Hello, Dear Readers. It’s been a moment. When you’re not hungry, you don’t eat, and I’ve not been hungry for a moment or two. But to catch you up with me, life has been good. My Father is still alive and living, although he and I have had a few moments in the recent past that put a lot of things between us in question for me, but that’s another story for another time.

The Belly Dancer and I are doing well. She’s still dancing, I’m still playing with fire, we are still camping and enjoying each other’s company for however long that may be. Oh, and we are getting married.

2027 will be the year, and it’s not the wedding I needed, but it’s the wedding I wanted.

There will be pyrotechnics and fire, and dancers, and dancing. All on stage. It’s going to be a rock concert that happens to have a wedding in it.

I’ve always been comfortable with being on-stage. I’ve done theater, had a band when I was young, and public speaking has never bothered me. I have always been a performer, but I have never been a bonafide dancer, but that’s all changing. And I’m okay with that. I look forward to it. So yes, for those that don’t know, now you know. I’m getting married again, hopefully for the last time.

The Belly Dancer and I can do far more together than we can do individually, which for me was a huge reason for making this choice, this decision. I have never been against marriage, I have been against going into marriage with both eyes closed. If you know the risks, and there are always risks, and you can manage them for yourself, and you’re honest about those risks, then I’m for you and for it. But again, that’s another story for another time.

Today I want to talk about faggotry.

I’ve been on social media for over a decade now, and the more I’m on it, the more I see it.

When I first got into social media, I was younger and much more naive. It was harder for me to spot the faggots. By faggots, I’m talking about the grifters and the dishonest. The people who will lie to you for money and fame. Much like when I first got into online dating. Back in the early 2000’s, it was much harder to spot a catfish. As time went on, and I gained more experience, spotting catfishes got easier for me. She only showed headshots or head and shoulder photos? Real good chance she was fat. Thank god for “body positivity.” Today, fat girls aren’t ashamed to show full body profile photos, and I’m glad for it. It makes my life much easier. Gone are the days of guessing. I can see her, in her full glory, unashamed, not embarrassed. And good for her.

Instead of assuming she’s fat, but wondering just how fat she is, now I know without having to do a meetup or texting and talking to get to the let-down. It has made my “Would/Would Not” decisions far easier and faster. Even for a “low standards” guy like me, even I have some standards. Believe it or not, I have plenty of “Would Not’s.”

Back in the late 2010’s, it was harder for me to spot the “faggots.” But by 2026, it’s far easier. I’m sure part of it is time in and experience, but I also think the faggots have their own “body positivity” too. They’re just fatter, lazier, and more stupid. It makes it far more easy for me to spot them when I see it.

Look at the screen shots above as an example.

Here we have a guy who started off his first tweet with, “My wife was very promiscuous, and I was a virgin.” From there he wrote a wall of text that I couldn’t be bothered to read. I’m fairly certain it was nothing more than him justifying his decision while he put his personal life, and his wife’s personal life, on blast for the whole world to see. Poor internet faggot.

I was one of many people who told him, “Delete this.” And of course, he doubled down with the actual screen shot that I have on this post. Now, he’s either really naive and stupid, or he’s being intellectually and intentionally dishonest. If he posted what he said ironically, he’s being dishonest. He’s a faggot. If he posted this intentionally and unironically, he’s just naive and stupid. He’s still a faggot. Either way, this isn’t a good look for him, his wife, and their personal life.

All I could think when I saw it was, “Why would you choose to put both yourself and your wife on blast? What could you both possibly gain from this in the long term?” This isn’t really a good look for anyone. Some things are better left in private, I don’t care if the other party is fine with sharing it. Sometimes Shut The Fuck Up is actually a superpower.

There have been many things in the past year of me not writing that have happened. Some things are negligible and don’t matter to you or to me. Some things matter, but they don’t involve you, so you don’t get to see that stuff. If it involves you, you don’t need to come here to read about it, you are already in the know, living it, experiencing it, and we are dealing with it. And there’s some things that are better left unsaid. I know about it, you don’t, you never will, and that’s perfect.

