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Blanche, the New Rose

Tuesday, January 17, 2006

by Blow Hard

Ladies, grab your wire hangers and get ready to give yourselves those back alley abortions you’ve always wanted. Gays, take those dicks out of those butts and cut them off while you’re at it. Old people and Terri Schiavo, please stay in your rewarding comas because it makes the Bush family and God so happy.

Now that Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, the poor man’s Betty White, is about to step down after an 18 million year retirement process, this court is about to suck even harder than it already does. Everyone assumed the new court would be so hot with the elevation of John Roberts. That John Roberts! He’s so handsome, so smart, so reasonable, everyone cooed. But his first dissent reveals a John Roberts who is nothing more than a big government ultraconservative radical judicial activist who wants to fuck old, sick people up their frail, scabby asses. In a 6-3 decision, the court upheld Oregon’s assisted suicide law, with Roberts, Scalia and Thomas dissenting.

With Sandra DO’C about to be replaced by Sam “Whites Only” Alito, who will save this court? My vote, not that I should have a right to one, is for Anthony Kennedy. It was this mild-mannered Reagan appointee who recently sided with the far left on retard death penalty cases and signed on to the homosexual agenda in Lawrence v. Texas, the 2003 pro-butt fucking case. Kennedy is poised to be the new O’Connor, only more Rue McClanahanish.

Goin' to the Chapel (via the cleaners)

Monday, January 02, 2006

by TaffyPuller

There's a Sex and the City episode in which Carrie goes to an upscale child's birthday party thrown by one of her upscale gal pals (played by award winning coke whore Tatum O'Neal). Through some Komedy Klassik hijinks, Carrie ends up being separated from her beloved Manolos at this party, and Tatum refuses to reimburse her for the crushing loss, despite the fact that it is technically her fault that Carrie lost the shoes and that Carrie has spent thousands of dollars over the years celebrating Tatum's marriage and each of her childrens' birthdays. This inevitably leads to Carrie wandering her apartment in some crazy ass bag lady outfit, wondering via voiceover why single people get the short end of the stick when it comes to celebrating the major life moments of their married friends.

I'm feeling a little like Carrie right now. And it isn't even because of my straight friends. Now that the damn Gays are having weddings (for reals in Massachusetts, even), I am suddenly expected to spend a fortune on celebrating their sickening love and deluded committment. Am I bitter? Yes, yes I am. Nobody's purchasing ME gifts from a registry. Nobody's throwing ME a bachelor party with a tranny stripper and novelty dildos. And the topper is, I actually had an enGAYged friend pull the old "Sooooo, who are you bringing as your date to our wedding?" on me. Listen up people: one of the pleasures of being a gay dude is that you don't have to worry about scaring up a date for weddings just so you don't look all Bridget Jones pathetic in front of your friends who have managed to close the deal already. I'm not a fat straight girl, don't treat me like one. As a gaysexual, I reserve my right to come to your wedding alone, abuse the open bar, and fuck EVERY guy at the reception. You have been warned.

Vokabulary Korner #1: "HOMO TRICK"

Tuesday, December 27, 2005

by Bossy Boots

Although pretty much everyone I know has been urging me to read THE LINE OF BEAUTY for at least a year now, I am sorry to say that I've been delinquent in getting around to it until this weekend. Anyway, I finally finished it, and though I have a lot to say on the subject of the novel itself, I think most people would be bored by my opinions. (Emily, call me; I want to discuss!)

So I will save the lit-crit for another day. In the meantime, the book did open my eyes to an amazing and INCREDIBLY USEFUL new piece of verbiage that I would like to introduce to our readers in what will be the first of many service-oriented VOKABULARY KORNER posts. I, personally, plan on peppering my conversations with the following phrase AT LEAST through the New Year:

A cunning tool for social gamesmanship, warfare or hijinx, practiced by a gay with the intent to become more famous and popular. Often perpetrated on unsuspecting heterosexuals, with DISASTROUS results.

