blaine tolentino | society of animals

.041

As all of the collapsible parts of the trannie ego are coming to a dust, I am discovering the low-tide of animal psyche.  Things are getting pretty damn real at trannie dinner these days.  Sure, it’s alright to get weird with me at the breakfast buffet (sometimes tom kha, sometimes french toast) because I have that real-pussy smell.  Nevermind the fact that I’m really the only one here that has any instinct toward making the balcony greenery into a head-dress.  All the dads that are now moms, the Nebraskan not-super-models, the Oxford-bred economist bitches, the subterranean creatures that are trying to pass as a woman in anything other than very very dimmed mood lighting: this one’s for you.

Tonight I promised one of them that, when I’m a doctor, I’ll have full knowledge of how to build brand new genitals on anything that has the chromosomes of a human.  It’s like clapping your hands and Tinkerbell comes back to life; this is probably the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience, Thai mtf gender reassignment commune on the coast.  Amen.

1 Comment so far
Leave a comment