okay, i just thought i'd share. i just returned from the florist, because it's my sixth month anniversary, and um, i got flowers for my girlfriend. when i turned to go, a small fluffy dog that had previously been quite cordial, jumped up and tried to bite me. the small fluffy dog only managed to graze my knee before falling on its back. the small fluffy dog belonged to the florist.
"he has problems. he doesn't like straights," quoth the florist.
excuse me?! i think that was what he said. i started laughing, and i left.
i noticed that, as the door closed behind me, the small fluffy dog was in hot pursuit (as well as he could be, scrabbling across the linoleoum floor). then the door and the dog had an unfortunate meeting which left the dog making pathetic whining noises.
how surreal.
1 comment:
oh, man! there's nothing like being breederfied by a queer.
i read this nonfic piece (on the dinosaur net, i.e. in a book) wherein the author, a bisexual woman, lamented her inability to pass. "as i cross over the footbridge, i give this hot dyke the eye, and she just stares back at me with this quizzical look like, 'why is that heterosexual woman glaring at me?'"
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