1.
Philip Seymour Hoffman died this week. The rooms of AA were full of weeping newcomers grieving his death. Finding spurious reasons to hitch their wagon to his hearse. Sober people with many years of sobriety rolled their eyes as crocodile tears drenched the disingenuous faces of people claiming intimate friendship with the deceased film star.
At the Perry Street morning AA meeting the press stood in packs, enduring the frigid February winds waiting for people who might have known PSH. Many were less than discreet and sang like canaries.
The press was awash with sentimental descriptions of Hoffman, endless references to his ‘genius’ ‘talent’ and the ‘tragic waste of life’.
There were long essays by addiction ‘experts’ describing how addicts like Hoffman had no choice, that he was predestined to die with a needle in his arm, that his death symbolized something more in American culture that just the death of a ‘lonely’ junky.
You know, junkies who are taking drugs on the lam tend to isolate. It’s hard to load a syringe, find a vein and discreetly nod off in a room full of people. Especially when you are a household name. He wasn’t lonely, he was alone. He needed to be on his own to conduct his junky life.
The police arrested the guys who allegedly sold Hoffman the heroin. They arrested the wrong people. They should have gone after the directors of the ‘for profit’ treatment center he attended last year. The snake oil sales men who promise relief from active addiction by cosseting addicts in expensive rehabs, re packaging the 12 steps of AA with no chance of long-term sobriety.
Criminal sober people with no interest in helping the desperate addict, just screwing them for the big bucks year after year for short-term relief.
Anyway, he’s dead. Just like thousands of other junkies all over the USA but he gets a fanfare… they get a pauper’s grave and the shame of the addict heaped upon them.
Addicts are selfish, self obsessed monsters. He chose to call his dealer rather than reach out to a sober person. He chose to load his syringe rather than pick his kids up from school.
Now he has a million apologists who think he had no choice at all.
2.
Yesterday I signed up for the NYU AA men’s retreat to be held at Bill W’s house in Massachusetts.
As I walked into the room where the event was being organized the young gay white men with no more than 7 years of sobriety looked imperiously at me. They could scarcely concealed their contempt or their bitchy sneers as I sat down and asked pertinent questions about travel and accommodation.
Their faces began to droop however, as they grasped that there was very little they could do to exclude me from coming to their cozy gay event. The idea they could be trapped at a country retreat with me… for three days filled them with total horror.
The Gay men from the controlling gay AA cabal… who don’t even attend the NYU AA meeting are organizing the event. I’m perfectly sure they went into isolation overdrive. What could they do to get rid of me?
They were texting each other furiously.
We will see what shenanigans they come up with. This is going to be very interesting.
3.
Jon Fortin/Zac Bissonnette
Last Saturday I went to the birthday party of a model publicist at The Skylark on 39th St. It was a dreary affair, too few people bumping around a cavernous space. Andy Roddick and Brooklyn Decker, a gaggle of ‘event gays’ and some asian women I convinced my friend were rifling his gym bag. Yes, he had his gym bag with him.
After a moment of party remorse I decided to talk to some dull looking gays at the bar. I wasn’t disappointed. They were terrible. Anyhow, I was introduced to one mealy-mouthed homo called Jon. Jon who? Jon Fortin. He told us that he had started and had consequently left the organization GoProud the Republican gay group that represents gay conservatives and their allies.
I thought Jimmy LaSalvia started GoProud? No? Hadn’t he recently renounced his republican affiliation?
Hmmm, Jon Fortin. Name didn’t sound familiar, between cranberry and sodas I snuck away and there on my second screen was Jon Fortin. Google turned up very little about Jon Fortin other than a brief mention in the Gay Blade as a booth helper at the RNC and in his Linkedin profile as a Political Consultant for GoProud, The Whitehouse and John McCain.
He took my number and we met for brunch the following day with my friend Vanessa. The brunch was very enlightening. Firstly, he told us that he had fucked Aaron Schock the republican to whom Itay Hod alluded in some crude Facebook posting but was subsequently roundly discredited.
Jon described how he had picked Aaron up from Dulles airport, taken him to his hotel and fucked him. It was very convincing. My friend and I were both entranced.
Secondly, after brunch… during the boring Super Bowl he took me to one side and with sad eyes and wet mouth revealed that he had left his wallet at home in another coat. As you may know dear readers I really don’t mind paying for lunch but I really mind paying for alcohol.
He left, promising to make it up to me the following day. Yet, when the following day came around he refused to meet me on the east side where I was at my 12.30 AA meeting (listening to PSH stories) preferring a spot near where I lived.
Annoyed that I was being asked to walk 15 blocks through ten inches of wet slush I balked. I told him that it was up to him to come to me as he owed me lunch. After a bit of text argy bargy which included him telling me that I should just forget about how much lunch cost, he decided to leave $72 in dimes at my club which they very kindly processed.
It was an amusing stunt and one that had taken some careful preparation.
He paid his share. I didn’t care if it were in pennies or euros. It was paid. Republicans believe that we are all ultimately responsible for our actions and there are consequences for our mistakes. It was only right that he paid.
That was that… I thought. Until this morning when an unidentified source revealed that rather than ‘political consultant Jon Fortin’ I had in fact fallen foul of Brayden Forrester porn star and hooker.
I Googled Brayden Forrester and my screen was ablaze!
Of course he had ‘lost’ his wallet. Of course he was pissed that I asked him to pay his share. Poor love. I felt rather sorry for him. 30-year-old ex porn star fails to secure free lunch at exclusive club.
I let him know what I knew about his porno past and he called me a train wreck, a psycho, mentally ill, insane. The usual insults. I’m used to them. Yep. Sounds accurate.
Jon. What did you do?
I received calls from the gays. Don’t blog about him… it will ruin his life. Ruin his life? How?
In my humble opinion the truth will set Jon Fortin free. He should shamelessly embrace his Brayden past. The gays love a good porn star and Brayden knows how to take a big cock/load. CHECK IT OUT BITCHES. He’s far more interesting to me as Brayden than he ever will be as Jon. Most gays agree. Lance Black only benefitted from those X Rated pics of him getting fucked… in the ass… without protection.
My unfortunate encounter with Jon/Brayden reminded me of the equally repugnant/misguided writer gay: Zac Bissonnette, author of the perfectly revolting and poorly written book How To Be Richer, Smarter, and Better Looking Than Your Parents. Yes, he really wrote a book with that title.
This elitist prick became infuriated when I mentioned on Facebook that he didn’t write particularly well to my friend Benoit Denizet-Lewis. This solicited from Zac the sort of invective only the gays have ever reserved for me.
Zac trolled the internet and after reading vile and libelous comments left by anonymous queens… repeated them back to me as facts. Accusing me of being a pedophile, trying to shame me for filling for bankruptcy, suggesting that I deserved to be in jail, he reminded me that I am old and ugly. You know, the usual gay shit.
Smelling a delicious and potentially lucrative law suit I urged Bissonnette to make the pedophile accusation public. Of course… he refused. “Without proof I would never say that publicly, do you think I’m an idiot?” He minced.
Yes, I think you’re an idiot… Zac.
Zac (like Jon) believes that unless you are living a life that almost exactly replicates his with his specific design for gay living you may as well be dead. In an attempt at peacemaking Zac offered an olive branch but it’s kind of hard to forgive a man who accuses you groundlessly of fucking children.
