The True Meaning of Glasnost
by Rok Finger 

You homos sure are convincing. Well, you can lay off with the grand descriptions of homo lifestyle, because I’m once again one of you!

Well, not a homeowner, if that’s the specific meaning of “homo.” But a home-liver, on the insider, a deep-inside homo. And it’s all thanks to my new friends, the Russians.

Not all the Russians, mind you, but one Russian. You know me, good people, knowing one is like knowing all of them. Sure, I was instantly distrustful of her when I heard that thick Russkie accent, but when I saw her face, I was a daydream believer, just like the Brass Monkeys say. It was a little odd how I heard her voice before I saw her face, but that’s one of the things you have to acclimate to when you live on the street and sleep under last week’s Wall Street Journal, which I might note was covered in what smelled like human urine. There was a dry copy of the Village Voice nearby, but I hadn’t lost that much dignity yet, good people.

Yes, Felchyana’s face has the beauty and charm of a bookie. And if you don’t think that’s a compliment, you’ve never dealt with the gorgeous female bookies I have, friends. She is a beauty like that in a Renoir painting. Or Michelangelo. Which one had the chubby women completely buck naked? I suppose they all did. She’s beautiful like those women, but all bones, no meat. I’m sure a few good meals will take care of that.

I discovered I had been sleeping outside her building in the alleyway for quite a few days. I was not my normal self after days of merciless living, which is to say my unsettling and disturbing visage wasn’t even washed and shaven when she found me huddling up to a cold dumpster for warmth, which it refused to provide. Did she scream? Did she recoil in horror? Yes, understandably so. But she did come back, trying to hide her fear and disgust, and offered me a cup of warm soup.

Boy, that soup was the balm, as the hipsters say. Chicken noodle soup. I normally don’t like noodles of chickens, preferring the established parts like wings and chestal regions. Living on the street will lower your standards significantly, as they say. This does not mean I’m taking their advice to have sex for money, especially not from three guys who can’t even find one girl for an orgy, but “they” are a whole other story. You meet a new class of people when you have no house.

To make this story less ingratiatingly long, Felchyana shared her soup and opened her home to me. When she found out I had a job, she asked what the commune was. When I told her, she said it should be burnt and sent to hell. But she likes me so much and recognizes the hard-working industrial nature of Rok Finger and said she would allow me to stay in her home while I get back on my feet. I’m not sure how I like the sound of that last part, I’m really start to like traveling by skateboard. But I suppose we all make concessions when we’re down and out.

Don’t tell anybody, but I’m quite smitten with Felchyana as a woman, too, as well as a homo. She is pretty as the sun, but doesn’t hurt my eyes in the same way. Her smile is like a flower blooming, her spit like pollen, or some kind of spitting lizard. She is sweet like the nectar of a gay metaphor. I wouldn’t kick her out from under a newspaper for eating crackers, I’ll say that much. Perhaps it is best to leave it at that, since she has said something about being married. Alas, it is not to be, but what isn’t to be that actually is? Not much, I can tell you.

Home Sweet Homo
Greetings, good homos. Rok Finger here, reporting from the street. Which street isn’t important right now. If I’ve learned one thing from my time on the street, and I have, it’s that homos are people too. And by that I mean that everybody’s a homo these days. So I hope that’s going well for all of you.

Like a Rolling Rok
Things are more difficult than in the past, the other times I’ve been unceremoniously thrown out of wherever I was living. Acting-Asshole Ramrod Hurley has instituted a ridiculous new policy of locking the doors when everyone leaves at night, so now I can’t sleep in my desk anymore.

Lord of The Lord of the Rings
That’s right, books. Before seeing the movie I believed books were only delivery systems for cult manifestos or dangerous statistics. Turns out there are whole other worlds in some books, and some of those worlds are worth reading about.

Camembert is No Good
“I think you’re wrong, Rok,” Camembert said to me. Do you believe the brass balls on that handi-capable prick? At first I thought it might be some kind of outright ploy for leadership of the apartment, then I realized his ilk probably doesn’t believe in leadership. They just set up a council and everybody’s on it and nobody ever gets told what to do.