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If you are underage, or in any way forbidden by your government or religious laws from viewing X-rated subject matter, please do not read this salty tale. If, however, you are not restricted by any laws in your geographical location, by all means read on.

(a true tale from the castro; eat your heart out armistead)

© 2015 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin

[ Erudite Reader: many other great incidents have occurred to me during my birthday month, such as described in my recent piece called "Booty." It is now only the 18th, so stay tuned for further revelations in articles upcoming. For The Great Spirit celebrates my birth all month long. ]

It was the last week of June. My birthday (July 1) was comin' up, and I had the perfect bon mot to fling at Larkin. So of course I hoped he'd provide me with just that opportunity on my special day...for he has done this so many times before, whenever I had a rockin' line to deliver. Being highly telepathic, he knows exactly when to appear before me while acting like it's just coincidence. Yet by the same token, he sets me up to believe it's not gonna happen, each and every time.

So on the morning of July first, I went for my usual breakfast at the Posh Bagel located in the habit for the past three months. They charge a dollar less (for an everything-whole-wheat bagel w/double avocado and a small coffee) than the other two Posh Bagels in San Francisco; plus they provide excellent wifi. Normally I spend an additional one or two hours strolling the waterfront before proceeding to Martha & Brothers coffeehouse located at Irving and Fifth Avenue. I take the N Judah underground, to get there. But as I departed from the bagel shop, a litle birdie told me:

"Get back to The Castro, even though it's out of your way. Larkin will be there, so you can deliver your latest repartee!"

I figured at first that this is no more than wishful thinking, so I embarked upon the N Judah without further ado. Though by the time the light rail reached Van Ness Station, I felt suddenly compelled to step out and catch the next train to The Castro...and exited at Church Street, seeing as the walk would do me good. When I finally crossed Noe Street, Larkin came up from behind and rapidly hoofed twenty feet ahead before slowing down his pace. Realizing my opportunity had indeed arrived, I hollered:

"Now there's someone who isn't gonna wish me a happy birthday!" Then I paused before adding: "He who loves me more than anyone else!"

As we both marched forward, My Scandalous Salamander looked back twice, with neither a frown nor a smile. I, likewise, looking at him through dark, dollar-store shades. I followed him another half-block before he turned down Castro Street, and I departed underground at the Castro Station. Where I rode the rails back to Van Ness, and hopped on the N Judah in the other direction.

Next day I was quite bummed out for several hours, due to my new status with Medi-Cal, which so deemed that my monthly share of cost will jump from zero dollars to $518, starting on my birthday (ironically enough), when I turn 65! Plus that morning I realized another $22 would be deducted from my monthly stipend of $1,243 to pay for Medicare Part D, thanks to Medi-Cal bumping up my status, thus no longer covering that fee.

"How am I gonna survive?" I worried as I puffed on a Fortuna Red 100 on my walk towards the coffeehouse two blocks away. "I will probably go blind and homeless, if I don't take my life first."

I shuddered in the chill fog and did my best to keep from breaking down in panic as I entered Martha & Brothers. Pretending to the barristas who asked how my day's going, by telling them: "Oh, just great!" before I settled down at a table and booted up my HP Elitebook 2530p. I did my best to behave like nothing's out of the ordinary, and participated in my usual online activism with Twitter, Facebook and Gmail commanding the major part of my Internet follies.

I was proud of myself for posting humorous tweets and vital gay news articles to Facebook and my "e-friends" in spite of my crisis, before departing two hours later to return hovel. While I awaited the N Judah going east, I thought of Larkin when these words popped into mind:

"The secret society that you believe exists though don't yet know what they call themselves, is actually an organization you proposed back in 1997, and named The Blue Rose Militia: the world's first (and still only) gay militia!"

With that realization, my heart grew light. And I further understood that Larkin's showing up on my birthday so I can deliver my funny repartee was his way of letting me know he's got my back. And that I really shouldn't worry about Medi-Cal, or going blind or homeless. Usually when he appears to receive my fresh-off-the-presses wisecrack, I see him ahead of me either across the street or further up the sidewalk. But this time around he sneaked up from if to affirm that this is not my imagination, but genuine telepathy.

[ I should note here, Granular Reader, that my declaration of this militia arose directly from President Bill Clinton's passage of DOMA and DADT. Apparently, a segment of San Francisco's LGBT community took my words to heart, and set up this army to perform various functions. Including the accumulation of my writings which shall be published in a near-future time, that Gay Equality may be greatly empowered, and I receive a hefty amount of the profits garnered by said publication. As well as secession of northen California to form the world's first sexual-minority nation. ]

By the time I arrived home, I was floating on a cloud! For via his appearance upon my birthday in such a remarkable manner, he told me (through action instead of words), that:

He who refused to wish me a happy birthday nonetheless gave me the greatest gift of all.

