Tomorrow will mark the beginning of this blog’s fourth year — a milestone I never saw myself reaching lo those many months ago when I decided to give the ol’ blogging thing a try. A second try, actually since my poorly received, 2 posts total first attempt at blogging didn’t really go anywhere. (RIP “I Know You are, but What am I?” — we hardly knew ye…)

Amongst the few highlights of my first year were an introduction to the walking blog fodder that is my not-so-beloved co-worker, Melina, the first of many posts about Mama Mancuso and the late lamented Old Boy, and the post that first got his lil slice of blogging shit noticed by most of you.

Year Two found your intrepid gay blogger navigating the oh so teacherous waters of online dating with some pretty fucked up results. It was the year that brought the return of Bruce, a chat with the “sissy clitty” guy and “saline injections in your testicles” guy, and the introduction of *ack* Coffee Guy.

Year Three kicked off with a couple of the worst dates in the history of ever leaving me ready to throw in the dating towel once and for all when I met the man of my dreams, Tristan (a.k.a. The Fella). And as regular readers know, that’s when this blog sort of devolved from a bitter slice of gay pie into a big ol’ steaming pile of smoochie face gay TIGER BEAT (after I was ripped a new one by my collective readership, that is).

Trust me, I know I’ve lost my edge.

I’m no longer the bitter, hate filled faggot ripping everyone in the vicinty a new asshole for the mildest of infractions. Where once there stood a jaded and snarky queer, there now stands a fucking neurotic Pollyanna obsessing over every perceived wrong move he makes in his relationship. (And if you think it’s exhausting to read, try living that shit for 48 hours — there’s a reason I think about shooting myself in the face about 50 times a day.)

But as I kick into gear for my Senior Year, I am making a vow to get back to the roots of this blog. No more Mr. Nice Queer (okay, maybe a little bit of that — what can I say? The Fella’s really softened me up). Look for more hate filled diatribes, more bathroom pics, more Melina, more Drunk Eve (but not a lot — things didn’t end well for her), and more shit that is too disgusting to contemplete, too compelling to ignore.

Dirk Mancuso. Back in the Hizzouse.

Watch out, bitches.