Anonymous Hottie Ahead

These are pics of 1 of my fav internet hotties, some of them taken just for me. It was so much better than some flowers lol. He wanted to remain anonymous so I've cropped out his face. Enjoy!

3 Books

I've always been a voracious reader. Admittedly the internet has curbed this somewhat. Whereas I used to read an average of 3 books per month, now I'm lucky if I read 3 books per year. But I am always reading SOMETHING. Whether it be a political blog, a movie review, a graphic novel, or the few magazines to which I am a dedicated monthly subscriber. Reading has always been 1 of my biggest passions. Someone asked me recently what was the 1 book that affected me the most deeply. I couldn't really narrow it down to 1 when they asked me, and I'm not going to do that in this blog either. Instead I decided to talk about 3 books in particular that helped to shape me into the person that I am today. They will not be the "best" books I've ever read, simply a few of the titles that affected me. First up is a strange choice which will probably have you scratching your head in confusion, but let me explain...

When I was 13 my Nana took me and my brother to the Garden State Plaza Mall. This was looooong before the hip remodel it got in the 90's. It was still a fabulous slice of 80's awesomeness with a Woolworth's with an old fashioned lunch counter where you could get a grilled cheese sandwich and a milkshake for probably $3. On this particular day, my Nana allowed my brother and I to spend a small amount on whatever we wanted. Normally I would buy some comics from the comic shop or an action figure from Toys R Us. But recently I had gotten much more into reading, so I always wanted to hang out in the book store. I'd also begun writing a few years earlier, so the two went hand in hand. Every cool book I read was inspiration for my next story. I'd also begun watching General Hospital with my Mom and actually found it to be pretty exciting. These were the days when daytime soaps had the craziest batshit storylines. Nothing like the garden variety, but no less fascinating, melodrama of today. Luke and Laura fell in love while they stopped the evil Cassidine from taking over the world with his freeze machine (General Hospital). Clint bumped his head and went back in time to the Old West version of Llanview (One Life to Live). I mean, this shit was loopy. I only watched General Hospital, but I saw this book called Soap World in the store and became fascinated with the fact that sooo much had happened on the show before I started watching but most of the characters still on it were related to the original people. I still find that fascinating today. I've long since stopped watching General Hospital, but now I watch a Clif Notes version of Days of Our Lives to follow the coolest gay couple in daytime, Will and Sonny. And Days, in particular, is a show that all started with 1 family, the Hortons. And the Hortons are still 1 of the main focuses. I like that. I like the sense of history and nostalgia already built in. And this book detailed every soap that was on the air in 1983, which was a hell of a lot more than what is remaining today. It told detailed plotlines from start to present. Who had an abortion, who killed who's husband, who had an affair when they should have been minding the baby. It was pretty awesome, actually. But the capper was when I was looking through the General Hospital section I saw a pic of a very young Mark Hamill aka Luke Skywalker himself from when he did a stint on the show that I hadn't even known about. I decided to get it there and then. As I think back on it now, I cherish the fact that my Nana didn't even think twice about me reading the book. There was no "Oh thats not fit for someone your age" or "That's not a book boys want to read". She was happy I was reading and happy it concerned 1 of her favorite shows. I can't say the same for my friends. Sometime later when they found out I was an avid watcher of soaps (after eventually adding Dallas and Dynasty to the mix), they invented a fake disease which they said I had contracted that caused me to watch feminine shows. They called it "TremuaSHAWitis" which sounds stupid and should have been laughed off with a "Fuck you" but I remember it hurting at the time. Of course these were the same "best friends" who would later ask me to not talk or hang with them in school anymore now that they had joined the track team, though it was ok for me  to talk with them on the phone. But I digress. The book was fun and frothy, and I perused it all summer and later that year, began writing my own soap, THE INTRIGUE ADVENTURERS! Yea it was pretty cheesy...

I couldn't draw for shit. Every character looked the same except for their hair (though I at least knew enough to scribble on Michael Jackson's face so that he appeared to be of a darker complexion). Luckily my works of art only adorned the cover. Note also I copied the comics code authority seal and also patented my own logo: A STEVEN SHAW EPIC! They were fun times. I had kidnappings, affairs, murders, plots to take over the city of San Francisco, and much, much more.