A few usage examples from the book:

"'They hate us, you know, they can't breed themselves, they're parasites on generous fools who can. I'm not remotely surprised he led your poor lovely daughter astray like this, exploited her, there's no other word for it. A typical homo trick, of course." (p 416)

And pages later...

"I've been giving it some thought. It's the sort of thing you read about, it's an old homo trick. You can't have a real family so you attach yourself to someone else's..." (p 420)

Trust me, this little turn of phrase will come in especially useful as the holiday party season winds down, and the rehashing begins...

I've Been Clowned

Thursday, December 22, 2005

by Bossy Boots

Contrary to what the smarmy little bitches over at QUEERTY (which I never read!) would have you believe, nip/tuck is clearly THE gayest show on television right now. And, in keeping with our national gay culture of TOTAL MEDIOCRITY, it also may be among the crappiest.

Ok, so I admit I may have been a fan of the program in the past. I even kind of liked it when Famke Jansen had hot tranny incest sex with her sexy teenage son. However, Tuesday’s big FINALE episode was so ridiculously bad—and so retardedly gay—that I really do not know if I can take it anymore. As everyone knows, it all revolved around the unmasking of the mystery criminal known as THE CARVER, or, as Blow Hard calls him, THE CLOWN. Basically it turns out that The Clown was Quentin all along. (Quentin, you’ll recall, is the BI SWINGER plastic surgeon who was called in from Atlanta, Georgia, to help fix the clown’s face slashings after Christian (or was it Sean?) got clowned himself.) How coincidental that Quentin was the one doing the slashing in the first place! Also, we learned last night that he (of course) has no penis which explains why he was the PUSHY BOTTOM in the episode where he got fucked by that military guy. (But why no reach-around, I ask you!?) In further coincidence, the sexy british detective INVESTIGATING the clownings turned out to be his secret incest twin sister, and was in cahoots all along. WHAT A TWIST!!!!

Meanwhile, Matt, the creepy teenage son who once circumcised himself, was kidnapped by a Nazi after he was caught KI-KI-ing at the makeup counter with his pre-op tranny friend, Cherry—or maybe it was Candy, I forget. Something along those lines. Eventually, Candy was able to whack the Nazi with a shovel and then shoot him, but not until Matt had been forced to cut off her (Cherry’s) burrito with a rusty boxcutter.

So I know it is totally my fault for buying into the hype, but I actually thought the clown revelation was at least going to make sense. My fellow and I were so excited. We were taking it very seriously and had certain THEORIES as to The Clown's identity. But no. The writers totally decided the whole thing at the last minute, and then had to make sure that no one had a dick, just because it’s Nip/Tuck. In conclusion, this is the gayest show ever, and also the WORST.

Republican Killer Korner: Ted Bundy

Tuesday, December 20, 2005

by Blow Hard

What do OJ Simpson, Shannen Doherty, Timothy McVeigh, Shirley Temple and the BTK killer have in common? They are all despicable, evil people. They are also all Republicans. (Sorry, Taffypuller)

For some reason a great number of America’s most infamous sex criminals, serial killers and child actors share an affiliation with the Grand Old Party. Furthermore, First Lady Laura Bush KILLED someone.

Today Pushy Bottom proudly unveils a new feature to capitalize on conservative criminal crackups--the Republican Killer Korner. The inaugural entry belongs to an unparalleled legend, Ted Bundy.

Ted Bundy is one man who so clearly personifies the horror of these twin blights on our society—serial killing and the Republican Party. Almost seamlessly, Bundy fused the themes of moral values and sexual violence to become one of the most horrific Republicans of the mid-1970s. In order to unmask the mysteries of the Republican mind, let us investigate the political history of Ted Bundy, a man who used serial killing as a mask of sanity to hide his deep, dark Republican secret.

When he wasn't having sex with a bunch of tax cuts, Bundy spent much of his college days campaigning for Republican candidates while somehow managing to volunteer at a rape crisis center. His multiple careers of rape counselor, rapist and Republican were on the up and up. By 1968, Bundy was appointed assistant state chairman of a political organization supporting the presidential candidacy of Republican Nelson Rockefeller. Ted Bundy also served as special assistant to the Washington state GOP Chairman.

