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Otters and Twinks and Bears, oh my? What does it all mean? For those in know, please to enjoy a modern, and very gay take, on Goldilocks and Three Bears.

Once upon a time, there was a twink named Timothée.

Timothée lived in Hackensack, New Jersey, a suburb of the big, bright city of New York.

Timothée was very excited about going to the 2021 Pride Parade.

Timothée had spent months preparing for the parade.

Timothée gave up carbs.

Timothée had only drunk ice chips, black iced coffee, and vodka seltzers since St. Patrick’s Day.

Timothée didn’t dare lift more than 5 pound weights during his virtual Equinox classes, in fear that he may develop actual muscle.

Timothée realized the only things going for him were his size 26 waist, vapid personality, and ability to act interested in anything older men with money had to say.

Timothée had taken the entire weekend off from Starbucks and was ready to enjoy his first Pride Parade.


Timothée rolled over in bed. This pillow was too soft.

Timothée groaned in frustration, threw the pillow off the bed, and tried to go back to sleep with his head on the mattress. This bed was too hard.

Timothée found another pillow. This one was JUST RIGHT!

Then Timothée shot up in bed in a panic.

Timothée didn’t know where the fuck he was.

As he looked around the foreign, but well-decorated bedroom, Timothée tried to recall the evening.

Timothée remembered going to a “Boats and Hoes” theme party and doing lots of shots as a slutty sailor with Zayn, Lane, Blaine, Dane, Dean, Brody, Brady, Braeden, Jaeden, Chad, Brad, Billy, Bobby, Brock, and Antonio.

Timothée performed a necessary costume change into a sensible jock strap, short jorts, and his “Hole” crop top. He was still in this outfit in this strange bed.

But oh my God, it was a California King! And the duvet was just scrumptious. And were these Egyptian cotton sheets?!

Timothée recalled watching the parade for, like, five minutes, then stopping by Boxers; judging people from the corner; convincing ugly, old dudes to buy them drinks and then leaving… and that’s all he could remember.

And that smell… Did I do Poppers earlier?

Timothée found some penis-shaped mints on the stylish credenza and chewed through them quickly, unable to get the taste of Truly iced teas out of his mouth.

Timothée also rummaged through a few of the drawers to see if there was any cash.


Timothée walked downstairs to a beautiful apartment devoid of any people. The view from the giant glass windows showed him he was still in Chelsea. The sun was still up, which was good.

Timothée hoped he could scam a few more drinks from the elderly, 35-plus unfortunates who trolled all the hot spots post-parade.

Timothée checked his phone.

Over 1,000 Grinder notifications had come in during his blackout and he had clearly failed to charge it before ending up in a random bed, so it went from 5 percent to 2 percent and then died.

What was Timothée to do?

It was evident the the owners of this place were 1) very, very rich and 2) very, very gay. The apartment teemed with remnants of a well-celebrated Pride. Rainbow streamers, scrotum-shaped drinking straws, and a few wayward caftans were thrown on the floor.

Timothée picked up one caftan and saw it was an XXL.

“Ew, no fats, no femmes.”

Bored, with no idea what to do, Timothée perused the bar, which was still set up for some pretty quality day drinking. These guys had TOP SHELF stuff.

“Oh my God,” he said to absolutely no one. “I hope they’re young, cute, have less than 5 percent body fat, and don’t mind showering a brainless blonde with no ambition with money!”

Timothée figured he might as well keep the party going. Shit, he wasn’t paying for it.

“Free booze, ladies!” Again, to no one.

Timothée poured himself some pink stuff from a punch bowl.

“Ew, too weak.”

Timothée tried something clear in a nondescript bottle.

“Ew, too STRONG!” He threw up in his mouth a little.

Timothée then saw a rainbow solo cup with his name written on it in flowery letters, took a sip and sighed, “Just right.”

Timothée drank about five more of these, made with Belvedere, of course, and stumbled his way into the living room.

Timothée drunkenly fell onto the zebra-print couch…

“Yeth…thith ith juth right.”


Timothée was startled awake to find a group of three men standing around him.

Without thinking, he said “Is this heaven? Alright boys, who’s first?”

The three men around him laughed.

Once Timothée’s vision cleared, he realized he was surrounded by a group of older, hairy men of different body types, none of whom had seen a 30 inch waist or less in years.

OH NO! Bears! Timothée thought to himself.

Timothée was scared.

These men hadn’t manscaped.

They were busting out of their tank tops, harnesses, and Speedos.

Ew, some of them even had GREY hair.

Where were their six pack abs?

They all introduced themselves and invited Timothée to stay to continue the Pride celebration. They tried to explain what happened the night before.

Timothée looked at all of them, raised an eyebrow, put a hand on his hip and loudly exclaimed, “Ew, gross, you are all too old and big.”

So the bears ate him.

Eric Mochnacz

A wizard of pop culture. A prince of snark. A delightful addition to any dinner party.

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