Yes, I'm counting a comic as a book. It certainly meant as much to me at the time. I'd been reading comics for a while by then. This wouldn't be the comic that got me started. That distinction would fall on The New Teen Titans #1. I loved team books (still do) and that 1 was drawn by 1 of my favorite comic artists ever, George Perez. Plus the heroes were pretty close to me in age so it was easy to get caught up in their problems. But Avengers was, is, and always will be my favorite title. There were all the heavy hitters of Marvel in one spot: Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, The Scarlet Witch, Vision, Hawkeye. And the team was always changing so you always had new characters to grow to love. Plus they weren't averse to featuring soap opera elements in their stories, which I loved. Ms. Marvel was still a fairly new character at this point and a new addition to the team who'd been doubting herself ever since she joined. In this story, the 200th issue of the original run which started back in 1963 (the same year as Doctor Who, the Kennedy assassination, and the death of Marilyn Monroe), Carol Danvers suddenly becomes pregnant. Within a matter of days, she gives birth to a child which grows into a startlingly handsome space entity who I assume wants to rule the world (its been decades since I have read it) and a fierce battle ensues. If I remember correctly (talking about it now I see I'm going to have to buy a copy because its making me want to read it again), by the end of the story the entity falls in love with Ms. Marvel (technically his "mother") and whisks her away to an uncertain future. Ms. Marvel as a character would go on to have an amazing history getting amnesia, losing her powers, gaining new ones, joining and leaving several teams, until once again she was a powerhouse in the Marvel canon. The Avengers was being drawn at this time by another of my favorite comic artists of all time, John Byrne. But oddly enough, if I'm correct, George Perez was brought on to draw the anniversary issue. And it looked amazing. Perez has a way of filling every minute space of page with something intricate and fabulous to look at. He is a genius. And I was hooked. My interest in comics has waxed and waned over the years (its so goddamn expensive now to follow anything faithfully), but it all started as a passion with this issue. And it will never go away, thankfully.

I notice nobody ever puts It near the top when they list Stephen King's best work. Everybody loves the other heavy hitters: The Stand, The Shining, Carrie. Those are all awesome. But this was the one that did it for me. I was always into horror from the time my Dad woke me up in the middle of the night when I was 7 to watch The Thing From Another World on tv. Remember, this was looong before videos and 24 hour movie channels. Plus this was also the first massive book I chose to read on my own. It was over a 1000 pages. It was a fucking doorstop. But people had told me good things. I started to read the story of a group of people who were raised in Derry, Maine and who had all gone through something extraordinary there when they were children. If you haven't read the book before, without giving too much away, it concerns an evil being called Pennywise who appears to people usually as a clown, just before murdering them horribly. It is the story of what happens when Pennywise returns after a long absence and the children, now grown, who once vanquished him have to return to Derry and face their fears so that they can defeat him once and for all. Its packed with scary stuff, a heavy sense of nostalgia (which in case you haven't guessed already I absolutely love), and disturbing scenes. Luckily I do not suffer from coulrophobia or I might not have been able to finish it. It is an amazing book. Thinking back now, this was a time when queer novels were not easily obtained from the book store, let alone the library which were almost always rainbow free. And pre-Amazon or Ebay, you were out of luck if you couldn't travel to a big city to check out a gay bookstore. And I remember very clearly It having several queer themed passages in it. In retrospect, they're probably not very flattering. Pennywise's first victim upon returning is a man coming from a night out in a gay bar, and if I recall he is being gay bashed at the time. And the other scene involves two of the bullies who torment our heroes as children. When they are alone in the woods together reading dirty magazines, the older bully begins to masturbate his friend. The reaction is immediate and I'm sure (though I can't remember verbatim) "faggot" is thrown around quite insultingly, after which the older boy is killed by Pennywise. Its startling to me as I think about it now that a subliminal message from this (probably not the intended one) is that gay sex equals death. Luckily at the time I didn't see it that way. All I could think was "Holy shit the dude just started jerking off his friend that's hot!" I was always puerile, I guess. But beyond that, It is still an excellent read. Maybe one day soon I will pick it up again.