Although it is unclear when exactly Ted’s psychopathic tendencies took hold of his life, it quite probably coincided with his involvement in the Republican Party. In 1972, Ted Bundy worked on Republican Governor Don Evans’s re-election campaign; fourteen months later, he forcefully sodomized and killed several college co-eds. In 1973, Ted Bundy was issued an official Republican Party credit card; the next year, eleven more women were brutally slaughtered.

In 1980, death penalty advocate Ted Bundy was sentenced to death.

Just like sweet Harriet Miers, the night before his 1989 execution, Bundy met with kingmaker Dr. James Dobson to burnish his conservative credentials. When asked by Dobson to explain the influences that led to his illustrious, career as a serial killer, Bundy was quick to parrot Republican culture war talking points. According to Mr. Bundy, pornography, alcohol, the violent (aka “liberal”) media and “detective magazines” produced this necrophiliac ladykilling monster.

You know what they say—you can take a serial killer out of the Republican Party, but you can’t take the Republican Party out of the serial killer.

Ted Bundy was a Republican.

When I was a teenaged wh*re

by TaffyPuller

I was getting my 9 pm vanilla latte at Evil Empire Coffee last night when this little item leaped at me from the front page of the New York Times. My mind immediately went to that delightful Hole ditty from Courtney Love's nascent years (Oh, Courtney!! Courtney!!! My moonwashed rose!).

The upshot of the NYT piece is that little Justin Berry began selling himself via webcam at the tender age of 13, eventually earning hundreds of thousands of dollars for his trouble. The article goes on to detail Justin's spiral into drug addiction, depression, and perhaps even more disturbing, born again Chrisitianity. At one point he was actually sharing the profits of his online fame with his own FATHER who had fled to Mexico to avoid being imprisoned on an unrelated offense. Sure makes me feel a lot better about Xmas with my own family next week. They might be insane but they never pimped me out. That's what I had Rico for.

It's a moving piece. What really overwhelmed me about Justin's dangerous(ly lucrative) ordeal was WHY DIDN'T THEY HAVE WEBCAMS WHEN I WAS 13? I could have made some SERIOUS CASH, people. At my current age, I'd be lucky to get anyone to view me FOR FREE!!! Born too soon, I suppose. DAMN.

Well, one of them does kinda look like a HOMO

Monday, December 19, 2005

by TaffyPuller

Okay, my two cents worth on BBMTN. I saw it last night in a theater packed to bursting with obvious gaysexuals. It was the most crotch jockeys I've seen in one room without a DJ in a LONG time. So clearly, BBMTN is gay gay gay all the way. Gays typically do not support a film in such a unified way unless they really SEE themselves in it. I keep hearing from friends some vague stats about the film breaking attendance records. And since I've heard these stats from three different people, they must be ABSOLUTELY FACTUAL.

Oh and I totally wasn't buying Heath as a dick smoker. His lips were so damn stiff, I imagined sticking my slim jim in there would be akin to face fucking a ceramic garden gnome. Jakie, on the other hand, was totally selling the barely suppressed cock lust. Maybe it was the leather daddy mustache.

I'm a god d*@m alcoholic

Sunday, December 18, 2005

by TaffyPuller

I like to think things happen for a reason. I like to think that the Universe is always sending me messages about the path I'm on. For instance, my bio picture on this blog is that of comedian and actor, Mr. Paul Lynde. He of the acerbic wit. The emperor of center square zingerdom. There was a guy who really knew how to turn his inner torment as an ex-fatty from Ohio into one of the most distinct celebrity personae of the double knit era of American entertainment.

When I have one too many bowls of vodka soup, I turn into the bastard child of Mr. Lynde and Tara Reid. Also, back when I was an escort, I had a client who had actually shared a night of unbridled, popper laden passion with Paul circa 1979. So I feel a certain connection to P Lo. And this DOES NOT SIT WELL WITH ME. Paul Lynde died bitter, boozy and alone. Is this my path? Is this blog a cheaper, untelevised version of center square?