In other news, I’m doing more fire related stuff, and this spring/summer is ramping up. This last weekend, I got to see what the new show is going to be. There is fire throughout every number, which is different from years past. In the past, it was a fire number followed up by a number that didn’t have fire. I got to take a break. This year there is no break. It’s going to be fast, furious, chaotic, and intense, but I’m looking forward to it. It’s going to be fantastic, and hopefully everyone remains safe, alive, intact, and unburned.

Hello, Dear Reader. It’s been a while. When life is good, and when you’re not hungry, you don’t have much to say, because life is good.

My life is going great. I’m doing the things I want to do, seeing the things I want to see, eating the good food, and drinking the good drinks, because why not? You only get this one life and you might as well live it up.

It does bring me back to the title of this article though.

A little while back, I met a guy, who I will call “Jimmy.”

“Jimmy” was dating a couple of women. “Jimmy” was living with one in particular. He met her when they were both young, children even. They had a “history.” They knew each other’s bullshit. They had seen some things and had done some things. And fast forward to about 3 or 4 months ago, shit was sliding downhill.

“Jimmy” came to me at the behest of his other girlfriend. (Long story there, that isn’t pertinent to this story) and he told me the high level overview of what was going on.

Long story short, he was miserable. He wanted to end things. He wanted to leave. He wanted her out of his life. He wanted it to be “done.” But at that time, he didn’t have the courage to do what needed to be done. He hadn’t suffered enough. He hadn’t gone through enough misery and pain.

I know this, because I have been there.

I should have ended my marriage years before I did.

In fact, in all truthfulness and honesty, I should have never married the woman I married.

But I did, and here we are.

I didn’t know what I didn’t know, and “nobody likes a quitter,” to quote my friend, BullRush.

I stayed far too long because I took my vows seriously and literally.

I sacrificed my own happiness and wellbeing for someone else’s.

And it got me nowhere, except miserable.

And that’s where I found “Jimmy” when he came to me.

“Jimmy” told me his Tale of Woe, and I recognized it. I had been there, too.

I listened to what he had to say, and then I told him this:

“It all ends when you say it ends.”

What does that mean?

It all ends when you say it ends. I’m not saying there won’t be fallout, because there can be. But it all ends when you say it ends.

Whatever worst-case scenario you have envisioned for yourself didn’t come to pass, or if it did, you wouldn’t be here reading what I’m saying.

It all ends when you are “sick and tired” of being “sick and tired.”

It all ends when you are willing to potentially spend the rest of your days living in a cardboard box out on the street, and you’re okay with that ending. It’s better than the “life of quiet desperation” that you have put yourself into, and have become accustomed to.

It’s better than jerking off to porn, because either the woman in your house doesn’t want to fuck you, or you don’t want to fuck her anymore.

It’s better than “Such is life, that’s the deal.”

It’s better than “Happy Wife, Happy Life.”

It’s better than looking down the barrel of a shotgun, and considering how you would suck-start it.

It all ends when you say it ends.

That’s what I told “Jimmy.” Because he wasn’t “there” yet.

But he got “there.”

He told her he was done. He told her she needed to move out and move on. He moved out of his own place and allowed her to figure out her own shit. He gave her time to come to grips with the reality of the situation. He answered certain phone calls and certain texts that any reasonable person would answer. The rest he “left on read.” He even went so far as to write up a document about trespass and eviction, and he was willing to call in the State if and when necessary, in the event that she didn’t, or wouldn’t leave.

“Jimmy” was nicer than I would have been. I told him that much. I wouldn’t have moved out of my own place, because that’s me, and that place is mine. Granted, “Jimmy” is quite a bit younger than me, so I get it, and I understand why he did what he needed to do. This is where he and I are different. This is where our experiences are different, and that’s okay, because at the end of the day, he got what he needed and wanted.

I saw “Jimmy” on Friday night when I was out with the Belly Dancer. We were at the same event. It was the first time I had seen him since he had come to me and told me his Tale of Woe, and I said to him what I said.

He’s so much happier now. He’s more alive, vibrant, and full of hope and possibilities. He’s got focus and drive. He’s more “dynamic” now.

I know what that’s like too.

My life got better in magnitudes after I told myself that it all ends when I say it ends.

You can too.