Oh, that’s too fucking funny.

Recently, a number of interesting delusions have surfaced. The first- and funniest- is that someone from a mailing list has me ALLLLLL figured out. No, really. She has my number, baby. She pegged me square:

It’s racial.

I am, apparently, taking out my rage by defiling white women. Perhaps channeling my rage with the whole race, in this unjust society, into my sexuality.

Now, this is silly for a number of reasons- the least of which is that I am as white as rice and pale as boiled potatoes. No, my twin summed the whole thing up thusly: “Flagg is an equal opportunity defiler.” Except for sexual attraction, gender hardly matters, much less race. The list of women I would happily degrade and defile reads like a Bendetton ad, with the possible exceptions of New Zealanders, Whigs and Inuits. Can’t trust ’em.

Next up- revisionist history.

Apparently, according to the murky depths of mailing list backchat, tatsumi (one of the adorable pair who make up Girl2), a longtime friend and sometime roomate and I have a past so shrouded in mystery even WE did not know about it. Apparently, she and I were an item- and then Soulhuntre stole her from me.

Fact is, I kinda like this story, and nominate it as the new Official Truth, newspeak style. I know Soul will love it, as anything that makes him look like a chickstealin’ stud machine is all good down East Wing Way. Sadly, Tats does not have the appalling lack of taste necessary to ‘fess up to imaginary sexual escapades involving yours truly. Sorry folks- no dice there. Tats and Soul had their own mojo working since they met, and the only role I played in that sitcom was Wacky Neighbor.

Waiting to Exhale

Lastly, I was recently informed that someone has thought for years that he was going to be invited to be the fourth Estate Trainer. It’s even funnier considering who it is. Keep watching the skies, big guy- that carrier pigeon will get there any day with your golden ticket. Any day now. Any day.