Gay Comedy - Tumblr Posts

Brad and Chris were like soap opera stars. You could switch them out of a scene, put in new peeps to play the same characters, and for whatever reason, people are ok with that.

Becky predicted a short-lived modeling career for Brad and Chris' neighbor, Luke.

It’s my fashion face. Why?

Is it weird?

Please tell me if it’s weird.

Gay stallions Brad and Chris enjoyed a steady diet of high quality juice, choice protein shakes, and naturally sweetened homegrown “HAAAAYYYYY!!!”

Chris made bath time SOOOOO much fun.

Chris looked outside at the chaos below in search of its cause. Whatever presented itself here was big… really big. Like BIG, BIG.

Well, it was a good thing his thong was tiny. Perhaps it might help balance things out. Gay fashion always did thrive on size differences and exaggerated proportions.

Whatever it was, it was what it was, and what that was Chris didn’t know.

The people below sure seemed pretty clued in tho…

What Chris needed was more back up …but could he wear more than one thong? The thought consumed him. This second thong thing was a first.

Wait …no. No it wasn’t. He and his equally hot boyfriend Brad did that all the time when dancing. More layers meant more tips as they poured in every time something was taken off. So then what the f was this whole fiasco below all about?!?

Chris found himself more frustrated than ever. He was either at the cusp of figuring it out or really really horny and just not aware of its manifestation…

Well… In a stroke of luck, the whole thing blew over a few minutes later when Brad came in the room. He was already stirred up by some random exhibitionist that was live streaming and didn’t know it. Brad almost felt bad for the guy but he was just too hot to let that in.

Chris wouldn’t make the connection until catching himself on the balcony webcam grilling extra plump double jumbo hot dogs on their balcony wearing the same vintage blue Body Aware thong the following St Patrick’s Day.

You know, if it wasn’t for the local dry cleaners to take their lunch at the only time Chris could go by punctuated by a deep disdain for getting pinched, Chris may have never figured it out.

Well, that was that then. Brad had himself a New Years Resolution. His resolution was to not have a resolution for the year that was new in the moment where he was. That was on the beach in Santa Monica at the end of 2023.

While he was there staring into 2024, he was also giving up lent for lent, and trading in Columbus Day for an Akron knight. He would just need to convince Elton John to take a holiday to Ohio in October. It was a good thing leaves died pretty. He could use that to his advantage.

If that didn’t work out, Brad would try a different time of day. Akron Dawn for example could score an obvious sponsorship assuming people in Ohio did their dishes upon waking up. It sounded like something people in sensibly sized Midwest cities might do.

The notion never crossed his mind in Brad’s 22 years living in Los Angeles. Why would anyone born and bred in Southern California ground themselves where it could crack open and swallow you whole at any second? Midwestern sensibility just didn’t stack up here.

Akron was in Ohio right? Brad could never be sure even with a smart phone in his hand. Miss Information was everywhere and there were no places to hide. How would you know where to go anyway?

All the cities in Ohio looked exactly the same to Brad. You could be in Toledo or Cincinnati, and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference even if you were at the local library checking out books. As long as ‘Ohio’ was somewhere on your library card or drivers license, you were golden.

At least that’s what Brad imagined. The locals likely didn’t feel the same way.

On the eve of a change in one of many calendars used across the globe, Brad took a minute reflect upon what had yet to happen by asking questions in the present tense.

Did all the oceans in California look the same to people from Ohio? Those from the two bucks an eye state (post inflation), were human beings dealing with a relative relative spendy reality. That part was clear. The rest of it got fuzzy as he didn’t know anyone from Ohio he could ask.

Brad wasn’t sure how many oceans he was looking at in the first place. They all kinda mixed together with few if any official boundaries. To call the water in front of him by one name took it from Will Rogers in Cali all the way to Bondi in Australia, but it was hardly the same water. The whole thing read as a gross over generalization as everything Pacific.

Each day it was less and less surprising to Brad that more than 90% of the sea floor failed to be mapped. We as a species held not a clue as to what was down there yet some of us were already taking tours of outer space which was technically nothing itself. Was that not why we called it space?

Whatever.

Brad didn’t want to put too much into space tourism or an overrated holiday like NYE, or even Christmas for that matter…

Brad stopped himself there. If he took that thought any further he could start getting answers. That could take him into resolution territory where he resolved to not go yet already was.

The annual practice never played out well for Brad despite being out himself. While others made money Brad beat himself up. By the President’s Day circuit party he was always in a downward spiral. If Brad ever OD’d it would likely be there smack dab in the depths of the Southern California rainy season swallowed whole by the first round of judgement preliminaries for White Party in Palm Springs.

