My friends blew me off tonight. We were gonna go to a movie after work — that new Woody Allen one everyone’s buzzing about. I have no clue what happens in it, I just know Jonathon Rhys-Meyers is in it and that’s pretty much all I need to know. Here’s my $10.50, bring on those lips. Anyway, my friends never got back to me today about going to the movie and I didn’t wanna risk going all the way home and missing their call, so I went to this cute spa and cashed in on a gift certificate I have for them. Haircut yesterday, spa trip today — why not? Just as I walked into the spa, they called and were up for it. So I’m all excited: an afternoon at the spa and then a movie with my friends! One facial, foot reflexology session, and full body shiatzu massage later I’m on my way outta the spa to meetup with them when I get the voicemail…

“Hi, don’t hate us but we’re going to a party tonight instead! Anyway, call us. Bye!”

I take a little lap through Union Square to cope with the letdown and opt to give them a buzz, hoping they’ll change their minds and still head out with me. The fact that I was so easily ditched stings a bit and would normally be enough to put me off but I’d just had an amazing shiatzu and was feeling all tranquil and shit; felt phsyically impossible to be worked up about damn near anything. Plus, I’d been so excited about seeing my posse anyway so whatever. I give them a ring, they’re downtown shopping and yeah, totally skipping out on me and going to this downtown party instead. But I shouldn’t be upset, evidently, b/c they were supposed to go to this already and only just got the word that it was still on. *sigh* I try to see if they can do both and go to the party later — it doesn’t start till 10pm and the movie is @ 7pm… but apparently that’s cutting it way too close cuz it might make them late. For the party. The party I’m not invited to, by the way, b/c it’s a very exclusive crowd and you have to be asked to attend. It’s like a thunderstorm of dissappointments here and suddenly I’m sad, cuz these are my best friends. Friends I was fully appreciating and bragging/blogging about just the other night. Friends for whom I excitedly arranged COMP entrance to a huge New Years Eve bash tomorrow night (I was like all, “Yeah I’ll be there, and comp me down +3 cuz I’m bringing my peeps”). Reality check, for shizzy. All this and not even an I’m sorry from them. I’m sorry but that’s kind of bullshit.

How childish is this post? Me me me. Shut up, I’m halfway over it anyway. … Only halfway, that is, cuz I’m sitting @ home — bored, half-cocked, and red-faced (from the facial, dudes) while my friends are tagging along @ a members-only party, closing the year out with a bunch of folks who would never gladly get them comp entrance to anything. The sting don’t feel too nice. Burn, baby, burn. Hurry up, 2006. Bring on midnight and refresh this shit already.

I won an award the other night @ the W holiday party. Apparently they do these big employee blowouts a few times a year and the Christmas one is always a bigass deal. We’re talking ballrooms, cruise ships, caviar, sushi, Vegas/Oscars theme, professional photographers, the whole big deal. Everyone gest dressed up and brings dates and dances and it’s quite an event that everyone looks forward to. Everyone except for me cuz I didn’t go. My antisocial ass can’t really be bothered with faking any social graces once I’m off the clock, so I opted for playing hooky instead. Apparently they held some sort of mini-Awards Ceremony at some point during the evening and the Director of the New York hotels came from our corporate offices to make a big speech about our “scores” and “placings” and the bar we’re setting in the industry and go team, party on, fight the power, damn the man. Anyway, she said the executives conducted a discreet review and wanted to recognize a few different people for their outstanding work this year — and I got awarded Rookie of the Year 2005 (Best New Hire)! Kinda cool, especially since I’ve only been there 6 months and there were a ton of people hired before me. They called my name and I heard everyone went nuts, cheering and screaming and looking around for me — and I was nowhere to be found cuz my foolass was straightup parked on a stool @ Chipotle on 14th and 6th ave, stuffing barbacoa tacos into my face and text messaging my mom. I’m fucking mortified that I missed it b/c let’s face it, unless it’s a judge announcing a “Guilty” verdict? anytime my name gets called and a roomfull of people applaude and cheer, I kinda wanna be there to take my moment. I know it’s just a silly work thing (altho the $500 AMEX gift prize I got holds some weight) and this ain’t my dream career, but after the ugly way things ended with my last job @ HUDSON, it’s nice that a whole bunch of executives think I gots the body rocks the party. I’m proud of it.

