Hats off to the Peanut Gallery

Well put on your city boots, strike up the band, muster the goombas, and slap my gramma - I actually have some readers! I've even been informed by a few that they check my blog on a daily basis, sadly seeing no new posts for weeks, dare we say it, months at a time. Well, this one's for you, kids. And once I remember how to add links to this thing, I'll add you to the circle.

IF YOU SEE THIS, PLEASE ASSIST.

So here's what's up. Lately I find myself questioning a few things. I'm not going to say I question my sexuality - that would be going in the wrong direction, but I think I might be putting out the wrong image lately. I mean, it's one thing to be secure in one's self and not be homophobic, but come on, Merlin! Singing Elton John songs in a gay bar, after getting your picture taken with the handlebar mustachioed bartender, his arms wrapped around you from behind while he nuzzles your neck? Geesh. I need to clear this up a bit.

Just to set the record straight, I am a hetro-kinda-guy. Just one big hairy American winnin' machine. Why do I do these things when I'm in my cups? I think part of it is to show off just how not homophobic I am and shock my friends, but that's just what it is - showing off. I need to cut that one from my repetoire.

So from now on, friends and neighbors, if you see me hitting on a male bartender to get my drink quicker, or giving a fake phone number to a bald guy and his boyfriend for kicks, step up to the plate. Say Merlin, you need to cut that shit out.

And always remember, check the signs. I drive a pick-up truck. I wear cowboy boots. I have guns and knives stashed all the hell over my house, and there's an NRA sticker on the back of that pick-up.

Oh yeah... and I wear flannel.