I've considered a 12 step program but, my research into this type of set up was so harrowing I just don't think I can bear it. I went to a Sexaholics Anonymous meeting last year. Not because I have a problem with compulsive sex, mind you. I was just bored and thought it might be fun. OMG, it was NOT what I expected. It was a roomful of unattractive middle aged men moaning on about how hard it is to stay "sexually sober." Maybe I'm missing the point, but I imagine if you looked like some of these guys, you wouldn't have ANY trouble at all NOT having sex. I wanted to raise my hand and point out that if some of them would lose a few pounds and use a good facial moisturizer there would be NO NEED for them to stay "sexually sober." Oh well.

I guess I'll just give in to the Universe. I'll just slip an Hermes scarf around my neck, turn the bulbs on my makeup mirror to the "evening" setting and wait for Paul to tell me what to do next.

They Don't LOOK Like Homos...

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

by Bossy Boots

Okay, so I don’t know about where you live, but where I live, for the past week, if you ask any homosexual the important cocktail question of HAVE YOU SEEN IT YET, he will know exactly what you are talking about. And if the answer to the question is yes, he will start whimpering and dabbing at his eyes and mumbling something-or-other about his own pathetic gin-soaked lifestyle. So obvs there is a real critical mass with the whole BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN coverage, in the sense that no fag can shut up on the topic. Guess what? That includes me! Sorry if you’re bored with the whole thing, but you might as well get used to the boredom now, because I have a feeling you are going to be reading even MORE about the movie very soon, when it wins like a billion Oscars or whatever they’re called. And anyway, how, I mean, really—how!?—could I possibly launch PUSHY BOTTOM without weighing in? After all, those of you who know me remember the nearly UNBEARABLE INTENSITY of my TOOTHY TILE obsession a few months ago.

My special journalistic angle on the movie is that no, I haven’t actually been to see it myself—personal reasons, okay?—but I HAVE been reading all the articles, and needless to say I HAVE SOME OPINIONS. Since this is a so-called WEB LOG (even though I am way too longwinded to be truly BLOGGY), I will just put it in the way of so many cybersavvy schoolgirls before me.

Mood: pEeViSh!!!!

First things first, I have a hard time believing that this amazing poster (thanks, WOW REPORT) is not a joke, and I don’t have the time to do the research to find out for sure, but even if it is fake, it totally exemplifies everything that’s fucking bugged me about the publicity blitz behind Brokeback Mountain from the start—that it seems to hinge on reassuring people that DON’T WORRY, IT IS NO GAY THING, THIS IS JUST A REGULAR LOVE STORY AND PARDON US IF WE FORGOT TO MENTION THE PART ABOUT TWO MEN WHO LOVE EACH OTHER AND TOSS EACH OTHER’S SALADS. (I am guessing—could someone who has seen the movie confirm the salad-tossing part?)

Then there’s the quote from Mr. Tile himself:

“And this movie was like, it has no bounds. Like, these aren't, in my belief, these aren't two, like gay guys. These are two people who fall in love. And, you know, from the environment that they're in, which is incredibly lonely, and, you know, they find each other."

Stutter much, Toothy? You know I would give up everything for you, but what the fuck? These are obviously two like GAY GUYS—at least in the short story—which I HAVE actually read. I mean, sure, you can probably quibble—(“Ennis is just A SWINGER blahblahblahblah) but the point is that these are two men who love each other’s wieners and can’t be together precisely because of that sorry fact. Jake, if you’re reading, feel free to comment: what, in your estimation, makes you so sure that these are NOT two like gay guys?

Ugh. It’s annoying, but whatever—I can’t really blame them publicizing this movie however they can, and plus, I like the idea of hapless straight men (maybe even Christian Burt Reynolds types) being CRUELLY TRICKED into seeing it. Of course, I can forgive Jake himself even more easily because, for one thing, he is obviously trying to distance himself from TED CASABLANCA’S DISGUSTING FALSEHOODS, and, for a second, who could look into these DOPEY BROWN EYES and stay mad for long?! (Answer: DEFINITELY NOT I.)