So, while I’m on a roll with the votes for popularity contests that only matter to my ego, allow me to direct the loyal attention of my inbalanced (but pretty) readership to BestGayBlogs.net. I’ll admit that I’d never once peeped that link until I realized I was getting insane traffic from it, but I’ve become a bigtime fan over the last month or so. I check it every day now and I like them b/c they don’t just have EVERYONE listed, they review people they truly enjoy reading every day. Through them I found great people like ChadFox, And I Am Somebody, and Trophy Boys (aka bitchhotties Slavco & Ricardo from vh1’s Kept). So yeah, those sweet mofos recently ran me through the screener for (and eventually added me to) their blogroll and have nominated Spriteboy World for Best Gay Blog of 2005 — yeah, me and about 100 other bloggers. And since my status in the gay blogosphere is very much like my status in real life (questionabley amusing, somewhat-attractive little guy who everyone knows and but not necessarily adores), I don’t expect any kind of sweeping victory. Fleshbot or Bradford Shellhammer or Dan Renzi will probably win, and shit man it’s a GAY BLOG contest anyway, who cares? Does the winner get an STD? Some folks are SERIOUS about this shit.

But hey, at the very least GO VOTE FOR ME and maybe you’ll be able to knock my status with those cool kids up from Great Blog to Popular Blog. It’s the little things, man. Bookmark that site while you’re there and keep checking back for the In Depth interview I just did with the editors. Interview? What the hell? Heh, yeah I know, I threw up in my mouth a little bit too. But read it anyway.

Meanwhile, I’m still formulating my New Years Eve plans. Last year I went to Cielo with some coworkers. This year I think I’m going to be @ Wish 26, that new lounge in Flatiron/Chelsea (Meatpacking District is getting stale). An explaything of mine owns it and the party is supposed to be off the hook! Since I don’t like to revisit the past, I’m going to need somebody new to makeout with at midnight (relax, I don’t look like that anymore). You won’t need any money, I’ll get us comped; you just show up with your lips smothered in BBQ sauce and we’ll be good. Guy, girl, stranger, relative, MTA Transit worker, whatever. We’re not really holding out for a hero at this point. The ball drops at midnight and so do my pants, so basically, I just need a mammal… and I’m really kind of flexible on that, too.

Washington Square Park

And I bet y’all thought I’d died from lack of subway service huh? Believe me, dudes, it came close. That damn transit strike came and went like a shitty coworker: showed up late, confused and frustrated everyone, then left early. But more on that later. I’ve been ignoring this blog a little bit lately, just been all caught up in my holiday blues and retail therapy. Seriously, I bought a SHITLOAD of Christmas presents this year. Tons and tons of stuff. All my holiday comissions from work started pouring in @ once and so I’ve just gone insane. Christmas is about giving… and I’m giving it all to myself. No seriously, I’m keeping everything. My spastic ass actually bought 10 more bags I don’t need @ the last Jack Spade sample sale and some luggage. Luggage, man — what the fuck for? it’s not like I’m going anyplace. Shit, I don’t even go to the gym. Why the hell am I buying luggage? in green? and red? No clue, I just need to own it. Just need to buy stuff. Just needing to make myself feel better.

As it turns out, the better feeling came to me on its own. Yesterday morning I actually got 3 seconds of time to relax @ work (Christmas is the best/worst time to a Concierge) and so I checked my email. BAM. There was one from Jeff, sitting right there staring back at me. He and I haven’t spoken since July and it’s seemed like a good idea. Still, I’d had a feeling I might be hearing from him around this time since it’s around when we got closer last year. His email wasn’t heavy or drawn out, but the first thing he said was that he’d began typing it a bunch of times over the last few months and never hit the SEND button — this was the perfect first thing to say. It meant more than anything thing else he could have said, for reasons only those of us who have been on the dumpee side of things can understand. He said different things, recapped stuff I’ve been quietly curious about: work, his apartment, his business trips, etc. Also, he’s still single. Not back with his ex. He didn’t have to tell me that but he did and as much as that shouldn’t affect how I feel after all this, it does. Anyway, hearing from him felt good. It gave me what I probably wanted most this year: closure.

