The fiancé had almost a whole-day layover there, and I was going to fly out and meet him all Affair to Remember-like, except without the crippling taxi accident. Or the endless Meaningful Glances. Or the little Negro children who do their little Negro dance in the school pageant and then disappear behind the white children who are naturally supposed to be in front while their white teacher smiles and nods approvingly as though this were somehow acceptable and don’t tell me it’s 1957 and people didn’t know any better because fuck you if you can’t figure out for yourself what’s wrong with this picture.
WHEW! Where was I? Oh, yes: Another gay-hating Republican cocksucker has blown (ahem) his way into the media spotlight. Another one bites the cock! As pathetic as these people are, I have to say they make the jokes almost write themselves.
And speaking of, the joke’s on me for thinking I could get from Chicago to Las Vegas on a couple days’ notice without taking out a second mortgage. When I tried to book a flight to meet the fiancé, I quickly discovered I’d be staying in Chicago instead. Fortunately (which might be the wrong word for starting this sentence), the fiancé was six hours late getting to Nick Vegas because a man on his plane had some kind of seizure that actually necessitated an emergency landing in Kansas City. And my vacation day ended up being an 11-hour workday. But the man on the plane (reportedly) ended up being OK and our clients were happy with my work, so I guess Nick Stokes will have to wait to meet
And you’ll have to wait to see the pictures.