Okay, so Jake gets a pass—for now. But one person I can definitely be annoyed with is gay novelist David Leavitt. Yes, he was extremely nice to me that one awkward time I was forced to make embarrassing/drunk cocktail chitchat with him. And I kind of like that short story he wrote about a suspiciously David Leavitt-like gay novelist who writes college term papers for fratboys in exchange for filthy/hot sodomite sex. HOWEVER, his SLATE piece on Brokeback Mountain is just a big piece of pointless fuckery. The headline for the piece is "MEN IN LOVE: Is Brokeback Mountain a gay film?" Leavitt’s answer, duh, is that BBM is a LOVE story, but NOT a GAY one.


Leavitt goes on and on about who-knows-what (yes, I know that’s what I’m doing too, but I am a BLOGGER, not a journalist, so I’m allowed), and never quite explains what it is about this movie about homos in love that makes it not a gay love story. I mean, it seems to have something to do with the total crappiness of movies like MAKING LOVE and the fact that the word GAY “implies banalities.” He also brings up the fact that “neither of the men eschews sex with women.” Of course, we all know from our Sarah Lawrence Queer Theory classes that sexuality is complicated, but David is splitting hairs here in the service of the pointless and obnoxious non-argument that, despite the fact that the whole point of it is faggotry, Brokeback Mountain is “not a gay love story.”

Why, again? Oh yeah—because of “the film's happy resistance to the stale clichés of gay cinema...”

I get it a little bit, I guess. Brokeback Mountain (apparently) avoids the retardation of homo-flicks past. But just because gay movies have been historically bad, does that mean that if a movie about gay people doesn’t suck, it’s not a gay movie?Leavitt may also be talking about the whole ghettoization factor. I’m sure he has firsthand experience with constantly being categorized as an always-qualified GAY NOVELIST. And I too shudder when I see real writers like Al(l)ans Hollinghurst and Gurganus shelved in the fag section of Borders with all the trashy gay romance novels instead with the rest of the fiction. But, in the end, that’s not the argument that Leavitt is making here. Instead, he truly seems to be trying to assure all the sodomy-loving cowboys out there that JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE A COCK UP YOUR ASS DOESN’T MAKE YOU NO FAG.

Everyone all at once: YAY!

[PS – while I first started reading FOURFOUR for his amazing ANTM recaps, his review of Brokeback Mountain is like the smartest thing I read all week. And not just because he refers to Jake as a DREAM BOTTOM.]

Something Smelly in Lake Wobegone

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

by Bossy Boots

Okay, I have been hating Garrison Keillor for YEARS, ever since high school, when I was assigned to read this essay he wrote about how you are a bad person if you fuck up the company softball game by, like, failing to catch a fly ball or something like that. I know this sounds like it makes no sense, but, really, that is actually what the essay is about! I am not joking! That is really what it’s about! Anyway, if you are the (bad) type of person, like me, who was totally traumatized in early childhood by softball Ayatollahs, you should track down this essay and read it because it will totally make you thirsty for smarmy Wobegone blood. (I hear it tastes like Coca Cola!)

(Confidential to Brian: Speaking of softball, I hope you kicked some New Yorker ass last night…)

Anyway, I have never been a Garrison Keillor fan, but today’s essay in Salon really sinks to a level of vileness that I was totally unprepared for in terms of clueless, veiled, liberal aw’ shucks homophobia. Basically it is about an out of towner with orange hair and a pierced navel who shows up at a barbeque in quaint, down-home Mitchell, South Dakota and wows the crowd by being “young, smart and funny,” not to mention “slender,” despite her decidedly alternative and “flamboyant!!” countenance. I am wowed too, and I have not even met this edgy gal!

Mr. Blue’s point, here, is, of course, that:
“There are plenty of old grumblers in Mitchell (and anywhere else) but deep down, we're all in favor of people living their lives as they choose and we are fond of true independents and adventurers and gypsy musicians. Red or blue, we agree that freedom is at the heart of American life and it's a big country and there's room for everybody…”
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