For Larkin shall provide me with protection, including a decent place to live (finally), bodyguards and an underground existence...once the feces hits the ventilator. Which existence will be anything but dull and sterile. Instead, I will be surrounded with the finest company, gorgeous dudes, and imminent respect by various and dedicated followers of My Astounding Queer Ideology. Once arriving back in The Castro, I ran up to Jane Warner Plaza to share my latest revelation to Hollywood, a straight friend though nonetheless quite compassionate. He then declared:

"I just saw Larkin here a moment ago, in Twin Peaks Tavern!"

So I explained to him that, yes, he's still there, though moved to the back to avoid my spotting him in such a direct manner. He then added:

"I saw him walk off with Cameron yesterday!"

"Well that's funny," I replied, "Cameron always gave me the impression he despises Larkin. Though I thought for some time, he's one of Larkin's scouts."

[ So now let me tell you about Cameron, Oh Salacious Reader! He is now 24 years old, though I've known him for almost six years. His is a story of heroic conquest of AIDS, till now his viral load is zero. Presently homeless once more, he did reside in an SRO for some time, until California eliminated homeless and other services for his kind. Yet he somehow manages to keep himself clean-looking and a respectable citizen of San Francisco. Cameron maintains a very kind nature with both myself and Larkin. A good thing, since he provides a bridge of camaraderie between us two, should the time arrive when Larkin drops his animosity towards Yours Truly. Which I'm sure he will, and soon. For it's only a game. A wonderful game.

Cameron is the same height as Larkin (6-foot-4), with a most trim and gorgeous stature, including a bodacious and ridiculosly ample wanger so ready to provide me with oral gratification. He is a wonderful lover who does not let life's adversity discourage him from reaching out in kindness towards other men in need of affection. One night he boinked me up the ass so sweetly while jacking me off, I often daydream about that seraphic interlude.

Hazel eyes, dark shiny brown hair and a rockin' butt even the angels would envy, complete his picture. He is also the cousin of Zach, a hurricane Katrina refugee who's found a home in San Francisco's not-so-mean streets, as well as kind friendship with This Vagabond Queer Soul. He is great company, and sometimes we sleep beside each other with our clothes on, shooting the bull about this and that, and laughing over our misadventures before drifting into slumber. ]

The following two postcards were sent out to Larkin on July 7th:

And this card I mailed to him the next day, July 8th:

[ Dromedary Reader: this "black male" pun arose from a vision that Larkin sent me over the telepathic airwaves. He wants to roleplay my blackmailing him into being my lover. So now, I play back. ]

10 July 2015

My Beloved Larkin,

Tomorrow I will send the following letter of outrage to various alternative media (such as Mother Jones, Democracy Now, etc.). Time is of the essence, since I may be arrested or disappeared soon, for my brazen whistle blowing. Unless some good folks will provide me with places to hide. Personally, at this point I have nothing to lose, as my own life is on the line, thanks to Medi-Cal's criminal abuse of low-income folks like myself (and you, I guess).

"Affordable Care" for the poor, my ass! It is the poor who are being shafted, due to Medicaid charging outrageously high fees as share of cost! From (discussing my state's version of Medicaid, called "Medi-Cal"):

"The MNL [maintenance need level] has not changed since 1989 and is $600 for an individual. Thus, anything an individual earns over $600 a month becomes that individual's share of cost. For example, if an individual earns $1,100 a month, that person must incur $500 in medical costs each month before receiving any coverage from the Medi-Cal program. For consumers with a high share of cost, Medi-Cal provides little more than catastrophic coverage and does not enable them to access health care services."

Millions shall soon perish (including myself; thousands already have) because of this...while the gov't and media have hoodwinked citizens to believe the poor are now receiving decent health care. (And I guess so has the alternative media, as they also remain silent in this matter.)

The onus lies solely at the feet of Prez Obama, since he left Medicaid up to each state. Instead of mandating a basic guideline of affordability...and compassion. Read my own story as one such unlucky disabled recipient (it's my letter of outrage to Congresswoman Nancy Pelosi):

Obamacare Defecates on the Poor

Most sincerely (and with great anger),

Ezekiel J. Krahlin

[ Valorous Reader: here's a list of the 21 major alternative media to which I emailed the above declaration. (I also posted it to the Facebook pages of President Obama, Michelle Obama, Hillary Clinton, Bill Clinton, Bernie Sanders, Nancy Pelosi and even Ralph Nader.) I sincerely hope this triggers a powerful grass roots movement. So far, Daily Kos has been the only site where I've garnered some concern...and others in the same boat have expressed their outrage in the comments section. That's a good sign. Click here to view the article and user remarks that follow; search for "krahlin" to get right to my posts, and those of other outraged victims. ]

Activist Post
Christian Science Monitor
Common Dreams
Counter Currents
Daily Kos
Democracy Now
End the Lie
International Human Press
Jeff Rense
Mother Jones
Raw Story
Russia Today
Sleuth Journal
The Awake Zone
The Huffington Post
The Nation
The Progressive
Today's Alternative News

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