Seeing where he was, Brad pulled himself off the bitter party of one path to that of personal responsibility. No one besides himself stuck around any NYE resolution to ensure he followed through. It may be paid for but did it matter where the money came from? While the commitment was squarely his, it often turned out the enthusiasm was not.

Brad paused to fix the back of his swimmers. They began riding his youthful 22 year old butt muscles while doing all this thinking. Did he really workout every day just so his clothes could malfunction?

Maybe. He could def take the notion somewhere sexy. Too bad there wasn’t a pen and paper around. Was this why people wrote their name in the sand? That whole notion read downright silly standing so close to the world’s biggest eraser.

When all was said and done, the greatest part about having a perky butt wasn’t sex or attention. It was having a place to set things down where no pockets were available. Brad always offered the space to others where he could think enough to do so. Ironically, the last thing he wanted to be was an ass.

The notion spurred another thought. Brad would ask Chris to look for a date on his butt when he came back from the concession stand with lunch. All this male beauty comes with a shelf life apparently so his boyfriend should probably know when to stop eating it. To that, and out of respect for himself, he should probably check Chris’ butt too. Brad needed some action and the whole notion just brought forth was good enough to jumpstart a very fun afternoon.

These things only needed to be paper thin with two men in the equation. An impromptu hamster inspection of the men’s locker room at the local gay watering hole instigated a wild three way with Brad and Chris’s neighbor Luke just a few hours earlier. Unsurprisingly, not a single hamster turned up at the gym, but the whole debacle did put a new spin on wood shavings.

A rouge wave reached high enough to grab Brad’s attention and bring him back to the present tense. Brad looked at his phone but he didn’t have any gauge as to when he and his thinking drifted off. Well, at least he came around this time with his swimmers still on. He lost two pair just in the last 24 hours.

Now where was Chris with the food? Brad was craving curly fries and a big fat dill pickle.

Brad knew there was no more clear or better place to be free to express yourself, to be who you are without judgement, and to promote positive self image of men who like men, than a fiercely competitive nationally televised drag competition that culminated in a paraded showdown of its self-proclaimed losers deemed so via unquestioned, ambiguous, and unwritten rules.

Did you get all of that? Read it again if you need to. The library will be open for a minute.

It was true. Just in the last ten minutes of that show viewers were forced to jump through more flossy hoops than in Fergie’s earring collection just to justify their own sanity and get hooked for another episode. It was hardly surprising straight women could relate. When it came to meeting the many sets of expectations and double standards put forth by society, were we not all consumed in various orders of intricate dance?

Brad knew he could make anything WERK in part because as a gay man he had to from the get go. He could make whatever was thrown at him WERK in the very same sense slapping the word irony on anything instantly made it ironic. The difference of course being irony didn’t actually take any work. What presented itself on the show was WERK, a hole different level (yes, hole is spelled correctly), and according to gay legend that made drag OK.

Anyone could make something ironic, and it’s usually by accident. Where it gets tricky is doing it with any thread of intention. You sure better make like Madonna and make it an art or you are that person wearing the printed t-shirt and the embroidered hat that does speak truth as proclaimed but don’t realize it’s actually about them.

Eeek. That’s always painful to come across for many reasons. For one, it’s a good guess the poorly threaded failed to friend any gay men or black women because neither have the time for something like that. Each would save the other a step at the register and likely ask for the money since they’re just throwing it away anyway.

Slap a WERK on instead, and what you already knew to be nothing is suddenly something because the gays navigate more than a google of hoops just to walk out that front door. Yes. That was worth repeating.

That’s right. No need to ask ladies, the ‘Amens!’ are are all up in here already. It is just how it is right now. At least that’s what it felt like to Brad.

As many in the erotic dancer and male model industries, Brad held no doubt that show went mainstream via the same well mirrored thread as the flick Pretty Woman just with the reverse set of players. Not everyone was on board, but it was enough sassy razzle dazzle in the right place at the right time with just enough tattered frames of attention to get through.

Both earned enough money to let ruffled feathers go, and it remain tolerated by the others as it’s understood as a one time deal. Once deemed ironic something can’t be made more ironic. The same notion apparently applied here.

Brad also knew if you make the impossible WERK the first time, you’re not going to go through it again. It’s far too exhausting and who wants to live by the skin of their teeth where they already do? You’ve been there. You are there. You made it happen, and any decent queen knows how to make her peace…

‘Did everyone not see the mf rain just now?!? Sky. Water. Fell. You’re welcome. Ok then. I gots to go!’

