Posts tagged with Photo

Posted 6 months ago

Short URL











5 Notes

Bonjour Bitches: The gayest cowboy since Brokeback Mountain

Being born and raised in a city whose main source of pride is the annual largest rodeo in the world, you can say that being a cowboy is in my blood. If by being a cowboy you mean putting on a pink cowboy hat, getting wasted, and making out with guys. I am determined to bring more gay to cowboys than the release of Brokeback Mountain.

Which is why, when our Montreal school-sanctioned activity for the evening promised a trip to Rodeo Rock’n’Bull, I felt compelled to go there and defend my cowboy honour. Only hours before I had another one of my, I suppose you could say, “episodes”. Thankfully I wouldn’t be alone in defending my redneck roots as the all-fabulous Kaitlin in my program hailed from Northern Alberta, and was further into redneck territory than I could ever go. She’s the Patsy Montana to my Dolly Parton (or whatever the hell analogy fits in here—I assume since country music doesn’t qualify as legitimate music, my thirty-second Google search was enough).

What we would find out is that a Quebecois rodeo was kind of like the Epcotting of our Western roots in that it’s a close approximation that was completely hilarious to us. (If you want a similar experience, visit your country’s pavilion in Disney World; seriously, you won’t stop laughing).

If you wanted, you could proudly take a photo of you riding a cow. On a saddle. Like a horse. Because apparently there was a shortage of horses, and cows were the next best thing. And the food proudly featured Quebec staples of beaver tails and poutine, which had as much relevance to country-western cuisine as fois gras.

I was, however, really excited to show off my near-mastery of the Cadillac Ranch line dance that was driven into my brain in childhood gym classes, only to find that the open and exhibition line-dance areas were actually people doing the Electric Slide to Ricky Martin. I don’t even have a witty comment on that, I’m just as confused as you are.

Perhaps the highlight of the night, though, had everything to do with the prominent, centrally-located mechanical bull that was open for riding and gave me the chance to satisfy my every Coyote Ugly dream (that’s a country-esque reference, right? Wow I’m bad at this). Because this got to happen:

Riding a Mechanical Bull Making the world’s worst o-face, and, for the first time, not riding a penis.

I’d like to believe I successfully defended my cowboy heritage by not being thrown off a bucking mechanical bull immediately, and I lasted long enough to go up a couple levels of crotch-smashing delight.

But at the end of the day, my inability to string together even the most basic of country-western jokes proves that I am much better suited to riding cowboys than being one.

Tags

Posted 6 months ago

Short URL











3 Notes

Join the Gavy! More buttsex than the real Navy. (We know. We’re surprised too.) Thanks to the the good work of the Village People, and with enough jokes about seamen and phallic submarines to sink a ship, the Navy is as good a place to start as any to find us some new gay recruits. The Gavy offers uniforms with jaunty sailor hats and short-shorts, and offers more men than you can shake a stick at. Or penis as it were. Duties include swabbing the deck, hoisting the sails, manning the keel, battening down the hatches (whose hatches? Who cares? We don’t judge), and other nautical-themed innuendo (jokes may require some assembly). Join today and get a free life-jacket* because you cannot, surprisingly, fuck your way to successful ship navigation. We lost 3 ships before we figured that one out. —- This has been a Public Service Announcement to inform, educate, and actively recruit new members to the queer community. We at Popingay are determined to make the world a little bit gayer one piece of propaganda at a time. *-Offer does not imply actual offer of life jacket and in no way obligates anyone to purchase, give, or find ice cream for the referrer. The standard make-a-queer-get-a-toaster offer still applies. See store for details. Void where prohibited. No cash value. Zoom Image

Join the Gavy! More buttsex than the real Navy. (We know. We’re surprised too.)

Thanks to the the good work of the Village People, and with enough jokes about seamen and phallic submarines to sink a ship, the Navy is as good a place to start as any to find us some new gay recruits. The Gavy offers uniforms with jaunty sailor hats and short-shorts, and offers more men than you can shake a stick at. Or penis as it were.

