were everywhere.
After some endurance pool, we finally arrive back to Tommy's camper to meet his neighbor who was apparently from Connecticut. I pissed on her camper. No worries, it was unbeknownst to her.
Apparently in my idiocy of having to go to the bathroom and buying beer for Tommy's camper - Tommy had bought some cigarettes. Now I have no issue with that - nor apparently did Billy Corbett - who I will return to later. And yes, you'll always be Billy to me - to paraphrase Elton John.
So later we both decide it's a fun idea to go to the track - for no reason. Long story short - we get there - and try to light one of the aforementioned drugs. The wind however, is gusting and we're habitually failing at doing so - so what better time to call Billy Corbett. This man entertained us, simply by staying on the line, an unbelievable amount of time, whilst updating me (yes me alone) on the results of what everyone said was the best game of the playoffs - which I COULDN'T see because despite my laptop and wifi-hotspot - I was in a deadzone around Charlotte Motor Speedway - (how does he live like this).
The next morning we got up early as Tommy had to go house hunting again, this time with someone who wasn't pretending to be his gay top - John McClellan - Buzzuto's husband (...).
So early and 75%, wait, I mean, mostly sober- It's time for me to drive home.
And I.. almost do. At this time there is a massive - and I mean zero visibility - massive rainstorm that occurs. I had been trying not to wreck or just to see anything most of the time. Then around exit 10, I look at my guages, as it had died down - ever so slightly - for the first time.
I live off of exit 7. Unfortunately from exit 9 (which has an A,B,C) my car starts to overheat. At this point in the highway, you literally cannot pullover. FUCK.
"Please last til around exit 7," I'm thinking. And it did.
Unfortunately, that's all it did. My car dies on the exit 7 ramp, during a massive rainstorm that hasn't subsided since exit 18.
My car overheats and breaks down on the exit ramp. And despite all my pseudo ass faggot behavior this weekend - this is a true faggot ass...
-Reality Check
