When I think about how I present myself online, I think about this blog. The depths of my confessionals in the well over 1,000 posts I’ve composed over the past 5 years pretty much leave me feeling naked (and hungry). So when someone approaches me in a different online format, who has clearly never read the pages of this blog, it’s always a little disorienting. “You into wrestling?” someone asks on Facebook. Seriously? I mention BG East or Can-Am on Twitter and someone asks, “What’s BG East?” Whaaaaa?
So today’s post explaining the do’s and don’t’s of chatting me up on Facebook and Twitter is probably pitched to the wrong audience (because, obviously, you’re reading this blog). However, after several cease and desists and “unfriending” (aka, “fuck off, bitch”), I thought I’d just clarify how I manage who I am and how I socialize in the most misnamed technology in history: social media. First of all, I am an unapologetic gay man. If you try to strike up conversation or ask me to accept you as a “friend,” but you appear to be presenting yourself as a straight man, into just women, with a total lack of style and a frequent use of homophobic slurs, I will ignore you. Some of my closest friends are straight guys, mind you, but my quota of token straights in my life is filled at the moment. Same goes for the boobulous women complementing me on my abs. Wrong tree.
Now, an overt nod to wrestling in your profile or chatter is a major plus. Assuming you’ve made it through the first round of exclusion criteria above, I almost universally acknowledge those who approach me with an explicit connection to wrestling. The gay guys who approach me who seem to hold no fascination for wrestling tend to have about a 0.50 probability of me ignoring them. Which side of that coin you fall on probably depends on whether I’m already inserting you into a wrestling fantasy of mine by looking at your profile photo. Yeah, it’s all about me.
Speaking of which, regular readers of this blog know well that I’m a major fan and booster of hot asses and succulent dicks. Honestly, I’ve dragged you all along on quite a few rounds of “Name that Ass” and “Name that Cock,” so it should come as no surprise that I love asses and dicks. I’m still planning a revival of the “Name that…” games at some point, because, let me repeat, I love asses and I love dicks.
That said, metaphorical asses and dicks frequently make it through my initial two rounds of exclusion criteria above, and then get my boot later on. What qualifies one as a metaphorical ass who I don’t have time for? Rabid, right wing, Tea Party, misogynist, internalized homophobic, guns in every hand but save fetuses at all costs, racist, anti-immigrant bullshit qualifies one instantly as the sort of ass that I have no time for. That’s right. You may be gay and a wrestling freak, but if you shove your politics in my face and I find them abhorrent, I’ve moved on. I’m fine with you believing your wing-nuttery, but I’m not about to see it in my feed on a regular basis.
What qualifies one as a metaphorical dick that I can’t stand? There are a few signals to me that someone is a dick. “Hey fucker, I’m going to beat your ass and you’re going to take it,” is a pick up line that does not work for me in the sphere of social media. Buy me a couple of drinks, strip your rock hard body down to a jock strap, and serve up some sweet trash talk and sure, you’re back to being the sort of dick I love. Come on way too strong and insist on dominating without a basis of consensual amiability, and you’re coming across to me as the sort of dick I don’t have time for. Another signal of a distasteful dick is trashing people I care about and respect. Bitchy take downs and critiques of the bodies of homoerotic wrestlers in the business, for example, merits a “see ya,” from me. Thoughtful critiques of the homoerotic wrestling industry are lovely, but one-dimensional flaming of a particular company or product is just dickish.
I don’t tend to respond much to “hey, stud, let’s cyber wrestle.” That doesn’t usually merit a delete from me, but I’ve said way too often that my dance card is full up at the moment. It comes close, but typically doesn’t quite cross the line when someone asks to share pirated homoerotic wrestling products. Again, if you read the pages of this blog, you know that I’m a big, big booster of the industry and want it to thrive and prosper. Intentionally pirating copyrighted material is awfully damn close to dickishness that I don’t have time for. You probably won’t get deleted, but I’ll try to pretend you didn’t just ask me that.
Want to chat about your favorite homoerotic wrestler? Want to comment on dicks and asses (the good kind)? Want to steer me to a new company or product because you’re fucking love it to pieces and think I will too? Let’s virtually socialize! Care to offer a different opinion or take me to task because you think I’ve missed some essential hotness in my meanderings and musings? Love it. Be classy, gay, and within the brotherhood of homoerotic wrestling fans, and let’s connect. The other type of asses and dicks, keep moving.