Duties include swabbing the deck, hoisting the sails, manning the keel, battening down the hatches (whose hatches? Who cares? We don’t judge), and other nautical-themed innuendo (jokes may require some assembly).

Join today and get a free life-jacket* because you cannot, surprisingly, fuck your way to successful ship navigation. We lost 3 ships before we figured that one out.

—-

This has been a Public Service Announcement to inform, educate, and actively recruit new members to the queer community. We at Popingay are determined to make the world a little bit gayer one piece of propaganda at a time.

*-Offer does not imply actual offer of life jacket and in no way obligates anyone to purchase, give, or find ice cream for the referrer. The standard make-a-queer-get-a-toaster offer still applies. See store for details. Void where prohibited. No cash value.

Tags

Posted 6 months ago

Short URL











Notes

If everyone will allow me one uninterrupted moment of sheer geekiness, my visit to Buda Castle left me humming Epona’s song in the hopes my trusty steed would burst out of Lon Lon Ranch and come ride off with me. What? Ocarina of Time was one of my favourite N64 games. Oh Zelda, you’re so culturally relevant. (Now it’s back to Prague.) Zoom Image

If everyone will allow me one uninterrupted moment of sheer geekiness, my visit to Buda Castle left me humming Epona’s song in the hopes my trusty steed would burst out of Lon Lon Ranch and come ride off with me.

What? Ocarina of Time was one of my favourite N64 games. Oh Zelda, you’re so culturally relevant.

(Now it’s back to Prague.)

Tags

Posted 6 months ago

Short URL











1 Notes

I saw this delightful contraption making its way down the street last night. If you can’t really tell, it’s a mobile pub in bicycle form powered by the peddling of the people sitting at the bar. The guy steering seems to be the bartender-cum-steerer. I want one of these as soon as possible. Not only does it seem like a really convenient way to get home after the bar, but it also would be beyond my wildest dreams to just be strolling down the street and hop on the bar to my destination like some sort of alcohol-infused trolley. Granted there’s the whole movement and pedaling thing, what with my extreme aversion to excessive movement, but I think this would help me justify my never stopping drinking by letting me believe that whatever calories I take in in alcohol must be immediately burned off by the activity of helping to move my bar around the city. Not that it’d be true, but I routinely eat a cookie after the gym thinking “good job, self!” so yeah, I’m pretty satisfied with my delusions. —- P.S. On a completely unrelated note, I’m sitting in the hotel lobby with a loud, drinking group of English men, they seem the same to me, and I can never really seem to tell the difference between gay and British men. Or when they’re one and the same, which would just end in an explosion of gayness even I couldn’t handle. /end racism. Zoom Image

I saw this delightful contraption making its way down the street last night. If you can’t really tell, it’s a mobile pub in bicycle form powered by the peddling of the people sitting at the bar. The guy steering seems to be the bartender-cum-steerer.

I want one of these as soon as possible. Not only does it seem like a really convenient way to get home after the bar, but it also would be beyond my wildest dreams to just be strolling down the street and hop on the bar to my destination like some sort of alcohol-infused trolley.

Granted there’s the whole movement and pedaling thing, what with my extreme aversion to excessive movement, but I think this would help me justify my never stopping drinking by letting me believe that whatever calories I take in in alcohol must be immediately burned off by the activity of helping to move my bar around the city. Not that it’d be true, but I routinely eat a cookie after the gym thinking “good job, self!” so yeah, I’m pretty satisfied with my delusions.

—-

P.S. On a completely unrelated note, I’m sitting in the hotel lobby with a loud, drinking group of English men, they seem the same to me, and I can never really seem to tell the difference between gay and British men. Or when they’re one and the same, which would just end in an explosion of gayness even I couldn’t handle. /end racism.

