I've discovered in the past five days. . .

. . .that living with an ex is like if you're a Siamese twin and your other half dies and then you have to carry around their dead weight with you until either you die yourself or you can find a good enough surgeon to sever the ties hoping that you don't have any arteries or organs to share but really you just have to go into a cave in the side of a mountain and like a feral cat do the job yourself with your teeth and a sharp rock.

More thoughts. . .

I realized today that maybe I'm in the wrong line of business. I think that if I sell my soul and compromise my integrity I should be making a lot more money. I also think I should become a drug addict or alcoholic (again?) because I'm more fun that way, just like I'm more fun when I'm single. Which I am. Definitely.

Today I realized. . .

. . .that in looking for a suitable apartment and roommates, I'm going to scare the shit out of at least 90% of them.

. . .that working in the field of fashion is only for crazy people.

. . .that I should probably try to start making money.

. . .that black currant tea with milk and honey is a guilty pleasure of mine. It just doesn't feel as manly as irish breakfast tea.

Not Again

So, I was down at Metropolitan in Brooklyn last night hanging out with my friend Cameron at his Sunday night party, "Easy," and he made me enter the amateur strip contest. . .again! I think it's the third or fourth time now. It supposedly encourages others to enter. I lost, again, for the third or fourth time. This time, I lost to a 21 year old dyke from Connecticut (it was her birthday). I have to say, though, that I was really happy I was wearing my favorite underwear (black and white skull-print Marc Jacobs briefs). I'm such a fag. She didn't even get naked. I saw no ass, or titties. And she was fat. I'm not bitter, I swear. I've actually never won any sort of contest that had something to do with me taking my clothes off. I always seem to get asked to do it over and over again though, which makes me think that there are two types of porn stars in the world: those that do it because they're so fucking hot that it's basically their call in life, and those that do it because they're willing to degrade and exploit themselves when no one else will.

Something Strange is Happening

I don't know what's going on, but I cannot get laid to save my life. It's not like I'm picky, either. You'd think that after a night of go-go dancing, I'd have my pick, but noooooooo, another night alone. I finally had to bust out my trusty dildoes and go to town on myself earlier. Maybe if I rub my ball sweat all over my face and neck. . .

Finally, getting this shit started

As this is the first post, I feel like I should have something all-encompassing, cerebral, to say, but really, I don't. I feel like I should give my thanks to my fans, Raging Stallion for setting this up for me, my ass, but really, I don't. Not that I'm trying to be ungrateful or disrespectful. I guess I'm just hangover. Or tired. Or emotionally disturbed.

To get back to business, I guess I should say that I'm horny, getting my hair cut in an hour, and am go-go dancing over at the Slide tonight at High Life/Low Life for my friend Daniel Nardiccio. For all of you out in New York Shitty, come visit me. I'll be the guy in the rhinestoned "Cory" jock strap.

Welcome to Cory Koons' Blog!

Welcome to Cory Koons' Blog!