So, I’m working this morning but am outta here real soon and heading uptown to meet my dawgs M & Jess for our annual Christmas afternoon @ the movies. I can’t tell you how much I enjoy this. Last year we three went to see The Life Aquatic, strolled through Lincoln Center, and I introduced them to Jeff. I remember sitting on the train home smiling and just feeling so happy and full. I remember Jess turning to me and telling me she was proud of me for pushing past everything that had happened last year. It was the kind of sweet, small thing that can only be said to you unexpectedly. And when it is? you feel really touched and it just fills your whole heart and stands out in your mind. I still cherish it.

To anyone suffering from the holiday blues, take a tip from me and just shower your own ass with presents this year. And enjoy it. Do it because you just fucking want to. Let it all hang out. Shan knows what I mean. His naughty ass is hardcore into the XXXmas spirit this year. Strike a pose, bitch. Damn. I’d be right up there with him, posting indecency, but I think my little sister reads this site sometimes. Also, you folks aren’t really trying to see me nekked no how. Merry Christmas anyway.

What you need to know is I that love Manhattan’s Upper West Side like a crackwhore loves the free clinic. Greenwich Village is lovely for an early dinner date, Soho is great for 2hrs on a sunny afternoon, the East Village is perfect late night’s out with friends, Midtown is cool when you need a meeting point for destinations to be determined, and the Upper East Side… well, despite the myth of Carrie Bradshaw’s life, the Upper East Side isn’t good for anything —- it’s all corporate highrises and doctor’s offices and stuffy department stores, and there’s only one lousy subway line all the way over on Lexington. But for me, the Upper West Side has it all. Everything. Columbus Circle, Tower Records, w72nd Street, the Museum of Natural History, the Riverside Park gardens, all the diners on upper Broadway, Morningside Heights, Columbia University, and 7 major subway lines running — SEVEN! Local AND Express, bitch! It’s home to some of the best Sunday brunches in New York. I swear I can spend hours just wandering up Broadway, enchanted like a damn fool. Yes, the UWS is the shit.

My friend Meg just got a really cute one bedroom apartment on w84th. Fucking w84th street, bitch. She’s a total UWS yuppie and she loves it, just up the street from Ray’s and a block away from Cafe Lalo. Her life is You’ve Got Mail. I hate her ass. The worst/best part that is we make pretty much the same money and I could totally swing her rent.

So, my apartment lease is up for renewal in April 2006 and I’ve gotta start thinking about what I want to do. I’ve been ignoring the form my landlord slipped under my door for a few days now… I’m just not sure what my plans are. Do I renew? For one year, two years? I mean, I love my apartment and all the space I have, and I love that I have a pretty good deal on it. I love living alone and not needing a roommate. But I know I want to live on the Upper West Side, my dreamhood, and if that’s going to happen I should start by setting a date on it. Like April 2007. Or 2008. If it’s going to happen, I have to pull myself together and figure some things out. Pro’s and con’s. Over the last 5 years, I’ve had to endure a myriad of shitty living conditions/weird roomate rotations and upgrade my income job by job before I could get to a point where I could finally get and afford this apartment all to myself. Roomates are out of the question. But as much as I love my apartment, do I really want to endure a 40 minute subway ride downtown for the rest of my NYC life everytime I go out? Not really. As badass as I’d feel living on the UWS, do I really want to up my rent AND give up all my space for some tiny cramped room in the west 80’s? Not really. Do I wanna live a great place that’s a little outta the way (that’s NoWa — North of Washington Heights; use it, I’m still trying to spawn the catchphrase), or live by the skin of my teeth in my favorite mostly unaffordable neighborhood? Am I lucky to have what I do — should I quit searching and feel glad I secured something good? I just don’t know. I’m even torn on whether or not to post this entry b/c it puts it out there in the universe: the fact that I’m a little unsatisfied with that I’ve got. Plus I like it more when ppl read this blog and think my life rocks and that I’m light years cooler than they can ever be… b/c you guys think that, right? Right? Shit. Sorry, I got a spriteboy email the other day from one of the jocks I went to highschool with, I’m tripping a little.