Why People Aren't Watching Agent Carter

I'm always leery when some Hollywood suit wants to make a television show, generally costing far far less, out of a multi-million dollar movie. For every M*A*S*H there is a Fast Times. Remember that show, a sitcom based on Fast Times at Ridgemont High? No? Know why? Because it was dreadful. It came out four years after the movie, could feature none of the bawdy content seen in the film (especially Phoebe Cates' boobs, not that I was lookin at em but certainly a ton of my straight classmates were), and involved absolutely no one from the movie in the creative process. Sure, it had Vincent Schiavelli and Ray Walston, but no Spicoli, no Damone, no Kashmir, no anything worth your time to tune in. Accordingly, it lasted all of seven episodes which is more than some get, but as a tribute to the excellent film it was based on it reeks of utter failure. Action and superhero movies are ALWAYS tough regarding this particular issue. The reason Captain America looks so good tranforming from 90 pound weakling into shield-baring bruiser on the big screen is because they have millions of dollars of CGI at their disposal to aid in the process. A prime time show usually has a big budget, but nothing close to what this would require. So what we're usually left with, unless they have extremely talented writers and creators at their disposal and some awesome world building skills, feels half-baked at best. At worst, God awful. I would term Marvel's Agents of Shield the latter. I tuned into the pilot fully expecting them to fail. And they did, as far as I'm concerned. Big time. They had world building, for sure. Marvel is very into world building since a ton of their characters and concepts are sold out to other studios so they are always desperate to create new things they can capitalize on in their own sandbox. I'm not knocking the MCU. In fact, I'm simply amazed by what Marvel has managed to do with their films. Some of my favorite comics and characters from my childhood have been brought to life with glorious results. The films vary in quality, this is true, but over-all you're never wanting for thrills, fun, or excitement. Agents of Shield had none of this. I fault the showrunners. And to be fair, it might have gotten better as the series went along, but I am an extremely stern critic for television shows. If you don't give me something to hook me the first time I watch, its almost certain that I won't give you a second chance. There are just too many quality shows waiting to be watched out there to spend 3 or 4 hours building up slight concern about why Agent Coulson is still alive. Which brings me to Agent Carter. The idea for this show started as a Marvel One Shot, one of the mini-films released on dvd with bigger titles. I was hooked immediately. I loved Hayley Atwell in Captain America anyway, but the writers took the topic of what it might be like for this courageous, intelligent army officer to return from war and find none of the applauds of her male counterparts. Instead, she finds sexism and is sidelined taking the coffee orders. I worried that Marvel would have the same problems with this show that they had with Shield. And to be honest, they did, but only just. The series picks up after the war. The macguffin that gets the plot rolling is the theft of Howard Stark's inventions. This leads to a complicated morass of criminals and super secret villianous organizations that can sometimes feel like you're going to be buried under exposition. There are Russian assassins, voice-boxless thugs, but most importantly, plopped squarely in the middle: Hayley Atwell. Simply put, she is awesome in this part. She's classy but tough, feminine but not fawning. And to see someone so accomplished be benched because she has breasts makes you mad. At least it did me. I rooted for her immediately. Along with her we have Dominic Cooper recreating the Howard Stark of the movies, and we meet the actual Jarvis, the first one anyway, the human one, Howard's butler. His Thin Man double act with Peggy Carter is fascinating to watch. Beyond that, the costumes and the set design and the period setting are all stunning. There is no other current show set in this period, which makes it unique in the television landscape right now. It also has a strong group of creators behind the scenes, though not the ones from the movies, definitely ones with a strong televisual pedigree. The two showrunners and the director of tonight's episode are all Law and Order: SVU veterans. So we're at the 4th episdode now, and the Howling Commandos have returned, and Peggy's private investigations have been discovered, and now I'm hooked. Yet this morning I read an article that broke the news that ratings are down and people aren't watching. Since I unloaded on Agents of Shield and am certainly guilty of being a harsh critic sometimes it is certainly possible that some people simply think the show is terrible. Hey, countless awesome shows have been canceled because they couldn't find an audience. Freaks and Geeks, anyone? But I'd like to posit a theory that makes me even madder than what Peggy faces in the show because it mirrors what she faces in the show some 60 plus years later. I think its a form of sexism. Peggy doesn't wear skintight spandex a la Black Widow. She doesn't have a complicated back story. She doesn't sleep around and use men to get where she wants to be. She, like Steve Rogers pre-serum, is an Everywoman who just happens to possess so many of the qualities that we as humans prize. The trick of the show, as with the character of Captain America, will be to watch her hold on to and strengthen her ideals in the face of pessimism and sexism. So far so good. The plot is still a little shakily complicated at times, but I'm holding on because Peggy is leading the way. The show's also been criticized for being too whitebread. Fair dues there, I guess. But admittedly most of the show involves high ranking government officials and I could be wrong but its probably pretty accurate that despite Peggy's femininity not halting her from getting her foot in the door a black man might not even get that far. But its true, the boarding house where Peggy lives or the automat where she eats lunch could most certainly feature a few more faces of varying nationality and color. Maybe even a queer or two. I don't see representation of me on the show either, but I'm not letting it stop me from watching. And you shouldn't either.