The door slams and that’s what happened.

WERK!

The show goes on because it must.

It was here Brad heard the snap of his own finger.

Pulled out of his own thoughts and still leaning against the palm tree in his shiny new speedo, Brad realized he was really gay. Like really really REALLY gay.

Brad let out a sigh and took note of his bulge.

Well, that certainly explained having a boyfriend.

It explained quite a bit actually.

Looking at things a little closer, Brad could say this much as to his newly realized gayness…

As long as he put out, Brad felt confident his boyfriend Chris would be ok with everything.

And that he was.

Well felt like a deep subject to Chris. Could his boyfriend Brad circle back to Barbiecore bulge’s? It was much more interesting and felt quiet relevant. Maybe Brad could feel it too.

Chris felt the need to clarify. It wasn’t being green that was easy. He would never assume to know what being green felt like. The thought was preposterous.

What Chris was saying was that he was easy and it was sometimes difficult wearing green. The tone needs to be correct or it may look sick in the way where you lose weight. Chris was happy with his muscle mass.

This shade of green seemed to work. Did his boyfriend Brad see the difference in what he said vs what was heard? Did Brad appreciate the shade of green of his Speedo? He tried on ten pairs for their neighbor Luke to land on this.

Chris raised his arms to showcase the minimal fabric. Brad saw the difference as well as their neighbor Luke’s naughty nature. It matched his own.

As his boyfriend, Brad always stood behind Chris when things got hard. Seeing the the degree of difficulty mastered in Chris’ showcase pose, Brad offered to get his boyfriends back right then and there. Was that ok?

Chris failed to answer and continued to look for that invisible pencil he dropped while posing for Brad. It was a good thing they took a lot of time to find in the sand. That bend and snap was nothing short of a tease.

As part of his commitment to embolden the erotic dancer profession, Brad proudly served up his infamous two layer beefcake.

Chris’ was getting upset. He just bought those swimmers too.

UGH! They weren’t easy to find the first time. If it weren’t for the sale sign, Chris never would have never seen them at the Speedo Plant Print Plant Factory Store.

The weirdest part was his unit was also missing. How the hell did that fall off? And, how did he not feel something like that?!?

Mystery abounded.

Chris tried to remain calm. What he needed to do was come up with a plan.

After taking two deep breaths Chris decided to give himself two more minutes of searching. If his suit or his balls didn’t show up then he’d call in his boyfriend Brad for help.

Chris then looked up at the sky, crossed his fingers, and hoped to Cher. Sure enough, Chris’ swimmers showed up less than a minute later when he stood up in the shallows and put his hands on his hips.

Ta-da!!!

Brad and Chris were in love… with the Speedo Plant Print Plant Factory Store just off the 405 in Orange County. Full coverage practically half off!

In case you’re wondering. Yes. It can never be too gay.

Chris was one juicy fruit

Just the Fashion Tip #482: It’s gay to be gay.

Chris was cool with it just so long as there was one red flag. Things got messy when that became plural.

That’s when Chris asked his boyfriend Brad if he was speaking in tongues. He was pretty sure he still had one. Maybe Brad could count for him.

Just The Fashion Tip #39: Use minimum fabric for maximum vibes.

Brad knew he was pretty. No news there.

…but was he AI pretty?

He didn’t feel real real. While there, Brad didn’t know how to feel real real in the first place. Did anyone know?

In the spirit of keeping it real Brad’s boyfriend Chris answered with a stark “No.” Chris then went on to explain not a single soul had a clue as to why we were all on this tiny planet hurtling through interstellar space at ungodly speeds.

After three seconds of pouted silence, Brad demanded to know once again if he was not pretty but AI pretty.

Chris said Brad was ‘as plastic as they come’ not after pointing out plastic was as real as anything else. “You want to get real real Brad? Just look at our oceans. Even sea salt was loaded with microplastics now. Nothing out of the ocean was safe. It was pink Himalayan or bust.”

Before Chris could go any further, Brad announced that he decided he’d ask their friend Becky when she got back from the taco stand. She was straight so could hypothetically give a straight answer. It wasn’t ideal but his boyfriend’s roundabout just wasn’t cutting it.

Brad then paused to look around. “Where was Becky anyway?

Chris replied, “Really Brad? Really?!?”

That’s when Becky sauntered up from behind Chris with a basket of fresh steamy tacos. She asked the boys for the last time if they were really down for eating all this given they were both out.

