Yeah... so I was just out riding my bike. I'm in the middle of the woods about 12 miles from my house (on a trail I've never been on and I didn't know where it went to) and I came across a jogger. He was a friendly looking guy. Short and bald... with a big smile on his face. He was clearly out enjoying nature just like I was. The trail was very narrow so I stopped so he could run by and asked "How's it going?". He ran up to me and stopped, still with the big smile on his face. He was really soft spoken, and with a hint of a lisp he said "There's a really nice deer back there..." while gesturing in the direction I was headed. Just the way those first seven words came out... he just came across really really faggy. I thought I was gonna get hit on. He continued his sentence with "...and the vultures are ripping it apart" still looking like a man without a care in the world, with that big *** smile. I swear, it was like time stopped and I was frozen. I've had guns in my face... I've been shot at before... I've been violently flipped in a car... I've had harder bad trips than 99% of the LSD doing public could ever imagine... but I have NEVER felt fear like that before. I didn't know what to say. I tried to speak but nothing would come out. I tried to think of what I could say so I wouldn't upset the man, and out came what I thought were gonna be my last words. "Cool, I'll have to check that out." I nervously started pushing my bike away while watching him out of the corner of my eye. I said "Have a good one." and he excitedly replied "HEY......(GULP).... you too!" and went on jogging down the trail still with that big ******* creepy as **** ******* smile on his face. I procedded to get the **** out of Dodge. I didn't stop looking behind me until I found the end of the trail and was back on some asphalt.

And that's how I found out I was homosexual.

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when my dad approached me. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first--" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer hog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with the drugs, I like to tell them this story.