The Armoire (short film)

Probably about 5 years ago I saw a preview for this movie which featured only scenes from the first few minutes. Two boys are playing hide and seek. One disappears. What happened to him and what does the other boy's armoire have to do with it? It looked spooky, so I was intrigued. But after a few years I was like oh well I guess that poor guy couldn't get funding to make his movie. Then yesterday this appeared on my dash. It was actually way more thoughtful, and consequently, disturbing, yet eerily beautiful, than I could have imagined. Watch the movie then feel free to peruse some of my thoughts about it afterward...

This left me with so many questions, but in the best way possible. Did Aaron have feelings for Tony? Certain things lead me to believe that he did. They were both in close quarters in the armoire at one point. And Aaron pokes a hole in the milk carton right where Tony's mouth is to let the milk fall into his crotch. Also, while talking to the psychiatrist, a plethora of rainbows can be seen behind Aaron's head. These are all very subtle, though, and there is never any mention of queerness or homophobia from Aaron's parents. The only thing they do tell him is that it is not "normal" to sleep in an armoire. In that sense, the film is a pretty creepy look at what can happen when you repress your romantic desires. Did Aaron know that sticking the fork into the electrical outlet would kill Tony? No matter what, seeing as he buried him in his sleeping bag, I'm assuming things will not remain happy for Aaron. And yet, the ending shows Aaron reaching a happy place. Perhaps he had always envied Tony for not needing to play silly games and being a brilliant choir student. With Tony out of the way, Aaron becomes the brilliant choir student. Was this his plan all along? Its probably to the movie's benefit that these questions are not answered. It left me thinking about it all day.

Requiem or Open Letter to the Last Three Dudes Who Broke My Heart & Anyone Intending to Do So in the Future

I'm not sure quite why I wanted to write this. I am generally not a person whose life is an open book. Some things I keep to myself on occasion. A lot of people in real life probably didn't even know I was in several relationships recently. Not that I am closeted or ashamed about it. I was excited in fact. And in love pretty much. But I am just not a person who crows about my life. I often fear that I'll bore people. I certainly bore myself a lot of the time. And neither am I the kind of person who will post a vitriolic attack on former boyfriends basically giving them the verbal equivalent of a barium enema. Not that I won't let them have it. I can be as catty as the next queer guy (don't worry some cattiness is coming shortly). But I usually try for subtlety. Or simple honesty. That hurts sometimes way more than a foul-mouthed diatribe. And going back to the topic of me not crowing about my life, I am also not the kind of person who would post something like this as a show of my strength. I mean, gimme a break. If I was really strong I WOULD crow about my life and be prideful of my appearance and be happy where I am. So why, then, am I writing this? Well, for one thing I needed to vent. And also not to show "strength" per se, but maybe just "perseverance". Sort of an "I'm Still Here fuckholes" message to the dudes who came and went, sometimes sadly, not in that order. So maybe, just this once, I'll do some of the things above. And maybe blow my own horn in the process since it doesn't occur very often (not since eighth grade when I was flexible enough). To be fair, one of the relationships I'm referencing in this post wasn't even a loving one but "best friends", lets say. When you wake up and text somebody every morning and numerous times throughout the day and then don't go to bed without talking or texting with them, that ladies and gentlemen, is a pretty deep relationship in my book. So I don't care that it wasn't love or a boyfriend, I'm lumping it in with the rest because I felt it just as deeply and hurt just as badly when it was ended. The intricacies almost don't matter. Long distance. Being closeted (not me). Having a family that would rather make you miserable by putting you into conversion therapy than make you happy and fulfilled by admitting that you like men and therefore don't fit the religious image they had of you in their heads. And simply being used for money. I don't have much money so lets just say I'm particularly sensitive to this issue. But when I love I love with my whole heart, and consequently my whole wallet. Its only when it turns out later that I was being used that I become bitter. So whether it was a hundred dollars for antidepressant medication so they might stop wanting to kill themselves as much, or a massive care package shipped, or money for an outfit they desperately needed for a fashion show, I supplied them. And I didn't mind. Only later, when not just those actions but also myself were taken for granted, did I regret. But regret is something I try not to revel in. True, I have many. I just try not to dwell. So back to why I wrote this. I wanted to try and salvage something positive out of something that had become very negative. I can't say I never end up hating people. That would be an out and out lie. But I do try not to hate people that I once loved. And for the most part, I don't. But I've been feeling a little despondent lately. So this is to counteract that. This is, therefore, an open letter to my recently lost loved ones:

