Oh, Ricky, you’re so fine, you’re so fine, you blow (us or) our minds, hey Ricky.
Notwithstanding the music or the overuse of the world ‘spiritual’, we have always had a lot of time for Ricky Martin. A lot more time for him than he’s had for us, if truth be told, but that’s a whole different bottle of eco-friendly handwash.
Anyways, it turns out that Ricky Martin is a gay *falls off chair, sustains mild concussion, makes movie called The Headless Woman about someone with mild concussion (it’s true! Don’t go to that movie! It is bad)*
‘I am proud to say that I am a fortunate homosexual man,’ said Ms. Martin on his website. ‘I am very blessed to be who I am.’ For which we applaud him, though we lament his timing. The reason for his heretofore silence on the matter of whether he was an aggressive top or a greedy bottom was, he says, fear (so, he’s a bottom).
‘A few months ago I decided to write my memoirs,’ he goes on, drawing slowly on a gold-tipped pink Sobrani cigarillo (well, he’s an out gay now, he can do what he likes), ‘a project I knew was going to bring me closer to an amazing turning point in my life. From the moment I wrote the first phrase I was sure the book was the tool that was going to help me free myself from things I was carrying within me for a long time.’ What, a butt plug he couldn’t get out?
‘Things that were too heavy for me to keep inside.’ Butt plug then. One of the big rubber ones. ‘Writing this account of my life, I got very close to my truth. And this is something worth celebrating.’
*opens bottle of champenoise to celebrate, forgets what is being celebrated, drinks entire bottle anyway*