I’m fascinated lately by young people I know who have their shit together. I’m not talking about people with interesting lives and jobs (in New York everyone leads a fabulous life in their own way), I am talking about slick youngish mofos not that much older than me who have their professional lives either on the rise or totally in order AND have the bank account that goes with it. My exboyfriend Jeff was so on top of everything in his gorgeous life that it was damn intimidating sometimes (construction on his new loft is almost done — that’s a brand new building, too. No really, it’s just sick.), but I was able to keep it check b/c he’d had a damn good start what with his 16yrs on me. Yeah, 16 years — I was blinded by the smile and charmed by the rest, man; like the Katie to his Tom but without the pregancy and all the freaky religion. Anyway, his success kind of got me thinking about this stuff and lately I’m meeting more and more people in their late 20’s who seem to making that crucial transition into Finanicially Solid Adulthood. I know that they’re out there, I’m meeting them all the time. I went on a date with this yummy Aussie the other night and nearly slit my wrists when I saw the view from his midtown high-rise. After he dried my tears and took my mind off things for a few hours (he’s a keeper), he drove me home. In a BMW. That he owns and pays parking space for. He’s 29. It’s a damn shame he’s doing so well, b/c I kind of liked him (the accent kills me) but now he has to die. When did these people start making money like that? Was it a sudden promotion? Was it part of a gradual business plan, or the result of one of those 4yr personal plans? Should I be looking into investments? I don’t want to be 30 and find out I should have started my shit years ago when I was 20.

I like my life. I enjoy my job, I leave with a sense of accomplishment each day and I go home to an apartment I love having. Though my job keeps me securely afloat, I am nowhere NEAR being able to afford buying a place. My mom in her Texas mindset encourages me to start saving, like it’s actually possible that I could afford it one day. The only way I could was if I won the lottery or got hit by a bus and sued the city (hmmm). Just a single unit in a brownstones alone can go for like, $3 million — and that’s in Brooklyn. At best, I think if I saved and saved and sold a kidney I’d be able to one day own a closet in Far Rockaway sometime. I don’t see any of this with bitter eyes, really. To me, it’s just the way things are in New York.

But I could, maybe, afford to swing my ass from distant and roomy NoWa zipcode into a little place on the UWS at some point. If I work it out hard. The question is, as a man of Manhattan, is that an upgrade or a downgrade? And also, can I kill the Aussie and resume his identiy w/o anyone being the wiser?

Yesterday morning my colleague @ Concierge, Joey, called out for his night shift, and I rolled my eyes cuz this is the 3rd weekend in a row I’ve worked alone with no mid-shift. The city is insane if you haven’t noticed. See all the tourists and ppl with baby strollers running through the sidewalks taking pictures of department store windows and fighting over cabs? Yeah those are all my hotel guests. I get to deal with them. Yay me. Needless to say, I was fucking annoyed when he called out. I refrained from getting bitchy, just cuz it’s pointless to do when you know they’ve already decided not to come in… but I just knew he’d probably show up hungover the next day as always and tell me all about his wild night out, accidentally giving away the fact that he was never sick in the first place. Happens all the time.

Turns out, he’s really sick. Apparently, he couldn’t feel his arm yesterday when he got up, so he went to the hospital. They decided to operate. Serious shit, right? They don’t just perform surgery on ppl who’s arms have like, gone to sleep or something. Turns out he’d had a stroke in his sleep. Here’s the great part: when I heard he was in the hospital, my first response was, “I’m not working his evening shifts. This is the holiday season and I’m stressed enough already. Maybe this’ll make the hotel see how fucking short staffed we are and they’ll HIRE someone.” Bad ppl like me? this is how we think. Well, he had his surgery and it turns out his kidneys are failing. A friend of his called us to tell us he’d be out for a week at least… and possibly may lose function of one arm. An hour after surgery, he went into cardiac arrest. An actual heart attack. He’s not doing so well now. Pnuemonia. He could die. His mom is flying out to be here.

I feel horrible. I feel scared for him. But it doesn’t matter how I feel. I learned firsthand once that when somebody’s sick, you’re job as a friend is not to identify your feelings out and take this time to work through your weirdness — your job is to drop everything and help. Be there and listen and check in and remind them they’ll be ok. The truth is? Joey’s not my friend, not really. He’s not even in my top 5 favorite ppl @ work. He’s usually unprepared @ our desk, always out of the loop for what’s going on in town, rarely owns a task from start to finish, and never stops taking smoke breaks. It’s annoying. But Joey’s also a doll; always kind and loyal, he’s handsome and always invites me out for drinks over and over again even tho I always say I’m busy (b/c I’m a fucking bitch and hate interacting with work people)… he still invites me out anyway. And now he’s in Intensive Care, where you can’t get phone calls or flowers or visitors or anything. I just can’t stop thinking about him, how lonely and freaked out he must be (if he’s even awake) right now. I can’t go back and make us better friends. But If I can’t do anything else, I can @ least be that friend who’s praying for him.