I still think about you. I often wonder if you really cared about me enough to say the same. Its hard sometimes not to be angry, either at you or at Fate for continuously putting me in this situation. I try not to think badly of you. Or of us. I try to focus on the positive. In that regard, I can't wish ill feelings on you. That doesn't mean I don't want your future relationships (a few of which were the reason I was abandoned) to crash and burn. That's asking a little much. I do want you to be happy just like I want myself to be happy. I suppose in the long run learning that we were not meant to be together was an integral part of that journey. It would be easy to bury myself in cynicism. But that has never been my mandate. I was, is, and always will be a romantic. That was one of the things you loved about me. So I'm still here. Still looking. Still trusting my heart despite the fact that it is misguided an awful lot of the time. Regardless of what you might think in hindsight, I loved you. And that is not to be taken lightly. Just as I will continue to not take it lightly going forward. Live defiantly. Love boldly. And maybe, every now and again, regret that it will not be with me.

Losing My Religion?

Several people have asked about my religious beliefs, or lack thereof, so I decided to write a post about it. A very simple and very not urbane answer would be to say that as a child of bullying my tolerance for and ability to spot bullshit was cranked up to 11 at a young age. When bullies would threaten to kick my ass one day after school then two days later tell me I wasn't so bad or some such bullshit to make themselves feel better for having tormented me, a bell would go off in my head that might as well have been Paul Revere on horseback shouting into my bedroom window in the middle of the night only this scream did not say "The British Are Coming!" it said "Alert! Alert! This guy is full of shit!" So I became adept and sensitive to those moments when people were trying to dazzle me with bullshit. And simply put, religion happens to be a place where a whole lot of bullshit is shoveled about. But I digress. Let me backtrack. When I was about 5 I very clearly remember being sent to Sunday school every week for a period so that I could be "closer to God". Of course, at that point, I hadn't been bullied yet so I wasn't nearly as cynical as the shining bit of humanity sat writing this today. My mother has always been a Fair Weather Sunday Christian, so that was how we were raised. We didn't go to Church every week or very often, ever, but we would go twice a month perhaps and every holiday. Even as a little boy I hated the false pretense of Church. I hated dressing up in a button shirt and a tie and why would God care anyway whether or not I wore that or my Def Leppard Union Jack t-shirt to mass? The important thing was that he wanted me there, correct? But Mom sent me dutifully off to Sunday School where I had to dress up every week and sing hymns and learn about Christ's teachings. To be honest (and fair), I don't remember much about the actual school, just that I hated dressing up and I pretty much hated reading Bible verses but the singing was all right. 1 thing that very clearly does stand out, however, is my teacher discussing the father of one of my fellow students with another parent. The man in question was a drug user who had gone to jail and was trying to get clean. I can't recall the exact words she used, but I remember they were angry and dismissive and pretty much consigned the father to humanity's scrap heap and that even as a child that small I understood the dichotomy between human compassion that Christ supposedly preached and the bitter, cynical tone of my teacher's voice. It didn't make sense. Eventually, my mother relented when I complained that I didn't want to dress up and go read about God but stay home and watch Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein instead and I was never sent to Sunday School again. But a seed had been planted in my young little head. Not doubt exactly. Not yet. But distrust. As I got older and became able to reason for myself, my doubt and distrust grew. They were not helped at all by the fact that organized religion did not seem to want me. At least if I was honest about who I was. Or even about what kind of music I listened to. Or what kind of clothes I liked to wear. Even as a young teen I remember sitting in Church on Christmas Eve and having a quiet conversation with a friend of the family (a very devout, religious person) about the show Hollywood Wives, which if no one recalls was a trashy Jackie Collins book made into an even trashier tv miniseries starring Anthony Hopkins (!) and Suzanne Somers. One of the characters in the book was a gay hair salon owner who takes in one of the main characters. The woman told me how much she had loved the book and that character, but she took great pains to express her reluctance, telling me: "He's my favorite character and he's a very good person. BUT he's gay." That but was sort of like