It was quite a spread and the meat had the same consistency as cottage cheese but it wasn’t Taco Bell nor its knock off Taco Bueno. It was some local man from Pennsylvania who made them. His name was Hanz Bergenstein. That stuck out to Becky for some reason.

Brad and Chris were very quick to respond. They were not up or down with the taco scene. Becky thought this might be the case.

Pulling her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose so she could make eye contact with Brad and Chris, Becky mentioned it was a good thing it was a Saturday. There was no way they’d be sitting next to a group of stuntmen from the Monster Truck Show tomorrow. It was one night only and always on a Sunday, Sunday, Sunday.

No one knew why the day of the show needed to be repeated three times when it actually occurred in the evening but that’s what presented itself. The Monster Truck Show never started before 5-5:30pm so the organizers wouldn’t be inclined to extend the truck rally and inadvertently cause a mass suffocation in an unsuspecting domed stadium.

As it was, everyone would get light headed just one hour in. The show of course was without a story line and absolutely terrible, but the fumes more than made up for it. Mix in the local beer, busty girls as well as some good ol’ fashioned Red Bull, and let’s be honest. It really didn’t matter what was going on. That’s a good time despite any controversy!

To that, Becky asked Brad and Chris if 5pm was technically still daytime. Brad pointed out it was a slightly delicate yes and no situation that included the whole daylight savings mess. That seemed like a lot to him for a casual day at the pool.

Chris agreed and then threw in a memo stating that spring forward/fall back thing just needed to die already. Becky said it was one of many horrifying things that would die naturally with the Boomers as they finally made their way out to which Brad and Chris replied a nearly automated “Here. Here.”

With that, the controversy tabled itself for another time. Becky then announced she needed to take advantage of the situation so she could get the stuntmen to take advantage of her. Flipping her hair in a tizzy Becky then spun a perfect 180 to showcase her taco basket to the heterosexuals. The three men let out a faint gasp.

Becky was real real real and felt real real real too. Before fully launching herself gaily forward into the world of straights, she paused to give Brad an answer to a question he had yet to ask of her.

“Brad, you’re not AI pretty. You’re REAL pretty! P.S. you’re REAL pretty too Chris.”

Awe! Becky was the real real deal!!!

And just like that, Becky was off like like her swimsuit in 45 minutes. It would take Brad and Chris a good ten to get theirs off mostly because both felt slightly bloated from smelling the tacos. It took four of those minutes just to realize the taco stand was only ten feet away. Madonna saved the world in that amount of time.

Obviously, tacos were evil.

What Brad and Chris needed was a tall cool glass or two of cucumber water. To Brad and Chris’ delight they gulped down three that day. Why don’t we say it was a vurrrry hot afternoon to every degree and leave it at that.

Mmmmm… cucumber.

Gustavio liked his meat pink.

Chris wondered if it was possible to face just part of the music.

Brad took another look in the mirror.

Geez. Should he just let it all hang out?

The red contraption was a gift but pretty little things like this always came with questionable obligation as an erotic dancer. This was especially true for all things pleather or ketchup red.

This was obviously a double doozy. Who does a person do in this situation? It was always a race to the finish with his big tippers. That never actually bothered Brad as a speedy coming to head meant a higher turnover.

Well, no matter who stood behind Chris or how much behind he got himself, one thing was for sure. The silky silver lining in this new t-back was about to give him a raging head start.

Brad snapped the selfie just in time.

Wow. That was a hot shot.

You know, if there ever was a big fat wiener here, it might just be his!

Brad looooved volunteering as candy stripper at Cedars-Sinai!

Wait a second. Was his butt hot or chili?

Oh. Brad could tell this could get real sticky real fast like his boyfriend Chris’ homemade flapjacks. What Brad needed to do was to get a reading from him before his hand got stuck.

Click!

Well, it was a good thing the elevator was headed to the first floor. The ER would know how to unstuck him.

Chris’ favorite color was RAINBOW!! …Obviously, his boyfriend Brad’s favorite color was clear.

We don’t see him. Do you?

Well… That was yet another post that inexplicably disappeared from Tumblr. There have been so many we lost count over here at BradandChris.com.

Thanks a lot censor bots!!!

PS - Our differentiator as the gays is SEX! Sex. Sex. Sex. Sex. SEX!!!!

Stop it already.

No really. Stop. Sex is our thing.

I’m telling you people jealousy is nothing to sneeze at. This kinda stuff doesn’t happen bi-accident.

BTW - have you seen that one? No real accidents there as it’s scripted. Filled to the brim with bad acting. Bi-accident 2 tho... well, there’s a huge difference. We do mean HUGE.