And I am.

UPDATE: No word yet on Joey’s status, but as for and my house, I am getting up off this complacent kick and marching into HR tomorrow to organize my health insurance. I became eligible for it at the end of October but never filled out the paperwork or anything. Yes, I — the CANCER SURVIVOR — have slagged off on getting health insurance. What the hell, right? Throw your stones, dudes, I deserve the ridicule. I just overdid putting the whole thing so far behind me and it’s just been SO nice having big fat paychecks w/o any insurance taken out of them that I got used to it. But Joey’s ordeal has been just the kick in the ass I needed to get myself together. My company’s health & benfit package is sick, there’s no reason not to have it. Goodbye, spending sprees. Hello, medical/dental/vision.

I was never a big fan of John Lennon’s music, mostly out of ignorance. My dad looked a lot like him from the high school pictures I’ve seen, and I kinda like that “Penny Lane” song but for the most part I just knew he was one of the Beatles who everyone hailed as this master songwriter. Then earlier this summer I went to see Lennon: the Musical and absolutely got sucked into the story of his life. 9 different actors played him throughout the show — black, white, men, women, older, younger — and so all of their renditions of his songs sounded way different than I’d ever heard, which worked. I fell in love with the songs. “Instant Karma” is my favorite one so far — my dad text messages me random Lennon lyrics all the time so I’m slowly discovering a lot more.

Today was the anniversary of his death 26years ago (…er, 25. I’m the big 26. Sorry, projecting again). I bundled up in my winter coat, grabbed a peppermint hot chocolate from Starbucks, and joined thousands of other New Yorkers @ his candelit memorial this evening in Strawberry Fields. I don’t know why it was important to me to go, I just wanted to lay a flower on the IMAGINE mosiac and show my respect. It was moving to see so many New Yorkers standing together, some of them crying, most of them smiling. There was a lovely, completely untacky sing-a-long, which was kind of beautiful to be part of. In true New Yorker fashion, however, there were still complainers and whiners bitching about the long lines and the big crowds. But that cracked me up and comforts me in a way. I didn’t stay long for fear of it turning into something annoying as sing-a-longs tend to be (nothing in the world induces eplosive vomit from me like a faggle of drunken, teary eyed frat boys having a somber moment singing “No Woman No Cry”) but it was still nice. A really nice night.

Even after his death, John Lennon affects so many people. And we all shine on like the moon and the stars and the sun.

There was a blurb in New York magazine this week which shouted me and this here blog out. The journalist contacted me via email last week about it, which I totally didn’t read cuz it was lopped in the mix with all those Horse Fucking spams in my Junk folder. She was rushing a write-up and found stuff on my blog that she wanted to feature, I told her she could use whatever she wanted as long as she referenced like this: NYC blogger Spriteboy of spriteboyworld.com says…., hence jacking up my pop-cult cred and boosting this scrappy little webpage that occassionally gives me something to do. (I think my exact response was “Scratch my back and I’ll give you your scoop, Lois Lane.”) Yes, I straightup haggled her —- hell, I’m totally taking a tip from those hipsters who know and making this shit count. My rent’s not getting any lower. Anyway, by the time I got back to her it was way past her deadline, so I figured it wasn’t happening. No harm, whatever, I’ve never even read New York magazine. I watched Gilmore Girls and went to bed.

Suddenly Monday morning my cellphone was spazzing out with text and vmails. My inbox was jammed. Apparently, Lois Lane ran the write-up, which referenced me briefly in the blurb and apparently, according to Gawker, the article is especially noteworthy b/c New York mag scooped the New York Times on the same subject. And between the two tiny spotlights on my very little name tossed into the mix as a SOURCE on this very shady subject, everyone in the free world has been contacting me. Webzine editors, bored and horny 9 to 5ers, old roommates and college friends, bloggers who never link to me, people from forums that I used to post in 4 yrs ago, totally random strangers who just want to say “Hey, cool!”. Sounds kinda fun right? It comes with a twist: the article was about GAY SEX IN PUBLIC. Some offhanded little comment I made at the end of an entry from last year is what got the journalist’s attention (over ALL the other stuff I have to say) and BAM I’m suddenly this expert on gay cruising spots in Manhattan.