a door closing, if it had even been open any longer. Why would a supposedly caring, Christian person say that this character was her favorite but feel the need to add that "BUT"? And yet, as I got older, I heard more and more of this exclusionary language. We're all familiar with it. God loves you. Unless you're gay. If you're gay, you'd better repent and get on a reality show called "My Husband's Not Gay" and try very hard not to want to suck a dick anymore because if not you've got nothing but fire and brimstone in your future my friend. And yet so many of the people I would be seated amongst every Christmas mass (before I was old enough to start refusing to go) were beastly, horrible people guilty of any number of sins who shouldn't have been judging the family dog let alone another human being. They were bitter racists who complained about not only fags but niggers and spics (their words, not mine) as well. These were words I heard hurled around me all day in the school hallway. Used by contemptible bullies. Why were religious people who were apparently supposed to be living an enlightened life using these same words? Bullshit. Which is one of the major factors in organized religion as I came to find out. Everywhere I turned, a person holding a Bible was either spouting words of hate towards lesbians and gays (and even though I hadn't come out at that point, I knew full well that I had more in common with them than the person holding the Bible passing judgement) or telling me I was wrong to listen to Motley Crue. Judgement was everywhere, and I didn't find it all that enlightening. These staunch homophobic Christian politicians all over the tv didn't help matters any. So many of them were vehemently against social progress of any kind as far as queers were concerned. And yet so many of them would get caught weeks later sucking some young aide off in a Congressional bathroom. Why on Earth would anyone give any credence to what they had to say? And yet so many people did. And still do. It just seems like a massive bullshit story to me. And I've never liked eating bullshit. Not when I was 12 and Russell Keith would slap my face and then pretend to be my friend so he could slap it again a few minutes later and certainly not when I was old enough to know better. I very clearly remember being 14 (and pretty sure that my daily masturbating to David Lee Roth gyrating in assless leather pants on MTV meant more than I was willing to admit then) and taking a trip to South Carolina when it seemed that my step-Dad might be getting a promotion that would move us there. We were house scouting, essentially. We met numerous people during that long weekend. And one of the first questions they would ask would always be "What Church do you go to?" and when we explained that we didn't really go to Church the look of abject horror on their faces was highly disturbing. To them we were doomed. But I knew, ironically, that I had actually been saved. From bullshit. Lets face it, there's bullshit everywhere. Its not like religion has a claim on it. But lets just say they're currently trying to corner the market. I also concede that not all religious people shovel bullshit. I realize there are decent, loving, accepting Christians (and Jews, and Muslims, etc) out there who simply believe what they believe but don't let it turn them into a hateful bigot. I'm proud of them. I imagine it must be very hard. I sort of fell into the agnostic category for all of the reasons I have stated and also because I look at God the same way I look at ghosts and other supernatural phenomena. I believe they COULD be possible, and people I trust dearly have told me that they have seen them so I know they believe it, but never having seen them myself, I have to fall back on "There is no data". I guess atheists would say thats a copout and brand me as someone unwilling to commit, but I don't see it that way. I simply see it as keeping my options open and having an open mind. I sometimes, in times of depression, find myself talking to whomever might be listening up above whether it be God, or Fate, or my Nana who died 5 years ago, and asking for strength. As a rational person I realize that it could be that none of those entities heard what I had to say and simply thinking about them gave me the strength to get through my problems myself. And some might argue that this is the whole point of religion and Faith. But I did that myself, without dressing up and handing out money in a collection plate and hearing other people pass judgement on people like me. Simply put, I don't need religion to tell me how to live. I'm capable of being a loving, compassionate human being all on my own. That doesn't mean I begrudge other people having their own beliefs. I never have. I begrudge any people, religious or not, for hating and bullying and judging. Thats not just against Christian values. Its against human values.

The Legend of NastyBabyBoy

Appreciation post for one of my fav social media hotties. Goes without saying these pics will feature nudity ;P