Tags

Posted 6 months ago

Short URL











12 Notes

Once upon a time when visiting Phoenix with my dear friend Chelsea, I came home from a night on the town, crawled into bed with her, and immediately begin screaming for her to “let me chew on your beef jerky vagina!”. I was completely wasted if that weren’t readily apparent. And, if you know me at all, it isn’t. I somehow got it into my head that vaginas were made of beef jerky and that I had to EAT IT RIGHT NOW in what can only be described as the least sex-involved sexual assault in the history of humankind. Being that my only experience with vaginas was through childbirthing videos on Youtube (note: there are a lot of these. Like a lot a lot.) and the nightmarish imaginings that make all gay men afraid of the lady-cave, it’s pretty confusing why I would ever have this idea. I mean, nowhere in my entire life had I expressed any interest in vaginas outside of medical curiosity and thinking of all the places the teeth must hide (I should probably also mention that the movie “Teeth” and the concept of the vagina dentata factor heavily into my interpretation of what is involved in a vagina), and the idea that it being made of beef jerky is both confusing and generally not appealing. I’m pretty sure telling someone their genitals are like dried, salted chewy meat that comes in BBQ and teriyaki flavors doesn’t make you their favourite person in the world. Probably quite the opposite. However, I proceeded to attack Chelsea and at one point pulled her, legs spread, over my face as I’d seen the few times I’d ventured into lesbian-porn-land out of curiosity. (By the way, fake lesbian porn for straight men of the world, hideously long lady-claws would never be prominently featured on a real lesbian for rather obvious reasons. Just though you should know that.) I then promptly pushed her off my face screaming rape and “why would you rape me?!” as though I were the one horrifically violated in the bed I shared with a gay man who inexplicably insisted that we share a bed even though there were, not one but two, serviceable beds in the next room. Needless to say, that our sharing a bed would never be quite the same for the rest of the trip. Though we still did. Because that’s what love is: putting up with the alcohol-induced psychosis of your platonic gay friends. However, when I passed through the Frankfurt airport the other day, I saw this stand-up ad where you pull bags of beef jerky off a lady as though that would reveal her naked body. I firmly stand by the belief that my theory on beef jerky’s similarity to a vagina is thus vindicated. Sexism has never been so useful. Zoom Image

Once upon a time when visiting Phoenix with my dear friend Chelsea, I came home from a night on the town, crawled into bed with her, and immediately begin screaming for her to “let me chew on your beef jerky vagina!”.

I was completely wasted if that weren’t readily apparent. And, if you know me at all, it isn’t.

I somehow got it into my head that vaginas were made of beef jerky and that I had to EAT IT RIGHT NOW in what can only be described as the least sex-involved sexual assault in the history of humankind.

Being that my only experience with vaginas was through childbirthing videos on Youtube (note: there are a lot of these. Like a lot a lot.) and the nightmarish imaginings that make all gay men afraid of the lady-cave, it’s pretty confusing why I would ever have this idea. I mean, nowhere in my entire life had I expressed any interest in vaginas outside of medical curiosity and thinking of all the places the teeth must hide (I should probably also mention that the movie “Teeth” and the concept of the vagina dentata factor heavily into my interpretation of what is involved in a vagina), and the idea that it being made of beef jerky is both confusing and generally not appealing. I’m pretty sure telling someone their genitals are like dried, salted chewy meat that comes in BBQ and teriyaki flavors doesn’t make you their favourite person in the world. Probably quite the opposite.

However, I proceeded to attack Chelsea and at one point pulled her, legs spread, over my face as I’d seen the few times I’d ventured into lesbian-porn-land out of curiosity. (By the way, fake lesbian porn for straight men of the world, hideously long lady-claws would never be prominently featured on a real lesbian for rather obvious reasons. Just though you should know that.) I then promptly pushed her off my face screaming rape and “why would you rape me?!” as though I were the one horrifically violated in the bed I shared with a gay man who inexplicably insisted that we share a bed even though there were, not one but two, serviceable beds in the next room.

Needless to say, that our sharing a bed would never be quite the same for the rest of the trip. Though we still did. Because that’s what love is: putting up with the alcohol-induced psychosis of your platonic gay friends.

However, when I passed through the Frankfurt airport the other day, I saw this stand-up ad where you pull bags of beef jerky off a lady as though that would reveal her naked body. I firmly stand by the belief that my theory on beef jerky’s similarity to a vagina is thus vindicated.

Sexism has never been so useful.

Tags