In the world of nice…this blog isn’t going to go down terribly well.

I was in court yesterday.

Anne-Marie the DA…jeeze. I felt sorry for her. The super-cool judge told her that he would (without using the colorful language) have (in my circumstances) done the same.

He said this…on the record.

He said anyone presented with the same problem would have written a similar letter. Giving someone (who has so blatantly ripped him off) the opportunity of making things better.

He continued that he was trying to ‘get his head around’ the case.

Anne Marie sat at her desk gasping and pouting like a spurned little girl. Noisily shuffling her papers, comparing me with Michael Flatley.

So…Sean McFarlane, perhaps your ‘jumping for joy’ was a little premature. Allegedly Sean (the sex therapist) screamed with unbridled delight, when he heard I had been arrested, “He’s going down!” The crazy cult therapist…to his equally insane clients…to the assembled SAA meeting.

He’s going down? Let’s see shall we?

If the judge thinks what I did was reasonable…what will a jury think?

My favorite line from yesterday’s proceedings? “So, Mr Roy should have just published the blog?” It was my first amendment right.

I saw Jonathan A yesterday. He was a friend of mine once. He’s the kind of gay guy who overly cleans his room (it is spotless) so nobody would suspect how grimy his interior world is.

He heard me at a recent SAA meeting tell them I wouldn’t be back any time soon. Of course, I can change my mind. Any time I want. I can step right back into AA or SAA. That’s the way it works.

Try stopping me. I’m laughing out loud.

The tramps and the hookers and the thieves. All the filth comes out at night…

Jonathan’s head looks like it has been carved from the flesh of a rotton pear. If you bit into it: pappy, bitter…spit it out immediately.

Gay life.


So, this beautiful teenager arrives at a party I’m at last week in the Hollywood Hills.

Fresh off the boat. He’s beautiful. He has a fresh, open face…his pale skin is flawless.

He hadn’t been in Hollywood for longer than a month but already he’s on the arm (unwittingly) of a so called LA ‘producer‘ who, it seems, has immediately pimped the boy out to the head of programming for a popular network.

The no name, no hope LA producer pimping the boy out…so that he might curry favor with the TV grandee.

(just to be clear…the same LA producer hires young boys to ‘read scripts’ so he has access to their young boy world)

The whores and the pimps and the fairies…

The network head ain’t no beauty. He looks like Dobby from Harry Potter.

So the good looking kid arrives and he tells me that he’s working in NYC with an equally scummy NYC ‘producer’ who always has some starstruck kid on his arm.

The NYC producer looks like he has downs syndrome, he looks like his teeth are too big for his fat, useless head. He looks like he’s wearing a wig but the fringe ain’t deep enough to cover the alcohol bloat, the never was visage.

He was a bullied kid at the expensive school his mother sent him to…signed him up the moment she heard the sperm had hit the egg.

Both of these producers have one thing in common: they have loads of inherited money and never produced anything.

They might have their names attached to invisible projects, they might have inveigled their way into the production meeting of some meaningless movie, thrown a little cash behind an artless indi. But, they ain’t never winning no awards, they ain’t never been invited to no Sundance, Berlin or Cannes.

They’ll go anyway, keeping their mouths shut to those who matter and lying to those who don’t.

Should I tell you who they are?


So I’m keeping my head down. I’m not saying a word. I’m instagramming the bar man, I’m already elsewhere…waiting for something real to happen.

Dobby, the network head shows the man I’m standing with his very smart, smart phone. He’s so excited. There are hi def pictures and video of the same wide eyed teenager at Dobby’s huge house wearing just…a towel.

Yes. The kid is wearing a towel around his waist, his perfectly sculpted body on full view and standing beside him is another, equally cut young teen.

Two young boys.

The inference? You don’t need me to explain this to you do you?

So I take this kid to one side and I ask him if he’s gay? He’s not. I ask him what he thinks of the network head showing everybody his new naked body to anyone the network head needs to impress.

‘They are good guys.’ he reassures me.

No, I say…they are anything but good guys.

You know, all he wants (this kid) is a job, a chance, an opportunity, the dream of celebrity…freedom. He can almost taste it. He knows that these men make all the difference.

His desire for a better life is palpable.

He’ll drink the drinks. Undress, get into the hot tub.

You know, I love beauty. I love it. Look, I’m surrounded with beauty.

My ex-friend might say, oh your just jealous. You’re just jaded because you want what they’ve got,

Believe me, I do just fine. But on terms that do not compromise my integrity.

Would I show random strangers the body of some boy who stands feet from me? Knowing that those artless, semi pornographic images suggest that we are more than just…innocent friends?

The network head winks, smiling…dribbing over the screen on the smart phone. Dobby’s nose is dripping from undisclosed snorting.

He says, without saying anything: That teen boy…the boy with the perfect abs. He’ll do anything..because he thinks I’m going to get him a role, find him an agent…make him the next teen sensation. LOL.


He lets seasoned Hollywood gays believe that this boy will do just about anything to get on.

Dobby wants you to believe he fucked the boy. Dobby is powerful. Dobby can get whatever he wants. Even the virgin ass of a young boy fresh off the boat. Particularly…the young ass of the boy standing feet away from us, oblivious that he is now the victim of rank objectification and intrigue.

Proud to be gay? Not today.

So I wrote a short email to the NYC ‘producer’ guy. I told him what was going on with his protege. He wrote back immediately…he thought it was hilarious. I reminded the fat, vodka marinated, creep…that the boy…has parents.

Today Bradley Manning is in court again…his fate predetermined…the rest of his life in jail assured…for being a hero. Nobody I know in the gay community gives a damn. Of course, if he looked like the beautiful teen age boy at the gay hollywood party…things might be a whole heap different.

I saw Jonathan yesterday and he reminded me why I am alive. What living is all about.

He has a job in marketing and a spotless room but he has a filthy, miserable interior world. A world that shames him. A world from which he cannot escape, a world that will never include anything of which he dreams.