This is insane. Since that little mention on Monday? 153 random Tom, Dick, and Horny’s have emailed me, wanting to know where else they get some hot gay action around town — a few of them are even pissed that I helped “blow the whistle” on their secret deep dickin’ club. Did we learn nothing from the George Michael scandal? This is so not the fanbase I was hoping to welcome. But whatever. Welcome to my website, you bathroom-sex-having sluts. All the seediness aside, your emails have been very well-written and some of you are even a little funny. Own that shit, dudes, and God bless your nasty asses. I totally know all about the need for free stuff, I also know all about the need for some good good lovin now and then’, but I honestly know absolutely nothing about where to go find free fucking in the park after dark. (Shit, if I did I probably wouldn’t have time to blog). So um, stop asking, ok? Also, not that I don’t appreciate the sharing, but you don’t need to keep sending naked pictures of yourselves. I have a Sean Cody account for that mess.

If you really want a tip though, guys, I’d suggest getting an appointment @ the free clinic, cuz that bathroom sex ain’t no joke. Be smart. Maybe get some Jesus too. Or a Sean Cody account. Both commitments will change your life.

I’m going to see PETER PAN on Broadway tonight and I’m so damn excited about it that I can hardly contain myself. I saw this shit when I was 7yrs old, the National Tour came to Houston and my 2nd grade class went — I wasn’t even supposed to go. My parents were struggling with money and I had to pick either the pumpkin patch field trip or the play. My foolass picked the pumpkin patch and ended up getting bitten by chiggers; I spent the whole day crying and scratching and wishing I’d picked the other thing instead. So I turned on the charm (even at a young age I knew how to whore my emotions out) and Mrs. Semanack reached won in her purse to pay my way my homeboy’s way and sometimes my cousins way. BAM, 5th row center.

7yrs old. Dazzled, amazed, and wide-eyed. I was just FIXATED by these kids flying around in front of me… and I remember that something seemed so terribly wrong with the whole production. Odd things kept happening. Like when the children would fly, the ropes they were on would just keep breaking … and the actors would fall, like thumping to the ground and have to be carried off by stagehands. There was this unlimited supply of understudies taking their places, and everyone just kept falling. Then the crocodile that chases Captain Hook fell off the stage and I think crushed a couple of kids in the front row — and then some of the understudies came and took their places in the audience! And maybe it was just me but Wendy seemed to get fatter and fatter until finally they stopped flying her and just moved her around the stage with a cart.

Remember how in the second act Tinkerbell drinks some poison that Peter is about to drink in order to save him? And then Peter turns to the audience and goes, “Tinkerbell is going to die because not enough people believe in fairies. But if all of you clap your hands real hard to show that you do believe in fairies, maybe she won’t die.” So, we all started to clap. I clapped so long and so fucking hard that my little palms hurt and I think started to bleed. I clapped so hard. Then the actress playing Peter turned to the audience and she said, “That wasn’t enough. You did not clap hard enough. Tinkerbell is dead.” And then we all started to screaming. It was chaos. The actress stomped off stage and refused to continue. They finally had to lower the curtain. The ushers had to come help us out of the aisles and into the street. I don’t think that any of us were ever the same after that experience. It certainly turned me against theater. And even more damagingly, I think it’s warped my total sense of life. Nothing seems worth trying if Tinkerbell is just going to die.

OK ok, that didn’t really happen. It’s mostly a monologue from “`Dentity Crisis” by Christopher Durang, I used to perform it at auditions. But no, I actually am going to see it again tonight. The best part is that Cathy Rigby, the same woman who played Peter when I saw it damn near 20yrs ago, is still playing the part. That crazy bitch is like 80yrs old now, she probably thinks she really is the boy who didn’t grow up. I fucking love it.

I made them hold 4 tickets for me @ the box office b/c I’ve just been convinced that everyone of my friends would be just as anxious to as I am to see this and totally give up their Friday night. Yeah, not so much. Folks are straightup like, “Um, no but have fun.” All those people who flocked to see “Finding Neverland” are looking at me like I’m crazy. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?! It’s Never-Neverland for fuck sake! Tiger Lily! Yes, I know she’s a sexist characterization of racist Native American stereotypes but come on, y’all! Captain Hook alone, in all his pedophiliac lust for Peter Pan, is totally worth our time. Lost boys! Children with perfect diction flying over our heads in nightgowns! It’s too much for me, man. Clap your hands for Tinkerbell. Throw your hands up, bitches. I damn sure will be tonight.