A Romantic Poem — by Ryan of The Bachelorette
My name is Ryan, I put out fires
I like dogs and football, I dislike liars
I went on TV to find a wife, because I am
cute
My mom told me that and…she plays the flute.
I’m going to win this game because I make Trista cry
With my beautiful poetry about love and blue skies
And dolphins and sunsets and things that rhyme with Cat
Like Fat and Hat and Iguana
And Beer Can and Bat
I may not be smart or witty
Or do anything but write bad poetry
I look like a caveman
Without a vocabulary
But I’m a whore on TV
Because ABC needs the ratings.
I hope that Trista picks me
Because my family doesn’t know I’m gay.
The following is an open letter to Rick Fox of the Los Angeles Lakers.
Dear Mr. Dick Fox:
It has come to my attention, via a bombardment of fawning media, that you fancy yourself the best looking man alive. Perhaps this is the result of too many post-game groupies cooing at you out of naivete because you remind them of their fathers. Perhaps this is the result of too many yes men complimenting the size of your gat. Perhaps this is because your unnaturally white teeth blinded a beautiful woman out of her good senses and she consented to marry you, thus raising your goodlookingness stock by misguided association. I have taken it upon myself to inform you that not only are you an aesthetic boiling blister on the collective face of malekind, but I am also requesting you to stop fancying yourself an actor, and please remove your narcissistic smarmy image off my TV set.
In a petition of sorts, I have made a list of all things better looking than you (in no particular order):
1. Every NBA player outside of Sam Cassell and Popeye Jones
2. Every US Senate Member, both living and deceased
3. Jared from Subway
4. The stain on the ceiling in Room 206 of the Las Vegas Howard Johnson
5. My Ass
It is my sincere hope that you take this letter to heart and reconsider your national compaign to stroke your ego. Any future endorsement obligations requiring media representations should be forfeited to Mr. Taye Diggs or Tiki and Ronde Barber.
Thank you for your cooperation.
Warmest Regards,
3am Wanderer
I was thinking that if anyone knows who I am, I would hope that they would tell me so that I would stop posting these quite naked things about my life. Like the obsession with porn, you say? Yeah, specifically that. But y’all know, I’m just kidding. I don’t have an obsession with porn. I really don’t know where that mysterious charge on my credit card bill every month comes from…But seriously. I don’t have a problem with porn.
So I’m contemplating whether or not to use this for my journal, or if I should create a seperate one. I’m not sure. All I know is that there is no reason for me to still be up at almost 3am. But I sure do like the sound of myself typing.
I was crying earlier today because of what my mom told me about my uncle saying. That it’s obvious that I don’t have a lot of confidence and don’t sell myself. That just totally freaked me out. I wonder why. I just hate this industry. It’s so bullshit. And then John called and I didn’t want to talk to him because it was obvious that I had just been crying. Maybe I just need to get out of this town. It makes me unhappy. But then again, I probably have the ability to be unhappy anywhere.