Oh my. Hello again queerlings. Were you worried about me? Of course you weren't. Bitches been drunk as hell since Christmas Day. I hope you got everything you wanted. I know I did. So much has happened in the past week for your CampusQueer! Ahh...so much. I learned a few things about myself once again while on my vodka-soaked exploits. Let's just hit the list right fast shall we?

1. Do not allow CampusQueer out and about without direct supervision of his mother, Sheridan Grant.
2. Do not allow CampusQueer out and about with Grey Goose mini's.
3. Always allow CampusQueer to have Sweet Tea and vanilla vodka. Blessings.
4. Atlanta doesn't care too much for rules. Especially rules concerning personal identity.
5. Mexicans don't care too much for listening. Order a rum and coke. They hear just "rum."
6. If a friend is wanting to throw a drink on someone for you, just let 'em. In other words, let me!
7. Do not allow CampusQueer to carry credit cards to bars. It ends in rounds of shots for all...wait...
8. Always allow CampusQueer to carry credit cards to bars.
9. CampusQueer needs his mobile surgically attached to his right hand. Pronto.

On that note, welcome to 2010! Oh what trouble can we start this time around? Well, let me just tell you somethin'. This month is going to be a smorgasbord of fabulosity, faggonemity, and hot jizz. I want you to get stiff in your pantaloons for the future of CampusQueer captured in video! It's on its way. And perhaps one day, this site will actually be complete rather than "under construction." Note for all: It is usually not a good idea to launch an idea on finals week right before you leave campus for a month.

I hope all you little queerlings by day who are monsters by night reveled in the presence of Our Lady earlier this week upon ATL. I was across the way giving you the evil brown-eye at the ultra-fierce Georgian Terrace hosted by Misster Mackey and Sheridan Grant doing the Bad Romance dance in my AussieBums during the wee hours. I have jars of her essence captured for sale as promised. Tree-fitty a pop.

Before we come to a close, I hope you all have set little goals for the coming year; a resolution if you will. I give us all til March to forget that shit. Hell, mid-February if we're lucky. Of course, we all want to lose weight and get to the gym. I'll see you there, wondering what the hell you're supposed to do once you actually make it inside. I assume it's enough of a workout to watch the boys, boys, boys in the mirror, get caught by a roid-feuled beau, and run away to escape a hatecrime. What a way to work up a sweat?!

Over and Out,
CampusQueer